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"Impressed?"

Liv fights the urge to roll her eyes at the slightly smug tone in Sherlock's voice but she steps closer to the window, examining the view of the London skyline.  "Of course.  It's beautiful..." She tilts her head back and meets his eyes over her shoulder.  "Thank you for inviting me."

Most of her jobs take her to small motels (with a prominent M ) where the desk-clerks sneer at her and she counts stains while fighting boredom.  This, however, is one of the poshest places she's seen - the Dorchester, a place she once dreamed about even entering - and is so utterly Sherlock it makes her fight a laugh.

"Anytime, Elena."  He steps closer, his hands hesitating.  She reaches back to clasp over his wrists, pulls them to her waist as his hands wrap around the curves of her waist and he rests his chin on her shoulder.  He hunches over; their height difference makes this possibly uncomfortable but for once he makes no comment about the details on spinal curvature.

He calls her Elena , just as her other clients - but Sherlock Holmes will never be one of her usual clients.  For one, he knows that it isn't her real name and probably guesses she chose it from Camelot mythology (a more feminine form of Elaine), a passion of hers as a young girl before idealism and hope fell away.  He also deduces from small clues about her each time she comes in, asks her about her problems with her heating in her flat with an offer to send someone to fix it (she declines), informs her that her painted toenails do not fool him into believing her to be a highly sexual person, and lets her have the option of cancelling after a fight with her mother (she never takes him up on it).

"It almost makes up for your prattiness," she adds with an affected accent; despite her American heritage her years in England have given her a perfect imitation.

With any other client she would never talk like this.  Sherlock only lets out a faux-offended sound.

Lips press against her neck and she closes her eyes briefly before squeezing his hand and stepping away, turning to face his hand.  "So, what did you want to do today?"

Sherlock's lips quirk into a smile, a genuine one she knows he only recently has learned to share with outsiders, and he runs a thumb over the curve of her cheek but makes no motion for further intimacy.  He likes to think she's a lady, that she needs to be treated like the women his mother surrounded him with before she gave up years ago (not that he realizes this).  Liv privately wonders if Sherlock's family ever explained to him how to treat a prostitute but figures they thought there would never be a need.

And before he hired her, so many months ago, there hadn't.

"I was thinking dinner, then maybe the concert hall.  Vivaldi concertos."  She thinks about the touch of those violin callouses on her skin as he says that last part.

"Sounds great, but..." She glances down at her clothes.  Liv suffers no delusions about herself; she wears nice slacks and a button-down blouse when she sees him but most of her clients see her in a t-shirt and jeans.  "I'm a little under-dressed."

"Mm, I suppose you are..."

"I doubt they'd let me into wherever you want to go," she adds with a grin.

"Why would they care?"  She raises an eyebrow and he rolls his eyes.  "Honestly, Elena, do you really care what the commonwealth thinks?"

"No, but I doubt your brother would appreciate you being seen in those places with..." A shrug of her shoulders, a grin.  "And I'm not standing outside watching you eat."

"It would be rather boring.  That's probably why..." He steps back, opens the wardrobe and pulls out a hanging bag before handing it to her with a flourish, "I got this for you."  Liv blinks but accepts the bag, opens it carefully.  The rich silk pours over her fingers like water, a deep blue and green swirl pattern that would gather perfectly at her hip then spill down around her calves.  The color will make her gray-blue eyes stand out.

"Sherlock-"

"Your measurements should be exact."  He gestures toward the bathroom.  Liv walks past him, pausing only when his eyes meet hers and he slowly looks her over from head to toe with gaining heat in his eyes, but then he clears his throat and looks away.  "Yourlandlordshutofftheheatonpurpose."

"Pardon?"

"Landlord.  He wants to have sex with you but you're too smart to give into his insinuations of free rent for a share in your bed which angers him and also brings out his guilt as a religious man so he thinks he can freeze you out of your flat; he doesn't realize you have a space heater you hide in your room.  If you take it to the authorities he will back off and your electric bill will go down so you can afford your textbooks."

He spits out the words in a very fast procession; Liv leans up and kisses him on the cheek.  "I'll only be a minute."  He looks relieved and grateful as she slips into the toilette, closes the door behind herself with a soft click.

A very bad case , she thinks to herself while removing her clothes.  There's a knock on the door and she opens it enough for him to hand her purse in, before she thought to ask.  She murmurs a thank-you before closing the door and pulls out her makeup, combs out her hair as she considers the tension in his back when she first walked in that evening.  She does not follow his flatmate's blog although she knows about it; the other girls that work with her read it, and they ask her questions about whether or not he's tall all over and giggle when Liv tells them to piss off.  But she only saw him two weeks ago, and he never calls for her earlier than once a month unless it really is bad.  Nothing has changed about him since that first meeting a year ago.

She twists her hair up then pins it into a French knot before fixing her makeup.  The dress slides on with a whisper.  It fits her perfectly, as she knew it would. Sherlock would get her measurements right.

When she steps out she catches him sliding his phone back into his pocket, his eyes only widen a fraction as he keeps his composure.

"Lestrade need you?" she asks, adjusting her hold on her clutch.  The folder handed to her earlier makes the sides bulge a little bit, and she’s already calculated what the evening will probably include.  It would be a shame for his plans to be ruined.

He shakes his head, straightening his jacket absently.  "Just had a thought about the case.  I'm all yours this evening."  He steps over to her, offers his arm as he adds, "You look lovely."

"You're never getting this dress back," she informs him with a smile.  "It's beautiful."

"Why would I need it?  It's not like I'd wear it."  He adds as an afterthought.  "At least, not unless I was very desperate and John wouldn't-"

"I would pay you to wear it and send me a picture," she informs him before giving into her urge to giggle at the image.  He chuckles along with her, rich and deep, and escorts her out the door as she adds, "and John doesn't have your bone structure."

++||++||++||++||++

"You've never done this before."  Liv watches his face, his eyes boring holes into her now-bared top half.  His knuckles whiten in the coverlet and he swallows hard before meeting her gaze.

She feels no urge to cover herself (in her profession that would make her career end very quickly) but she slides her shirt back on for him.

"I..." Sherlock swallows again and picks at the fabric under his hands.  "I've felt no need-"

"And you don't have to."  She knows her employer will be more than angry at her for this, for denying such a large sum of money, but Liv will never take an unwilling participant to her bed.  She sits down on the edge of the bed, her hands out so he knows she makes no sudden movements.  "You should only move at your own pace."

Sherlock watches her face, a look of momentary confusion crossing over.  "You're not what-"

"Hmm?"

He huffs out a breath and removes his shirt absently, folds it carefully next to his jacket, as he says, "You aren't supposed to let me out of this."

"Maybe."  No use lying to him, from what she's heard about him.  "But I don't like unwilling guests."

"I need to know," he grumbles, clenching hands into fists.  "For my work."

"How to have sex?"  She actually chuckles a bit.  "That's not what you need to know.  Loads of people manage to do what you do without knowing the intricacies of it.  You just want to understand people."

A look of relief crosses his face momentarily before he raises an eyebrow.  "And what do you know?"

They end up talking for an hour, and at the end Sherlock is actually cradled in her arms, his head on her shoulder as her fingers run through his hair, and at the end he kisses her, soft and unsure.  She knows it's the first time he kisses someone of his free will and lets him explore.

Before she reaches her apartment she receives a text stating he booked an appointment in exactly thirty days.

++||++||++||++||++

Sherlock's arm ends up around Liv's waist somewhere between the theater and the taxi, and clever fingers unpin her hair until it tumbles loose around her shoulders, but she only chuckles and lets him lean in.  He exhales, breath against her lips, then kisses her for the first time of the evening.  It is chaste, just lips against lips, and her hand touches his shoulder in a light embrace.

"Did you have a good time?" he asks against her mouth.

"Yes."  Despite the fancy atmosphere she despises usually at both dinner and the concert, she enjoys Sherlock's shows of enthusiasm, his eagerness to impress and then attempt to look nonchalant when she compliments his taste - dislikes fawning but for the rare few ...

"Good."  His lips move to her neck.  Liv glances at the front where the driver is subtly watching in the rear view mirror, winks at him and watches the man blush before returning his attention fully to the road in front of him.  Her leg drapes across Sherlock’s lap and against the line of his erection.

With most clients, she fakes the sighs, the need to suddenly shove them back and ride them into their oblivion.  But she cannot fool Sherlock and so she has taught him what she likes, what causes her breath to catch and her sex to clench in anticipation rather than foreboding.  And Sherlock must always be a very good student no matter what he decides to study, learning each and every iota thoroughly.

Sherlock's teeth nip sharply at where her jaw meets her throat, and she runs her fingers through his hair with a soothing touch.  An encouraging hum escapes her throat.  He returns to pressing open-mouthed kisses on her exposed skin with a soft happy noise, nosing the shoulder of the silk dress down her arm, and then the cab stops and the driver lets out a discreet cough.

"Mm, Sherlock," Liv cups his jaw and lifts his face, capturing his lower lip and sucking at it for a moment.  "We're here."  

For a moment he might have forgotten where they were, if his uncomprehending blinking is anything to go by.  Then his nostrils flare subtly.  A soft simmer begins in her veins, fueled from the chill where his mouth blazed across her skin.  

"Right.  Pardon me, Elena."  He climbs out, pays the driver while she straightens her dress and runs her fingers through her hair, and helps her out of the taxi before his hand finds her hip and he reels her into his side.  "I'll need to borrow your mobile; Lestrade may have some news for me by now-" She hands him the phone and he pauses.  "Yes, right.  Thank you."

"Shall I gather my things and head home?" she asks with a smile as they enter the opulent entrance of the Dorchester.

"It'll only take a moment."  Sherlock's fingers dance across her screen while she calls the lift; once inside, he hands the phone back and adds quietly, "Your employer does not pay you enough.  You should demand higher rates."

Liv's eyebrow arches up at that; Sherlock never comments about the exchange of money except when once, their second appointment; when he handed her the envelope at the beginning of the appointment he only informed her that smaller bills are less suspicious and she should require her clients to uses smaller denominations to keep her out of legal suspicions.  She thanked him for the advice and made no changes.

"Elena-"

"A lady does not speak of mercurial matters in public."  She reaches a hand up under his jacket, runs her nails down the length of his back and watches his eyes close as he arches against her touch.  "And neither do I."

He shudders, his grasp tightening on her before the doors open with a click and he holds them open for her.  She walks past, her hand sliding free of his jacket and sliding across his stomach as she looks at him through lowered eyelashes.  Her teeth brush over her lower lip, still swollen and shiny from his kisses earlier.  She watches his pupils dilate, his Adam's apple bob as he swallows before she looks ahead of her and walks straight for the room, a sway in her hips.

Her hands move up to catch herself when he pushes her against the door, then he turns her and captures her mouth in a kiss much wetter, much dirtier than in the car.  One of his hands slides to her breast, the other removes the key card from his jacket and slides it to unlock the door.

Their mouths never part, one of them opening the door and then hands moving to the other's clothes - Sherlock's shirtless and without socks by the time they fall onto the bed, Liv down to her corset and garters that he breaks away from her for a moment to look over with slightly widened eyes.  She props herself up on her elbows, bends one leg to rub against the other and watch his gaze move sharply to her heels and stockings.  After he looks his fill he looks up at her and slowly grins before he opens his trousers and leans over to kiss her again.

"Those may be required in the future," he mutters against her mouth.

"And this isn't even my best set."  He shudders in her arms at that and she cups his ass with both hands, pulling him down to grind into her.  The line of his fully-aroused cock rubs against her already.  "You, Mr. Holmes, are wearing far too many clothes."

“An oversight on my part,” he assures her, his voice low and rumbling.  He only moves next to her to shove off the remaining articles of clothing before he’s back between her legs, his hands smoothing up the stockings and fingers sliding under the elastic between her garters and belt.  He lets the tense fabric go and it snaps against her leg, a quick sting that thrums through her blood to between her legs.  “I’d say the same for you but I cannot object to this.”

His right hand lets go of her leg and rests, palm-down, on her ribs as he thumbs the lace V of her bustier.  “I thought you’d enjoy this.”

“Oh, I more than enjoy...” He leans down, licks over the curve where the material meets the swell of her left breast and breathes over the damp skin; goosebumps spread and she drops her head back to let him mouth her throat.

He starts to suck, tentatively, then with more enthusiasm, a small sound of satisfaction escaping him.  She only grasps him by his curls when he starts to add too much suction.

“No marks,” she reminds him gently and captures his lips in a kiss.

When they part, she catches remnants of a slight downturn to Sherlock’s lower lip but he lifts her to place them both full-body on the soft mattress before he mouths at her breast through the satin material.  She purrs, arches up into his touch.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathes against her and noses the valley at her sternum.  “Tell me.”

“This is about you and your ‘experiments.’”  Not that he doesn’t now possess a full plethora of knowledge on how to make a woman happy with just his body.  “Tell me what you want.”

“But... I...” Her nails scrape against the nape of his neck and he moans.  “Elena, please...”

She could make him beg with just a crook of her finger, knowing his body much better than he will know for a while.  She turns the touch soothing, however, and massages the tension away from his shoulders.  “What do you want, Sherlock?”

Sherlock rolls to his side and crawls up to kiss her again, then kiss her jaw, then her shoulder, before he places a hand at her hip and tugs, encouraging her to climb on top of him.  Liv’s legs rise up as she removes the matching panties, tosses them to the side while he grits out a ‘Christ almighty’ at the sight, before she moves astride him with a knee at each hip.  She takes his hand and moves it between her legs.

“You know what I like... Yes...” Her head falls back at the stroke of violin-calloused fingertips, the pace and rhythm that speaks louder of his arousal than any words.

In moment she stops him, reaches across for the clutch she had the good sense to drop on the side table and pulls out a foil square.  Liv rips it, tosses the empty wrapper to the side before breathing on the latex in her palm, and then slides the condom as Sherlock makes a sound like he might be dying.

“So over-dramatic.”  

“Elena!”  He lifts his head from the bed with a full pout, his hands clutching at her hips and trying to lift her into position.

The moment she slides onto him the world tilts, spins.  She leans forward with her hands resting over his shoulders and she breathes his name, Sherlock’s eyes shut at the sensations before his hips lift.  

Liv’s body hums with the pleasure of him filling her, until he swirls his hips in a motion she taught him and he presses that spot inside of her that pushes a small cry past her lips.

His eyes slant open and he chuckles.  The vibrations ripple between the two of them, causing them both to shudder, as he clasps her thighs.  “Right there then.”  And they start rocking together, every once in a while his hips swaying to the sides as he watches her moan.  He leans up to kiss her again, more of a sloppy meeting of mouths he would hate if fully-coherent.

Her inner muscles clench around him and he groans, his movements faster.

Before he tenses underneath her and lets out a moan, before he shakes with aftermath, he grunts out as if in agony, “Elena... come... please !”

The words on her lips as she tumbles into ecstasy sound like his name.

++||++||++||++||++

Her other regular is an older gentleman named George.  His wife died a few years ago, his kids all live across Europe, and he makes her tea every time she comes over.  They chat about silly things - items in the news, he teases her about finding a real job someday and leaving him alone.

When she crawls on top of him and rests her hands on his chest, he closes his eyes.  She knows he's thinking about his wife, about their honeymoon in Brighton all those years ago.

It isn't a bad living, this part.  

++||++||++||++||++

Snow flies through the air, clinging to Liv's long dark hair.  She shakes it out as she stomps her feet on the top step then rings the doorbell.  The small cafe next to the building is closed due to it being exactly six o'clock on Christmas Eve, and she glances up at the building wondering why Sherlock has asked her to meet him at this location for their meeting.

According to her very-amused employer, he actually sounded nervous for once when he made the appointment, and asked for her to wear a dress instead of jeans.  " With an adamant please ," Charlene had added.  It's an improvement from his usual demanding nature.

Hopefully the sweater-dress she wears (with thick leggings, because it is freezing outside) matches his wishes.

Before she can ring the doorbell the door opens to reveal Sherlock, dressed in that deep purple silk shirt he wears more often when he sees her now; he apparently remembers how she commented that it made him look dead sexy and then proceeded to shag him senseless.  He lets her inside without a word and pauses to take her coat, and she watches his expressionless face.

"Why are you so nervous?" she asks finally.

"Nervous?  Who says that I'm nervous?"  After a fumbled attempt to hang up her coat and her reaching over to take his hands, he exhales shakily.  "It's nothing, not really..."

"Sherlock?" Liv hears footsteps down the stairs and suddenly pieces start to click.  "Sherlock-"

"Is this she?"

An older woman, old enough to be her mum, hurries down the stairs with a wide smile and suddenly envelopes Liv in a hug that smells like Chanel No. 5 and fresh baking.

"Elena, my landlady-"

"Mrs. Hudson," Liv finishes, wondering if the poor woman would mind terribly if Liv strangled Sherlock in her entryway.  There are boundaries, lines that should not be crossed -

Not that this ever stops Sherlock , she thinks with an inner sigh.  Ever since that first night he has been breaking those hard and fast rules in her head faster than she can throw up her barriers.

"It's so lovely to meet you," Mrs. Hudson's voice brings her back to the present.  "Sherlock talks about you constantly, when he's not chasing after those nasty murders of his or offending new clients," she adds as she squeezes Liv's hands, beaming.

"Oh, that's-" Dangerous.  But Liv smiles back at her, and she genuinely starts to feel warmth toward this woman who Sherlock compares (unconsciously) to a mother, when he's talked to Liv before.  "He's told me a lot about you as well," she adds and watches his shoulders relax from behind Mrs. Hudson.  "Thank you for taking care of him.  He's crap at taking care of himself."

"I'm not-"

"Yes you are, dear."  Mrs. Hudson links arms with Liv and leads her up the stairs.  "Oh, John will be so pleased to meet you, and the Inspector should be here later-"

Liv looks over the woman's shoulder at Sherlock who is following, trying to look completely innocent.  She glares at him.  He shrugs his shoulders and gives her a bit of a grin that causes her to sigh and just face what she knows could potentially be a dangerous, albeit hilarious, evening.

++||++||++||++||++

About six months into their appointments she has a client with a short fuse of a temper, who likes to grab and shove her against a wall and fuck into her until he comes with a shout.  Her back aches, her head aches, and her jaw hurts by the end of the night.  She considers postponing or cancelling her appointment with Sherlock the next day; instead she swallows a handful of aspirin and covers the bruises on her wrists with makeup.

Sherlock claims he wants to just talk this time, which she is too grateful for to question.  They lay out on the bed of the hotel (with an H) for the entire time just talking, him telling her about his latest case with a bank and a gang of ginger thieves, and how he noticed the hollow tones in the sidewalk that changed between blocks.  She only catches his eyes on her wrists at the end of the appointment and adds casually that she should really not wear her bracelets too tightly.

The look he gives her indicates he really thinks she can't be that stupid, and she just adds that she's tired from a long night of studying.  He figured out ages ago she also goes to school part-time.

He kisses her on his way out, his lips lingering, and she fights a hiss because her mouth still hurts.

Two days later her employer tells her that the bastard of a client's wife sent in the payment for his next scheduled appointment and to cancel any he has in the future; he'll be too poor from alimony payments and hospital bills to afford companionship.  Apparently the day she found out a car mugging went wrong.

Liv sees Sherlock two weeks later and spends the afternoon "experimenting" with how gentle he can be, kisses to her wrists and at the end resting his head over her heart.

She tells herself it has to be a coincidence.

++||++||++||++||++

She meets John the flatmate, who almost drops his eggnog glass when she walks in and bursts out a, "Good God, you do exist!" then gets scolded by Mrs. Hudson.  Liv accepts his awkward apology with a gracious question about how the surgery is working for him (and she congratulates herself on remembering Janie telling her last week about the flatmate).  After some chattering and Sherlock being forced to play the violin for them, she finds herself in a corner with a girl that keeps staring at her with this look on her face until Liv finally asks, "Can I help you?"

"Sherlock's dating you."

"I'm Elena, yes."  Liv addes politely, "I didn't catch your name."

"Molly Hooper.  I work in the morgue with Sherlock."  She bites at her lower lip and glances over to where Sherlock is scratching out "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." "He never mentioned you to me."

"Right, Molly..."  Sherlock never mentions people in the morgue but Liv recalls him catching himself before mentioning the 'morgue assistant' and hastily cutting his stories short with kisses he's learned to take her breath away.

Across the room Sherlock meets her eyes, and she catches a small tremor in his hands.  The last time she saw him play, she was wrapped in a sheet and he was looking out the window, absently running his bow across the strings, his face utterly calm and relaxed... She forces herself to look over at Molly, whose mouth turns down at the corner.

"How did you do it?"

"Pardon?"

"Get him."  Molly clutches at her glass of eggnog.  Her eyes sparkle a bit, and Liv realizes with alarm that Molly does not have a head for alcohol of any kind, and she is possibly about to break into tears.  "How did you get him?"

"Here now," Liv wraps an arm around the girl's shoulder and escorts her quickly into the kitchen.  Sherlock abruptly stops playing, but she hears Mrs. Hudson's voice pleading for another tune and John cajoling, and reluctantly the strains of "For Unto Us" by Handel reaches her ears.  She forces the young woman to sit down on one of the chairs, picks up a towel and quickly wipes at Molly's eyes.  "None of that."

"I've wanted him for ages and you show up and he's-" Molly hiccups and Liv shushes her gently.

"Sherlock's not someone you can have," Liv finds herself saying slowly, kneeling to help calm Molly down.  "He lets people in if he wants to.  And he doesn't really let me in as much as you think he does."

"I know he does."  Molly swallows.  "You think it's just random you're here at the Christmas party?"

Liv hesitates at that, wonders what she could say.  Instead she helps Molly fix her makeup.

"I'm being so silly," Molly mutters but looks dejected.  "And you're clever, like him, aren't you?"

"Well, I like to think I'm somewhat intelligent."  Dates men she knows she won't be happy with, falls for unavailable men - Liv knows her type.  "And you can do better than waiting around for Sherlock.  Here," Liv pulls out her lipstick and dabs a bit on Molly's lower lip, tucks the girl's hair back into a loose knot and adjusts her top.  "Don't be so obvious.  Men like a bit of mystery, and you've got a lot going for you."

Molly blinks at her in surprise.

"Just try it."  Liv gives her an encouraging smile although she wonders how this girl even thought Sherlock would notice her that way.  He obviously doesn't commit to anyone, and he hires a woman for whatever sexual urges he gets in the name of experimenting.

"Molly."  Both of them look up to see John standing in the doorway, holding Molly's coat.  

Molly manages a shaky smile as Liv helps her to her feet.  “I took a late shift today.  Thank you for the reminder...”

The girl lets Liv and John help her into her coat then John escorts her down the stairs.  By that point Sherlock has entered the kitchen, strain around his eyes, and Liv smiles at him before letting him take her hands, leaning in with his forehead against hers.  He inhales and kisses the tip of her nose.

"Sorry.  I didn't realize-"

"No harm done."  She squeezes his hand as she adds, "Although we're going to talk about how you didn't tell me about this."

"Why would it be a problem for you to be my date?"  He sounds genuinely perplexed.

"Sherlock, you can't-"

"What?"  He leans in, noses her cheek before kissing her softly, his tongue darting out to taste the lipgloss she applied in the taxi on the way over.  Her fingers interlace with his, they move until her back hits the fridge and his other hand moves to her hip, sliding down-

"Uh, Sherlock?  Elena?"

A muttered curse escapes him as he breaks his lips from Liv's, but he looks over to where John is standing in the doorway.  "Yes?" he bites out.

"Sorry but Mrs. Hudson is asking and you don't want her to come in here.  She'll start planning your wedding."

"Sounds like my mum," Liv lies and smiles at John, who shakes his head before walking out.  She kisses Sherlock's throat and pushes him lightly.  "You're really awful at parties, aren't you?  I'd think your mother would have taught you better."

"If she did I've erased it."  But he smiles, raises their joined hands to his mouth to kiss her knuckles before guiding her into the main room.

The only awkward moment occurs when DI Lestrade asks her what she does, and she hesitates before mentioning that she's a student.  When she mentions criminal justice it triggers tales about university and John adds stories about people the men all know from St. Bart's.  Liv watches the way Lestrade twists his wedding band absently around his finger, as if hesitating.  Sherlock, who joined her side the moment Lestrade walked in as if to deter any catch of illegal from her, mutters something about Lestrade's cheating wife.

She manages to catch Lestrade on his way out and gives him a suggestion that makes his eyes almost fall out of his head but she winks before returning to Sherlock's side.

At the end of the evening, John announces that he has a date with his girlfriend and escorts Mrs. Hudson to her part of the house, winking at Liv over the woman's shoulder.  Liv turns to Sherlock and crosses her arms over her chest, watching him watch them leave.

"Subtle."

"John's never exactly been one for subtlety."  Sherlock actually pulls her over into his lap, kisses her while murmuring, "Thank you, Elena..."

When she wakes up in the morning in his empty bedroom, an envelope is tucked into her folded clothes.  She blinks at it, realizing belatedly they never even discussed rates for the evening last  night.

The thought didn’t even cross her mind.  

It doesn’t worry her as much as it should.

++||++||++||++||++

“Tell me it feels good.”  His voice sounds pleading from between her legs, and Liv presses the hazy of arousal back enough to lift her head and look at him.

“Yes, Sherlock, it feels perfect.”  Her fingertips brush over his cheekbones.  “Please, don’t stop.”

The moment it takes him to comprehend her telling the truth passes quickly, and he actually grins at her before pressing a kiss to her thigh and returning his mouth to her core.  His lips and tongue gain assurance, and soon she curls her hands into his hair, clutches hard enough to probably bring tears to his eyes, as she falls apart.

++||++||++||++||++

Two days later Sherlock sends a text to her work phone informing her that Lestrade has announced she's the best thing that ever happened to Sherlock.  Don't want to know what you suggested.  SH.

With amusement she texts back,

What you don't like my ideas?  E

I have several ideas of my own. When can I see you again?  SH

++||++||++||++||++

"You all right?" Liv watches his face as he tries to catch his breath, eyes closed, and a faint smile on his lips.  It never lasts too long the first time, but he made a valiant effort, trying to learn what he could before losing control.

Sherlock's eyes open and he contemplates her.  "I have not injured myself to the point of concern nor does the exertion bring about any unusual ailments upon my person-"

"Sherlock."  Her eyebrow raises.

"I'm fine."  His hand slides over to her shoulder as he adds quietly, "Thank you."

"What? I didn't do anything."  She starts to move, to get up and get her clothes, but he catches her.

"Elena."

"Hmm?"

Suddenly she's on her back and his face is inches from hers as he whispers against her mouth, "I've been told that for a gift this incredible I must reciprocate."

++||++||++||++||++

Sherlock holds the cuffs with one finger, watching her face with a contemplative look as she leans against the dresser across from the bed.  At the Dorchester again, a different room, but still as lavish and with a four-poster bed and canopy.  She has a feeling Sherlock requested this one on purpose.

"Don't tell me you're afraid," he drawls, and she rolls her eyes.

Restraints mean the inability to get up and leave if things go south.  Restraints mean a trust that she shouldn't have for a client, for someone who she doesn't know that well...

"Elena, we don't have to."  He puts them down, but she sees the frown threatening the corners of his mouth.  "It was just an idea-"

"I'm really not supposed to do this," but she sighs and steps into his arms, lets him pull her to straddle his legs as she kisses his jawline then his temple.  She never shows this level of intimacy with any of her other clients, never lets them act like this.

"So it that a yes?"

"I take it this is for research?" she teases and he nods after a moment then mouths at her shoulder.

"Clothes off."  She allows him to help remove her shirt and lays back onto the bed, his hands moving to her arms.

Their lips meet, him melting into her touch, and she lets him guide her arm toward the bedpost.

"Been wanting this for ages, Liv..."

Everything inside of her screeches to a halt.

"Sherlock, get off me."

He stops and looks down, confused.  "What-"

"Get off me, now."  She shoves him off, rolls off the bed and hurries to her feet, grabbing her shirt and backing away.

"Elena, what's wr-"

"You called me Liv."  She knows he cannot deny it, the way he blinks and turns from confused to a blank slate.  "How the hell did you know my real name?"

"I..." Sherlock adjusts his shirt, smooths a hand down his pants.  "It was..."

"Don't tell me it was John's or Mrs. Hudson's idea.  I know you didn't tell them about me."  If he had, she knows neither of them would have been nearly as kind to her.  "You're my client , Sherlock!"

"No I'm not!" He shoots up to his feet, his hands clenched in fists.  "I've never been just that and you've never just been this to me!"  He towers over her, something dark in his eyes, and she forces herself to not back away.  "You've taken up this space in my brain to the point I can't even do my work properly!  It kills me, knowing every time you're not with me you're with someone else who doesn't even give a fraction of a damn about you like I do."

"How did-"

"It was simple," he spits out, "or should have been.  Took me two months to figure out where to look."

Her phone.  She let him use her phone, two months ago exactly...

And she handed him the basic key to unlocking her identity.  Only two months for Sherlock but if it was easy for him... anyone could find out... the police, Lestrade, her entire world crashing...

"Stay away from me."  Liv grabs her jacket and pulls out the envelope he handed to her at the beginning, throwing it at his chest.  "Don't call, don't follow me, don't look  for me, Sherlock.  Just don't!"  She hurries out the door and straight for the stairs, not risking him following her in the elevator.

Her chest aches but she runs; she absently hears him shouting her name, both real and fake, and she tells herself the sting in her eyes is from the exertion.

++||++||++||++||++

This job is much more risky, alcohol-fueled in a club that thumps with heavy metal pulses and she accepts less than half of what she usually charges.  They move to the trash-filled alleyway.  She buries her face in the brick facade and lets the sweaty, stale-smelling animal of a person shove into her, grunting and rutting into her back.  It hurts, it hurts so damn much and she tells herself this is what she wants.  She wants all remains of Sherlock gone.

When her client shoves the money in her pocket and stumbles back into the club she leans against the wall and breathes slowly, in through her nose, out through her mouth...

She ignores the security camera that follows her out the alley and down to the Tube station.

++||++||++||++||++

" Just one more client ," Charlene convinces her a week later.  " He's paying triple, Liv, triple! "  Liv can almost hear the cha-ching of dollar signs in her employer's eyes.

"You sure it's not him?" she asks after a moment, and Charlene huffs out a breath.

" No, but he's called plenty of times.  Do you need me to call the cops on him?  There's a seargent who owes me a favor ..."

Liv fights a smile at the concern in the older woman's voice.  "No, don't do that.  I'll take the appointment."

"I wish you weren't retiring," Charlene sighs and Liv hangs up on her.  Two minutes later her phone buzzes with the text of location.

Two hours later, Liv smooths down her skirt and knocks on the door, glad she dressed up a little bit again.  The door opens and a young woman with a Blackberry in hand gestures for her to enter.  Liv examines the girl quickly - no ring, bored look to eyes, thumbs moving over keyboard, assistant who thinks her boss is an idiot but still loves her job - and smiles.

"I believe your boss is expecting me."

"This way," the girl motions for Liv to follow.  They walk through the sitting room into a lavish suite, where a man in a suit is casually sprawled across the couch, an umbrella perched against the cushion next to him.  Liv fights a laugh at how uncomfortable he really looks and wonders why he would call for a prostitute when he straightens.

"Ah, Elena, correct?"  She tilts her head.  "That is, after all, the name you prefer to go by while... working."

"I'll be outside, sir," the girl murmurs behind her and ducks out.

"Do you know who I am?" the man continues as he stands, hands in his pockets.

Expensive suit cut, no ring, that familiar smirk - "Fuck."  Liv steps back with her eyes narrowing.  "Sherlock's brother."

"Mycroft Holmes.  So he's mentioned me.  Interesting."

"If it makes you feel better, he's usually telling me what a prick you are."  She uses the casual, crude term to watch his face twist into a scowl.  "What do you want?"

"I want to discuss your relationship with Sherlock."

"You're a bit behind the times, then.  Sherlock is no longer my client."  Liv crosses her arms across her chest.  "Considering how all-powerful he thinks you are, this is quite disappointing, Mr. Holmes."

"Oh I'm aware of what happened last week."  Mycroft eyes her like an insect under a microscope and she fights the urge to kick him in the shins and run for it.  "Sherlock seems to be more upset than he was with the Adler woman over you."  Her face stays composed but he chuckles.  "Ah, he didn't tell you about her then... I suppose he thought he should get his blasted virginity out of the way and is too immature to know when someone has been paid to care rather than genuinely feeling toward him."

"Sherlock isn't like that."  Liv loses her battle with her mouth.  "He knows that John and Mrs. Hudson care about him, and he tries to show it in his own way.  Maybe he just gets an itch like any other man now that he knows what it feels like.  It's more convenient for him, maybe.  But don't insult his intelligence."

Mycroft watches her as she speaks, his expression never changing, until she finishes.  He then nods slowly.  "I thought so."

"Thought what?" she snaps.

"Despite your words to my brother you genuinely do care about him.  And for some reason my brother seems to return the sentiment."  Mycroft sits down and pulls up a briefcase she hadn't noticed, lays it on the table next to him.  "Do have a seat, Ms. Chasen."

"Stalking may not be illegal in the UK, Mr. Holmes, but harassment is."

He inclines his head in acknowledgement.  "I assure you, I have no interest in further communication with you after today."  He opens the briefcase, displaying rows upon rows of British pound notes.  Liv stares at the pile of fifty pound notes, filling the case to the brim.  "In fact, I would be eternally thankful if today is your last communication with the Holmes family.  My brother may not realize it but we have a reputation to uphold."

"And you're only coming to me now?"

"Before last week, I saw you as no threat - maybe a passing fancy of my brother's, a fascination considering your skills at reading people.  You aren't nearly as observant as my brother but then again, nobody is."  He shakes his head.  "You, however, have proven to be a distraction he cannot afford."

Liv's nails dig into her palms.  "I haven't communicated with Sherlock."

"Yes, and according to your employer you have quit your job, decided to go to school full time.  I applaud this.  The justice system, and perhaps the government, will be grateful for a young woman of your skills."  Mycroft taps on the lid of the case.  "Consider this a scholarship."

"Thank you."  Mycroft starts to close the case when she adds, "But no thank you."

Mycroft pauses.  Good, she's surprised him.  "This is over ten thousand British pound notes."

"And if you offer it to me again I'll take the suitcase and hit you upside the head with it.  Potential lawsuit be damned."  Liv holds his gaze, her jaw tightening.

"Ms. Chasen-"

"I'll stay away from Sherlock.  I have every intention of doing so.  But I won't do it for your money."  She almost spits out the word, her mouth souring.  "Good day, Mr. Holmes."

She storms out and only narrowly avoids hitting his assistant in the face with the door on her way out.

She fails to see his contemplative expression as she exits the room, nor the soft, "I told you so," from his assistant.

++||++||++||++||++

Liv accepts a full class load at the end of the month for the summer term, and plans on the same hours for the fall.  She cancels her phone and gets a new number, sells the more expensive of her Elena clothes, donates the rest, and moves to a tiny apartment in the East End area.

In the back of her closet there is still a pool of blue-green silk she pretends accidentally did not make it to the donation pile.

When not in classes she works at a small cafe with the best coffee near the university.  It pays crap and her back and feet hurt at the end of the day, but she can study when it's slow and when she gets home she collapses on her bed in a dreamless sleep.  The drinks are supposedly complicated and she masters them within two weeks.

One of her coworkers, a nice boy named Ian, asks her out the third week.  She declines, asks him if they can just be friends for now.  It only stays awkward for a day until he asks out the delivery girl.

All in all, it works perfectly for her and she feels the tension in her chest loosen day after day.

Halfway through September she is chatting with Ian about the smoking bans and teases him about wanting to quit for his girlfriend rather than health reasons when she hears someone say, "Elena?"

She turns automatically and finds John Watson standing on the other side of her register, a rolled up newspaper under his arm and Mrs. Hudson at his elbow.  Oh hell ... she swallows hard and manages an innocent expression.  "I'm sorry?"

"You should be!" Mrs. Hudson almost snarls at her, and Liv winces.  "Shame on you, abandoning Sherlock like that, leaving him inconsolable-"

"I'm sorry," Ian steps forward and crosses his arms over his chest to look intimidating.  Liv would laugh at him, trying to put the fear of God into a man who served two campaigns in Afghanistan, if the situation wasn't so horrible.  "You've got the wrong person.  Liv-"

"A hustler then!" Mrs. Hudson shrieks.  Several heads turn in their directions.

"I'm not-"

"Mrs. Hudson, why don't you get us a table?" John interrupts, his voice calm.  Mrs. Hudson huffs and glares at Liv once more before storming off to a corner.  Liv sighs.

"Thanks..."

John's face looks severe, however.  "It is you, right?  Sherlock's Elena?"

"Yes."  There's no point in denying it.  "Green tea with honey and milk?  I'm guessing you're on a health kick again."  She ignores his startled look as she rings him up.

The momentary distraction doesn't work, however.  "What happened between you two?"  She silently adds a cookie to his tray without charging him as thanks for not asking why she goes by another name now.  "Sherlock's been... He takes every case he gets now, even the obvious boring ones.  He won't talk about it but I know he's hurting."

"I'm a private person.  He pushed."  Liv hands him the tray.  "Tell Mrs. Hudson I'm sorry?"

"What about Sherlock?" John asks, not moving.  "You know what he's like, probably better than we did.  He was better around you, more human."

"I..." That knot in her chest clenches hard, making it harder to breathe.  "It's complicated."

"Can you at least talk to him?  He doesn't understand boundaries that well.  If you talked-"

"Maybe."  She catches sight of an item sticking out of his newspaper, frowns and tilts her head to examine the face.  She knows that face.  "What is Jim doing in your newspaper?"

"Ji- You know him?"

"Barely.  He... one of the girls I used to work with dated him once."  She doesn't add that Mimi was petrified of him, that he switches girls every time and Charlene finally refused to provide another companion for him.  That had been right before Liv got out.  "Why?"

John leans in and asks, his voice low, "How much do you know?"

"What did he do?"

The doctor's jaw tightens and he finally says, "He's tried to kill Sherlock a few times."

Liv's heart stops beating for a moment.  "Do you have Lestrade's number?"

++||++||++||++||++

Six months after she quit, Liv wakes up in the middle of the night to find herself on the left side, not the center.  She places her palm flat over the empty space and lets tears fall for the first time, shaking her frame and the small bed until she falls back asleep.

++||++||++||++||++

"Wow," Ian comments as they watch the small TV on the wall.  "Can you believe there's still toms in London in this day and age?"

"There's prostitutes no matter where you go," Marge, their boss, sniffs.

Liv stays silent, watching the man being dragged out of a cheap office building in the West End in his underthings and a thin shirt, swearing and flailing at the officers holding his arms.  Businessman James Moriarty at At Heart of Prostitution Ring , the caption underneath scrolls.

The chatter turns to the next news item, something about Pippa Middleton and Robert Pattinson supposedly now dating or something equally ridiculous.

Her phone buzzes and Liv pulls it out to read on the display: Thank you.  JW .

A smile curves over her face before she returns her attention to ringing up a woman for three hot chocolates.  

++||++||++||++||++

"That's Sherlock Holmes!"  Janie giggles behind her hands and Liv rolls her eyes before stepping out of the office where the famous detective is standing, examining the room without a clear expression on his face.   

"Can I help you, sir?"

He turns to face her, a mildly surprised look on his face.  "I need to see your records regarding a client, from the date of March 12th-"

"What makes you think he's one of our clients?"  She crosses her arms over her chest, skeptical.

Most men would glance down at the cleavage now showing from her top (and oh how she hates Charlene for requiring risque dress) but his eyes stay on hers.  "Middle aged businessman wanting a clean affair without his wife finding out, his office is a mere ten blocks from here, but he wasn't a risk taker.  He'd want a guarantee of no trouble following him..." He continues while Liv uncrosses her arms, gestures behind her back.  "So," once he finishes his observations, "may I see-"

"Here."  Janie walks up to her, still giggling, and hands him the folder, already photocopied.  "We figured when Robert didn't keep his appointment that something happened."

"Ah."  Sherlock takes the file and pauses.  "Do you know who-"

"I know who you are, Mr. Holmes."

After a moment he nods.  "And you are...?"

"Elena."  She gives him a smile, although it does not reach her eyes.  She has an appointment in twenty minutes across the river.  "Now if I'm not mistaken, the police will probably be here in about ten minutes, since you probably lead them here.  We'd appreciate it if no fuss occurs."

He nods again and slides the folder into his coat, adding, "If I-"

"Call and make an appointment.  You know our number."  She turns and walks back into the office for her abandoned cup of tea.

By the end of the evening Charlene calls her with the news that she has a new client...

++||++||++||++||++

 
She takes the Tube home at the same time as usual, the wind slightly colder as winter approaches.  She has a small burn on her upper arm from a coffee pot placed in the wrong spot and her knee aches from banging into a counter, but she should be graduating at the end of the semester.  And she feels blessedly content for once.

Then she turns the corner and sees someone standing outside her building with a long dark coat.

No.  Liv pauses and looks over her shoulder in the direction of the Tube.  If she hurries she can catch the next train and spend the night at Charlene's, drinking to the woman's job switch to C.I. for the Met.  It's the smart, safe thing to do.

"I told you to leave me alone," Liv says as she reaches her bottom step.  Sherlock looks up from his phone, straightens.

"Considering this is the first time I've tried to communicate with you in the past six months, four days and-" He glances at his watch, "two hours, I think it would indicate I have left you alone."  His face, however, holds no trace of the usual confidence (read: arrogance) she recalls from that time ago.  Instead he looks tired, unsure.

"My sources told me otherwise."  He grimaces and acknowledges the truth of her statement with a nod.  "How did you find me?"

"The same way I found out your name.  I took observations and let them lead me to the right conclusions."  He pauses, looks down at his feet before adding, "I wouldn't... but Mrs. Hudson said... She indicated..."

Damn it.  One of her conditions had been that John never tell Sherlock but she had never dreamed Mrs. Hudson...

"She said that... perhaps I should contact you."  Sherlock looks up at her, and for a moment Liv sees the boy he once was, the one who tried to tell the grown-ups about Carl's shoes and threw all of his attention into his observations, alone and so eager for praise over his brains, before Mycroft and the rest of the world made him shun any relationships.  "That it would be a good idea."

"And what do you observe?" she asks, the words harsher than she wants them to be.  Just go away, please go away.

"That you're hoping I didn't figure out you're behind Moriarty's arrest."

That too.  "Who?  Oh, was that the businessman on the television today?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Liv, I know how smart you are."  He pauses.  "The signs were all there... the new C.I. of Lestrade's, Mrs. Hudson and John suddenly so secretive around me... and the charges are insulting to Moriarty, but now the police have grounds to go through everything.  And they'll find it, eventually; they're not completely useless."

"Be nice," she automatically intones, and he smiles at that.

"Fine... they're just not as good as I am."  She rolls her eyes at that, and he takes a step toward her.  "You know what else I observe?"

"That I'm about to shove you off the steps and go get some sleep?" she asks.

"You knew I was right, before.  You felt the same way I do about you.  You still do."

"That's very presumptuous of you."

"But right."  He steps in front of her before she can put her key in the lock and leans in, their foreheads touching.  "Liv."

"So what?" She forces her breathing to stay calm.  No point in denying it.  "I'm still the hooker."

"Why do you think I picked you?  Because you would sleep with me?"  It sounds silly when he says it but she still looks down at her feet.  "If I wanted sex I could have chosen a random woman on the street ages ago."

"I heard you had a specific offer you almost took."  Thanks again for that, Mycroft, she thinks bitterly.

"Irene?"  He huffs at that and Liv tries to push him out of the way again.  Instead he grasps her arm carefully and leans closer, their foreheads touching as she closes her eyes.

"Sherlock, please let go of me."

"Do you think I like this?  Having so much of my hard drive occupied by you?"  He clenches his jaw.  "And knowing that you're holding yourself back because of some stupid... outdated... sense of nobility about me?"

"Nobility?  You?"  It hurts, it hurts so much to be this close to him and remember before, remember hours with him learning how to touch and please and what he likes, and knowing he has no obligation to her.  "I have no illusions about you, Sherlock."

"But you do.  You think that I'm unable to focus on more than one thing at a time, that I only saw you because I needed to get sex out of my system before finishing a case.  You thought I didn't care."

"I was your first," she reminds him.  "It's natural to idealize-"

"Someone who can observe people almost as well as I can?  Who takes that and knows how to make them feel stronger?"  Sherlock's mouth touches her temple, lingers.  "Molly now has a boyfriend in the precinct, one who actually likes her back.  You know when he started noticing her?  After your little chat at Christmas."

"He would have noticed eventually-"

"John says I act more human around you, I notice people's feelings.  I actually try to take them into consideration."

She dares to look up into his eyes and the expression soothes her, causes her to meet his face.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, "for looking up your name.  I just... I knew, when you weren't with me, that you had other clients.  It never really bothered me until that one..." His jaw tightens and she remembers his kisses on her injured wrists, and the gentler, softer touches.  "And then I kept wondering, each client we had that was obviously cheating on his wife, what if he had been with you?  I needed something they didn't have."

"So you looked up my name.  That still doesn't explain how you knew everyone calls me Liv."

Sherlock actually rolls his eyes at that.  "You would hate being called Olivia by anyone.  That's what your mother calls you, she seems to be the type that insists on it considering she named your older sister Perpetua.  Liv is a nickname that would suit you."

"You really actually cared."

"Of course I cared!"  He sounds impatient.  "Do you really think I would have brought you to my home if I didn't care about you?  If I didn't lo-"

Liv kisses him before he can say another word, and a second later Sherlock's arms lock around her, clinging, as he returns her kiss with the same fervor.  Between the two of them they manage to unlock the door to her building, get to her room in one piece, and the moment her flat door is locked behind Sherlock's back she shoves his coat off as he tries to remove her jacket.

++||++||++||++||++

"So have you decided?"  Liv lifts her head from where it's resting on Sherlock's shoulder to meet his gaze.  He looks amused, his fingers running over her back absently.

"Decided what?"

"If you're going to order me to vacate the premises."

"Maybe later."  She smiles, kisses him just because that smirk is asking for it.  He leans into her touch, his mouth melding into hers as his hand tights over her, pulling her onto him.  She straddles his body, her hair falling to curtain around his face.  "How insufferable is John going to be about this?"

"Extremely."  Sherlock nips at her lower lip.  "Please don't talk about my flatmate right now."

"All right."  Liv lets him steal another kiss and is contemplating whether or not to see if he's up for another round when Sherlock breaks his mouth from hers and hesitates.

"Liv..."

"Yes?" She kisses his jaw.

"You aren't working anymore.  Not there, anyway."  He buries a face in her hair and inhales.  "Cafe now, but after..."

"I quit after what happened with us."  He might figure out about that one mistake, that one attempt to shake him out of her system one day, but neither of them will ever be perfect.  He'll go behind her back and she'll refuse to confirm details for him, but they might actually make this work, might actually move past favored client and the courtesan, might be more than the awful plot of a French novel.

He exhales sharply, an arm wrapping around her waist tightly.  "I don't want to share."

"I know."  Their lips meet again.  "You won't, not this."  She hears his phone buzz from his coat across the room; his work calling him away probably.

Sherlock groans and tightens his arms.  "Not now , Lestrade," he grouses.

"Can't leave your work waiting."  Liv moves off of him, wrapping the sheet around her as he climbs out of the tangle and searches for his clothes.  Once he sees the screen on his phone, he lets out a small happy sound before hurrying to pull his underwear and trousers on.  He pauses while buttoning his shirt, contemplating her.  "What?"

"You've seen some sordid things."

"Hazard of my old job."

"Possibly violence."

"More than enough," she agrees.

A small smile plays on his lips.  "Want to see more?"  His eyes sparkle at her.

Liv hurries to grab her clothes and get changed, Sherlock pulling out his phone and texting back for the address.

++||++||++||++||++

One year exactly after that horrible day when she quit, Liv wakes up in an empty bed.  She yawns, stretches before opening her eyes to find daylight streaming in the one window and a single note on the pillow next to her.

Missing - one Sherlock Holmes
Will be returned by the evening hopefully in condition found.
Sorry, Liv - Lestrade

She climbs out of bed then borrows Sherlock's dressing gown; it billows around her and she has to wrap the sash around her waist twice before she pats down to the kitchen to find John sitting with the newspaper, a cup of tea waiting at Sherlock's usual spot.

"Sherlock texted, said you'd be up by now."  John glances over the edge of the paper.  "Lestrade also texted.  He wants you to take that internship at the station."

"You mean he wants me to babysit Sherlock."  Liv adds two sugars to her tea and blows across the top.

"Tomayto, tomahto," John mutters as he returns his attention to his paper.

Liv curls up in the chair and sips her tea, reading the front of the newspaper while John absently flips pages and holds it higher for her.  After a while she asks, "How was your date last night with, um..."

"Margaret," he reminds her behind the paper.

"Right, Margaret."

"We broke up."

"Ah."  Liv sips her tea, smiling to herself.  Won that bet at least; Sherlock won't be too thrilled.  He had bet her another week before John finally called it quits with this one.

"Don't say it," comes from the other side of the paper.

"Wouldn't dream of it."  She finishes her tea and unfurls from the chair with a sigh.  "When did Lestrade-"

"About," John checks his watch, "two hours ago."

"And how was Sherlock?"

"Happy as a clam.  Apparently severed heads showing up in gardens."  John tilts the paper to meet her eyes as he adds, "No offense, Liv, but some of us really wonder what you see in him."

"That's for me to know and you to find out," she only replies before heading up to take a shower before heading back to her flat.  "If Sherlock texts, tell him I'm heading back to my place after I shower?"  She hears John's assent halfway up the steps.

She misses the soft buzz from his phone and his careful texting back.

After showering she puts on a spare set of clothes Sherlock kidnapped from her flat last month; he claims he needed it for a case regarding a swatch of cloth found near a missing woman's house but Liv notices none of the garments show holes from his experimenting.  On her way down the stairs she hears Mrs. Hudson's happy whispering and John's low voice in return and clears her throat when she enters the kitchen,

"Oh, Olivia, good morning, dear!"  Mrs. Hudson kisses her on the cheek and Liv fights the urge to correct the woman again on using her full first name.  It's a losing battle.  "Did you sleep well?"

"Very well."  After Sherlock wore her out.  Liv realizes from how John looks at her neck then hurriedly returns to his paper, ears turning red, that she might have a bruise on her throat that she forgot about.  She'll blame Sherlock later.

"Mycroft called," John says as he turns a page in his paper.  "Wants you and Sherlock to join him for dinner."

"Again?"  After Sherlock found out about Mycroft's attempt at bribing Liv all those months ago, the relationship between the two Holmes brothers has been frigid, to put it kindly.  Once a month Mycroft attempts a gesture of reconciliation with dinner, although Sherlock informs her it's more to try and embarrass Liv with the grandeur Mycroft believes the Holmes family should aspire to.

When Sherlock told Mycroft to go to hell, Baker Street lost power for two full days.  Sherlock simply moved his sensitive experiments to Liv's flat.

"Plans for today?" Mrs. Hudson asks as she starts cleaning the kitchen.

"Just more job-hunting."  Liv accepts the classifieds from John and then grabs her bag from next to the door.  She reaches for her phone, checks the messages.

Pretending to deduct. Anderson annoying. Miss you. SH

If Anderson's body should disappear will you be alibi? SH

What prisons allow conjugal visits? SH

"Lestrade didn't call asking if we've seen Anderson, has he?" Liv asks as she flips through the messages.  John pauses and lowers his paper.  "Never mind, I'm sure Sherlock's kidding."

"Or hid the body too well.  He'd consider it his civic duty."

"He wouldn't be that far from it," Liv mutters.  Anderson now treats her with the same cold condescension he uses toward Sherlock, ever since that first crime scene and she informed him when he would not take a hint that she was with Sherlock.  Anderson's badge now collects dust in Sherlock's collection of pilfered police items, with a set of devil's horns marked around the lettering by Sharpie.

John manages to hide his laughter behind a coughing fit, and Mrs. Hudson gives her a scolding look.  "Olivia, if you wouldn't mind I'd actually like some help today..."

Liv hesitates.  She has no plans for the day but she had hoped to maybe celebrate her anniversary of quitting the agency with him; then again, who knew how long he would be at the scene with Lestrade or wandering around London with his new assignment.  If she wasn't so secure Liv would feel like another woman compared to Sherlock's work.

"Sure, Mrs. Hudson."  Liv puts her bag back down and tucks her phone into her pocket after she sends a quick text back to Sherlock.

No killing Anderson. I don't have the money for bail.  LC.

Halfway down the stairs her phone buzzes and she opens it.

If you weren't so bloody gorgeous and convincing... SH

Mrs. Hudson asks her at the bottom of the steps if she's feeling all right, considering her face has gone red, and then smiles knowingly when she sees Liv hastily shove the phone back into her pocket.

++||++||++||++||++

Irene Adler actually stops by one day when Sherlock has been less than an hour gone, Liv having woken up to Sherlock's mouth against hers and him whispering about a text from Lestrade before disappearing into the cold dawn.  Liv answers the door wearing one of Sherlock's shirts and jeans slung low on her hips, her hair falling down her back.  She recognizes the Woman before either one speaks; in a cruel curiosity she had looked up Adler on the Internet when Mycroft told Liv about her history with Sherlock.

The cold perfection Adler is trying to intimidate her with only amuses her.  "You really show up at six in the am looking like that?" Liv asks, leaning against her door frame.

Adler's mouth twitches and she looks Liv over thoroughly from head to toe, pausing at the pedicure peeking out from under her jeans - her one guilty pleasure she's kept from the old days.  "So you're the one Sherlock has decided on."

"Can I help you, Ms. Adler?"

"And you know who I am."  Adler's eyes focus on Liv's mouth, still slightly swollen from Sherlock earlier.  She takes a step forward, her hand moving to touch Liv's jawline.  "No longer the Virgin, I hear."

"Nice to know you aren't dead," Liv drawls.

"He didn't tell you-"

"About your fake beheading?  Mm, he might have mentioned it."  And hadn't that conversation been awkward, comparing former relationships and Sherlock wanting to know how many men before her job.  "What do you want, Ms. Adler?"

"I want to see the third woman in Sherlock's life."  Adler leans in, actually brushes her lips over Liv's.  "How sweet, she doesn't flinch."

"Third woman?" Liv asks, not moving into Adler's touch or away.  She only holds Adler's gaze.

"Sherlock seems to only know three types of women - me, you, and every other woman in existence."  Her hand drops when she realizes she cannot intimidate and she instead smiles, all teeth as she adds, "If only you were willing to share..."

"You think he'd even like that?"  Liv wonders if this woman ever even knew the same Sherlock.

"With the two of us, how could he refuse?"

"Talk it over with Sherlock, I'm busy."  Liv actually shuts the door in Adler's face, takes a deep breath and returns to her studying for her finals.

When she meets up with Sherlock at Baker Street that night, he leads her straight to his room and proceeds to make her forget her own name, let alone any Irene Adlers in the world.  When she comes down from her high, his head resting on her heaving chest, he whispers, "Thank you."

She never asks what for.

++||++||++||++||++

Mrs. Hudson manages to keep Liv distracted until around noon with baking and general cleaning around the flat.  Every hour or so Sherlock texts Liv some question about something, or just a declaration of how brilliant he is.  The latter she ignores but otherwise she replies, and Mrs. Hudson teases her with small comments that actually make Liv flush.

God, she's never flushed for any other man she's been with.  She hopes Sherlock hasn't caught that but knowing him he has and is very smug about it.  Damn him.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket.  Liv pulls it out and glances at the message then blinks, reads it again, wonders if she's misreading Sherlock.

Eleven months, thirty days, two hours and eleven minutes... SH

She glances at her watch then over at where Mrs. Hudson is watching her, trying to look engrossed in her rutabaga.  Anniversary but what...?

Think.  SH

Liv pauses for a moment.  Then her breath catches and she realizes what exactly he means, and her fingers tremble enough to almost lose their grip on her phone.  She exhales, looks over at Mrs. Hudson who is smiling and holding out a small envelope.

"Sherlock said you might need this."  She hands it to Liv, who palms it carefully before sliding it into her pocket.  "He'll be expecting you, dear."

"Thank you."  Liv hurries out of the flat to wave down a passing taxi and gives the address to her flat.  On the way she starts combing out her still-drying hair with her fingers, contemplating what exactly she should find at the flat.  She fights a smile as she figures out what will work perfectly, what he'll want to see, and she tips the driver generously once he stops at her flat.

++||++||++||++||++

“Why did you call me again?”  Liv walks past Sherlock, who closes the door to the room behind her.  Thirty days exactly have passed since she last saw the detective, held him in her arms and let him tell her whatever he wanted instead of fucking her.  “You clearly don’t want this-”

“But I think I do.”  

Liv turns in the middle of the room to face him and crosses her arms over her chest.  “You want this.”

“Yes.”

“Okay...  But there are rules.”  He nods.  “If you kiss me on the mouth it’s extra.  No bare-backing.  No restraints, no gags, no blindfolds unless you sign a waiver and it’s still extra.  You pay me up front for the evening, no adding anything to the mix.”

She uses less delicacy than usual.  She knows he can handle it, if he realizes what he’s asking for.

“Anything else?”  He steps closer, his hands dangling at his sides as he looms over her.  Their eyes meet and she nods before adding,

“No asking for my number or offering to walk me home after.  This is business, nothing more.”

“Agreed.”  Sherlock pulls out a thick envelope and hands it to her, adding, “I already took the liberty of procuring your rates from your... manager.”

“Good.  What’s on the bill tonight?”

His lips meet hers, for the second time, and she forces herself to keep her eyes open despite the fireworks that spiral in her head from the assurance he now possesses.  He must have practiced since she last saw him.

“I can work with that.”

++||++||++||++||++

"Don't tell me you're afraid..."  Sherlock lounges on the bed, to the casual observer appearing almost bored, but when Liv leans down to put her bag on the chair nearby she catches how his eyes dart everywhere - he's learned where exactly to look.

She smiles to herself, her hand sliding down blue-green silk that still fits her perfectly.  His eyes follow the movement, a slight glazed look coming to them.  Despite the brain, in this way he's like every man.

And yet like no man she has ever met.

"Who says I'm afraid?" Liv reaches behind, unzips the dress and lets it fall into a watery puddle at her feet before stepping out, the Jimmy Choos still on that mysteriously showed up in lieu of her cheap pumps a few weeks ago.  He holds out a hand and pulls her into his lap, her nuzzling his jaw, his ear, as his hands slide over her back.

Her fingers skim over his shoulders.  He still remains clothed but not for long if she has anything to say about it.  Liv lets him steal her mouth for a kiss.

"You really waited a year for this," Liv marvels against his mouth while his hands wander.  

"I was informed good things come to those who wait."  Sherlock's teeth catch on her lower lip and she sighs, letting him cradle her against his chest and roll them onto the bed, her spread underneath him.  "And Mycroft's too busy covering up this scandal with the heads to care."

Liv lifts her head up from the bed.  "You didn't..."

"They were already dead, they didn't care.  And Lestrade may have owed me a favor."

A laugh escapes her as she runs her fingers through his hair, kissing his chin; he props himself up on one arm and holds up the cuffs again.

"Right... We don't have to-"

"Sherlock, shut up and kiss me."

“I’m afraid it wasn’t in my budget-” He laughs against her mouth when she snatches the cuffs from his hand and covers his lips with hers.  

Finis (for now...)