Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4636908.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_(TV)_RPF
  Relationship:
      Irene_Adler/Sherlock_Holmes
  Character:
      Irene_Adler, Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson, Mycroft_Holmes, Irene_Adler_
      (Sherlock_Holmes)
  Additional Tags:
      Heavy_BDSM, Riding_Crops, Biting, Virgin_Sherlock, BDSM, Oral_Sex
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_Woman
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-23 Completed: 2015-09-11 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 17030
****** Destroying You ******
by LauraRose, xphil98197
Summary
     Sherlock is known for his demons, but they are becoming harder to
     deal with, so in a last ditch attempt, he goes to see 'The Woman' in
     an effort to quiet his mind.
     Or
     Laura: I need new smut to write
     Jess:You would make a great Irene Adler
Notes
     There is mention in here of Irene being abused as a child. I don't
     want there to be the mistaken impression that BDSM implies that there
     is something about someone that needs to be fixed, as FSOG implies.
***** Chapter 1 *****
It had been a week.
One week. Seven days. 168 hours. 10080 Minutes since he had saved her and now
Sherlock Holmes was on her doorstep.
Fear was a strange concept to her, one that she did not entirely hold with, but
she had felt it that night when she had been on her knees. Bloody hell, she had
never been on her knees in her life… and at that point, she had felt fear. She
had felt the mind numbing fear, the knowledge that she would not survive this,
a fear so deep that it had opened her up and threatened to swallow her whole…
And then a dark knight had saved her, saved the fair maiden… and if he could
hear those thoughts in her head, then he would probably die of laughter.
Besides, there was very little about her that was fair.
Fear was written in his face and before she could open her mouth to ask if he
was okay, he turned and stared to walk fast, a pace that she knew was one step
from running.
“Wait! Sherlock!” She called and he froze. She could see the tension in those
shoulders, the shirt clinging to his back in the warmth, despite the fact that
the sun was dropping over southern Italy.
He turned back, one eyebrow raised. He didn't need to say anything, because if
he was the master of reading emotions, she was the mistress. He stood there,
hands in his pockets, still, but thrumming with nervous energy. If she didn't
speak soon, he was going to fun like a frightened horse, nostrils wide, and
eyes calculating.
Her head cocked to the side slowly and there was a feline grace about her. Even
with her hair loose and damp, no make up and little more than a kid thigh robe,
she held the presence, the confidence of someone who knew she was gorgeous. "Do
you want to come in?"
"I-" Sherlock knew what the implications of that were. Now come in and have a
drink. "I shouldn't-" he pulled the Belstaff resolutely around him. "Yes," he
marched past her through the open door.
Irene smiled a little and closed the door behind him, following him into the
front room slowly, bare feet on the wooden floor. "Wine? Water? Juice?"
"Juice," Sherlock declared, going for the most uncommon option to be petulant.
"None of that dreadful frozen stuff I should hope," he sniffed, throwing
himself down on Irene's sofa like he was pouting at Baker Street.
Irene arched an immaculate eyebrow as she stepped out and then came back with
two glasses or fresh orange over ice, set one down before him and dropped in a
chair opposite... And waited.
Sherlock sniffed and took a sip, a look of surprise quickly hidden at the
taste. He sat and stared, rather rudely. He wasn't known for his manners, but
if he kept his eyes on Irene's face, he wouldn't have to think about the
feelings he had about other parts of her.
Irene's expression was calm, one of vague amusement as she watched the war. She
enjoyed watching the war... Watched as suppressed hormones fought to be heard.
If he wanted an introduction into his own body, he would have to ask. Nicely.
Sherlock shifted, growing fidgety. His eyes lit up when he saw the riding crop
lying on the mantle.
"So, people pay you, exorbitant sums, to punish them?"
"Only if they misbehave," she leant forward, taking her glass and ran a finger
around the lip. "Why are you here, Mr Holmes?" She asked and the robe shifted
as she moved.
"I don't know," Sherlock admitted. "I-" he rearranged his limbs and tapped his
fingers impatiently. "This isn't really my area. Its the one thing I know
nothing about."
She shrugged. "What do you want to know? I will answer your questions."
"Is it about the- sex?" he asked hesitantly. "I understand pain, but I don't
know why people equate that with pleasure."
"There is a fine line between the two," her voice was patient, gentle. "Causing
someone pain can lead to pleasure. It makes blood rush, rising to the skin, it
makes them sensitive and some people can come from pain alone," she followed
his eyes to the mantle peace, the new leather crop that she had purchased.
"Fetch it for me."
Sherlock's eyes darted back and forth between Irene, and the fine leather
instrument sitting on the mantle. He had looked it up, he knew what was
expected. A tongue darted out to lick his lips, and he rose to get it. He knelt
in front of her gracefully, the crop extended across his palms.
She chuckled lightly and took it from his outstretched hands. "Thank you. Now
sit on the chair beside me. I'm not going to touch you until you know what your
begging for. Does John know you're here?"
"John knows I'm out... I think?" Sherlock frowned. He sat down gingerly beside
her.
"Hold out your palm," the moment he moved, she brought the tongue of the crop
down into the centre of his palm with a stinging crack.
His eyes got wide, but he nodded and stayed silent, head bowed.
"Why are you here, Mr Holmes?" She asked softly, tapping the skin lightly, a
gentle tap tap tap, soft leather on skin.
"I don't know," he darted a glance at her. "I want to learn."
"What do you want to learn?" She was not going to let him off easily - she was
going to draw every drop from him. The crop came down, a hard crack on his
palm.
"Why it feels good," he shivered. "Pleasure is the one thing I haven't
experienced."
"You weren't interested before. Did your brother send you?" The crop moved and
came to rest under his chin, holding his face still.
"My brother?" Sherlock recoiled in shock. "No, god no. He probably knows I'm
here. But he watches everything."
She frowned at him, moving it under his chin slowly, before nodding. "Yes... I
believe you..."
"I'm here on my own," he admitted. "I didn't tell anyone where I was going. I
didn't know, until I got here. And I don't even think I know why."
"You came because you're curious..." She leant forwards and smiled. "Because
your body wants things and your brain is trying to rationalise it," she took
his palm and, maintaining burning eye contact, licked his palm slowly.
Sherlock shivered again, as the hair on his arms stood on end beneath his linen
shirt.
"I know I'm curious, but I don't know why." He shrugged off the coat and folded
back his sleeves.
"You’re a virgin?" It was a question she knew the answer to, but asked anyway.
"Yesss?" It came out as more of a question. "Unless something happened while I
was high, that I don't remember."
She smiled and lowered the crop. "Go back to your hotel, little Sherlock. Think
about what you're asking... If tomorrow, you haven't changed your mind... Then
we can finally have that dinner and you should probably bring something to wear
the next day."
"Hotel?" he asked, giving her a more shrewd look. "Tomorrow then, Miss Adler."
"Where ever you are staying then... You can chose where we eat. I'll show you
to the door, Mr Holmes."
"I can show myself, no need to trouble yourself," he bowed slightly in her
direction. "Good evening, Madam."
She paused and then came up behind him. One hand covered his eyes, and the
other rested over his heart. She pulled him back against her, the curve of her
body against him. "I look forward to breaking you, Mr Holmes," her tongue
trailed over the shell of his ear slowly.
Sherlock shivered.
"Must it wait?" he asked, cautiously, suddenly impatient in his skin.
"Are you sure?" She breathed and bit his earlobe
"Yes!" Her warm breath on his air hit his groin like an electric shock, and he
leaned his neck back into her touch.
"Why?" She asked. Still covering his eyes as her free hand trailed across his
body. "What exactly do you want?"
"I don't know what I feel, but I want more," he resisted the urge to kneel at
her feet.
She smiled, a wicked little thing and stepped back from him, hands raised in
surrender. "Go rest, Sherlock. Think carefully."
Sherlock gaped at her in shock. Of all the responses to his request, he had
calculated being sent away as least likely.
"Please, Miss Adler," he folded gracefully down to his knees. "They will notice
if I keep disappearing."
She reached out and grasped his chin, lifting his head to look at her. "You
really should go and go now, Mr Holmes. If I get my claws into you, I do not
let you escape."
"Please," he swallowed, unable to meet her eyes. "I don't want to escape."
Fire danced in her eyes, and her pupils blew until they were large... Dark. She
licked her lips and then extended a hand to him. "Come on, Sherlock," she
extended her hand too him. "An education in the human form. Perhaps you should
suggest it to John."
"John knows what to do," Sherlock says with a rueful frown. "He goes on dates
and doesn't come back until morning. And he can fix bodies from the inside out.
I'm the one with no experience with living humans."
She lead him up a narrow flight of stairs to a loft bedroom. The crop, she had
scooped on route. It was a lot smaller then her London home, but she had to
start again from the beginning. She pushed him back into the bed and straddled
his lap.
Sherlock looked at her, wide eyed. His pupils were blown with arousal, and he
couldn't remember how to breathe. "Please?" He licked his lips. "I don't know
what I'm asking for, but I want it."
She pressed a long finger to his lips, and traced the long red nail over it
lightly. “Shhhh,” she soothed as she ran her fingers up and through his hair.
“I’ve got you, pet…” and she kissed him. Hard. She kissed him, sweeping her
tongue into his mouth and pressed her body into his, hard.
Sherlock folded against her with a moan. He arched into the touch of her nails
into his scalp and closed his eyes.
Irene pushed the robe down so it slid down her arms and pooled around her
ankles as she kissed him, pushing him back into the bed, hard. “You,” she
breathed, “are so much trouble,” and she seemed delighted, the cat that caught
the canary. “The famous Sherlock Holmes… finally between my thighs.” Leaning
down, she whispered in his ear slowly, "I am going to enjoy destroying you,
Sherlock Holmes."
"I think you already have," Sherlock whispered. "My mind has never stopped
before." He looked at her, terror in his eyes.
Laughter, soft and wicked came from her lips and her hands went to his shirt.
She pulled apart, slowly increasing the tension until the buttons, one by one,
sprug off and rolled away.
"What do I do?" He whispered. He tried to keep his eyes on her face and his
hands flat on the bed.
"Relax... And stop thinking. Let your thoughts wander..." She kissed his jaw,
moving down his neck slowly, down to examine his bare chest.
Sherlock nodded with a dry swallow, and stole a glance at her body. He had seen
women naked, but corpses. And the living, breathing, biting-holy christ he had
no idea his nipples were so sensitive.
She chuckled and looked up at him with faux innocence. "What?" She asked
mildly... And then but Doan on the muscle below it. "What makes your mind
stop?"
"It used to take a seven percent solution of cocaine," he leaned into her.
"Now, usually only pain." He pushed aside a sleeve to show her a line of razor
scars.
The hard face softened a little and she lifted his wrist slowly. Her mouth
ghosted over them lightly.
Sherlock could feel his pulse against her lips, and got harder than he had ever
been. Ignoring his body as transport involved effort, and he had been told not
to think.
"How long have you been doing it? Does anyone else know?" The voice was soft
but firm, learning the triggers.
"After rehab, right before I met John," Sherlock shook his head. "I don't think
anyone else knows. I wear long sleeves, even for my robe."
Irene licked over the scars, her touch almost feather light as she moved up to
his fingers and slipper one slowly in to her mouth. Instantly, her mouth was
awash with the slightly salty taste. Her tongue swirled around the digit before
she pulled back to look at him. "Is that what you want? Me to hurt you?"
"Yes, please," Sherlock moaned. "Please, make my head quiet."
She was enjoying the discomfort that he was in and it showed in the gleam of
her eyes. "Do you know what I mean if I ask for a safe word?"
"Yes, Redbeard," Sherlock nodded. Nothing he researched online prepared him for
this, of warm skin against his.
That made her smirk. "How appropriate. I'm going to add a second - mercy -
that's for if you need me to slow down. Understand?" As she said it, she took
Sherlock's hand and guided it to cup her breast lightly.
"Yes, Ma'am," Sherlock's hand shook.
She shook her head firmly. "No. It's Miss Adler or Mistress. Understand?" She
had slapped people for forgetting that, but it was rare that she got to roll
naked with a virgin. Her hand held his, feeling the shake. "Does that feel
good?"
"Yes, Mistress, Miss Adler," Sherlock tripped over his tongue. "Yes. It feels
good."
Irene smiled and kissed down his body slowly. She explored with the lazy
abandon of someone who had /won/ and she watched him as she worked, as she
kissed and explored until she got to the belt buckle. "Mmm... I'm going to make
sure that I leave you plenty of bruises to remember me by, Mr Holmes," she
accentuated the last two words as she undid the belt.
"Yes please, Miss Adler," Sherlock had never worried about sex. But now he had
a feeling he wouldn't last long.
She drank him in, her eyes raking him in. She had him... Exactly where she
wanted him, but it was the urge to destroy that ruled. She pulled back and
nodded. "Kneel on the floor by the end of the bed, facing the wall. Close your
eyes, hands clasped behind your back..." She purred as she slid away from him,
and out the bed.
"Should I undress first, Miss Adler?" Sherlock looked hesitantly at her. He
wanted to obey, but his attention to detail pressured him to get it exactly
right the first time.
"Yes," she called back into the room.
Sherlock finished stripping, and carefully arranged his clothes on top of the
chair, shoes beneath with socks inside. He knelt facing the wall like she had
instructed, eyes closed and hands behind his back. He waited patiently, a drop
of sweat tracing down his spine.
"Nervous?" Her voice was soft from the doorway, steady and sweet as honey.
***** Chapter 2 *****
"Yes, Miss Adler," Sherlock said, but otherwise remained perfectly still. He
could hear her breathing, still too far away to feel her body heat. He felt his
body respond to her voice.
“Why are you nervous, Mr Holmes?” She asked, and he would hear her walking
slowly towards him. “This is where you want to be, isn’t it?” The crop came to
rest lightly on his shoulder. “This is what you wanted… I have seen you, you
know… outside…” It trailed slowly across to the other one. “And you come here,
wanting me to beat you and then make you scream?” It moved to his spine and
then trailed down it, very slowly, until it rested on the coccyx. “Oh… I will
make you scream…”
There was danger in those words.
"Yes, Miss Adler," Sherlock shivered under the cold leather. "I want to be
here. I didn't know what I wanted. But now that that I do, I don't want to be
anywhere else. I want to scream, and bleed."
Irene licked her lips, savouring this moment. She had wanted him, ached to get
her hand on this body. Her breath was heavy with the excitement and the need.
She hummed. “Lets test your self control then, shall we?” she planted a palm
between his shoulder blades and forced him forwards, so that his head was on
the ground. “Put your hands to each side of your face…” She crouched beside
him, and petted his hair. “So good, pet,” she cooed but there was nothing in
that voice. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?”
"Yes, Miss Adler," Sherlock managed to stay still, but he was trembling. He
struggled not to open his eyes, but he knew from experience not to try to
deduce her, his body's attraction to her made that impossible. He wanted to
strain into her touch, the soft fingers in his hair. He had never been touched
so affectionately.
"I am going to beat you, Sherlock Holmes, until you fly... Then I am going to
give you new meaning to the words prostate massage... And then I am going to
take your virginity, because you are my captive, and for this night, you are
mine. Any objections?"
"No, Miss Adler," Sherlock bit back a moan. "Anything you wish. Just, please-
" he begged helplessly.
"Count," the crop came down with a crack, hard.
"One?"Sherlock's voice cracked. He dug his fingers into the rug to stay still.
She hummed a delighted sound and brought the crop down on his other cheek,
harder this time. Her foot came to rest on the small of his back, and the touch
was cold, demeaning. Another crack.
"Two, Miss Adler," Sherlock could feel his whole world narrow to the point
where his skin stung.
She kept going until she could feel the naked form below her feet tremble, feel
the muscles twitch and burn with the strain. Another crack, and she felt she
skin split below the blow.
"I - I don't remember," Sherlock was shaking, tears flooding his cheeks. He
could feel the cool air on his split skin, and he was far too close to coming
from this alone for comfort.
"Lost count, have we?" She leant forwards and tugged him back by a fitful of
hair.
"Yes Miss Adler," Sherlock moaned. "And I'm trying not to come as well. Never
had this happen before."
She cackled and ran the crop up and down his spine lazily. "What would it take
to send you over the edge, right this second?"
"Pain," Sherlock whispered, his voice cracking. "Hit me again, where it's
bleeding, please."
She chuckled, and raised the crop, bringing it down into the arch of his bare
foot, hard. "Not yet..."
Sherlock just moaned. He couldn't remember when he had ever felt like this. He
could feel every nerve ending, every hair follicle in his skin. And every
square inch of him felt like an erogenous zone, except it wasn't enough.
Her crop rested over the red skin, watching the blood pooling lightly... And
flicked the crop once.
Sherlock jerked, and came. It took him a few moments to find himself again, and
when he did he realized that there were tears running down his cheeks.
She tapped him lightly with the crop. "Clean up your mess and then come to
bed..."
Sherlock wiped himself off with a towel that was next to him. He tried to hide
his blush. This was something that he had never done in front of someone else,
much less without touching himself. After he cleaned off, he knelt on the bed,
with his head down and eyes closed.
Irene sat before him and ran her fingers through his hair lightly. "What is it,
pet?" She cooed.
"I haven't ever had that happen, without at least touching myself," Sherlock
whispered. "And in front of someone else. I always thought they would laugh. So
I avoided physical affection.
Her hand stroked through his hair lightly, a soothing touch. "Is that why you
have never been intimate, my dear Mr Holmes? It did look like you and John
were... Close....'
"We- he's the only friend I have ever had," Sherlock craved the soft touch.
"But, I wouldn't have any idea what to do. And he is always with women, I'm not
his type. I was awkward about it when we met, and he never mentioned it again."
"What is your experience? With a man or a woman?" She cooed, touching lightly
to keep him calm and grounded, light touches to soothe.
"None," he swallowed, and it sounded loud in his ears. "I've watched thing on
the computer, but- they seemed very impersonal, and fake."
With one clawed hand, Irene raised his chin and kissed him. Slowly at first,
before her hand slid to the back of his neck and he took charge of the kiss,
pushing her tongue into his mouth.
Sherlock moaned helplessly, grinding against her. He didn't think he could be
hard again so soon, but he was. Painfully so. He could feel the heat pulling at
him, burning through his stomach.
"I am going to tie you too this bed and make you beg, Sherlock Holmes. We have
covered ground on the pain aspect of your education. Pleasure next?"
"Yes please, Miss Adler," Sherlock laid back against the pillows. He couldn't
remember ever being so terrified, not even facing death.
Irene smiled and there was something feline in that self control, something
forbidding as she straddled him. Her eyes raked over him.
Sherlock held his breath. The brush of her against him, hot, impossible hot,
and so wet. It had his brain stopped, and his tongue tied.
She rocked over him, eyes fluttering in pleasure as she used his bound body to
pleasure herself. "You are not to come, do you understand?"
"Yes," Sherlock bit his lip until blood flowed. It was like being in a warm
cocoon, the wetness fluttering and squeezing around him. Her rocking on top of
him, rubbing herself off, and the sighs of pleasure. It was captivating, more
so than the ropes.
It was then and only then that she allowed him to penetrate her. She couldn't
get pregnant - she had that dealt with years ago, so when she eventually
mounted him, it was skin to skin.
He gaped up at her, unable to get his lips to formulate a work, let alone his
mind formulate a complete thought. hot... wet... incredible... more...
The slide of her, slick, on his cock. He could feel the tension in her, the
tautness of her spine. And clearly here was someone used to having to find her
own way, because she knew exactly how to bring herself off, take her pleasure
without his input.
Irene used him. She used him as she would any one of her sex toys in her
previous life until she bucked against him, letting out a tortured cry.
Sherlock gritted his teeth as she came, gripping him tightly. He could feel the
splash of her release, the spasms of muscles. And still he held himself, rigid.
He had his orders.
She sunk forwards and her chin came to rest on his chest, and she sunk her
teeth into the skin, hard.
Sherlock jerked, and came, sobbing.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Miss Adler," he had tears in his eyes. "Please, what
can I do to fix it?"
Irene sighed and pulled away from him, disappointed. She was cold... Detached.
With nimble fingers, she pulled the cords and untied him. "Clean yourself up
and get dressed, you may go." She was off the bed and going to the wardrobe.
"Go? But-" Sherlock was trembling. He tried to pull himself together. He went
to stand, but this weak legs got the better of him and he sat back down on the
bed. "What did you do?" he asked suspiciously. "I can barely stand."
"You orgasmed twice," she replied, pulling a night dress on. "Give yourself a
few minutes," she tossed a flannel at him.
"But you only came once," he shook his head, trying to clear it. "Is there
something I can do, for you?"
"You saved my life, Sherlock Holmes. My debt is repaid," she replied. "Get
dressed."
"Oh," Sherlock's face fell. "I didn't think of this as a debt. I simply wanted
to, touch you back."
Her eyes eyes were hard as nails, her gaze cool. "You got the pleasure that you
wanted."
"I didn't realize that you thought you owed me something, I wouldn't have come
in," Sherlock stood. "I was under the impression that sex was a mutual exchange
between two people. I wanted to you to experience that as well, but clearly I
don't understand how normal people transact these things. I'm sorry, Miss
Adler, I seem to be inexperienced in more than the physical parts of sex."
She turned on him, face twisting into something ugly. "If you wanted sex that
was normal then I was the last person that you should have come too," her face
softened a little. "Poor sweet Sherlock, I don't do normal vanilla boring."
"Please Miss Adler, I don't want boring," Sherlock was one fine line away from
running. "I want this to give you something as well, not for you to feel like
you owed me a debt. Is there something that you enjoy, that I could do?”
Her smile was sinister. She had used him, broken him and given him a taste of a
new, oh so sweet drug. "I got what I wanted from the moment we met..." She
breathed. "Now go."
"Please?" Sherlock was on his knees at her feet. "There must be something.
Something I can do. I know I'm new to this, but I learn fast." It was like
watching himself from a distance. He didn't recognize the desperate creature
pleading.
Subdrop. She recognised the expressions on his face, the pain and confusion.
She extended her hand too him. "Get into the bed, Sherlock."
"Yes, Miss Adler," he nodded gratefully and got on the bed. He was still
kneeling, and he shivered a bit as he laid his head on her lap.
She slid in and pulled him into her arms, wrapping slender limbs around him.
She guided him beside her with gentle touches and whispers. "Rest now, sweet
Sherlock..."
"But I wanted to- touch you..." He frowned even as he curled into her body. His
breathing evened out and he drifted off to sleep.
She pulled away as soon as he was asleep and silently slid our the bed. Moving
to his clothes, she fished out his phone until she found the number for John
and sent a text, informing him that Sherlock was safe.
Sherlock had strange dreams, dreams that smelled like sex and a warm body. But
he did sleep long and hard, and it took him a moment to remember where he was
when he opened his eyes.
"Good morning," Said an amused voice from the chair in the corner of the room.
Irene's face was a picture of calm, a cool, calculating gaze fixed on his. "How
do you feel?"
"I-" he bit back a smart comment. "Good I think. My body doesn't know how to
handle all the stimulus though." He frowned, unused to waking up with an
erection.
Eyebrows lifted.
"Show me..." She said as she folded her hands below her breasts
He slid out from under the sheet and scrubbed his hand across his face with
embarrassment. Transport, his body was transport. He had trained it out of this
inconvenience.
She gestured for him to come forward, her finger making a come hither gesture.
"Sit at the end of the bed," she ordered. "Show me how you make yourself come."
"I don't," he frowned. "I usually just think of something else and it goes
away.”
"What do you think of that makes it go?" She asked softly.
"Chemistry? Biology? Physics?" He blushed. "Sometimes I go over old cold cases
in my head. Anything really. This is... very new for me."
"Enjoying your body is new..." She folded her hands under her chin. "I want to
see you make yourself come."
"What do I do? What I saw online?" He rolled his eyes. "That looked rather...
sticky and inefficient."
She sighed and moved forward to sit beside him. "Honestly, your teenage years
must have been boring," her fingers circled his cock gently, her eyes flicked
to his... And she smiled. "You really don't have a clue, do you?"
"No," he blushed. "There were times when I woke up, and I had come. But it
wasn't something I did intentionally. At some point I thought John and I
might... never mind."
She smirked and slid onto the floor beside him in one fluid motion, pushing his
knees apart. "A fine line between pain and pleasure," her teeth sank into the
tender flesh on the inside of his thigh before her tongue fluttered over the
head of his erection.
He yelped in surprise, and then relaxed with a sigh. It was different than
being inside her, but he was torn between deciding if it was better. He loved
the swirl of her tongue, but missed seeing her face when she was turned on.
Locking her eyes with his, she slowly - torturously - took his length into her
mouth.
"Isn't there, shouldn't I..." Sherlock's voice trailed off as she swallowed.
She hummed and the woman had a wicked mouth, a sensual tongue and she knew how
to use it, trailing over the head of his cock slowly.
He fisted the sheets with a cry, trying to hold himself back. He was determined
not to come as fast as he had last night but those tricks that The Woman was
doing with her tongue. Apparently there was something to why the general
population was so obsessed with sex.
She looked up at him and nodded a little, breaking away only to breathe, "Come
for me, Sherlock..."
He didn't need any encouragement, just her permission. It took everything out
of him, and left him feeling rung out. He collapsed back, chest shaking.
She swallowed every drop and slowly, Irene crawled up his body to kiss his lips
lightly, letting him taste the ruminants of his seed on her lips, before she
rolled aside, grinning with triumph.
"Can I..." Sherlock sat up. "Can I return the favor?"
She rested her head on her arms and looked over at him. Watching him squirm had
turned her on and she nodded slowly. "If you want."
"Will you tell me, if I do it wrong?" he looked up hesitantly, every inch the
teenage boy he had never been. He tried to remember what he had seen, and ended
up face planting between her legs. He blushed and then mouthed at her shyly, a
quick whisper of the tongue to taste.
Irene watched him, a small smile in her face. Her hands ran through his hair.
"Slow, Sherlock... Just explore me... You've never been with a woman before.
Just touch and look, explore," her knees rose as her legs parted.
Sherlock decided to try to make her feel something, make her feel pleasure. The
genius in him resisted leaving it at just amateur fumblings. He sucked gently
at her clit, and then licked down the lips, a nudge with his nose at her folds
before dipping his tongue inside of her.
They caught her attention. She hissed and her back arched, she writhed with the
touch. "Good..."
It tasted, different than he had expected. After all of the jokes about the way
women smelled, all he could taste was salt. And it tasted like her mouth, that
spice. He groaned and buried his face against her, unconsciously rutting
against the blankets. He wanted to hear her cry out in pleasure, and see her
lose control.
Her hands twisted into his hair firmly. He was... Clumsy, nervous and over
excited. She used her hands to guide his movements until... "yes... Just
there..." She moaned. "Keep going... If you get me off, I will keep you for the
day..."
And wasn't that a delicious promise? He lapped at her, where she guided him.
She tasted different excited, more. Another round of sucking at her clit, and
then his tongue dragged roughly against her labia, rubbing inside of her in one
spot that made her knee twitch. He focused on that, rubbing his thumb across
her swollen nub, a flick across the hood.
It took time as her eyes fluttered shut and Irene let out a breathless cry,
shaking desperately as she came.
Sherlock was relentless about it, determined to wring every ounce of pleasure
out of her that he could. He switched to a finger inside of her, and his mouth
on her clit. Her lips squeezed around him and he found himself already hard.
She stilled him as her pleasure subsided into a blissful afterglow. She pulled
him into her arms and under the covers for a few minutes. "So, you want to be
my pet for the day? I have things to do which could be quite... Educational. I
need to establish my business here."
"Yes, please, Miss Adler," he sighed against her warm skin. He let his eyes
drift closed, and nuzzled at her breast with a groan, his renewed erection
brushing against her leg.
"Sherlock... I want you to breathe..." Her hands slipped between them and
caught his balls. It would hurt... It would hurt a lot. "Breathe, slow and
deep..."
He breathed through his nose, wincing at the pain but managing to stay still.
She squeezed slowly. "Good boy..." The pressure grew until it was crushing.
Sherlock gritted his teeth, a groan escaping. He was panting, but he didn't
want her to stop at the same time.
"You suffer beautifully..." Her other hand wrapped around the head of his cock
and began to stroke.
"Thank you, Miss Adler," he groaned, his cock leaking over her fingers.
"Come for me, pet, then we will shower and have breakfast," she purred.
"Yes, Madam," he let himself go, a groan as he spilled in her hand. He arched
against her, taking a moment to catch his breath as she continued to squeeze.
Her hand came away and she held it up to his face. "Clean it," she ordered
sharply.
"Yes, Miss Adler," he swiped at her fingers with a warm tongue, his face still
wet.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Slowly, she released his balls and allowed blood to flow back into the tortured
flesh. Her gaze was hot and full of fire as she lapped him clean. "Good boy..."
She cooed and stood, extending a hand. "Come on, let's shower."
He took her hand and stood slowly. It took a minute for him to get his footing,
but he followed her, eyeing the lines of her back. Her skin rippled as she
walked, the muscles tensing and releasing. It was a feast to watch, and he
almost ran into her when she stopped.
"Distracted, Sherlock? Focus, pet," she ordered. The apartment was tiny and she
opened the shower curtain for him to step in to the warm water.
He stepped in in front of her and let the water run over his sore muscles. He
held out his hand to her, an unconscious gesture of concern. She looked
lovelier in the shower, wet skin and no makeup. She looked older, but less
contrived, truer to the woman he had seen in the desert.
"You're far too good to be mine," she said whimsically as she stepped inside
the shower and let her head fall back under the spray.
He took handful of shampoo and lathered it, running his fingers through the
strands of her hair. He laid a kiss to her neck, just below the ear, and tugged
her earlobe between his teeth. It was the feeling of her relaxing into her
hands that led his hands to her breasts, handfuls to squeeze .
"Too good to be yours, Miss Adler?" He slid a hand between her thighs, and
another twisted leisurely at her nipple. "What makes you think I don't have my
own selfish reasons?
She chuckled wickedly as she felt him began to explore her, leaning back
against the ancient tiling, cold against her spine. She licked her lips. "What
are your reasons then?"
"I wanted you the first time I laid eyes on you," he admitted. "Even if I had
no idea what I wanted to do with you. I was fascinated. I couldn't figure out a
thing about you." He reached for the soap and used it as an excuse to keep
running his hands over her skin.
She smiled as he ran soap over her skin and closed her eyes. “You could not
deduce me?” she teased, turning so that the soap ran down her back.
"Not a thing," he admitted. He bent to kiss her, then hesitated, unsure if that
was allowed.
"Go ahead," she encouraged, just this once as they stood under the warm water
in the shower.
He leaned in, his hands on her shoulders, drawing her closer. Her mouth on his
was a revelation, warm and he moaned against her. She was fast becoming a
dangerous addiction, the more he got of her the more he wanted. His body
responded to her, and he pulled her against him, flush with him. He was sated
for the moment, but the feeling of her skin pressed against his made him wish
this day was longer.
She pulled back, and licked his lips lightly. “Kneel, Sherlock,” she ordered,
her hands on his head, as she detached the shower head.
He knelt at her feet, face against her thigh. He was torn between wanting more
pain, and wanting her to touch him nicely.
She petted his hair, touching gently, as she took the shower head off. “Head
back,” she ordered as she took the shampoo and started to wash.
He bent his head back, arching against her touch like a cat. He was face level
with her, and could still the sex on her. He lapped at the crease of her thigh,
nuzzling at the soft pubic hair.
The slap was hard, and made her palm ring. She had been right, those
cheekbones. "What are you doing?"
"Tasting you again," Sherlock answered. "Am I not allowed?"
Her fingers twisted into his hair and she jerked it back. "Did I say you
could?"
"No, Miss Adler," he hung his head. "You didn't. And I didn't ask."
Irene knelt behind him. "Good boy... You need to eat."
Sherlock frowned at her. "I don't eat very often," he admitted. "I don't pay a
lot of attention to my body as a whole."
"You need to eat," she scolded gently. "Get some clothes on, and we will go."
Sherlock scowled but got out of the shower. He came back to offer her a towel
to step into, his wet curls wild with static from the brisk drying. He folded
the towel around her, and reached for his trousers.
“You don’t have to take care of me, Sherlock… although I will be looking for
someone to work for and under me, soon,” she said and strode into the bedroom,
and threw open her wardrobe.
And made a highly disappointed noise at the lack of anything worth a damn in
there.
"I like it," Sherlock admitted quietly. He looked at her thoughtfully. "Are we
going out?"
If she had heard the comment, she did not say anything. Take care of someone
like her? It was almost laughable. "We are... I'm trying to rebuild my life, Mr
Holmes, fortunately have enough money stored away to do that... Maybe I will go
to the States," she mused as she selected her dress.
Sherlock froze. He hadn't come to her last night with any illusions, but the
thought of her being that far away was painful. He had heard that virgins fell
in love with the first person they they slept with, chemical reaction to
pleasure. But he hadn't expected it to be so visceral of a reaction, physically
painful.
"Sherlock? Are you okay?" She asked, turning to look at him, now in emerald
green chiffon.
He nodded and gaped at her. "Sorry, got a bit distracted. Will my clothes from
yesterday be OK?"
"We are going to breakfast, Sherlock. They will be fine."
Sherlock dressed quickly, still watching Irene thoughtfully. He went to her,
and put his hands on her waist. He was so confused at what was going on inside
himself, he should have been long gone.
"Confused?" She could see it in his eyes, and her hand came to rest on his
cheek.
"Yes," he admitted. "I find myself at a disadvantage, not knowing what the
proper protocol is."
"Right now, we are going to eat and explore. Walk and talk whilst I give you
instructions, find someone who can direct me to some of the... Clubs that I
like. If you're feeling brave, then I will take you... I will be collaring you,
though."
"Yes, Miss Adler," Sherlock nodded. "As you wish, Madame."
She offered him her arm. "Rain check on the dinner. How about brunch?"
They went out to the streets and were soon sitting and sipping coffee whilst
they waited for food to be delivered.
Sherlock fingered the collar nervously. He was sure that he was going to hear
about this from Mycroft, so he had left his phone back at Irene's. He tried to
focus on her face, and the explanations she was giving him about what the rest
of their day would contain.
"Leave it alone, Sherlock," she scolded. "You wanted to be mine, you're lucky I
am letting you wear clothes, so stop drawing attention to yourself."
"Yes, Miss Adler," he dropped his hand quickly. He was surprised to find that
he actually had an appetite, and was done with his plate.
She watched him as she sipped the cappuccino. "You must have questions..."
"Yes, lots," Sherlock admitted. "But they can wait."
"Ask away, we have time, pet. I would rather your ignorance not humiliate
me..."
"I was just wondering how I should behave when we go to your appointments, what
you expect of me," Sherlock kept his eyes down. "I want to get it right."
"The BDSM scene is very open here, like London. Not public eye, but if you know
where to go. We are going to spend the afternoon getting to know the locals...
With the intent on getting ourselves invited somewhere this evening. That is
where you will need to show the collar. It will prevent people from touching my
property. Understand?"
"Yes, Madame," Sherlock bowed his head in a nod. "Do I need to explain that or
will they recognize it?"
" You do not speak to anyone unless I say so, or I will gag you. Understand?"
"Yes, Miss Adler," he sipped the last of his tea and stood, offering her his
hand.
She took it and rose to her feet, eyes lingering on him. " You need to relax,
Sherlock, or I will take you in hand in public."
"I'm sorry, Miss Adler," he stood back and allowed her to walk in front of him.
He wasn't sure if he was horrified, or tantalized by the idea.
She paused and looked at him. "Do you want me to do it," she swept towards him,
catching his wrist with a tight grip.
Sherlock bit his lip with a groan and nodded. It didn't matter who was
watching. He only got this one day.
She tightened her grip and dragged him down one of the side streets. The
chances of being caught where high, but she knew how to turn this to her
advantage. Eventually she came to an alleyway. "Hands on the wall," she
demanded.
Sherlock did as she said, wide eyed. Now was far too late to wonder what he had
gotten himself into.
She stood behind him, and pulled his shirt from his trousers and shoved her
hands up to his shoulders before dragging them down slowly.
Sherlock groaned as her nails dug into him. It left him instantly hard, despite
the morning. He bit his arm to keep from screaming.
"You are so frustrating," she hissed in his ear, raking her hands down him,
like a cat on a scratching post.
He didn't answer, just pressed back into her touch. He arched his neck, hoping
for her teeth.
She rewarded him with her teeth, and her hands moved to his stomach. She
dragged her nails from belly around to his back.
"Miss Adler," he moaned her name and pressed back against her. "Please..."
"Please, what?" She growled against his neck, and brought her knee up between
his thighs, painfully hard.
"Punish me," he begged, grinding down against her knee. Just then, his phone
went off with John's ringtone.
She smirked and her hands found his nipples. "You had better answer that," she
cooed, punching them lightly.
"What?" Sherlock snarled into the phone. "Of course I'm fine. Since when do you
worry? What message? I didn't message you."
"You messaged me last night saying that you were fine and would be home in a
few days. Sherlock, where are you, damn it?" John asked with obvious worry.
"Oh," Sherlock frowned at Irene. "That must have been after the... alcohol. I'm
fine John, no reason to worry. Just having a bit of a break, some time to
unwind."
"I know you're upset about Irene Adler, but you're better without her,
Sherlock. She was trouble," John said and Irene pinched hard.
"Ahhh, bloody-" Sherlock yelled into the phone. He leaned against the wall,
panting.
“Keep talking,” the woman whispered in his ear as she circled his nipples,
bringing them to points.
"I tripped," Sherlock gasped. "I'll be back when I get there. No, you
absolutely do not need to call my brother!"
Her hand was dipping into his trousers, now, small fingers encircling his cock.
She stroked slowly, back and fourth.
Sherlock made a strangled noise and dropped the phone, reaching to pull Irene
closer to him.
Irene turned him and pushed him back against the wall, her hands on his chest
and she kissed him fiercely, pressing her hands against his chest.
Sherlock forgot about the phone, forgot about everything but taste of Irene.
His senses were drowning in her smell, and the feel of her pressed against him.
Her knee forced its way between his legs... Her hand dipped in again to stroke
him.
Sherlock gave up any coherent thought, and let the sensations take him. He
didn't hear the phone ringing insistently, first John's ring tone, then his
brother's.
“Shouldn’t you answer that?” she breathed as her fingers teased him, touching
and tasting. People passed by, and the way that she was positioned, no one
could see where her hands wandered.
"I don't care," Sherlock gasped. "John can wait, and my brother needs to learn
to mind his own business. My life is none of their concern, and neither is who
I choose to spend my time with."
Actually, Irene thought bitterly, as her hands reached down to scratch the
underside of his testicles, it was very much their business because someone was
going to have to deal with the fall out when she vanished again.
Sherlock just keened, arching into her touch. He didn't care who saw or heard,
his whole world was focused on her touch.
Her hand circled his cock once more and she watched his face. "Thrust into my
hand, Sherlock. Let me see you come for me..."
"Yes, Miss Adler," he gasped. He threw his head back and came with a whine,
sagging his head against her.
Again, she held up her fingers to him, eyes hard as she narrowed them.
"Clean..."
He kept his eyes locked on her, and sucked her fingers into his mouth. He
swirled around them with his tongue, and nipped at the tips of her fingers.
Her eyes darkened a little and she smirked as she watched him, licking his
lips. "This is delicious to watch..." And then her hand fished into her coat.
"Can you find your way back to the apartment?"
"Yes, of course," Sherlock frowned. "Is there anything I should do when I get
there?"
"Naked, kneeling by the door and waiting for me. I won't be long."
"Yes, Madame," Sherlock nodded, still trying to catch his breath. He reached
for the phone and frowned. He took out the battery and SIM card, and dropped
them in his pocket.
“You will be in trouble with your brother and your partner,” she warned in a
quest voice. She did not sound as if the trouble would be a bad thing.
"John isn't my partner," Sherlock frowned. "Not like that. If he was, I
wouldn't be here, Miss Adler. And my brother has been meddling in my affairs,
doing everything but being useful, for far too long."
“He cares about you,” she pointed out gently. “And he hates me… your little
rebellion could destroy me if he finds out, you know,” she added.
Sherlock paled. "I should go then, I don't want you in danger. Mycroft can be
ruthless, and I should have taken better precautions."
Irene felt a smile on her lips as she cupped his cheek. “Sherlock…” she said
softly. “Its very sweet that you are worried about me, but I am very good at
taking care of myself…” she told him gently.
"That doesn't mean that I want something happening because of me, and my
brother's meddling," Sherlock retorted. "You don't understand, he thinks he is
the president of the EU. Bloody interfering idiot."
She moved like a viper and twisted her fingers into hid hair. “Sherlock,” her
voice was a low command. “Sherlock, go home. Now.”
"Is that an order?" he asked quietly.
She slowly pushed his head back and exposed his throat. Her hand circled his
neck slowly. “Go… home…” she said slowly.
"To your house, Miss Adler?" he asked.
“To my apartment,” she said softly, petting his hair. “I will be there soon… I
need to take you out of your head again, don’t I?” she hummed, petting his
hair.
Sherlock nodded. "I'll be waiting, Miss Adler."
“Good boy,” she ran her fingers through his hair, and then drew him close,
pressing her mouth against his.
Sherlock jerked away, and hurried off. He was confused, and didn't understand
the emotions he felt running through him. He knew she was planning on leaving,
and he didn't want to watch her disappear again.
It was about an hour when the front door opened and Irene slid in slowly. One
foot in front of the other, slowly. “Sherlock?” She called, and a bag dropped.
He was kneeling naked in the entrance way, his clothes folded on a chair beside
him.
"Yes Miss Adler?" He looked up, and his cheeks had dried tear tracks on them.
She knelt in front of him, her hands cupping his face lightly. “What’s wrong,
pet?” she whispered, her thumbs wiping the tears away.
"I don't know," he refused to meet her eyes. "I'm not used to emotions."
“What are your emotions?” she asked softly, and stroked his hair.
"I'm afraid," Sherlock pursed his lips and swallowed. "I know you're going to
leave again. And its going to hurt worse this time."
“Even though you know I am alive… and I am sorry for hurting you before…” she
said softly.
"Yes," Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft was right. Caring is NOT an advantage. It
makes things messy and gets in the way of the work."
“Is that what you are doing?” she said softly. “Working?”
"No," he shook his head. "I'm not working. I don't know what I am doing. I have
never taken time for myself before."
Her thumb pushed over his lip lightly. "You are scared and confused and very
out of depth..." She said gently.
"Yes, is it supposed to hurt?" he asked quietly. "I knew it would hurt
physically and I like that. But this... I don't know how to deal with this."
"You will learn," there was a slight sadness in her voice. "Do you need to safe
word out for a time?"
"No," he shook his head. "Just make it be quiet, please."
"How should I make it be quiet, Sherlock?" She asked as she knelt in front of
him. "Tell me what you need..."
"Something, anything," he said helplessly. "Pain."
"Shh..." She pressed fingers to his lips. "Pain... Sherlock, tell me your safe
word..." She guided him to his feet.
"Redbeard," Sherlock hung onto her elbow, his fingers still trembling.
"And if you need less... To ease up a little?" She asked softly.
"I don't remember," he said softly.
"Mercy," she said gently. "Your break word is mercy.'
"Yes, Miss Adler," Sherlock nodded. "Now PLEASE, hurt me."
***** Chapter 4 *****
With gentle hands, she had him stand and go to the large doorway. She bound his
hands before him and with a bit of manoeuvring, had him hold them up while she
secured them high. "It's a shame I never had you in London. I would have had
you on all fours and beaten you black and blue if you spoke out of turn..." She
said as something black covered his eyes.
Sherlock was trembling, it was a perfect picture to distract him from the loss
of vision. The rope was soft, but he was sure there was no way for him to
escape. Which reminded him of the woman who no doubt had some sharp object at
hand to release him if need be. But that was at her discretion.
Her hands ran down his body. "But I always enjoyed imagining what I would do to
you, every time I saw your photo in the papers..."
"What did you imagine doing?" He stilled, knowing her vivid imagination. "That
awful hat wasn't a turn on, I hope."
She laughed out loud, and pressed her mouth to his lightly. "You on your knees,
face between my legs until I come screaming..."
"Ooh," Sherlock breathed. "I wouldn't find that objectionable." He licked his
lips at the memory of her taste.
"But you wanted pain... And I aim to please..." She stepped back from him, and
moved until she was was behind him. "What are you here for, Sherlock?" She
asked softly.
"To make my mind quiet, and to learn what pleasure is, Miss Adler," he tried to
keep track of her movements as she circled him. It was a new realization that
pleasure could enhance, and dull, the senses at the same time.
Something hot suddenly landed on his skin and rolled down over the muscle
before solidifying. Wax. Hot wax.
Sherlock jerked against the ties, his body confusing the senses between pain
and pleasure. It burned over the bruises where she had spanked him, and he
groaned.
"You squirm so wonderfully..." Said Irene as she let the hot wax run, bright
red and black droplets against pale skin.
"Don't stop... please," Sherlock begged. He sagged into the ropes, the soft
jute imprinting patterns on his skin. "More."
"Shh..." Her hand flicked out and into his bottom, hard. "I have you,
Sherlock... You are very much safe here..." She said gently and slowly circled
him, sensitising his skin.
He settled against her fingers, the sting of her palm ringing against his skin.
His skin broke out in goose flesh, and he shivered.
Her fingers brushed over the length of his cock... And then something tight was
pushed over it, settling at the base of his cock.
"Ow," Sherlock protested indignantly. "First you can make me come enough times,
now this? Something wrong with that logic." He sniffed indignantly, trying to
distance himself.
She slapped her hands on his chest, hard. "Do you know what this is?”
"Yes," Sherlock answered with a sulk. "A cock ring. Of all the ridiculous
contraptions-"
She crouched and slowly, painfully, dragged her tongue up the length of his
cock slowly, before reaching under to cup his balls.
Sherlock tried to remember why he was sulking, but the warm heat of her mouth
was enough to make him lose his focus and whine at her.
Her fingernails dragged down over his hip, leaving welts. "You have a
complaint? Let’s hear it..."
"No-?" Sherlock couldn't remember why he was complaining, other than the focus
of the burn felt so good. "I just want to come."
"Hmm..." Her mouth enveloped his, then, "nope," and she was moving away.
"What?" he yelped in frustration. "Why did you stop?"
She did not answer him, and had kicked her shoes off so her foot falls were
silent. Slowly, she picked up the whip... And flicked it it. The end licked
across his back, leaving a deep welt.
Sherlock yelled in surprise, the stinging tip of the whip left a burn behind
it. It was beyond unpleasant, it was far into the realm of actual pain, rather
than riding the line of pleasure.
"Breathe," the whip was one of the most painful and she started moving it back
and forth, little biting lashes. Back and forth back and fourth.
Sherlock gritted his teeth, feeling warmth drip across the lash marks. This
would teach him to be smart.
"Let go of the pain... Relax into it, let it become something else, something
more..breathe..." She was pushing, testing his limits..
Sherlock was panting, his breath noisy. It was frustrating to show weakness,
and it was frustrating that a pain that would not normally affect him was so
consuming.
She chuckled and one lash curled around his hip then up over the opposite
shoulder. "Good..." The whip dropped and she stepped towards him. "Well done,
Pet..."
Sherlock trembled. He wasn't sure if it was blood or sweat running down, but it
felt hot on his cold skin.
Irene pressed against his back. No blood, just sweat. "Still want to play?"
Something vibrated against his hip.
"Is there a correct answer?" Sherlock asked cautiously, sure not to give a
smart answer.
"I want your answer," her hand cupped his balls. "I think you deserve a
reward... But if you don't want it..."
"Yes, please," Sherlock sagged in relief.
"So you want to come for me?" She breathed as she ran her hand down to touch
his cock gently.
"Yes please, Miss Adler," Sherlock begged. "Please let me come for you."
Her thumb flicked off the cock ring and she took him in her mouth, and hollowed
her cheeks as she swallowed.
Sherlock wound his fingers into her hair and growled, sure he wouldn't last
long.
She hummed and worked him, bringing him to the edge of orgasm... Before gently
scraping her teeth over the skin.
That was all it took to make Sherlock come, sagging against her. The sensations
was too much and just enough.
She swallowed every drop and licked him clean, before she rose. "Come... Let’s
go and bathe... I can see to your back..." She kissed his shoulder lightly and
untied his hands.
"But your fantasy..." Sherlock protested meekly. "I wanted to."
"Shh... You need a break," she could tell. She pushed the blindfold off his
eyes, and smiled. "While we are not in a scene... You can call me Irene... If
you want..."
"Irene," Sherlock shrugged his shoulders stiffly. "So tell me, what are our
plans for tonight?"
It was a lot for Irene to allow someone to use her first name. She doubted that
Sherlock realised what an honoured position that he was in. She massaged his
shoulders gently. "That all depends..."
"What does it depend on?" he asked softly. He cupped her chin in his hand and
rubbed his thumb over the reddened lips. "Irene?"
"What does it depend on?" he asked softly. He cupped her chin in his hand and
rubbed his thumb over the reddened lips. "Irene?"
“On you,” she replied softly. “We could go out… paint the town red… or we could
stay here, and relax…” her lips curled into a smile. “Well, I will relax… you…
it depends…”
"What if we stay in, but you relax and let me take care of you?" He asked,
blushing. "You must get tired of being in control, all the time. Always having
to plan and make adjustments when something changes."
Irene blinked slowly, and seemed to be actually confused by what he was saying.
“I am a dominant, Sherlock,” she said as she steered him to the bathroom.
“Being in control is what I am paid to do and I am very good at it.”
"That doesn't mean it's all you require, or desire," he mumbled thoughtfully.
"The process, the mental energy, it still needs something in return. You get
something out of it. But then it's not always enough."
She thought her eyebrows were going to climb into her hairline. “And what are
you proposing here?” because she did not actually know.
"That there might be something you are lacking, or missing, that I can
fulfill," Sherlock said, a hand in her curls. "No one ever takes your fantasies
into account, do they? And I'd wager they are far more interesting than what
you are paid to do. And you don't ever let anyone see past the mask, Irene. So,
why me?"
"I do not have fantasies," she breathed, and her eyes closed as his fingers
went into her hair. Her eyes closed.
"Liar," Sherlock's lips brushed her ear. He gripped her hair between his
fingers like a lifeline. "Sex is a bargaining tool for you, because you're good
at it. But why sex? Why not your mind? It's a better tool than your body, and a
safer one."
"Not as effective..." She replied, arching her neck a little.
"Not as satisfying, or personal, perhaps," Sherlock pulled at the skin of her
neck with his teeth, and reached for her clothes. "You HAVE to be in control,
manipulate the variables yourself. So you direct the outcome. What happens when
you don't? What happened, that once?"
She exhaled and didn't respond, watching his hand. Her gaze was hard,
unwavering.
He pulled on her hair sharply, distracting her gaze from the other hand. The
other hand that teased below her skirt, brushing against the silk of her
stockings. "Hmm? Tell me."
"Get your hands off me," she snarled, bucking, trying to get out of his grip.
"But that's not what you really want, is it?" Sherlock brushed a finger against
the satin of her underwear, expecting it wet.
Her nails scratched into his wrist to try and break free.
"Irene," he captured both her hands in his own. "Tell me... I can make a damn
close deduction. But I'd rather that you say it."
"Go on then, Sherlock Holmes," her words were a snarl. "Deduce me."
"A man, not your father, your mother's boyfriend," he said thoughtfully. "Your
father died, something preventable, and he should have been there to protect
you. So you only have vanilla sex with ordinary women. Men, and women with
power, you have to be in control. Your body doesn't matter, as long as they
can't touch your mind. You like the thrill of winning using your weakness...
Eve destroying the garden of Eden by eating ALL the apples, and outsmarting god
at his own game."
He was good. Her maid in London… they had a long standing arrangement, an
agreement that worked for the both of them. She jerked a hand free and then
slapped him, hard. “Get out.”
"No," he said simply. He crossed his arms and waited.
She shrugged and brought her knee up into his groin with excruciating force,
and slapped him again, and then brought the heel of her toe down onto his
little toe. The she turned, and marched to the door.
Sherlock grunted in pain, but still managed to remain upright.
"What do you get out of showing me off?" He wondered, his voice still shaky
from pain. "That's what I can't figure out."
"Because it means I win," she smirked.
"But who needs to see that? And why is leaving yourself unsatisfied a point of
pride for you?"
"Don't you see? Satisfaction doesn't exist..." She smiled, a wry smile.
"Only for a price," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "Now, what's yours? Not saving
your life..."
"I popped that cherry," she stepped towards him, looking up. "My satisfaction
is knowing that you will never ever find me and that I was the one to corrupt
the infamous virgin, Sherlock Holmes."
"All you had to say was not to look for you," Sherlock stepped back. "Goodbye,
Miss Adler."
"I would suggest you get some clothes on before you see yourself out," she
turned and stalked into the bathroom, and started pouring water in the large
roll top bath.
Sherlock sighed, and slowly dressed. He reassembled his phone before he stepped
out the door, and it showed a number of messages. Best to fend off his brother
before he sent out his watch dogs.
"Hello, Mycroft? John said you wanted to speak to me. Did you mess up your diet
already?"
"Amusing, Sherlock. Why, pray tell, are you in Rome?"
"I was bored brother, and I heard the Vatican had a good library," Sherlock
retorted. "Don't you have better things to do?" He sat down on the step outside
Irene's flat to wait for her.
"Yes, actually, but John was worried and so am I. He said you sounded like you
were being hurt."
"I merely tripped on the cobblestones," Sherlock sighed. "Tedious, having to
waste my time explaining this to both of you. I have an engagement tonight, so
do try not to panic while I turn off my phone."
" When will you return to England?" He asked, the tone oddly thoughtful.
"Soon, I think, not much more to do here, I've just about overstayed my
welcome," he rose as Irene opened the door.
She was dressed to kill, her long legs covered in silk stockings, her heels
high and she seemed a little unsteady. Her dress clung to her like a glove, and
her hair was combed back. She froze.
Sherlock held the collar out to her. "I assume you will want to put this back
on me, before we go," he took her elbow and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
"Steady, Irene, you mustn't let them see you looking rattled."
Her gaze was cold. She didn't move. "Why are you here?"
"You need to start your business here in Rome," Sherlock held two fingers
against her wrist. The pulse never lied. "And you can use me, to show off."
She smiled, cold and calculating. "I can start that any day," she took the
collar and slipped her fingers around his upper arm. "Walk with me, Sherlock...
And tell me where I've slipped up," she smiled thinly. "I can't work it out.
What gave it away? Everything you said?"
He walked protectively next to her, shielding her from the street, an
unconscious habit that he had adopted when John's limp was bothering him.
"I observe, and I had months to work it out. Nothing else to think about. It's
astounding what can keep you warm at night.."
"Spell it out for me, then," she said. She wanted the information, needed it.
"If it was your father, it would have been something other than sex that you
turned to," he pressed her back against the building they were passing. "You
look at women sometimes, but usually plain ones, ones that are working, or
students. You don't want to be them, you want them to take you. And men, men
are just a challenge. Even when you're physically turned on, your mind is
somewhere else. And the minute I wanted to give you your fantasy, you insisted
you didn't have one, even though you'd already told it to me. You're terrified
of being vulnerable, even if no one but us would ever know," he whispered the
last bit into her ear. "So, what allows you to let go?" he stepped back and led
her down the street thoughtfully.
She ignored his question, meeting his eyes defiantly. Her expression was
guarded and she was giving nothing away. She hated him right now, hated him for
exposing her so thoroughly… to herself. Ignorance was truly bliss.
“It was my step brother,” she found herself saying quietly . “From eleven…
until I was fourteen…” she said quietly.
"There's always something," Sherlock said softly. "Something I miss." He opened
his arms and pulled her into them, protective, warm. "But why am I such a
prize? Why not let me touch you back? No one would ever believe me. Oh," he
sighed. "Something about me reminds you of him."
“Because you are very much like me, Sherlock… single minded, obsessive about
our goals. You’re a prize because I know what you feel for me… and I know how
weak that makes you,” she stepped back, detaching herself from him. “I never
let people touch… and the fact that you want too… I’ve beaten the famous
Sherlock Holmes.”
"But you wanted me to, and that means I've defeated you as well," Sherlock
raised one eyebrow.
“To touch me?” She chuckled. “Only from your knees, pet,” she stepped forwards,
mocking. “So here is the question – where do we go from here?”
***** Chapter 5 *****
"I'm not the one in charge, Miss Adler," Sherlock blinked at her slowly.
"That's up to you. I have no problem being on my knees to touch you. But I
don't know that you'll allow that again. You feel too vulnerable right now, and
too threatened. You lost your safe space in your head, where no one could touch
you."
She smirked a little at that and arched an eyebrow. “Do you ever get sick of
being right all the time?” she asked slowly, and extended her hand to him. Her
emotions, she forced them down, buried them deep inside.
"Right... alone..." Sherlock took her hand, touched the callouses from the
whip.
“Your lonely?” That had surprised her. Her head cocked. “You are not like most
people, Mr Holmes…” She could see why she was attracted to him. Then… she
surprised herself. “Let’s go back to the apartment… My head is not in the right
frame of mind for this. Authentic Italian Pizza washed down with wine… does
that sound interesting too you?”
"As you wish, Miss Adler," he nods. "I spend enough time in my head that I'm
tired of wandering the corridors alone. Dead bodies and skulls aren't my
preferred choice of companions, no matter how odd people assume I am."
“I whip people and force them to perform sex acts for a living, Sherlock,” she
shrugged. “You’re not the only odd one in this conversation,” she slipped her
hand into his. It seemed more… intimate. Softer, and she smiled, coy… even a
little shy.
Sherlock rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. "Do we stop for food, or do they
deliver it? This is all new to me, so it's all interesting," he brushed his
nose against her forehead, breathing her in.
“Either works – you can tell me what people’s true motivations are on route,”
she said and squeezed his fingers. They wandered back home, and Irene went to
change.
When she returned, she was in loose bottoms, a tank top and her hair was
braided over one shoulder. No makeup. “Tada…” she said, self-consciously.
Sherlock studied her thoughtfully. "Ah, so that's how it's going to be," he
remarked, handing her a glass of wine. "You aren't any less fascinating without
the trappings, I assure you," he bent to kiss her, his hand large enough to
span her waist. He pulled her against him. "Or any less threatening."
"You’re a charmer. How the hell did you remain a virgin for so long?" She asked
as she sat back on the sofa, stretching her legs in front of her.
Sherlock sat next to her and rested his arms across her lap, shoes already off.
His sleeves were rolled up, and it looked like all the trappings of a domestic
couple, if it weren't for the playroom in the next room, and their backgrounds.
"I wasn't interested," he said thoughtfully. "No, that's not true. I didn't
understand why people behaved the way they did, all their hormones and emotions
were confusing to me. Even being one of them, I didn't feel things the way they
did. I was attracted to their minds, and there have been so few of those worth
pursuing. John... Moriarty... You."
Irene found herself smiling grimly at that. Moriarty… should she contact him?
He would protect her, so long as she kept her end of any bargains that she
made. She took a large gulp of wine. “John is a good man…”
"He is, and he's about to get hurt," Sherlock sighed. "But he needs to figure
that out for himself. So, what about Jim? I know he's alive, I know you're in
touch. How do you two know each other?" He took her hand in his. It looked
fragile, and he rubbed the base of her thumb thoughtfully.
"He is, and he's still letting his brain catch up with the psychosomatic limp
being gone. So, what about Jim? I know he's alive, I know you're in touch. How
do you two know each other?" He took her hand in his. It looked fragile, and he
rubbed the base of her thumb thoughtfully.
“We travel the same circles…” she swirled the wine gently in the glass,
watching as the liquid moved. “He was a… customer, once upon a time…” her gaze
was distant. “He showed me… well, it wasn’t kindness but it was enough to teach
me how to survive. Now, we help each other out at times… Remember at the pool?
When he got the phone call?” She grinned over her glass. “I made him a better
offer.”
"Ahh yes," Sherlock nodded. "And what was that?" He reached for his own glass
of wine, so different from the stuff that came in bottles on neat grocery store
shelves. This had been grown within a few miles of where they were drinking it,
and at room temperature it still held a hint of the sun on the grapes.
“Pictures of a British royal coming repeatedly and in more than one very
compromising positions,” she shivered at the memory. It wasn’t just men, it was
power… power that she liked to destroy. There was a ring at the door and she
returned with the pizza, which smelt amazing.
"Never visit Buckingham Palace in nothing but a sheet, makes Mycroft furious,"
Sherlock's eyes lit up at the recollection. He inhaled deeply. "That could
almost make me want to eat," he mused.
She snorted and inhaled her wine, making a sound that was very unsophisticated.
She covered her mouth, sputtering. “You visited Buckingham Palace in a sheet?
Why? How…? Eat some and tell me,” she sat cross-legged and seemed younger, as
she reached for a slice.
"They told me to come, and wouldn't tell me who the client was," Sherlock took
a slice and bit into it with a sigh. "And it bothered my brother. Best reason
really, seeing him flustered, and embarrassed. I'm the one variable he can't
predict." He played with her hair, his fingers stroking down the back of her
neck. "And I stole an ashtray, and didn't wear pants. John smiled," he recalled
with fond pleasure.
Irene was laughing, using her fingers to catch the ropes of cheese as they went
everywhere. “Why don’t you like your brother? He obviously is fond of you,” she
said as she nibbled the slice slowly, watching him.
"He... he does love me, as best as he knows how," Sherlock nodded. "But he's
also fussy, and proper. And sneaking around with that Detective Inspector of
his. Lestrade saved my life, got me off the cocaine. He deserves better,
deserves to be acknowledged, not hidden. My brother isn't a public enough
figure to need to worry about his reputation. I know why he does it, he doesn't
want Greg to be in danger. Or have trouble with visits with his children from
his ex wife. But Mycroft doesn't tell him why. He just keeps him in the dark.
Sometimes that's how I feel about John though. So I can't really judge."
Irene nodded. That she could understand. Few knew what the world was really
like… she was one of them. “You can’t choose your family…” she said softly.
“When I was nearly fifteen, I miscarried. I had no idea I was pregnant, but I
was undernourished and underdeveloped. I can’t have children now, and I would
never subject a child to me as a mother… but my mother… she did not believe
that it was my step brother. She kicked me out. Last I heard my brother was
some big-wig lawyer” she smiled, bitterly. “Sex pays, I learnt that fast… I
earned a bed on my knees and eventually found a roommate… You met her, my maid…
I was out there until I was seventeen when Moriarty wanted me for a night…
Introduced me to BDSM… I still have the scars…”
Sherlock touched her stomach reflexively. "That's why no condoms. I wondered. I
didn't see any scars. But I suppose its carefully planned that way. And Kate,
she protects you. You can be yourself with her."
She smiled a little. "Kate was a friend and a lifesaver," she replied calmly.
"Can you find her, when you get back to London? Keep an eye on her... Keep her
safe..."
"Yes, I will," Sherlock frowned. "You aren't coming back then. And you aren't
staying here. Not when I know where to find you." He bent to wipe a smudge of
sauce from her chin. "So, what are your big plans for me, before you
disappear?"
"I can't come back, you know that," she said softly. "And... No plans."
"I know," Sherlock bowed his head, allowed himself a moment of sentimentality.
"You were all set to show me off tonight though, and something changed your
mind." He searched her face.
"I was exposed to the sun and am still recoiling?"
"Don't lie to yourself Irene, it doesn't suit you," Sherlock's voice went
quiet. "Why?"
"What's the point? I wanted to humiliate and destroy you, and leading you into
the lion's den would be a delicious way to do it... I was shocked at what you
deduced... I hated you for a bit...'
"And now? What are you planning on, with all your armor off, in clothes no one
else sees?"
Irene watched him for a long time, her gaze thoughtful. She rose slowly and
sauntered to him, before dropping to straddle him in the chair. She slowly
plucked the glass of wine from his hand and set it aside.
Sherlock put his hands on her hips tentatively, waiting to see if she would
flinch away. When she didn't, he cupped her lower back in his hands, and pulled
her toward him thoughtfully. "So you decided that now, you will take what you
can get?"
She shrugged. "I am a selfish woman," she breathed and with that, her mouth met
his and she was kissing him.
"And what do you want?" He sighed. "Are you going to tell me what your fantasy
really is?"
Her mouth moved, trailing over his neck and up his jaw. "What do you think it
is?" She purred.
"Something... Ordinary," he mused. "Something you don't normally get, or
allow."
The man’s naivety was highly amusing as she reached out and touched his chin
ever so lightly. Her tongue trailed over his lips, she was slowly undoing the
buttons of his shirt. “Vanilla, Sherlock. Vanilla sex…”
"What would be interesting about that?" He wondered out loud.
“Never done it before, not with someone who is not paying me... mind you... I
never got paid for it..."
"Ok..." Sherlock frowned, trying to figure it out. "What do I do?"
“Kiss me, Sherlock… please?” she asked, looking down at him with wide, eyes…
almost sad eyes.
Sherlock attacked Irene with his mouth, determined to chase the ghosts from her
eyes.
She sighed as she felt the dam in him break… and he felt it in herself… She
kissed back, wrapping her arms around him, kissing with a fever that gripped
her, pushing into him.
He devoured her mouth, pulling her as close as he could. Hands under her shirt,
hands on her skin, till he could feel her heartbeat against his chest.
She groaned into his mouth and raked her hands through his hair lightly, and
closed her eyes, Her head came to rest on his shoulder. She was panting,
drawing in deep breaths. “Sherlock…” she breathed, and closed her eyes. She
could not do this… It was too much. He was too much. She needed to go… get
away.
"What?" He could feel her panic and opened his eyes. "What's wrong?"
It was strange, fighting the fight or flight reflex… She wanted to attack or to
run. Irene shook her head, and realized that there were tears in her eyes.
Confused, she turned away. You cannot have him… get over it. Breathe.
Sherlock took her chin in his hands and looked at her, confused. He swiped at
the tears with his fingertips. "Tell me?" he asked. "I'm not good with
emotions, I don't understand."
She shook her head. “I don’t understand either… when I figure it out, you will
be the first to know…” she said quietly and pulled away, wiping her eyes. Her
manor shifted, subtle, into something darker, stronger. Emotions got buried and
she sucked in a deep breath.Calm. In control.
"No," Sherlock protested. "Not back to that. You're always in control. You're
not in any danger from me, don't shut yourself away."
“I am a dominant, Sherlock. Of course I am in control,” she said coolly, and
her fingers sifted through his hair, down the side of his neck, down to his
nipples. She pinched. Hard.
Sherlock surged against her, flipping her beneath him on the rug.
"You've showed me how to submit, now show me how to be in control," he ordered,
his voice raspy against her neck. It was a calculated move, to see if he could
pull her out from behind that veneer that was her safety net.
Irene grunted as she found herself on the floor with Sherlock over her, his
weight on her... She couldn't breathe, he was to heavy... Hands, pinning. She
twisted like a snake and drove her knee up into a savage blow.
"Don't," Sherlock pinned her beneath him, his legs between hers. "Tell me if I
do it right," he captured her mouth in a searing kiss, grinding his hips
against her. She could fight him, but her size was a disadvantage. She was much
smaller, with a shorter reach. He bit at her collar bone, twisting her nipples
between his fingers. "You love a challenge, so let me touch you."
She snarled, and managed to get a slap in. "Get the fuck of me," she snarled,
and then froze as his hands touched her breasts. No... No... Not again... Her
face screwed up, and she had to make herself breathe. The little girl inside
was whispering... Maybe if we don't move then he won't hurt us…
"Irene?" Sherlock saw it flash across her face. "Irene, look at me," but she
was frozen, her only movements shivers from the fear. He picked her up and
carried her to the bedroom, and put her under the blankets. He turned on all
the lights, and sat on the bed, waiting.
It took time... Much longer than it ever had before. Occasionally, she had
flash backs but Kate always looked after her, talked her though... It was never
like that. She shrunk away from Sherlock. Silent, oddly submissive.
Sherlock sat with her, until her eyes opened. He sighed. John would have known
what to do, make tea, and know how to make her comfortable. All he could do was
sit next to her and run his hand across her forehead, down her cheek. This was
why he chased criminals, because no one healed completely from scars like
these.
“No…” She squirmed out of his grip and landed on the bed heavily, bouncing.
Irene narrowed her eyes… and reached up, grabbed his shirt and then pulled him
down into to a soft, kiss that was as gentle as it was unsure. It was the move
of a desperate, damaged young woman… but she kissed him, her hand raiding to
caress his cheek.
No," Sherlock said quietly. "It's not going to go like that. You changed your
mind about the vanilla sex because the only time you've had it was your step
brother. You don't owe me anything, Miss Adler." He took her hand away from his
cheek. "You should save that for when you find someone that you care about."
She was falling apart… she knew she was. Rolling between anger and hot emotion…
instead… she stripped out of the soaking wet clothes, and wrapped herself in
the damp robe, rolling away from him. "You wanted to touch... so touch..."
"Yes, I wanted to touch," he agreed. "I didn't want to scare you. I wanted
to..." he shook his head, frustrated. "I didn't want to take advantage."
“Get in the bed, Sherlock…” Her voice was quiet as she kicked out of the wet
clothed and as soon as he was in the bed, she pressed into him, curling against
his chest. The tremors were from cold, and did not seem to be helped as she
took his hand, guiding them around her gently. She nuzzled, seeking warmth.
He cautiously pulled her closer, letting her clutch at him. Maybe this was the
real Irene, the one no one ever saw, except for Kate. This was something she
was too well practiced at calming herself from, well accustomed to these
flashback that didn't happen when she was in control.
He kissed her hair and curled protectively around her, rubbing his hands over
her cold arms. He handed her a mug of tea from the bed table, and helped her
hold it.
“Tea… how very British…” there was no heat in her tone, just observation. She
sipped the liquid, her eyes closed as she tried to breathe deep, tried to
relax. Her head was against his shoulder. “I’m sorry…” The words surprised her
and she rubbed at her face. “I feel so confused…”
"Its John's answer to everything," Sherlock admitted. "But then he usually
knows what to say, to make people feel comfortable. Why do you feel confused?"
He studied her curiously. "You have nothing to be sorry about."
“I made you bleed… I am erratic and wild, as volatile as a trapped feline…” she
sniffed and sighed. “It's rather annoying, I hate being out of my comfort zone…
and you… you blew the comfort zone to another continent…”
"What would help you to feel safer?" Sherlock didn't let her go. He kept her
close, because even as she sighed and shifted, she rolled nearer.
Some nice, Italian boy to whip until I feel better… I don’t know…” she finished
her tea slowly, and set the mug down.
Sherlock laughed, a deep rumbling under her cheek. "I can speak Italian, but I
don't think you are in any shape to be whipping anyone. Maybe you can explain
to me about bruising patterns with riding crops, i sometimes Molly lets me whip
the John Doe’s at the morgue."
She curled against him… and talked. She was naked, literally naked and pressed
against him, but they talked for hours. It was exposing in a way that was
frankly terrifying, and the more they talked, the more she relaxed.
Sherlock kept his hands on her, running across her skin. She gradually warmed
up, and he thought he might have seen the ghost of a smile once or twice. It
was difficult not to be enchanted by her. Without the trappings of her work,
she looked more approachable, and it made his chest ache. Eventually he pulled
away to stretch.
“You don’t have to stay, Sherlock,” she sounded tired. “I will be fine… if you
want to go…”
"No, I just needed to move a bit," he laid back against the pillows and pulled
her back into his arms. "I don't actually have a hotel here. I came to find
you. I'll go straight back to the airport when I leave." He looked at her
seriously. "I'm not sorry I found you, although I'm sorry it makes things more
difficult, and you'll leave again." He undid the braid in her hair, loosening
it with his long fingers.
She let him, her eyes watching for a moment as she followed his hand... But
when he started to undo the braid. She blinked... Then she squirmed. Oh. Oh she
liked the feel of they. Her eyes closed as Sherlock combed out the knots.
Fingers in her scalp.
Sherlock continued to touch her, not sure what would be the point that would
make her freeze again. He kept it as non-threatening and non-sexual as he
could, trying to keep her comfortable. A brush of finger tips across her scalp,
and down her neck to knead at the knots. She had knots that might never have
relaxed before, and he dug his thumbs against the base of her skull, smoothing
out the lactic acid.
She hissed in pain as he tug his thumbs in, but again, seemed surprised when
something seemed to give. She blinked. Her neck had always been achy, but she
had never thought anything of it… It was just one of those things. She shifted
slightly, rolling onto her front. Permission to continue, because she was
enjoying that. She watched from the corner of her eyes, peeking until he found
another one… and she started to unravel.
Sherlock worked his way through the knots, and then switched to broad strokes,
putting the bones back into place.
Irene groaned, her back creaked, protesting. As he traveled down her spine, he
would find the scars that she had mentioned. Long, hair thin cuts down her
back, to thin that they were barely visible unless up close.
Sherlock bent to tongue at one of the scars. The small of her back was
irresistible to him, and he kissed the dimples there. There was no perfume
there, just salty skin. He was glad his clothes were on, she was much more
relaxed.
Irene turned her head and watched over her shoulder, watched his every moved.
Relaxed but still very alert. After a moment, she spoke. "Why are you being
nice?"
Sherlock frowned at her, puzzled. "Why shouldn't I be nice to you? You're
smart, and beautiful. There's no reason for me to treat you otherwise."
"Because your not nice. You don't do nice, friends or more. Your actions are...
Strange... But brainy is sexy, I will give you that one..."
"You don't know everything about me, Irene," he rolled her over. "I'm awkward,
and spent a lot of time being defensive, I still do. Doesn't mean I can't be
nice." He studied her face thoughtfully.
"Humans are strange to you," she said quietly. "They fascinate you... Like a
different species. You know your one of them but you can't fit into the crowd,"
Irene understood.
"Yes," he admitted, and bent to kiss her. He tangled his fingers into her hair,
and devoured her like something fragile, and precious.
She responded slowly, arching into him. Her hands moved, stretching up and into
his hair, her fingers twisting into the curls lightly.
"Irene," he had his hands on her hips to pull her closer. "Tell me, what you
really want."
"To wake up tomorrow and not be me..." She said softly. "No memories... No
preconceptions... Just the chance to start again…”
"I can give you tonight," he frowned. "Tomorrow, you already have other plans."
She laughed softly. "I don't even have a plane ticket yet..." She said quietly.
She shook her head. "Sherlock... You don't owe me anything... You don't have to
do this..."
"I want to," he admitted. "Just be patient with me." He left his clothes on,
and kissed his way down between her breasts, down her stomach.
She let him, and felt her eyes close as his mouth moved. She squirmed in
pleasure at it and actually giggled a little at the sensations.
A brush of lips across her hip bones, a tongue at the juncture of her thigh.
"Are you sure?" He asks quietly, stroking a hand across the pounding of her
heart.
She parted her legs and nodded slowly.
Sherlock managed to not groan at the feel of her, but it was a close thing. She
was soft as silk against his fingers, and he had to kiss her again, capture her
mouth while he touched her.
She squirmed against him, and for a moment, seemed as if she would panic. Her
hands grabbed his upper arms… but she caught herself. One of her hands followed
down to where his fingers were exploring her, and gently guided his hand. She
knew he had no idea what he was doing, but she knew what she liked. “There…”
she breathed, and arched as he stroked perfectly.
"Please..." he was begging, for what he didn't know. She showed him what she
liked, and then, trusted him to continue. It was a terrifying feeling, her
handing over her pleasure and leaving him to it. He was curled against her
side, spooned against her curves, and could feel every tremble that she made.
Irene whimpered softly, and pressed her face into his neck. Clothes… why did he
have so many layers on? She sucked a bruise into his neck gently as her
fingers, slowly worked down his buttons, undoing one at a time.
Sherlock was trying to control himself, the desire to be buried inside her. But
she started undressing him, and his breath caught. It didn't take much to get
him hard, her mouth on his neck made him ache. She was wet, and a brush of his
thumb against her made him groan. He let her get the shirt off, and then moved
to bury his face between her thighs. He could hear the blood pounding in his
ears, taste the salt on his tongue, and her hands were in his hair.
She jumped, and let out a low curse. Her hands went into his hair, and she
gasped as she felt a sweep of a tongue. “Slow…” she instructed, her grip
tightening. “Slow… flicks… yes…” She groaned. She had never ever let a man do
this (unless he was tied and she was sitting on his face.)
He was as gentle as he could be. He knew in theory that the nerves were the
same as a man, so no teeth. But finding what she liked, a flick of his
tongue... it was enough that he wished his pants were already off, and he could
rut against the sheets. Her hands in his hair, the taste of her, the friction,
it was going to be a battle to let her come first.
It took time but the battle was a mental one. As soon as she forced herself to
let go, however, she came and she came hard, calling his name softly. Tears
pricked her eyes, almost shock. She was a mess, why couldn't she stop crying?
Sherlock forgot about himself, had to find a way to dry her tears. He could
feel her shaking, and the sobbing was wretching at his heart. He gathered her
back on his lap and wrapped her up, and ended up talking about cold cases,
until her eyes focused.
He bent and kissed her gently, the taste of her still on his mouth.
"Sorry..." She muttered and rubbed her eyes. "I don't know what's wrong with
me..." She whispered.
"Similar to what happened when you told me to leave, I think," Sherlock watched
her closely. "You feel cold, and you were crying." He tucked her into the
blankets by his side and kept stroking her hair. "You should try to sleep."
Her hand went to his trousers and rubbed through the material slowly. Her touch
was light, teasing, as she slowly undid his belt and pulled down the zip.
"Irene, no," he begged. "I won't last." He sighed into her hair.
She ignored him, and gently pushed him into his back. Her mouth was soft, sweet
as she kissed him as she very gently slid her hands into his trousers.
"You don't have to," he looked up at her, serious. "I didn't do it so you would
touch me back." But then he caught her in another kiss, and her mouth was
sweet, gentle on his. He slid a hand back between her legs, hungry for her
again.
“I want to feel you inside me,” Irene sounded nervous, but sure. She knew what
she wanted. “I want to forget everything but you… please…” she whispered, her
heart pounding in her chest.
"Alright," he sat up long enough to slide out of his pants and trousers, and
then pulled her back to him. He spooned against her, his fingers on her cleft,
hard against her as he mouthed at her shoulders.
She turned into him and pressed her hips to his as she caught his mouth. He
tongue danced with his, fighting for dominance, then pulling back. Push and
pull… she groaned against his lips.
"Irene," he was breathing her air, wanting to swallow her whole. She was
wrapped in his arms, pulled against him. He couldn't get enough of her, wanting
to run his fingers over her soft skin. A questioning look, he wasn't sure about
who should initiate him penetrating her.
She nodded at him. “You do it… just make it slow… please…” she whispered, her
eyes wide. This was… so new, to want this.
He had goosebumps, it was so much. Her eyes were halfway between terrified and
aroused, and he kept his gaze on her, to reassure her. He was waiting for the
panic, the fear. And he would do anything to keep it off her face. He sat up
and guided his erection into her, just the tip. He kept his thumb on her clit,
and reached to kiss her.
The panic didn’t come, although she was full of hesitations. Nervous, unsure
even, the woman seemed… shy as she felt him enter her… On another mans terms,
not her own. She pressed her face into his neck and looked up at him… with
trust. Just the simple acceptance that for some reason, she knew this man was
not there to hurt her.
Sherlock was staring at her like she would break, turn to dust and fall through
his fingers. He had one hand on the small of her back and moved her, rather
than moving himself. His other hand against her could feel how turned on she
was, wet and shaking.
Her hands went into his hair and she kissed hungrily, moving in time wit him.
Slow, and shaking, she slowly moved them both so they were side by side.
Equals, facing each other. Her breath came in a soft gasp as she started to
moved with him.
He had a leg over her hips, and she was as close to his skin as she could get.
It was too much, warm, everything that had been missing when she had him tied.
A soft cry against her neck, and he was sobbing, torn apart.
She was falling apart too, every fibre of humanity that was left in her bitter
body recoiled. She kept moving though, kept kissing even though she felt him
begin to break… and this is what she wanted all along… to make Sherlock fall,
and then she would leave him, leave him heart broken. In this moment, she had
to ask herself who destroyed who.
He clutched at her. He could feel her tense, feel the moment when her mask
slipped back on. But it was too late, he was sobbing into her hair, utterly
broken. He turned his head into the pillow and cried, bitterly.
he rose against him until she peaked, arching her back against him. Her body
quivered with an orgasm that felt… empty. It wasn’t fake, but there was nothing
behind it… and rolled her hips now, determined to take Sherlock over the edge…
she needed him asleep… she needed to get away.
"You don't need to," he said, muffled into the pillow. "I don't- not right
now." He sat up and looked at her, his eyes haunted, and empty. "I should go."
"Stay..." She pulled back slowly, and slowly reached to stroke his hair.
"Sleep, Sherlock..." She cooed and kissed his hair, before turning away from
him and pulling one of his arms around her.
Sherlock let his tears dry and held her. He knew she was waiting for him to
sleep, so he slipped into his mind palace, so he wouldn't notice her leaving.
It was like knowing someone was going to break into your house and steal
something you treasured, but not be able to stop it.
The next morning, when Sherlock came back from his meditation, Irene was gone.
Not long gone, the pillow was damp from where she had wept for most of the
night. In her place, lay her favorite riding crop, with a red ribbon tied
around it, and it rested over the note. Two words, in an elegant scrawl.
I win
Sherlock blinked at it, his eyes full of tears again. He dressed slowly and
slipped out the front door, riding crop in his hand. He ignored the looks at
the airport and settled into the first flight he could find back to London.
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