Tonight, at this particular moment, Sherlock Holmes was a neophyte. He did not know the formula or premise behind the peculiarity of human nature, but tonight, he knew that he wanted to make love for the first time, and he wanted to make it to you. No deductions or no calculations of what made you succumb to the beauty of pleasure, he wanted to do it the natural way, and it made him shake with both enticement and nervousness.
He had been scrutinising himself in the mirror for the last five minutes and nothing could cease the excitement he felt vanquishing his body, but the anxiety was the availing emotion that had seized him. He hated the oblivion, the unknown, the vulnerability of inexperience. Mycroft was right; maybe Sherlock will always be a virgin. He growled in annoyance as the thoughts of his brother's words overcrowded his mind, but flushed them away with a splash of cold water and after a courageous prep talk to himself, he submerged from the bathroom; a loving smile spread across his face at the sight of you staring mindlessly at the ceiling while your hair spread angelically across the pillow and your body cocooned around you.
Oh, this was so unconventional for Sherlock Holmes. But you and only you had this effect on him and he couldn't deny that you made him feel this way.
You noticed his presence and turned to face him with a warm saccharine smile, the one that melted his heart of stone.
He towered over you, careful not to waste any time, he kissed your lips with most platonic kiss he muster and it took you by surprise. But that was the many things that you admired about your relationship with Sherlock, the spontaneity of it, it kept your adrenaline racing through your body.
You deepened the kiss with a blazing passion, trying to reflect the passion that Sherlock gave. His kisses always astounded you, but you knew that this one was different; it radiated affection, intimacy and need. You knew that he wanted to, but you could feel the anxiety he felt through the way he trembled against you.
You departed from his lips, your palm resting upon his perfectly sculpted cheekbone, your eyes drinking in his asymmetrical features, vulnerable Sherlock Holmes was the most beautiful thing ever. Your eyes searched his in great intensity and your thumb gave a comforting caress that made him hum contentedly.
"Are you sure?" You whispered, you knew that he was a virgin, and you were completely elated that he chose you to be his first, but you didn't want him to rush into it, you felt that you didn't need to rush anything.
"Positively, I want to make love to you." He whispered softly before placing a tender kiss on your palm and then back to your lips. With every kiss, his anxiety subsided with the antidote being the sweetness of your lips and the radiating warmth of your body. His hands still trembling but yours guided him towards your shirt.
In a very delicate manner, he slowly unbuttoned your shirt, wanting to take his time and savour this special moment spent with you.
It was the very first time that he abandoned his misanthropic attitude and allowed himself to succumb to the vulnerability of human nature and the euphoria of affection and intimacy.
He slowly rolled the shirt off of your shoulders and tossed it gently to the side.
Your lips found each other in a perfect, fluid synchronisation as his hands roamed your body, quick to discard all clothing while skilfully keeping the rhythm of the passionate, undying kiss that you both shared.
He departed from the kiss, earning a whimper from you from the loss of contact. He grinned victoriously into your baby soft skin and planted kisses down your body. A breath gathered sharply in your throat as the delicate texture of his rosy lips coursed down your body.
His lips peppered kisses deliciously down your stomach, causing you to moan aloud, as he approached the very place he desired. He continued his course down your body, the anxiety evidently disappeared, his head dipped between your legs. You breathed in anticipation, the moans ready to emerge from your lips, he have planted a single kiss on your underwear, causing you throw back your head in pleasure.
How could your consulting detective have been a virgin?
He brought his lips back to yours swiftly before moving away once more. He tugged at your underwear, keeping his unorthodox grey eyes fixated on yours in great intensity.
He towered over you once more, his hand intertwined with yours as he found your saccharine lips once more while sliding himself gently inside of you.
Tonight, Sherlock Holmes was no longer a virgin or neophyte or a misanthropic. He was a human, making love to the woman that he loved with all his heart.