Irene Adler. Sherlock frequently thought of her, the woman that challenged him like no other. She was unreadable, fiercely intelligent, and could hold her own in any situation. He admired that in her.

He recalled their meeting in Belgravia several years prior, where she first showed him her lithe, milky white body, and challenged him so. He sat in his low, black leather chair at the flat, his long legs swung over one arm, deep in thought. John had gone out so he was alone in the flat that evening.

The female form never particularly interested him, except in a purely scientific way, or when a woman could be used strategically to further a case, yet he found himself thinking of Miss Adler that night. Suddenly the silence was broken by his phone making a seductive moan. Sherlock's blue-green eyes snapped open. He reached in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out the device.

'You're broody this evening Mr. Holmes. Cheer up. I have an early Christmas present for you.'

Sherlock's brow furrowed. What kind of game was she playing? He swung his legs back over the arm of the chair and set his feet on the floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger and closed his eyes a minute to think. A case? If she had a case she'd just come out and say it. He shouldn't be wasting his time playing her games but his curiosity was piqued.

'I'm not broody, I'm thinking. Get to the point. SH' His phone gave an erotic moan again.

'I like a man who's direct. Thinking looks good on you. What do you say to giving that big brain of yours a rest? Dinner?'

Sherlock gave a half smile. 'Not hungry. SH'

He pushed the woman from his mind. Sherlock didn't have time to waste with carnal distractions when the game was on. It just clouded his powers of deduction.

The following day while sitting at the table in the kitchen of 221B Baker Street peering into his microscope his phone moaned again.

"Sherlock, your phone" said Watson.

"Mmm" murmured the detective not glancing up from his work.

"Irene Adler!?" John asked.

"Mmm" said Sherlock, still not breaking from the microscope.

John recalled Sherlock's confession that he sometimes responded to her texts in moments of weakness. But he couldn't recall having heard that specific text alert in many months. He didn't like where this was going one bit. "What does she want?"

"Does it really matter John?" Sherlock said shooting an irritated look at Watson. He glanced down at the phone quickly. "Excuse me." Sherlock got up quickly, went to his room and closed the door.

"See you soon." His brows furrowed again, he wished she'd just come out and say it. He enjoyed a good mystery but this was just distracting from more pressing things. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and went back into the fray. He needed to address the severed fingers in the fridge.

Upon retiring to his room that evening he sensed another presence in the dark. His nose detected a hint of perfume. A cool wind blew in from an open window.

"Irene?" he called into the dark. His pulse quickened. Her hard blue eyes and blood red lips flashed behind his eyes. Then he noted a silhouette by the window as the curtain fluttered.

"Good evening Sherlock," a soft female voice whispered in the dark.

"Irene Adler. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He replied.

"You've been a naughty boy Sherlock, ignoring my texts..." she purred. "And you owe me dinner."

"I don't think so," Sherlock smirked stepping further into the room and closing the door. "That's a bad idea. And I'm not hungry." His eyes flicked back to the corner in which she stood. He could faintly make out the outline of her silky dark hair.

"Really?" She asked. "I've been watching you. You're restless. Like you're missing something but can't put your finger on it. I can help."

"Tell me what it is I need that you can give me?" he implored. He was curious. He remembered her perky white breasts but quickly pushed them from his mind with a shake of his head.

"To be with a woman of course," she said softly, taking a few steps closer to him.

"No. You're wrong. That is not at all what I need. You're an intriguing woman Miss Adler but I can't afford to cloud my judgement so," he replied.

She stepped closer again and ran a red finger nail down his cheek and down his chest, following the buttons of his dress shirt. "Come now, Sherlock. You just need to relax." The button holding the shirt closed across his chest looked ready to pop off. She could nearly see his smooth chest beneath the shirt.

From this distance Sherlock could admire her better. Red lips. Hard eyes. Black trench coat with a smell of women's perfume mixed with exotic spices and cigarettes.

"You need to go. Your offer is flattering but I'm not interested."

"You're never one to turn down a challenge. It turns you on. You get high on mysteries instead of sex and drugs. You've dabbled in drugs," she said running her nail down the inside of his forearm. "You're an addict and you miss it. I promise sex is safer, and much more accessible. I've wanted you since the moment I set eyes on you. It's my Christmas gift to you."

Sherlock's jaw stiffened and he drew in a sharp breath. He recalled her lounging in an arm chair in Belgravia completely nude. She forced him to gaze upon her soft white breasts, she outwitted him and drugged him. It made Sherlock angry but it also turned him on. She was certainly a worthy opponent. She dropped her trench coat and stood before him again, completely naked, her pale skin luminescent in the light pouring in from the window.

The pair circled each other slowly. Irene brought Sherlock's hand to her breast and he attempted to pull back. She chided him, tilting her head slightly and smiling a devious smile.

"Really, Sherlock?" she asked pushing his dark curls behind his left ear. "Tell me you're not even a little bit curious. How it feels to be inside a woman." She pushed him backwards onto his bed.

She picked something up off the dresser he couldn't see. It sparkled. She came closer to him coming to her knees on the floor in front of him, her mischevious eyes sparkling.

"You've never thought of it?" she implored, rubbing his inner thigh gently. A bulge was beginning to form in his trousers. He was fighting so hard not to think of her. Must. Remain. In. Control. He closed his eyes. She moved quickly, jabbing the needle into his leg. It stung. He cried out. "Gah! What the - what did you do that for?"

His words were already beginning to slur and the room was spinning. He fell back onto the bed, eyes half open. "Just enough to take the edge off my darling, and make you compliant. That's a good boy," she said softly. She moved to straddle him on the bed, forcing her nail between the straining top button of his purple dress shirt setting it free. She worked quickly with the other buttons exposing his lightly muscled torso. She ran her hands over his smooth body from his belt up to his shoulders and down again.

"Stop," he slurred trying to twist away to force his body up but he was unable. Things were still swimming.

Irene kisses his cheek, his neck, down his chest and his stomach until she reached his belt. "No, no, no, no, no," he muttered willing her to stop, trying to force his arousal back in its box, to stop the heat from mounting in his body. She removed the belt, unzipped the trousers, and slid them down his slim legs to the floor.

"Oh Sherlock, don't tell me you don't want it. I can tell. You may have a liars mouth but your body will always tell me the truth," she cooed rubbing his groin through his boxers. Feeling his internal response to her hand she slid them down to join his trousers. His member stood to attention, aching and ready.

"Stop" he growled. "You are a perfectly sadistic woman."

"You noticed," she smiled, stroking his shaft gently with one hand. She placed one finger in her mouth to wet it, then slid it up and down the shaft and circled the tip ever so gently.

"Oh god," he shuddered. His body felt heavy, his limbs like lead too heavy to move but still capable of convulsions under her expert hand.

She ran her tongue along where her finger had traced, placing the tip into her mouth ever so slightly. It was wet and warm and lovely. He shuddered again "Irene, please," he begged trying with his every fibre to ignore the warm, soft pleasure engulfing his body. Trying to force it down. Cold showers. Dead bodies. Green grass. Pirate ships. Mycroft. Bach.

He imagined playing his violin softly, the music calmed him slightly. Irene ran her fingers up the inside of his thighs, and the image was replaced with his fingers lightly touching the strings of his instrument, nimble, gentle, then he imagined his fingers gently caressing her thighs and sinking into her, warm and wet. "Gah!" he cried out again.

Fluid dribbled from his erect member. Irene doodled with it. Tracing patterns and softly stroking Sherlock's penis. "Fuck," he hissed.

"Tell me you want me Sherlock," she commanded. She took his shaft into her mouth, deeply for just a second.

"Oh god! Irene -" he trembled. His mouth was dry. There was fire burning in his belly. He wanted so badly to release. He didn't know if he could say it. He licked his lips to wet them, and imagined her soft breasts against his lips, teasing her velvety nipples with his tongue and teeth.

"Say you want me Sherlock" she said in a fiercer tone, climbing onto the bed and slapping him right across the face. His eyes teared, his cheek stung. She kissed the stinging cheek softly. "Well? I'm waiting?" She straddled his torso sitting expectantly looking at him. Fluids seeped from her wetting his bellybutton. She had waited long and was eager to claim her prize but on her terms.

"Irene - oh god - I want you, I need you. Teach me!" he choked. Sherlock's heart hammered, his mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls. He swallowed hard.

"Good boy," Irene whispered. Running her hands over his chest again she sank Sherlock's swollen member into her, enveloping him in her warm, wet, embrace.

She closed her eyes and groaned quietly. "You are Devine, Sherlock! Good boy you are!"

"Oh god, oh god," he groaned as she began to rock her hips slowly back and forth. He could feel the pressure and heat building again in his belly, and a sweat dotting his brow. He could use his hands still, if a bit shakily. He clasped his large, slender hands, one on each of her hips and pulled her violently to him forcing her to increase her speed.

"Oh god Sherlock you naughty boy," she hissed. She bent closer to him, savagely kissing him, knotting her fingers in his dark, curly hair.

He dragged his fingers down her back, leaving red lines in their wake. Irene bit his lower lip, drawing just a hint of blood smiling savagely and then crying out.

He managed enough control of his body to flip her and force her hard onto her back. The room had stopped spinning, the drug was beginning to wear off. He was too intoxicated to turn back.

"Ms. Adler" he bristled staring down at her, hands planted on the bed just above each side of her shoulders.

"Mr. Holmes", she replied staring back up at him. "Your move. Show me what you can do."

He kissed her savagely forcing her lips to part further with his tongue. Sherlock then moved his mouth down to her breasts, sucking gently on them, swirling gently around each nipple in turn with his tongue. She moaned loudly. He took her hips in his hands, and slowly brought his face between her thighs. Irene could feel his warm breath on her tender skin. The soles of her feet were tingling and her toes began to curl. She closed her eyes and her body shuddered as he kissed her inner thighs. "Oh god Sherlock!" she moaned. "You need to fuck me and fuck me hard."

He spread her legs wide and slid a long, slender finger into her, then two. She moaned again, he could feel her convulsions and her body grip tightly around him. "You are naughty Sherlock Holmes," she hissed between her teeth. "Fuck me for real."

Sherlock's face broke into a smirk and he giggled to himself. His eyes glinted playfully in the dark and crinkled in the corners. He crawled again over to his lover, gripping Irene by the shoulder, spreading her legs wide with his free hand and forcing himself into her roughly. She cried loudly, not that she minded, she did enjoy pain and was completely weak feeling him inside of her, throbbing. Sherlock was panting heavy in her ear, his breath coming ragged, sweat dripping from his brow. Their hips continued to meet savagely, to their joint pleasure. Irene dug her nails into Sherlock's shoulders leaving eight little crescents of blood along his back where they had pierced his skin.

It was painful but so sweet, as Sherlock's pleasure boiled over, he gasped and his mouth released a low, long moan as he came inside her, hot liquid filling her belly. Irene felt his whole body tense and then relax as he collapsed against her. Irene gripped him tightly inside her reaching her own finish as well, groaning and then collapsing back into the bed.

Sherlock cradled his head into her warm breasts and slowly allowed his breath to return to a regular pace as she ran her fingers through his damp curls.

"Irene Adler you are a devil," he whispered, closing his eyes and smirking.

Then there was a tap at the door.

"Sherlock? Everything alright?" John asked from the other side of the door. I'd nipped out and came back and heard shouting."

"Everything is fine John, I must have been dreaming!" Sherlock replied smiling wryly.