Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or the BBC (if I did, I'd be rich and married to Benedict Cumberbatch).
Sins Committed
Sherlock stared into her deep, greenish-gray eyes, feeling the touch of her skin against his. She felt soft and rough at the same time, confusing him more. He was hungry, but not for food. For her. For the woman. For Irene. This was the only woman and person who he could feel this sentiment for. It was a wanting kind of feeling. She made his head spin just by touching him for a slight moment. He hated it.
And yet he loved it also.
She touches his arm, gently rubbing it. He feels his stomach flutter slightly, getting a bit too overwhelmed. The dull firelight dances on Irene's face, making her look dark and beautiful. They were alone, John was with Harriet for Christmas. She grabs his hand, her pulse increasing slightly. This made him smile, knowing that he made her slightly nervous.
Her red lips curl up into a smirk, happy that she's made him feel also. Sherlock doesn't read her, not wanting nor needing to. He already knew she felt the same way he did, exactly how he wanted it to be. They don't speak, just stare at each other. Irene makes the first move, throwing Sherlock off a bit. Which was fine, surprises are nice sometimes.
She kisses him.
Not on the cheek like before, but on the lips. It's not a tiny peck, but a real kiss. Her lips brush against his. He does the completely unexpected: he kisses her back. Something inside him, the wanting and the sentimental part, makes him do it. They kiss, lips moving together in perfect harmony. He tastes her sweet lips, smelling he expensive perfume. She scoots closer to him on the couch, wrapping her hands around the back of his slender neck.
Irene inches her way into his lap, wrapping her legs around him. She drops her hands from his neck and runs them down his spine, making Sherlock shiver. He puts his hands behind her back, just above her butt, teasing her. She smiles, tracing her finger around his groin, teasing him back. Sherlock touches her there, lost in the moment as her teasing intensifies. He groans and kisses her neck, receiving a satisfied moan from Irene in return. He traces the top of her breasts and notes their perfection.
She rubs his shoulders, back, and chest as he continues to kiss her neck. He bites her a few times out of pure male instinct; making her moan louder. Her fingers begin to unbutton his shirt, revealing flawless, warm skin underneath. As she does this, he starts untying her dress. Her tongue slips between his teeth, touching his. Oh God, does it feel amazing. She kisses him more intense and passionate. She begins to slip the detective's pants off him. He doesn't fight her, smiling as they kiss. They go to Sherlock's bedroom, losing clothes along the way.
He feels Irene against him, moving with him. She loves this sensation, the sensation of being loved and cared for. So does he. It eventually ends and they sleep in his bed together, both satisfied. They wake up together, with Sherlock's arm draped around her. They both smile, loving the sin they had just committed. Oh well, if they go to hell, at least they would be there together.
A/N: This is my first time writing something like this. I have never experienced anything like this, so if I get something wrong, I am very sorry. The more comments, favorites, and requests I get, the more likely I am to write more Sherlock Irene fanfics.