Warning: sex, mention of drug use.
If you have problem with any of the above, you better not read.
Sequel to Lost Souls, it would make better sense, if you read the prequel.
They got on the bus and as she expected, in the front there was a whore in heroin trance. In the back had sat a pimp with two girls around the age of 15, literally climbing on him. He was happily playing with them.
Sherlock led her to the platform in the middle. "You can bet I know what was going on in your head, lovely," he said, bending to face her.
She felt her face paling. If he really knew what she was thinking, what would he do? Her mind was racing, hundreds and thousands scenarios how he tells her that he's not interested in her, in sex, nor anything else, except for his work and experiments.
But all her thoughts flew away when Sherlock captured her lips with his and hugged her tightly. His lips played with hers for a while, and then bravely went for her neck.
"So, really, what if I found it hard to content myself, what if I acted bravely toward you?" he murmured into her skin. "I've asked myself so many times and now," he nipped her, making little scarlet mark, "we can see what's going to happen."
His hand gently rubbed her spine, one finger tracing her backbones over the thin skin. She shivered and let out a soft moan. Oh, he was going to enjoy this!
Her hands flew to him, one grabbing his dark curly hair and pulling softly; the other sneaking under his shirt, scratching red lines on his back. All that was in her little head now was Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock, and she felt just like in her day-dream – so happy, so aroused, so… loved. She wasn't sure, if she could keep a hold of him, but she didn't care, not now. Now the only thing that mattered was his heavy breathing and strong yet gentle hands.
Sherlock lifted her on the parapet, just as she imagined. His hands continued to be everywhere at the same time.
"So, if you really want this," he murmured suddenly, "use this." One of his hands reached hers, giving her little packet, she wanted him to have, but never seriously imagined him to carry around. She gladly accepted the condom and returned to wildly kissing his lips and neck.
So many people said Sherlock didn't know where to look at or touch woman, it had become the truth in everyone's minds, even Sherlock's. Yet, when his hand once again crept up her spine and reached her bra, he didn't even blink before simply unclasping it greedily. He moved his hand to her breasts and cupped one of them. She could swear he made a comment about "just the right size", but her mind was preoccupied with the feel of him on her body.
For a while their posture didn't change, they carried on kissing and nipping each other.
Then, with quiet groan, she slipped her little hand in his pants and touched his hard member, hesitantly at first, and then she took it out in the cool air of the bus.
She could feel Sherlock's fingers play with the lace of her panties, then how he pulls them, so he can rub her clit. She leaned her head on his shoulder, moaning, saying his name, as if he was her God.
"I want you, I want to be in you," he breathed in her ear, "can I?" he gently bit her earlobe.
She had no strength left, nor voice to talk, so she took the condom from her pocket, opened it, and tried to put it on his cock. It was harder than she imagined and she felt his hands joining hers to help.
And finally, they both held their breath, as Sherlock pushed into her. He could feel her whole body tensing for a moment, so he rubbed her back and kissed her head. They stood like that for a couple of moments, and then they began to move.
At first slowly, because the pose was strange and the angle didn't allow much movement. Yet the more they moved the faster and harder they went. And soon they felt warmth building up at their lower abdomens, just before they came together, groaning each other's names.
In post-orgasmic daze she pulled Sherlock in tight hug. What now?, they both thought.
As their breathing slowed, they clung to each other, but eventually let go.
Both straightened their clothes and walked over to the bus' door. The bus stopped and they got off, not looking back.
"I… we better go, it's cold," her voice broke the silence, as she led off to her house. A hand flew to her waist and pulled her back. "Sherlock!" she breathed.
"Please," he buried his face in her hair, "tell me that this was for real."
They stood like that for a while.
"So, this is what lies beneath your cold genius, Sherlock? Well," she turned to him, "I meant it," she smiled.
They started for her house once more, but this time hand-in-hand, and their souls not so lost anymore.
The End
So, this is the sequel to Lost Souls. This is what I imagine happening, after Sherlock deducing what she day-dreamed. I'm leaving her nameless and characterless, because Lost Souls and What Lies Beneath are based on my original fiction and the main female character was always nameless, bear with it.
I hope you enjoyed!