Sherlock woke late with a small groan, feeling a numbness in his arm. He looked over to it, unable to shift it either way, and smiled gently when he saw the sleeping form of Irene Adler, nestled close to him. Her black hair had fallen over her delicate face, not quite devoid of her pride and charms in this unconscious state, but so much more vulnerable. He reached over and lifted her slightly, untangling her from him before brushing a strand from her closed eyes and ghosting a kiss on the top of her head. 'Sentiment' he thought to himself, lying back upon his pillow. He no longer thought it bitterly when he was annoyed with himself and others, now it was thought fondly as he looked over the object of his affections in all her glory.
"Good morning, Mr Holmes." Came her voice, still heavy with sleep.
"Good morning, Miss Adler." He looked over her, smirking slightly as he saw the marks he had left to claim her. "Would you like breakfast?"
She smiled, looking innocent but with a devilish glint in her eyes. "I'm not hungry, Mr Holmes." He smirked back as she moved on top of him, deepened the kiss she granted him.
"Sherlock?" Came the call of Mrs Hudson. "John called, he's coming over with Mary. Would you like some tea?"
Said detective groaned softly, not only due to the pressure of Miss Adler as she moved about, but also the disappointment that they'd been interrupted. How tedious.
"No thank you Mrs Hudson." He called down, composed far more than most men would be in the intimate company of Irene Adler.
"It appears this shall have to wait, Mr Holmes." She shifted herself and him until he was upright with her straddling him. He gave her one last kiss, "You don't make it easy to leave, Miss Adler," before lifting her beside him. He dressed himself quickly, looking unruffled and composed, though he blushed slightly as he wondered how to mask the vivid marks on his neck and the purpling bruises on his wrist. His companion had no such concerns, simply moving (still stark naked) to the living room and picking up their discarded clothes. She put on the purple shirt she had taken off him with such haste, crumpling her white dress and his black pants and chucking them unceremoniously into the bedroom.
"Are you meaning to be a cliche, Irene?" Sherlock asked, using her given name for the first time that morning. She moved closer to him, placing herself against him even though the shirt barely covered her, stroking his cheek. "Does it embarrass you, Sherlock?"
He shook his head negative. His gaze then fell on the coffee table, and he did colour slightly. "Perhaps we should move that. Before John arrives."
When she arrived they were in the living room, alone. They had little time for words, he only had the time to mention her name in that deep rumbling voice of his before she set upon him, worrying at the buckle of his trousers and capturing his cupid bow lips with her red painted ones with expert precision. He caught on quickly, tugging at her tight fitting dress as they leaned against the coffee table for support, two adventurers exploring the other for the first time in months, their hands roaming into territory new to them. He cupped the firm curves of her now naked figure as she pressed her soft lips to his, and she stroked the sharp edges of his face before relieving him of his shirt, leaving them both defrocked. They carried on until the fragile wood gave way beneath them, pausing to breath and laugh before she touched him just so and elicited a single husky command.
"Bedroom, now."
Irene knew what memory had been brought forth - she could feel the shift of blood as it diverted from his precious brain. She disentangled herself, determined to make him wait, and together they moved the evidence away.
"Irene," Sherlock began, "We have a minor issue."
"Oh?"
"John isn't aware you're alive yet."
Irene giggled slightly. "Do you want to tell him? Or should I?"
Sherlock smiled fondly at her. "I'll break the news, then you can appear before he hits me, if you'd be so kind."
"But of course, Mr Holmes. Wouldn't want him to cut himself."
He grinned at the joke, their joke, before motioning her to the bedroom to wait until they were ready.
"Sherlock? Can I come in?" Followed a knock on the door. Sherlock frowned confusedly. Didn't John have a key? Had he lost it?
"It's open," he replied. When the doctor and his wife entered he broached the issue, "Have you lost your key, John?"
John coloured slightly. Mary, kindly, took over. "We didn't want to interrupt anything. Mrs Hudson warned us to knock first."
Sherlock's brow furrowed, "How did she- I mean, what is she insinuating?"
John gave a weak grin. "You're in a victorian flat with bullet holes. It isn't exactly… soundproof, mate."
The unfortunate resident of 221B blushed violently, knowing he could never again look upon his landlady. It took a moment to compose himself, now only a slight pink flush to belie the calm expression. "Tea?"
"Yes, please."
The married pair sat down and Sherlock placed the cups on the table, sitting facing them. He spoke first, before anyone else could ask a question.
"Do you remember the Woman's case, John?"
"Yes?" The blogger felt a sinking in his stomach. He could guess what was about to fall from his ex-flatmates bruised lips.
"I know she didn't go to America. I know she didn't go on witness protection."
John nodded, looking guilty as his lies were relayed to him.
"But she wasn't beheaded, either." Sherlock took on a bashful, but still proud, look. "I wasn't quite prepared to let that happen."
John sighed, not angry, more exasperated. "People never die around you, Sherlock. I should have seen it coming."
Sherlock looked relieved, not needing another bruise in his collection. Although, it wasn't as if the bruises from the night before were… unwelcome.
Their bodies linked together as they tumbled clumsily beneath the sheets, long pale fingers ghosting over each other's taut sweating skin, both hearts beating in harmony like a war drum, teasing and playing each other like instruments until, finally, sweet release and she gifted him with a moan so much more pleasurable than that of a text tone, but not before taking them with as much ease and pride from him. She'd brought her riding crop for him, and it never took her long to find the cuffs in the draw that stashed them in after last time. Of course he'd put up a fight before he let her chain him to the bed and take over, sucking and biting softly on her neck and abdomen, feeling her gasp and writhe with pleasure beneath him, ragged breaths against his flesh. It took her a while to get him in position, to assert her dominance and make him beg for her mercy, once, twice, more, each time more desperate until she gave it him. When she unlocked him he got revenge, making her moan his name and beg for more.
He could never hold out long enough to make her wait.
Irene arrived quickly after her existence was revealed, taking it as her cue.
"Doctor Watson. Long time no see."
"Indeed, Miss Adler."
"And you must be Mary. Well, Sherlock's told me about you. Says you're an excellent shot."
Mary blushed slightly herself as Sherlock smiled at her. He'd forgiven her for the shooting, and she was remarkable. Irene herself sat herself nearly on Sherlock's lap, deciding to share his armchair and cause him as much embarrassment as was possible. She was doing well, Sherlock was not at all used to having a beautiful woman clad only in his shirt sitting too close to him. He blurted out something incomprehensible, and John was reminded of the first time Adler had insinuated her attraction to the detective. Sherlock cleared his throat, composed again, taking care to punctuate his sentence.
"Would you like anything, Miss Adler. Tea?"
He hardly waited for her positive response before darting off. Irene hummed slightly. "Don't know what's come over him." She announced. "He wasn't this shy last night."
John choked slightly on his tea and moved to join Sherlock in making tea, not particularly wanting to listen to the dominatrix discuss her and his friends… night.
Irene smiled at Mary. "Never were sure where to look, either of them. Oh, I had fun when we met." She smirked. "Sherlock even gave me his coat."
Mary's eyes widened slightly. "And what on earth prompted Sherlock Holmes to give up his precious coat?"
"My battle dress." Irene purred. Sherlock returned, placed her cup in her waiting hands, took his previous position, and clarified.
"She greeted us both whilst wearing nothing but her shoes." He looked down at the smirking Irene, "John it rather difficult to know where to look."
"As did you, Mr Holmes."
Sherlock scowled as that was pointed out, deciding to ignore her admittedly valid statement and plant a kiss on the top of her head. Sentiment wasn't all that bad, really, and he had her so close it was really inconsequential whether or not he showed it. His phone went off in the bedroom but he ignored it, instead the four in the living room engaged in conversation, all having a got at stroking Mrs Watson's newly grown bump.
Three short raps on the door brought them back to reality.
"What on earth do you want?" Sherlock yelled, displeased at their time being interrupted. "We're busy."
"Can I come in?"
Lestrade entered when given the positive response, but apparently had not been warned about Sherlock's guest. He gawked at the sight of a woman sat so close to the ice cold Consulting Detective, especially when she was only in a shirt normally seen beneath an elegant suit.
"Get on with it then!"
"Ah, right, yes." Lestrade stuttered. "Who's that, exactly?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "A friend."
"Not a friend." Irene muttered amusedly. "I don't think you treat your friends like that."
"Quicker to explain, my dear." Sherlock murmured back. "I don't think you completely understand the D.I.'s ability to waste time." Aloud he told them that, "No, I will not attend whatever scene your incompetent force cannot deal with." He gave an unnatural grin - his speciality, "I am engaging in social... things."
Irene sighed, "Come on Sherlock, the Inspector needs your help." She lowered her voice, "You know I like detective stories…" She licked her lips and continued in an even more sultry voice, if such a thing was possible, "And detectives."
Sherlock's eyes had widened slightly and the red tone of his cheeks was really rather alarming. In response to what Irene had told him, without others hearing it, he had removed Irene from his chair and stood, announcing that Lestrade should text him the location and they would follow. John felt he could probably guess what Irene had said. The unprecedented, ill-masked enthusiasm with which Sherlock spoke could only really have one source. The Inspector left quickly.
"Now, Mr and Mrs Watson. Do you wish to attend?" John looked to his wife. He was rather looking forward to watching reactions to Sherlock's 'friend'. Mary nodded, told Sherlock they'd both be coming. He grinned and grabbed Irene by the arm, ready to tug her out the door. He stopped abruptly, "Do you have any clothes save yesterday's, Miss Adler. I fear it might be a bit… creased."
"No, I didn't expect to stay go out today, Mr Holmes."
Sherlock frowned slightly and sighed. "Wait here then. Get a cup of tea or something - you know where everything is John." He smirked slightly at Irene, "Detective stories on the top shelf." And he disappeared.
It took twenty minutes for him to return, scowling slightly, bearing a bag and a bottle of milk.
"You are lucky I require you to look professional at a crime scene, Miss Adler. I remember now why I order online." He thrust the bag at her and she left.
"You went shopping, just because Irene didn't have fresh clothes." Came John's incredulous voice.
Sherlock's scowl deepened. "We were out of milk, too. And besides, Miss Adler's dress is not in any state to be worn today and she can hardly wear mine."
Irene returned, wearing the third outfit she had tried from Sherlock's variety of clothes. A short blue dress, unbuttoned at the top. Sherlock blinked.
"I did include tights, Irene."
She shrugged, "Not my style."
He said nothing, reaching into his pocket. "Here." He clasped a silver bracelet round her wrist. "Thought it would suit you."
She stared at it. It did suit, but one thing stood out more. Sentiment.
They arrived at the scene by taxi, all four of them arriving together. Sherlock had never even dreamed of having such a group, and yet… he smiled. It wasn't half bad. John and Mary close together like the loved up married ones they were, his faithful blogger's hand sporadically moving to rest on the growing bump of his wife. Irene standing close to him, hooking her arm through his and leaning herself against him. She wanted to be noticed, she wanted people to see her, see the marks she'd left last night. Sherlock wondered briefly whether the scarf covered his, knowing that Irene wouldn't care who saw her's. She wore her's like a prize, proof she had driven The Virgin wild.
"Anderson, remove yourself from my sight before you put me off. And you Donovan - perhaps the pair of you could continue what you were doing earlier." Both of them turned to retort but froze when they spotted his company.
"Who's that?" Donovan demanded.
Sherlock remained silent, moving over to the body, ready to reveal the simplicity.
"Hang on Sherlock," Irene said, the picture of innocence, "I have to give you something."
Sherlock frowned. What did she mean? He caught on too late. Their chapped lips were already pressed together, her hands tugging on his lapel and shifting the scarf till it no longer covered the bites she left, shifting his cuff till the bruise of the cuff wasn't quite invisible, showing off everything of her's he'd tried to hide. His hands were already too busy to resist, one buried in the groove of her back, one playing with her loose hair. They broke apart to breathe, and Irene smirked when she saw the nauseated gaze of Anderson and Donovan, and observed John and Mary pointedly looking away.
"For luck," She declared bouncily. Sherlock grinned at her, proud and slightly dazed from her embrace.
"You're a demon, Woman." He paused, adjusting his clothes until evidence was hidden. "And I'm afraid I rather like it."
The body lay prone on the floor as Sherlock studied it, circling it like a hunter might an elephant, or a teddy the garden, lips still tingling from the 'luck' Miss Adler had given him. He spoke his deductions aloud, pausing for John to add in his amazed comments.
"Clearly he was cheating on his faithful wife with her… brother. Twin brother, even. He had a reputation and an unaccepting family, so he married the girl but loved the boy." He stopped, expecting and 'amazing', or perhaps 'brilliant', but that wasn't what he got.
"All that from one look? Brainy's still the new sexy."
He grinned, beckoned her over. "Tell me what you see, Irene. Let's see if you're as good as you used to be."
"He was shot from behind and the person was either left handed or angled diagonally. He wasn't expecting them. You need to get the bullet and check the gun, and then see if it matches one of the hunting guns in the drawer."
Sherlock pressed yet another kiss to her head (his reputation must now be in tatters), "Definitely the new sexy," he said lowly. "And now, we must pay a visit to a Miss Molly Hooper."
"Oh, Sherlock!" Molly exclaimed as he entered, bring his gang along. By his request, Irene was stood with John and Mary. He wasn't quite sure how well Molly would deal with the intimacy, and he had a feeling that being so close in a morgue was Not Good.
"We need the report on the body just brought in, if you please."
"Oh, ok." She peered closely over Sherlock's shoulder at Irene chatting with Mary, "Who's this? Do I know her?"
"No one you need to worry about, Molly. The report if you would." He took it from her, "Thank you."
"Sherlock." Molly gasped, "What have you done now?"
"Hmm?"
"Your wrist! You've been arrested!" Molly glared at him, "I've seen enough handcuff marks to know them. Now you explain yourself right now."
Sherlock's jaw hung slightly open, his cheeks slightly red. He looked across for help, but only found a trio hiding sniggers.
"It's not how you think, Molly…" He murmured weakly. Damn Irene! He glowered inwardly. He was going to get his revenge tonight, he would.
"Then what is it?" Molly was still angry. She was so used to Sherlock's misendeavours, used to slapping him after the drugs, she couldn't quite see past the obvious use.
Help me. He mouthed, his back to the fuming pathologist. Irene stayed impassive. He repeated it, and she finally came to help. She'd made him beg. Twice.
"Good afternoon, Miss Hooper." She smiled, "I can tell you Sherlock's not in trouble with the law. I was with him all night"
"Then wha- oh." Miss Hooper turned scarlet. She suddenly realised the not so conventional use for handcuffs, and John's blog. "Are you Irene Adler? The one he knew by… not your face?"
Irene smirked slightly, "Well, he never mentioned that bit. And I can tell you that he wasn't arrested last night…" She smirked, "He's not into roleplay."
Sherlock gaped, a vibrant shade of crimson. Molly turned a delicate shade of pink, but valiantly tried to converse, bustling round the desks.
"No, he doesn't seem the type."
The man in question closed his mouth and his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his 'tastes' were being discussed quite so openly.
"Anything interesting in the reports, Molly?" He asked, eyes still closed. He didn't look at anyone as the information was divulged and left still red, only raising his eyes to glare at the back of Irene.
Sherlock texted the culprit to Lestrade on the way home in the cab. They stopped briefly at John and Mary's house, had a look at the construction of the nursery. The detective noted the theme - his gift could be a teddy or something equally mundane. He and Irene decided to walk home, the cabs being hard to flag down in John and Mary's quiet street.
"Is that one of Mycroft's men I spy?"
Irene broke the comfortable silence, pointing with the arm not trapped by Sherlock's. He squinted, tightening his arm around her. He wasn't quite sure what Mycroft would do with Irene if he ever found her.
"I think, Miss Adler, that my brother had some bugs in my flat." He smirked, a devil in his eye, "My guess is that he looked at last night's footage this morning, saw our body language when you came in, broke his laptop and decided to remove the cameras and destroy the footage."
Irene giggled. She spotted a camera pointing at them and decided to do her best. She was going to misbehave.
She pushed Sherlock to the wall, working his body the way only she knew how to, placing kisses just where she knew would do the most damage. Her victim gasped slightly, spoke hoarsely.
"What's this for, Miss Adler?"
"Big brother is watching." She smirked, pressing a kiss against him.
"Well now. Have you been wicked, Mr Holmes?"
He stood ready, prepared for her to take over, take him to the flat.
"Yes, Miss Adler."