The story is named after a Muse song, since I think it fits Sherlock and Irene perfectly.

Undisclosed desires

The sky over London was grey and starless. The big, heavy raindrops pounded strongly at the windows of the apartment in 221B Baker Street, as if they were threatening to break the glass. The storm outside grew heavier by the minute and the streets were completely infested; not even the usual number of umbrellas for this whether could be seen since the wind was too strong for them. All of that was nothing compared to Sherlock's mood which was even darker than usual at this particular evening.

The case season was dry, unlikely to the rainy season, typical for mid November. Sherlock paced around the room, as if he was measuring it multiple times with his steps, finally collapsing into his armchair with a sigh. He felt like a caged lion, tormented by the amount of thoughts and ideas in his head, unable to channel them somehow as they backfired on the little serenity he had managed to preserve with no cases on sight in the last couple of weeks. Even John went out, leaving him to the mercy of his tormented mind.

The violin was leaned on the side of his chair, and he gently ran his fingers over the strings with his stretched arm, too lazy to take it in his hands and actually play. Those thoughts, the thoughts he suppressed deep into the darkened corners of his mind palace began haunting him this evening again, taking advantage of his moment of weakness. The secret thoughts of a woman, The Woman.

He stared at the ceiling, counting the small irregularities in the paint work when the unexpected had happened. Somebody knocked on the door of his living room, twice, calmly, and quietly.

His head swiftly turned in the direction of this strange phenomenon. It couldn't be John; he wouldn't knock. Not Mrs. Hudson either, she was visiting her sister. Lestrade would knock more determinately, Mycroft wouldn't knock at all.

He jumped on his feet, doubting a bit if he had fallen asleep during this seemingly endless evening and was dreaming this, driven by the boredom even in his sleep. Very slowly, he approached the door, listening. When he was only a few inches away, the knocks repeated, this time more determinately, which made him jump a bit.

He reached the door knob, pulling the door open very slowly. In front of them stood a woman in a hooded coat, looking down at her expensive black pumps. The long suppressed feelings within him grew within the second, as he watched Irene Adler take down her hood with both of her hands.

She smiled at him broadly, carefully examining every part of him with her never resting, vivid look. She bit her bottom lip, finally fixing her gaze on his blue eyes with such an intensity that made him squirm. He was pretty sure that she was trying to bewitch him, since he felt compromised without her even touching him.

"Invite me in." she suggested, leaning her head a bit to the side in a seductive manner.

He moved to the side, making room for her to enter. She moved around graciously, inspecting the room she found herself in, checking if something had changed since her last and only time here, actually trying to deduce whether he had changed since she last saw him.

"And has anything changed?" he asked, leaning on the door he closed behind her.

"Superficially, no. But I'll have to dig deeper than that." She said suggestively.

She threw her coat on the sofa, and kicked her shoes away as she curled her slender figure in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, embracing her knees.

He sat in the chair opposite to her, starting the eternal dance of trying to analyze her. First step, the obvious; a little black dress, only covering the upper part of her thighs, zipped on her back, stockings with a stitch on the back in the matching black color. The red nails on the hand which she used to support her head, looking sleepily. What was he tired from, he didn't know. Heel turn, he notices a small bruise on her wrist, covered by a bracelet. He deduces nothing more but it takes two to tango. Dos-a-dos, the dance movement when two partners initially facing each other walk around each other in a circle. She analyzes him now; he looks stressed out, his fingers are taping the arm of the chair nervously. He has dark rings around his eyes, he hasn't slept recently and his fingertips are very brightly colored in yellow, barely noticeable of course, he tried to wash away all the evidences of smoking not to alarm John. And the finale, the bow:

"You need me." She simply said, without an intention to tease, simply pointing out what she saw as obvious.

"What makes you deduce that?" he asked, his fingertips forming a triangle as he prepared to engage in a duel with an unpredictable outcome.

She straightened up in her chair, crossing her long, slim fingers which caught his attention, as she intended. Without breaking eye contact, she started explaining her claim:

"You are obviously in bad shape. Psychologically I mean, physically you look as brainy as ever. You started smoking again, you don't sleep, you are sitting alone and yet for the half an hour I was listening on you before I came in, you didn't play the violin, and you barely touched it. You are slowly losing control of your calm, cold outside which is visible in the obvious signs of anxiety you're showing. And yet, since I entered, you are still restless, but the darkness in your mood is gone. In fact, you are showing signs of positive nervousness, revealing that you are not quite comfortable with me being here, in your home, but that still doesn't mean you want me to leave."

He gave no reply to her scarily accurate statement; instead, he studied the lack of victorious glow in her eyes for being right, her half closed eyes, and again the bruise on her wrist which was now more visible when she moved her arm to her mouth, yawning.

"Something happened to you. Something bad." He said, with a disturbance barely noticeable.

Irene sighed. Sherlock saw the tip of the iceberg of sadness in her eyes, begging to be let out, to relieve herself, but she turned her head away towards the window, suppressing it with great effort.

Sherlock felt awkward. If he was right, as he of course was, she came here for comfort, protection? Perhaps even just for a talk. He knew he was definitely the last person on the planet competent to have such a conversation with someone who has been through stuff. And as much as he knew Irene, as much as he considered her the strongest and most valuable of women, whom he would of course never admit it out loud, that stuff must have been hard on her since she couldn't hide the signs. He felt a strange urge to stand up and hold her hand. He saw people applying this apparently meaningless gesture in such circumstances and it seemed to make the recipient feel better or at least smile as a sign of appreciation of the very gesture. He wanted her to smile. He frowned, remembering the night he saw her last time, in the port in Karachi. She smiled then, as a sign of gratitude, as a confirmation of the sentiment he had deduced before. He kissed his cheek while saying goodbye then. He wanted her to smile again. And maybe even kiss his cheek.

He couldn't stand the painful silence any more. Normal silence was welcome, very pleasant in moments. But this silence, filled with the unsaid pain she felt and his inability to affect is was not acceptable, so he finally spoke:

"Irene...I know you've suffered but I don't want you to hide. You obviously came here for a reason, and...If you want to talk, I'll...listen."

She looked away from the window straight into his eyes, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He heard the ridiculous saying that the eyes were the window to the soul before, but at the moment, it didn't seem as ridiculous to him as usual. He saw a whole specter of her feeling in the two blue orbs; there was pain, gratitude, fear and something he saw in her eyes before, something he wasn't experienced with; a basic instinct. He saw the urge of a predator for her prey combined with the specific glow only a determined woman in love could have which basically, in Sherlock's mind, made her into a man hunter. And as far as he could tell, he was the only man within reach.

"What if I didn't come for a talk?" she said, stretching herself like a cat.

Descending on the level of mere mortals, he asked the question to which he already knew the answer.

"What did you come for then?"

She smiled, looking at some imaginary point behind his shoulder in the darkness. She bit her index finger in a teasing way and then she sighed.

"It's a rather complicated matter to explain. Would you like me to show you instead?"

He smirked. She was pulling him on thin ice, and she was the great white beneath it.

"As an experiment you mean?" he played naïve.

She got up in one move, walking slowly towards him, emphasizing every hip drop as she walked, and forming a quite appealing array of eights with her hips. She leaned over him, putting her hands on the arms of the chair on both of his sides, her look piercing his eyes and then she leaned further forward and whispered into his ear:

"Call it whatever you like, but I'll have you tonight and you know it."

"Twice I suppose?" he said, trying to maintain his usual uninterested manner of speech, and failing at it miserably.

As an answer, she pulled him up by the lapels of his jacket. They stood opposite each other, invading each other's personal space with a tendency to fully conquer it. She traced the contour of his heart shaped lips with her index finger, leaning her head on both sides in examination, as her parted lips captured all his attention in anticipation. The truth was, she was burning up inside, every muscle in her body tense, her skin dying for contact with another bare body, his body to be specific, but she kept it slow on purpose, putting both him and herself through the sweetest of tortures; she was a after all dominatrix, and what is love without a little pain?

He was inexperienced, untrained for the games she played so skillfully. And she was right; he needed her. But he was right too, she needed him as well. He grabbed her wrists, attracting her full attention. With raising one eyebrow, he asked approval for his actions, since this situation was unfamiliar to him. Seeing her glowing eyes, begging him for the union, for the release and for the bliss of not thinking, he wrapped one of his arms around her waist, pulling her close forcefully, so the lower parts of their bodies crashed together, as he swallowed his own unexpected moan.

He took a deep breath, trying to maintain a certain level of rationality in his actions, but her hands were already at the back of his neck, closing in slowly, finger by finger so he could really feel it, and then she leaned to his ear again:

"Tease me...you are the one."

And then she traced the contour of his ear with her hot tongue, making him roll his eyes behind closed eyelids. She kissed her way down his neck and up to his jaw, digging her nails into the back of his neck possessively, as she looked him in the eyes for a small moment, allowing him to close the smallest of distances between their lips.

And so he did. Her lips tasted sweet, welcoming, as if he should have explored them a long time ago. At first he was careful, but then he opened his mouth to her restless tongue, as she desperately tried to consume him, all of him. Their tongues wrestled, revealing the need, the desperation, the hunger and all the emotions they couldn't speak out loud; this was definitely a better way to express that with their mouths than plain talking.

While his tongue and teeth were very busy dealing with her mouth, his exploratory hands followed the lines of her sides, her chest, het thin waist and her hips, barely touching them all only with the middle of his palms, until his fingers finally closed in around her bottom. He didn't rest there; he continued his research of all the wonderful regions of her body, sliding his hands up her tight thighs.

He sensed a metal object attached to her garter which surprised him, but she caught his wrist, preventing him from inspecting it any further.

"No, no, don't be so inpatient, we'll get there." She said, hitting his fingers mildly as a punishment.

As compensation, she took his very hand and placed in on the zipper of her dress, looking at him suggestively.

A genius such as himself didn't take a long time to understand the unsubtle hint. He slowly pulled it down her back, memorizing the whole path he took, adding the details to the mental map of her body which will be filed into the most important part of his mind palace, never to be forgotten. His hand landed on her bottom once more and he didn't miss the chance to pull her closer again, disturbed by the unpleasant distance between them. The room wasn't cold, but he felt that every part touched by her was freezing when the contact broke, and he needed her warmth back desperately.

She hooked both her index fingers on the thick straps of her dress, pulling them down simultaneously, stopping at all the right places to emphasize the effect of every next inch of her tempting body, letting the fabric drop down inch by inch. She revealed her black silk underwear, a similar one as he always imagined her wearing in the lonely nights, as her dress slid down her to the floor, getting out of the way.

She was amused by his inability to completely relax and live in the moment; she saw his desire rising to a critical level, but it didn't explode, he kept it on a certain level, enabling himself to memorize, conclude and plan. That must be changed.

She got hold of his lapels, tearing his shirt opened as some of the buttons rolled away on the floor, leaving his naked torso free for her. Before he could react, she bit his neck which made him moan unexpectedly. She took no notice of that; instead she smiled against his skin, kissing the spot which will tomorrow be a quite visible bite mark, happy for marking her territory. She scratched it once again with her front teeth, before her tongue proceeded downwards, paying special attention to his nipple, giving him a short inside in some of the things she was capable of doing. She reached his bellybutton, teasing it with her tongue in an inconsistent manner which made him edgy; he was running out of patience, which was her intention all along.

Her left hand squeezed his buttocks firmly; pushing him onto her while she undid his belt with her right one. All the blood in his body seemed to flow down, as every second seemed to inflict pain on his already thinned nerves; the slow rhythm she inflicted was driving him insane, which was probably her goal, he concluded. He wanted to help her by taking his pants off, but she scolded him, smiling at his impatience.

"Mr. Holmes, where is your famous self control? You seem to be losing it." She said, looking up at him from her suggestive position.

He took a step back, feeling uncomfortably exposed by the situation. She pulled herself up using his hands and then she took out the knife out of her garter, offering it to him on her open palm.

"Don't be shy; let's play." She said, closing his fingers on the handle.

The experiment had an interesting turn, he thought. Slowly, gathering the courage to take initiative, he leaned the cold steal on her collar bone, making her delicate skin shudder upon the contact. He knew the blade of the knife became warmer while pressed onto her body, he didn't need proof. The body that was burning up for him, he saw that in the way she leaned her head backwards in enjoyment of this game they played, her half closed eyes glowing in a dreamy way, waiting to let go. Surprising even himself, in one fast move, he cut her bra in the middle, making it open and reveal her breasts.

She raised one eyebrow in surprise, and then she fixed her look upon the blade which was circling around her breasts, finishing on her nipples, making them hard from the coldness of the metal.

She was at the gates of heaven, happy that she judged him well, that her secret hopes that he will correctly deduce what she liked fulfilled. And now she had to reward him for being such a good boy.

She grabbed the knife out of his hand, stabbing it into the arm of the chair in which she pushed him just a second later.

She straddled him, kissing him deeply and passionately, her tongue possessing every corner of his mouth while her hands possessed the rest. He broke away from the kiss to return the favor by biting her neck a bit harder than it was usual, but then again, he didn't know the usual. She felt proud of how quickly he deduced what made her tick, the sweet mixture of pleasure and pain, the suggestive touches combined with the rough bites and the unique feeling of being wanted by someone as special as him, being the only one wanted by him.

He pulled her closer onto him, trying to make the fabrics between them go away, trying to unite them into one being of ultimate pleasure, their superior minds and their mortal bodies.

She was a woman of action, so she used one of her hands to lower his underwear, not bothering with undressing him completely sine there was simply not enough time, wanting to have him at once. Almost unnoticeably she licked her lips, as her fingers wrapped around him, squeezing him as a test which he passed with the highest marks. Her other hand moved her own underwear out of the way, leaving no obstacles.

With one last seductive look, she lowered herself onto him, arching her back as she slowly descended, wanting to feel him for the first time. She lowered completely, letting out a moan strangely similar to the text alert. She watched his reactions closely as she lowered onto him again and again, increasing the rhythm and adding a circling move from time to time to keep him on alert.

He dug his nails into her hips, pulling her back down unconsciously every time she separated from him, feeling his excitement rise with every time she closed the distance completely. His hands went up to her breasts and back down to her thighs, as his eyes were slowly starting to shut as he was losing himself in the wonderful wetness with which she surrounded him, emphasized by her hands pulling his hair backwards, sending chills down his spine. He felt the inevitable approach as his lower abs started contracting and his breathing became shallow, and then she stopped, prolonging the agony with a smirk on her face.

He looked into her eyes with a mixture of rage and desperation, as she smiled at him with the unmistakable expression of power and control. Something in him snapped, the basic instinct overruled as he stood up, barely giving her time to prepare as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He crouched, dropping her on the floor as he enabled himself to dictate the pace.

She dug her nails into his back as she rolled her eyes backwards, looking up at the ceiling with blur vision while he forcefully thrusted himself into her, barely giving her time to breathe. Time stopped existing as she got the perfect rough play she liked, intercepted by a few gentle touches of his fingertips on her cheek, expressing the unsaid. She let out a final helpless moan as he hit the place inside her which no one found in a long time, making her release a cry as her whole body reacted to him.

The contractions of her inner muscles raised his excitement level over the edge, as he came inside of her, pulling her closer to him, not wanting to let go.

He rolled onto his back, breathing heavily in an uneven rhythm. He felt her lying beside him in a similar state, as he slowly came back into reality.

It was strange how she not only made him silent, she also made his mind blank; that truly made her special. He felt her nails scratching his abs gently, as if she was reminding him that she conquered the territory. At some point, he covered her hand with his, his fingers going between hers as she still touched his skin with her fingertips.

She was extraordinary, he realized. She was an assembly of contradictions: dangerous but emotional deep within, had on the outside but soft on the inside, half of her actions were brutal and merciless while the other ones indicated to how subjectable she was to sentiment, this chemical defect he provoked in her. He felt proud of that in some way, dominating the dominatrix.

He shifted his weight, turning on his side to observe her. She was beautiful, not even he could deny that. And seductive, tempting, attractive...but also something more.

"You trick your lovers that you're wicked and divine." He stated as a conclusion of his analysis, based on various experimental approaches he applied during the evening.

She smiled, stretching like a cat on his rug as she patted his calf with her foot.

"But I can't trick you, can I?" she said, biting her lip to distract him.

"No...you may be a sinner, but your innocence is mine."