Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Notes: Written for the sherlock holmes kink meme. I, uh, decided I really really like this pairing. :D CLEARLY, Watson and Mary are each having their own fun on the side, and then they come home and have tea together and dish about their respective crazy boyfriend/girlfriend. XD
Also: I am offering fic of at least 1000 words in the LJ community help_haiti that's raising money. If you want to bid, the link is on my LJ (my LJ is linked in my profile).
-
--
Irene is everything Mary wishes she could be, sometimes--strong, proud, independent, and beautiful in a totally conscious manner. She walks with a sway to her hips and a red-lipped smirk that says she always knows when she is being watched, and Mary has to hide behind her cup of tea so that the flush on her cheeks is not noticed.
Irene notices anyway.
"Is it too warm in here, Mary, darling?" she murmurs, arching a brow and crossing her legs purposefully. Mary sips her tea again to stall for time, and sets it down with an audible clink.
"No, it's fine, thank you," she replies, and watches Irene's scarlet mouth part ever so slightly, pink tongue swiping out to catch a stray drop of tea from the corner of her mouth.
"Are you sure?" Irene asks, voice throaty, and Mary flushes harder--but something inside her refuses to let herself act like this any longer. She may not have the courage to gallivant about the world like Irene Adler, thieving and causing havoc and having the kind of adventures Mary used to dream up as a girl, but she is no foolish girl-child to be so discombobulated by this. Mary is a woman herself--she knows the same tricks that Irene does, but is more reluctant to use them.
Perhaps it is time that changed.
"Everything is perfect," she says, and blinks slowly so that her lashes drag across her cheeks, smiling with all the cool impassive charm she has at her disposal; it's a different sort of charm than Irene has--Irene who is impulsive and fiery and so bright that Mary can't help but become caught up in her fire--but it works for Mary. She knows it does.
Irene tips her head back and laughs, bell-like, dimples popping out unexpectedly. "Oh, I did know you'd be fun, Mary, I only had to convince you of it yourself."
"What makes you so sure I'm convinced?" Mary asks, wondering a little at her own daring. Being in Irene's company makes her brave, it seems. Or reckless, some might say, but either way Mary's aware enough to mentally admit that she's thoroughly enjoying herself.
Irene leans forward to move the teapot and cups aside; her dress, already cut shockingly low, falls open a little more so that Mary can see her creamy white skin and shadowy curves. Irene looks up at Mary through her lashes and smiles winningly, leaning back smoothly and arching an eyebrow.
Mary folds her hands in her lap. "I'm not Mr. Holmes, you know," she says quietly, a little amused even as heat goes through her from the sight of Irene's form. "I won't go dumbstruck at the sight of those parts I don't have, as I do happen to have those parts myself."
"Oh, I am entirely aware you aren't Sherlock, Mary, dear," Irene says brightly, and leans in conspiratorially. "He might be the most brilliant person I know, but he's still a man, and in one respect most men are all the same, ruled by one thing.* You, darling, promise to be a much more interesting opponent for this game."
"Are we opponents, then?" Mary asks, honestly curious. This is not where she expected her afternoon to end up, but that is half of Irene's attraction--no one can quite predict what will happen next with her.
Irene stands, drawing Mary to her until her mouth is brushing Mary's ear. "Isn't it more fun that way?" she murmurs, and Mary can only agree wordlessly as their lips meet.
Irene tastes sweet like her tea, but her hands are sure and her teeth nip at Mary's lower lip with just a hint of roughness. John treats Mary like a doll, and it's rather a comfort to have someone who knows what a woman's body can and cannot take.
"I knew you would be fun," Irene says again, leading Mary toward her bed while deftly unlacing her dress.
"I knew you would be trouble," Mary tells her, and swallows Irene's delighted laugh into the meeting of their mouths.
John has Sherlock Holmes and his detecting, that part of his life that he would let Mary into if she asked, but that she knows she would never fully understand. Perhaps Mary needs some trouble of her own.
--
-