Did You Miss Me?

by Gaffat

Shameless and mostly plotless Adlock smut. One-Shot. After the events of His Last Vow, Irene is already waiting for Sherlock at 221B. This was written before The Abominable Bride was released so it's only canon compliant so far as the end of series 3. Any other details, minimal as they are, were based purely on speculation at the time.

Irene Adler was perched on his chair, hair loose, down, and slightly curled, his red dressing gown wrapped around her figure this time, the threat of whether or not she was naked underneath it unable to be ascertained from the naked eye at the position she was currently in. She tapped her uncharacteristicallyplain nails on the arm of the chair, lost in thought, only to be rescued from it by the turn of the key in the door and the stepping in of 'The Man.'

She licked her blood-red lips (the one indulgence she had been unable to forsake and thus, permitted herself, from her 'old life') before a small smirk tugged at her lips as his eyes fell into hers, and she murmured coyly, "Thought I'd save you the phone call, dear. I do feel for your 'phone anxiety.'" She teased him lightly, coming to a stand finally and taking a step or two towards him.

Sherlock drank her in with a combination of more or less equal parts delight and dread, neither of which showed through fully on his face. Mostly what came through, perhaps to his chagrin, was just a bounty of relief.

"No complications in arriving, I hope?" He murmured with a quirk of his brow, slowly gliding towards her as well, by instinct more than thought. He didn't ask how she knew to come - not relevant nor surprising. "Weren't followed or harassed, or even vehemently stared at?" His lips barely twitched.

She bit her bottom lip coquettishly, staring at him up through her thick, made-up eyelashes as she took another step towards him and glided a hand up his chest, carefully avoiding the area of his bullet wound before coming up to drag it along his left cheekbone.

"Not until now..." She husked gently. "I'm very good at staying incognito when I need to be... Especially if it means getting to my lover faster..." She winked, knowing his distaste for the term, though lovers in the Elizabethan sense, they most certainly were, if not more.

He pulled a face and made a bit of a rumble of discontent from his throat, over-dramatising his distaste accordingly.

"Don't make me more ill, I just spent all afternoon with my brother," he teased, though his hand was almost absentmindedly playing over the curve of her hip in his dressing gown, stroking the edges of his fingernails over the lightly striped fabric, but only just. "Granted it was coming to agreement on how I don't have to go get myself killed in Eastern Europe, so I suppose it was productive..."

She nodded slowly, leaning up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck as she pressed her lips to his 'chastely'- titillatingly before pulling back quickly to take a step back and slap him hard across his cheek.

"Don't you ever allow yourself to get shot and almost die on me, ever again, do you hear me, Sherlock Holmes? If a woman ever does hold a pistol to you again, it will be me-though the context may be questionable..." She softened on the last word, the same hand that gave the blow now coming up to soothe the sting.

"Sorry, darling... Delayed reaction from my little hospital visit…"

His eyes were sharp as he stared down at her, but not in a particularly vicious way, his jaw tensing in a brief tick of annoyance. He didn't protest. Instead, his arm shot out and ensnared her waist, yanking her body against his and nearly off of her bare feet, in retort for her assault.

"Fair enough, Miss Adler, I'll vye for immortality if you'll join me," he challenged dryly, angling his head down at her.

She cracked a smile, a dark but gentle chuckle following after it as she weaved her arms around his neck and knocked per pelvis against his.

"Mmm, gladly, Mr Holmes. Think of all the 'dinners' we could have..." She purred, her fingers tangling in his hair slowly, nails scraping along his scalp.

He barely managed to bite back a groan. Damn woman knew his weaknesses. Luckily, it was mutual. He stroked a hand up and across her torso, across her chest leisurely, and up lightly to her throat. He spun on his heel and walked her backward, til her back pressed against the wall.

"I believe infinity might actually bore us," he observed darkly, his other hand stroking down her hip, bunching the fabric of his dressing gown in his hand as he went.

She gasped in appreciation as he pressed her against the wall slowly, her eyes darkening and her grip on his locks tightening as he sparked her arousal further.

"Mm, perhaps... Though I don't think I could ever tire of...you." She flirted sentimentally, though one hand had come down to grip his loins over his trousers as she uttered the last word, making it clear the 'true' direction of the compliment.

A sharp intake of breath notwithstanding, his eyes merely narrowed at her as he pulled the dressing gown to the side, his hand gripping the bare flesh of her thigh with a sort of carnal relief. His hand stroked the creamy expanse of skin for a moment before hiking it up to his hip, fitting hipmself against her far more snugly in the process.

"You are probably the only human being I could fathom not boring me after a century...you'd be too in danger of boring yourself," he murmured, now a breath away from her lips.

She arched her neck back softly, a small moan escaping her throat as he 'manhandled' her and his own arousal met hers, though sadly obstructed by his clothing.

"Mm, likewise, I'm sure." She replied tartly, tugging the dressing gown all the way down and off her torso to expose her breasts to him finally, waiting a moment to drink in his reaction.

"Tell me, Sherlock dear, how long has been since we last 'ate?'" She asked him in instigation.

His eyes zeroed in on her chest, dark and searing, and his free hand came up to stroke over the curve of her left breast, indulgently. He narrowed his eyes in playful consideration before glancing back up.

"One year, five months, two weeks, and three days," he rumbled as he ducked his head to take the bud of her nipple into his mouth, running his tongue over it as he applied suction.

"Mmmahh!" Irene gave him a breathy moan, an echo of his text alert from days past, as his mouth accosts her breast, much to her appreciation and delight. "Mm, I do adore your addiction to precision and retaining facts..." She husked, as her hands, both now, tangled in his hair further, allowing them both to enjoy his actions for a few moments before she pulled his head back roughly, eyeing him darkly as she placed her foot against his hip suddenly and kicked him back.

"However, I also adore your 'selective patience,' emphasis on 'selective.'" She chided him, untying the dressing gown and letting it pool completely at her feet before she turned on her heel and padded her way to the kitchen. She ran a finger along the middle table, only pausing as her eyes spotted his microscope and smiled to herself before glancing back at him, coy and conspiring. She then turned back and leaned down to gaze into it, her bent over, bare arse, purposefully holding a place of prominence in his eyesight.

He rolled his eyes and quietly groaned to himself at her playing the coquette. Again. He was well acquainted with her tendency to play with her meals, so to speak, and he would've been more shocked had she been impatient enough to make this simple. Wrong woman, he mused in resignation as he followed her fleeing steps towards the kitchen, only to halt, at her stance.

"See anything that interests you?" He rasped wryly once he'd recovered from his mouth going dry, walking up behind her cautiously. There wasn't much of technical intrigue in there, only some samples from his last case, but she was looking quite... Intently.

Irene grinned like the Cheshire Cat as she felt his figure come up behind her, though, apparently, refusing to make any direct contact yet. She adjusted the focus of the microscope shifting her weight from her right hip to her left as she leaned back slightly, arse pressing against his arousal which left them in a very suggestive position as she feigned to act like she needed the leverage to 'see' the slide more properly.

"AB+... One of the rarest blood types there is... Hmm, was this the victim's or the perpetrator's, Mr Holmes?" She asked, 'matter-of-factly' as she continued to examine the blood slide, her buttocks flanking his erection and starting to grind on him ever so faintly.

His jaw slacked as the sensation of her friction against his groin joined the highly intriguing fact she was identifying blood types in his microscope coincided into one large wave of arousal that sent a shudder down his spine. His hands made contact with her hips, fingers flexing with her subtle movement.

"The uh...victim's," he rumbled distractedly, his right hand moving to trace up the curve of her spine. "The distinction of the blood was what made the perpetrator obvious...small traces under the fingernails..." He continued, pressing himself forward as he bent to brush his lips up the trek which his hand just made.

Her bare flesh got goose pimples at his touch and then even more so at as she felt his lips echoing his touch along her took a moment to close her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly as she willed the wetness that was eagerly gathering between her thighs, shifting her weight back to her right foot in a subtly effort to provide some sort of 'scratch' to her growing 'itch.'

"T-That makes sense..." She stammered slightly, the only other physical indication that she was utterly and totally affected by him, right now. She righted herself, coming to her full height, as petite as that was, to lean her back against his chest momentarily before she bucked her arse backwards to force him back so that she could cross around the table to pluck a banana from a bundle he had apparently bought out of some impulse or need for potassium for some 'experiment.' She leaned against the counter, crossing her ankles as she eyed him lustfully, peeling the banana slowly, deftly, suggestively before finally asking-now under full 'control' once more.

"So... Sherlock, 'impress a girl...' How long did it take you to figure out that last case, hmm?" She 'challenged' lightly, knowing the man got hard and off on nothing more than his own-or her own-intellect mixed with sexual content.

His eyes narrowed, dark and growing more desperate by the moment, especially once he'd seen her obvious distraction. She was losing focus, in there somewhere.

"About as quickly as I could gather all the components," he murmured, taking a couple steps towards her. "After I'd seen the blood type, I knew it was a possible red flag, so in theory it was rather immediate. Once the suspects were narrowed down, it became a process of elimination. All I needed was the opportunity to examine them," he explained in a low rhythmic tone, in tune with his steps as he crossed the room. "In short, the case was closed, more or less, in three days."

She watched him carefully, tossing the peel aside and before she brought the head of the fruit to her mouth, tongue darting out to circle the tip of it before she bobbed her head down and around the fruit before she bit the head off and started to chew it as she gazed at him darkly.

"Mmm, now that's my kind of man..." She purred playfully, echoing lost words before swallowing finally.

He watched her little 'show' with wide exasperated eyes, his chest rising and falling in time with his faintly labored breathing. His steps continued towards her, forcing himself to keep a steady pace and not rush up to her. Unnecessary and a clear sign of desperation. When he came toe to toe with her he didn't stop, pressing forward with an arm on either side of her form, essentially trapping her between his chest and the counter.

He didn't speak, merely angled his head and forcefully captured her lips with his, knowing she'd have a smart retort for anything he'd have to say. He didn't give her the chance.

She responded by returning the pressure of his lips with her own and tossing the banana aside as her hands came up his chest to cup his face tightly, thrusting her tongue into his mouth forcefully. He may have the dominant position physically, but she wasn't about to let him have it orally, as well. She growled as her teeth clashed with his, her actions becoming more primitive with each passing second.

His hands rushed from the counter to her hips, needing some purchase on her anatomy as she had so clearly taken her own. It gave him the ability to press her back into the counter, taking his height to his advantage to try to regain some control. He straightened his back and angled his head down, attempting to match her force at the least, as he now could press down and into her mouth with his tongue. Once he felt he'd thoroughly attempted to make his point, his grip on her hips tightened as he lifted her weight onto the counter, concurrently pulling back only far enough to breathe.

"Been awhile, Miss Adler?" He rumbled in a breathless taunt, unable to resist drawing attention to her rather telling aggression despite the hypocrisy, as he pressed himself between her dangling legs.

She allowed him to lift her and assert his 'leadership' in their little foreplay scene, cracking a sly smile at his remark and it's sanctimoniousness, the distinguishable 'tenting' of his trousers condemning him outright.

"Apparently so, Mr Holmes. At least 'someone' in this room isn't ashamed to say he missed me..." She teased him darkly, as she removed her right hand from his cheek to reach behind her subtly to a kitchen knife left out on the counter slowly, gripping it's handle carefully as she held his gaze with a steady, coy one of her own.

His eyes widened only briefly on instinct, before they narrowed purposefully, eyebrow lifting faintly. He had little to no worry for his life in her presence, truly. His extremities were only a minimal percentage higher.

"I missed you," he confirmed only a tad wryly, hoping the uncharacteristic, however true, response might just throw her off her game a tad. Which game she was playing, though, remained to be seen.

She cocked her head slowly, his frank and strangely honest response so easily given automatically making her a bit suspicious, though the sincerity of his look softened her gaze and she 'rewarded' him with small smile before whispering, "And I missed you, too."

She then dragged her index finger down his cheek and lips and down his neck before gripping his shirt tightly and tugging it towards her, thus pulling it away from his body, before she brought the knife from behind her back and quickly, and deftly cut each button from it's thread to reveal his bare chest behind the fabric.

"You're even more charming out of your clothes, dear, care to say that last sentence again...?" She bit her bottom lip and grinned wickedly as she drew the tip of the knife down the centre of his chest, pausing where his trousers began and the beginnings of the auburn hairs of his 'happy trail' began.

He scowled at her for a moment before his face contorted into a different sort of expression all together, feeling the beginnings of adrenaline threatening his bloodstream as she drug the blade southward. She did have a penchant for knowing his intrigues. Though instead of snatching the knife from her, as was his first instinct, or even listening to her request, he just glanced down with purposeful annoyance at his ruined shirt and sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth thoughtfully.

"I suppose I deserve that from Paris," he snarked lowly, recalling an incident with him rather deliberately ripping what was apparently a rather expensive dress.

She chuckled once before narrowing her eyes at his as she applied a dash of pressure with the knife as she retorted in mock annoyance, "Quite. That dress was a bloody McQueen..." She reminded him before bringing the knife down to the bulge in his trousers, dragging the tip along his obvious length titillatingly as she licked her lips.

"Mmm... To think, there was once a time when I'd rather have castrated you completely than merely arouse you with my own 'sword...'" She winked in self-amusement before continuing, "Thankfully, however, that attitude towards you really only lasted that one night..." She murmured, referencing the night he threw her to the dogs, in the shape of his elder brother, a bit of 'ammunition' she like to employ every once in a while, if only just to then prove his more than evident feelings towards her by always then following it up with the reminder of how he very quickly remedied that little blunder.

He swallowed, he hoped subtly, and attempted to even his breathing, meeting her eyes in challenge. Oh, he knew exactly what she was insinuating, she did like to rub that in. But he chose the more blunt road for a response.

"I think we're both rather thankful for that, this instant," he drawled, still feeling the tip of a knife exactly where a man least wants to feel one. Assuming, of course, he was decidedly 'normal' and wasn't just a tad amused at the obviously empty threat.

She smirked and glanced down at the knife, circling the outline of his member's head lightly before removing it from the area completely, murmuring a hit of agreement as she did so. She brought it up and wielded it in front of him as she momentarily debated how to proceed with it, if at all before a slightly twisted but, nevertheless, arousing idea sparked in her mind.

Without any explanation or warning, she grabbed his right hand from her hip and held it open before pricking the tip of his pointer finger until a small thread of blood began to ooze out. She then did the same to her right index finger, glancing at him briefly before setting the knife down to bring the accosted hand with her other up to her mouth. She locked eyes with him heavily as she ran her tongue up his digit, lapping up his most human, and 'sacred' bodily fluid into her mouth to 'digest' and mix with her own before sucking on it rather suggestively, her tongue circling the cut before applying pressure to clot the flow of the blood.

As she did this she brought her own lightly bleeding digit up to his mouth, waiting for him to accept and perform, this 'self-ordained lover's ritual,' from his own free will, raising a single brow as her only attempt to 'challenge' him into it.

He watched her with a strange sort of nearly-perplexed fascination, before his eyes lulled, turning heavy-lidded with arousal as her tongue stroked over the length of his finger, insinuation more than obvious. Then without rhyme or reason, the unspoken and fairly unspecified significance was returned as he dipped his mouth over her seeping digit. His tongue swirled over the wound itself with deliberate dexterity to counter her own, relishing the coppery taste no matter the oddness of the circumstance. It was an unbridled extension of her which made it no more off limits to him than any of her other bodily fluids.

He sucked the tip of her finger into his mouth fully, before biting down lightly just below where she'd split the skin, as he pulled it from his mouth.

She let out a moan of utter eroticism as he bit down and sucked the blood from her finger before abandoning it. Her eyes, too, were heavy and full with lust and desire at their little exchange and she stared into his eyes as she echoed his action, dislodging his finger from her mouth, only to glance down at the bit of blood still on it before painting her lips with it and rubbing them together as one would with lipstick.

"I think I much prefer this shade to the one in my purse... Might have to take a bottle back with me..." She husked lowly, swallowing the contents of his digit finally as she continued to gaze at him daringly, her implication both clear and slightly ambiguous.

His eyes locked to her mouth, lips twitching at her action and the implication that came with it. He drew his finger back from her grasp, the dull sting nearly impossible to distinguish through the rest of the blood gushing through his veins. He perhaps waited a few seconds before his hand gripped the back of her neck harshly and pulled her forward, sucking the taste of his own lifeblood from her lips with a hunger that he wouldn't have fathomed rational. His other hand had shifted itself from her hip to gripping her inner thigh, pressing it further away from its companion so he could press as flush against her as the counter would allow.

Her hands flew to his chest, running her nails up his bare skin before exploring his pectoral muscles and nipples as she hungrily returned his kiss with just as much force and expression. She moaned into his mouth,- a moan of sheer want and need for him, and only him, to fill her up once more; to satisfy her once more; to 'make love'-as sentimental a phrase it was-once more, before she wrapped her legs around his waist to hug his groin against hers, needing some sort of friction against her throbbing nub, lest she go mad from desire.

He groaned at the contact, low and rumbling in the back of his throat, bucking his hips against her centre thoughtlessly, at both their detriment. He recovered quickly, letting go of her entirely to pull the tattered remains of his shirt off of his arms, yanking it from his trousers and letting it fall to the floor, all without hardly breaking from her mouth. He ripped open his belt in a frenzy, and unzipped his trousers for the sake of relief from how tight they'd become, but otherwise left them in place, instead turning his attention back to her.

His left hand wrapped around her waist, urging her to the very edge of the counter while his right was urging up her inner thigh. He didn't waste much of his or her time, immediately pressing a thumb to her clit just to hear her sharp intake of breath at the sudden contact after leaving it wanting.

"Ahhhhh..." She exhaled upon inhaling pointedly, nipping his bottom lip in automatic response to his assault. She pulled back and stared up at him, her right hand ghost in down his chest before gripping his length over his pants and squeezing faintly, as she purred, "You know, Sherlock, we've never 'christened' your flat... Let alone your bed... Well, I have...but your cock is much preferable to my hand..." She winked at her 'confession,' before biting her bottom lip seductively.

The moment her statement clicked was most assuredly visible on his face, much less the faint growl that she could probably feel reverberating through his chest. He tilted his hips into her grip, even as his two fingers began to tease her rather soaked entrance, pressing on either side but not moving towards it.

"You're a very bad woman," he remarked almost casually, as though it were a fact he were recalling as opposed to a direct accusation. His thumb began to shift back and forth. "But you are quite correct..."

She gyrated her hips in a desperate attempt to manipulate his touch. She whimpered softly, an action she was slowly, and secretly, growing more accustomed to enjoying as her hand around him tugged his cock in silent retribution.

"And you are a very bad man." She hissed. "Besides, dear, we both know that image, and fact, is making you even harder as we speak... Why else do you think I insisted on showering before we 'chatted' about the mobile...?" She pressed.

He didn't give her the satisfaction of a direct response, confirming the obvious, though the pained desire was probably clear on his face. Instead he merely plunged both of his teasing fingers inside of her suddenly, successfully dropping the focus from his arousal and nailing it clearly on her own. He crooked them knowingly, raising his brows.

"An excuse to steal my clothing?" He teased in a strained murmur, his other hand making its way north, brushing over her breast and across her collarbone to grip the side of her neck.

She groaned in appreciation her kegel muscles flexing around his fingers as added testimony to her 'thanks.'

"That, too." She rebutted finally, her hand dipping under the waistband of his pants to grip his cock directly, thumb padding over his tip before she reached further south and massaged his testicals, something she had discovered to be very effective with him. Apparently, his hair follicles weren't the only unusually, overly-sensitive nerves in his body, even as far as the male reproductive system went.

"If I wanted fingers, Mr Holmes, I'd just do it myself, again." She half-teased/half-jested clippedly.

His lips parted in a low moan at her new focus, arching up on his toes almost without thought to encourage her actions. He refocused on her quickly though, despite his laboured breathing, bringing his fingers out before delving them back in deeper than he knew she was capable of, just for spite, satisfying his own selfish wants more than anything. Slowly pulling them out in earnest, his thumb nail grazing her clit in parting.

He brought those fingers to his lips, sucking her flavour from them, his eyes locking on hers in preemptive warning. Savoring her response for only a moment, as he let the digits slide from his mouth, his hand quickly latched onto the slender wrist that was still on the inside of his pants, yanking it free to give him the freedom to crouch in front of her, hands moving to stroke up her thighs.

A shudder swept down the back of her spine as she watched him taste her juices, pupils dilating even further at the arousing, not to mention flattering, sight.

Her breath caught in her throat, however, as she watched him kneel in front of her, her mind suddenly realising what it was exactly he was planning on doing. He hadn't done that since the time before last-Paris being far more frenzied and rushed.

"Eating out, then are we?" She couldn't help but joke, though her voice was shaky and more than a little unsteady, as she brought her hands to curl in his locks lightly.

His lips were brushing her inner thigh tauntingly as he murmured in response, "You are in my kitchen," biting into the flesh briefly before his arm curled around her hip, angling her pelvis towards the edge of the counter so it was as exposed as could be without her falling, giving her one long swipe of his tongue from her entrance up to her nub. He repeated the action, darting inside of her briefly along the way.

"It would be wrong not to partake," he rumbled against her before his lips latched onto her clit, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue dashed against it.

She let out a series of successive moans and gasps, her back arching as she jutted her hips forward at each lap and suckle of his tongue and mouth. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she exhaled slowly, trying to gather herself before responding jaggedly, "Well, who am I to argue with that logic..." She gasped again and let out a soft whimper.

"Fuck, you are skilled at that... Almost as good as I am..." She couldn't help but compliment him, despite knowing how even more it would inflate his bloody ego, the successive years of holding his 'V-Card' only making his sudden gift for the act all the more impressive and annoying.

Hearing her make those bloody infuriatingly distracting noises was doing nothing for his ability to ignore his own arousal, and his hands tightened on her thighs in response. He growled as he fucked her with his tongue rather greedily, his amusement that she was actually going out of her way to praise his ability almost drowned in his focus. Almost.

"I'd love to know how you'd be able to compare," he pulled back enough to quirk a brow tauntingly at her lack of logic, his lips twitching up into a brief smirk as he nipped at her once more before he stood to his feet between her legs, eyes just smug enough to be noticeable, which was less than his norm at times, already tugging his trousers from his hips.

She quirked a pointed brow at him as her eyes narrowed, a single hand reaching up to grab his chin violently as she replied with mild acidity, "Don't even think about suggesting having a threesome, Sherlock. I don't share well... Besides, I'd hate to show you up..." She winked teasingly before pushing his chin back to help him get his damned trousers off.

"Now for fuck's sake, dear, will you PLEASE fuck me?" She half hissed/half begged.

"Would scarce know with who," he drawled rather tellingly, he realized a bit too late, as he stepped out of the pants and trousers now pooled at his feet. He had yet to find another woman who could inspire in him what she could. If it was worth anything, his little faux-relationship with Janine just exemplified that in his mind. He couldn't even fathom taking anyone else but her into his bed, just as before her he couldn't fathom hardly anyone at all. But he dismissed that rather sentimental thought process as soon as his bare flesh met hers. He let out a brief groan as his cock pressed between her legs, no longer impeded by his clothing.

"Though it occurs to me you may just be begging," he roughly mused, despite the fact his left hand had grasped her hip hard enough to bruise, and his right was already grasping his cock in hand, quite ready to do her bidding.

She grunted at his first statement, as she wrapped her hands around his neck in preparation to mount him, nails digging into it's nape in silent response.

She raised her eyes at his latter comment, however, before narrowing them significantly as she dug her heels into the top of his arse to jut him forward, thus successfully forcing their loins to 'greet' each other 'palm to palm.'

"I could argue the same case about your physicality, Mr Holmes. Would you like me to? Or would you rather we concede and admit we both are begging for it and get closer to the part where I sheath that throbbing cock of yours..." She quirked a brow, and making sure the stress the two, more, graphic words to 'influence' his answer.

"Touché," he rumbled unevenly, jaw flexing at the intimate contact. He managed to fight her legs' grasp long enough to pull back and grip his cock once again, his hand on her hip shifting back and under her arse for angle and leverage as his tip finally pressed to her entrance.

"Though you've got to admire the irony," he quipped, intent on getting the last word, just as his hips bucked forward and he began to quickly press into the familiar heat of her, exhaling in a hiss at his perhaps faulty decision to nearly 'sheath' himself in one go. Patience was never his virtue.

She was about to roll her eyes and let out a reluctant chuckle when his sudden, and full, thrust into her caught her slightly off guard, causing her eyes to widen and a sharp gasp to issue from the back of her throat.

She winced as he filled her, his girth always a tad painful on the first few thrusts. She grunted and and pulled back to glance down at him in mock disapproval before murmuring, "...Perhaps the only-ow-good thing about our yearly rendezvous is that-ahh-every time manages to feel like the... first..." She muttered as she wrapped her legs around his waist and regripped before hoisting her chest up and against his, putting all her weight on his form now.

Sherlock had nearly put himself into shock-nearly-but was regaining the ability to function as quickly as he was able. He took a shuddering breath, getting re-accustomed to the tight heat encompassing him, as she was apt to point out, he nearly always had to do. Pro or con to their unique status, he was never sure.

"Apologies," he murmured as his head ducked and rested into the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin before he began kissing and nipping at the skin by way of distracting her from the apparent discomfort.

She arched her neck to allow him greater access, hands pushing down on his shoulders to hoist herself up a bit so that she could slam down again, knowing that once she was fully slicked up and the ball was rolling, so to say, the slight discomfort quickly gave way to pleasure.

She moaned at his kisses and even found herself smiling privately at his 'apology,' an abundance of subconscious sentiment clearly at the root of it. She lifted his head up to look him in the eye as she replied with amused seriousness, "No need to do so, dear. Your ability to be, irritatingly, above average in all the necessary areas of life is just one of the many reasons why I hate you." She reminded him between heavy breaths.

'Hate,' of course, standing in for the word she really meant. The word that she knew he knew she meant. They had come to confess their feelings in this twistedly ironic way a few meetings back, as they were parting ways. Each adopting that preferred word to it's sister that the rest of the mundane world seemed so obsessed with employing. Besides, this way, they each, technically, had an out. Could always deny-'on paper,' at least. The look in her eye, however, and the sincerity of her voice, would damn her for all eternity, however.

Funny thing was, though, when it came to 'The Man,' she didn't actually give a damn about that old pride.

He caught onto her obvious intent as quickly as he caught her weight, her quick will to begin in combination to her clear sentiment almost catching him off guard. But as opposed to playing the deer in the headlights, his lips twitched into a dazed if present smirk and he pressed her weight against the counter again for leverage as he urged her up and the thrust back upward to meet her as she dropped.

"And I very much..." He thrust upward once again, quirking a brow. "... Despise you," he replied darkly, keeping a lightness to the statement as best he could manage, lest the sentimentality they were so seeking to avoid, decide to kick in.

Her lips merely twitched at his reply before his thrust overcame her and she let out a rather vocal cry of a moan, her fingernails scraping up his back as she rode a rather sudden wave of mounting pleasure and warmth that was making its way from her core to her outer extremities.

She glared down at him in utter infatuation and (self-) annoyance before barking out a shaky, "B-bedroom. Now. N-need. More..."

He didn't need any further encouragement, lifting her up with his arms under her arse and angling his weight, he stalked the short distance to the hall and kicked open his door with no hesitation, even at the worrisome creak. He'd fix it later.

He hiked a knee onto the bed before dropping her weight onto it, barely retracting from her before he was on her again, arms on the mattress on either side of her head plunging back into her with an appreciative curse. The angle was much more satisfactory.

Irene spread her legs as widely as she could as soon as her back hit the bed, greeting his first thrusts in this new position and place with as much reception as she could give him. Her hands flew out and tangled in the duvet cover, knuckles whitening as she let out a series of whines and 'oh's' without immediate presence of thought.

"How...thin...are...the...walls?" She gasped in ecstasy, as she brought her right leg up to hook around his neck to provide him with even more room for depth, and also silently informing him of her compliance to don the 'submissive' role-for now.

"Thick," he rumbled breathlessly, using her acquiescence to his advantage as he plunged further with an appreciative groan, ducking his head as he rocked forward, banging the headboard against the wall.

"But...perhaps not thick enough," he husked with a certain amount of amusement in his eyes, arching onto his knees to thrust forward with a curve of his hips, deliberately trying to wring another moan from her for emphasis.

She could tell what he wanted and was trying to get out of her, to which she more than happily gave him, and then some, crying out in an almost uncharacteristically 'sex kitten' fashion, "Ohh, Mr Holmes...!" followed by a few grunts and panting breaths as she wriggled beneath him. Her other leg coming up to throw over his shoulder as her head turned frantically to the side to bit into the pillow, a desperate attempt on her part to stifle her cries and whimpers of pleasures lest he be too pleased with himself.

For, to be sure, despite the rather, 'porn-star-esque' response she was currently giving him-and one she hadn't much used with him, if ever, before-Irene Adler was no faker, at least, when it came to her personal, love life. Her response was utterly-even if embarrassingly so to her-organic. She only hoped the base, male, primitive mindset that he clearly had a little bit of would respond to these novel and 'conventional' reactions-if only because they were novel for her.

She also was bound and determined to seek revenge in a few moments. No man would make her whimper like that and finish on top. Not even Sherlock Holmes, she mused decidedly.

Her response merely spurred him on, for even under duress he could at the least read her for genuineness and she was fighting it now with a will, feeling another shock of pleasure strike him as he watched her reckless abandon. His focus staggered briefly, but he growled his way through a moan and thrust forward more quickly, feeling himself seek out those sounds now that she'd granted them. He leaned more upright, gripping her leg where it draped over his shoulder and nipping and licking up the expanse of it he could reach.

"Mmm... Sherlock...!" She whined at his nips, the toes of her accosted leg curling in his hair as she arched her back up, to meet his thrusts.

She allowed him a few more self-gratifying thrusts to which she returned with girlish moans and whimpers before, suddenly, bringing her right foot from his shoulder and halting his movement by planting her foot squarely in the centre of his chest. She sat up, placing her weight on her elbows as she glared at him evenly before pushing him back with a grunt and and moving to her knees to face him dead on.

A hint of a smiled played on her lips as she raised her right brow slowly, running a hand up his chest before tangling it in his curls to yank his head backwards and up violently. She pressed her form against his and leaned up to hiss into his ear, "My turn, darling..." only to hook her leg around his as she twisted and pushed his figure back and down onto the bed, crawling on top of him to pin him against the bed in an act of dominance and possession.

"Can't let you 'boys' have all the fun," she purred into his ear before sitting back slightly to run her slit along his length and tease his pulsating tip with her inviting warmth wickedly.

He growled out a groan of surprise and aroused fury, even though he knew she was likely to play her card eventually. She had an annoying habit of lulling him into false security before striking. Infuriating woman. But she did stay true to her point and skillset he couldn't help but notice. She knew exactly what he 'liked' - a challenge.

She was sending sparks through his nervous system with his teasing, causing his hips to buck and his leg muscles to twitch. His hands flew to her hips, digging in hard in an attempt to end her torment, but all he succeeded in was increasing her friction, and he scowled helplessly. He could overpower her, but the fight was seldom worth it, or so he assured himself.

Irene chuckled darkly, leering down at him lasciviously as she shifted her weight to her knees to lift her pelvis up and off of him completely, proving that no contact was even worse than then the ghostings of it.

She then ran her hands up her thighs and hips, ripping his own off to grope herself, alone and unaided, toying with his clearly, 'regular,' male porn preference, as she employed the 'usual actions'-hands gliding up her waist to circle the sides of her breasts and swirl around her taut nipples, teasing herself and him by avoiding them for a bit.

She pouted down at him, biting her bottom lip sensual before husking softly, "Oh, Mr Holmes, did you really think I was going to indulge your base, male fantasy for the entire time?" She circled her areolas before pinching and twisting her nipples suddenly letting out a whiney moan as she looked down at him in erotic amusement.

"Don't get me wrong, Sherlock, I'll be your little slut, porn-star girl any day of the week...any way you want me...any fantasy you wish to play out...I'll even be your slave, if you fancy... But, just keep in mind, dear..." She began to warn gently, leaning down over him slowly as she slipped a hand between them to grip his length tightly, before continuing, "...Every time you make me whimper and moan and whine and beg like a little girl who needs more-which you do quite well, much to my chagrin, grant you-" She grumbled lightly, licking her lips as she winked, before finishing with, "...I'll make you do the same-twice over." She hissed against his lobe, slamming herself down and around him as deeply as the angle would allow on her last words.

He threw his head back with something not dissimilar from a roar, his hands clawing at her waist and his teeth clenching as he fought the throbbing ache shooting down his spine at the sudden move. Fighting to catch his breath, he finally gripped her hips again tightly and bucked up, in an attempt to counter her, but it hardly stood up to the challenge.

"Lucky for me...have no need of slavery," he managed in a ragged, breathless rumble, having nothing to fear of that retribution at least. Who would ever want to tame this glorious, albeit evil, creature he couldn't say, but it would strain credulity to attempt.

She grunted in approval of his statement as she leaned down to capture his lips with her own, nipping and biting them with a ferocity of a lioness in heat as she lifted and slammed her pelvic floor down against his, grinding it in place as she squeezed her walls around him with each go before abandoning his mouth to lean her weight back onto her centre-fully upright as he was sheathed at a full, and deep, ninety degree angle.

She let out a subtle moan as she gyrated her hips in a circular motion, hitting each cardinal direction of her walls as she dragged her nails down his chest.

"Mmm... You remind me of my first horse, Mr Holmes. I was quite the equestrian. Dear me did he have a foul temper and was about as haughty as spoiled prince. But he was magnificent and quite the beast. 16.1 hands...about as tall as you... However...I think I much prefer this mount..." She teased in self-amusement, as she began bob up and down on him in this new position.

He found his body was following her lead of its own accord, bracing into her movements with a counter-rhythm no matter his inner rebellion. He was fighting to keep his focus as she see seemed more than determined to rip it from him, and his eyes narrowed at her in challenge.

"I suppose that's...a compliment," he ground out with obvious force, his hands starting to roam upward for distraction - both hers and his own - and cupped her breasts roughly, squeezing and trapping the bud of her nipples between his fingers.

She exhaled a soft hissing sound as he groped her breasts, leaning into his pinches as she steadied her weight forward again, her hands splayed on his pectoral muscles as she began lifted and dropped herself around him faster and harder, beginning to feel herself lose control as the wave of climax climbed higher and higher, threatening to crash her on his shores any second.

"Fuck...I'm so close...Come with me, Sherlock..." She whimpered softly, her dominatrix persona forgotten in this sudden, heightened state of ecstasy with him.

He growled in wordless agreement, unsure his tongue was even capable of forming them at the moment. She had a unique talent for driving him speechless that no one else had managed to possess, no more exemplified than at this very moment. He bridged his hips into her last few thrusts for the sake of it, giving her more stimulation for entirely selfish reasons, he was afraid. It drove him to bursting just as he felt her tightening around him.

His groan was guttural and throat ripping and his lower abdomen clenched nearly to the point of pain as he finally let the wire snap, hands flying back to her hips, digging in and holding her tightly in earnest. He found himself leaning upward beneath her, as though the force of it pulled him from the pillows.

Irene let out a guttural cry of sheer euphoria bliss as she felt him buck and come within her, her walls clenching around violently and successively, as if squeezing every last drop of him from his load was some unconscious goal of her womb.

She threw her head back as another wave suddenly arrested her once more, a sharp whimper of appreciation escaping her throat before it was replaced by her weighty pants. She fell forward against him as she fought to catch her laboured breaths slowly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, barely able to feel her hands so overcome with pins and needles were they, before resting her forehead against his finally.

She listened to their heaving inhales and exhales, their breathing power somehow syncing along with the beating of their hearts. She was tempted to roll her eyes and make some 'disgusted comment,' but decided to endorse the moment, for who knew when they'd be so joined again. With Jim back, the danger was ineffable once more.

His body slowly relaxed, and his eyes fluttered closed, feeling heavy and numb as he sank into the pillows once more, but her weight against him still felt heated and tingling. He found himself running his hands up the curves of her back subconsciously as their panting breaths mingled, her warmth bringing the feeling back into him. There were very few times Sherlock was ever relaxed, outside of the force of severe exhaustion, but she always managed it, even if briefly.

"Do we always follow near-death experiences with nearly killing each other," he managed to quietly joke in a deep, if strained murmur, lips twitching faintly.

She let out a half laugh, pulling back gently to ask out of want of clarification, "Firstly, I'd hardly call sex 'killing each other,' dear, quite the opposite, if I do say so myself. However, I will grant you that our means to the end differ significantly from the average pedestrian. But, we are not 'the commonwealth,' are we?" She winked before leaning down to nibble his lip playfully.

"But I will grant you, the near-death thing seems to be, an annoying and unfortunate, set-up…." She sighed almost wearily, a soft sadness ending her tone before she added gingerly, "Perhaps, one day, it won't be the necessary 'aphrodisiac….'" She murmured wistfully, her index finger circling an obtuse pattern on his chest, not wanting him to remove himself from her just yet.

He hummed slightly in appreciation at her touch, as well as in thought, his hand still tracing up her spine, in odd swirls and angles.

"Seems 'motivation' is more appropriate. We hardly need aphrodisiacs..." He murmured in correction, with a faint hint of a smirk, though it was also a tad melancholy. "It typically takes one of us nearly being shot or decapitated to drive us across whichever continent divides us," he added in consideration. "And there is that pesky 'death' status we keep falling into."

She leaned forward resting her elbows on his chest as she gently, and slowly allowed him to slip out of her before settling back down above his nether regions, resting her chin on his sternum as she replied drolly, "I meant it as metaphor, you cad….Believe you me, I'm more than aware at our ability to make any and every word, look, situation, and context highly…..adult."

She leaned pressed a kiss to his skin before glancing up at him once more to add, "...Mmm, I suppose one of us being alive on paper again might actually make things easier in the future… The double ghost was getting a bit absurd… Let's not recall the horrendous blonde, bob cut wig I had to don just to get into the bloody Ritz in Paris…" She shuddered in hyperbolised repugnance.

"Not the most flattering," he winced playfully, making a rumble of disapproval in his throat. "Though that idiotic suit wasn't my finest hour," he added honestly and for fairness, rolling his eyes faintly. His hand settled on the small of her back, in a nearly casual manner.

"Though, yes. At least one of us being legally present is quite helpful..." He stated in agreement, lips turning up at the thought. "At least we're not both scattering about the map."

She laughed softly, "Yes, double breasted suits should be left in the 80s never to be seen or heard from again. And do try to stay alive, this time round, all right? For my 'appetite's' sake, if nothing more." She grinned, leaning up nip his nose playfully before rolling over on her back and stretching as she yawned faintly.

"Mmm, I did miss your bed… Besides the one in my flat in Belgravia, I think yours is the most comfortable and arousing bed I've ever had the pleasure of sleeping in, shame you don't indulge in the act." She couldn't help but jibe him coyly, nipping his shoulder just for the sheer thrill of it. She was feeling very frisky and, well, Christ, happy.

He quirked a brow, but didn't question her excitement, quite frankly feeling a similarity. He gave her a teasing bit of a shrug, turning over on his side to loom over her slightly in an oddly quick motion in terms of his relaxed state.

"Clearly you've remedied that, on a few different levels," he husked near her ear rather obtusely.

Irene shivered softly as his breath hit her ear, sending goose pimples down her back. She leaned into him, frontside pressing against his as she toyed with his light chest hairs before murmuring in feigned innocence, "Oh please, I only drugged you the one time, and I'm sure you needed the rest... And it's not my fault the only time you are able to sleep on your own natural, biological accord is upon having mind-blowing orgasms at 'my hand...'" She winked as she glanced up at him quickly, hoping to see some amusement cross his face. She did love being one of the few people that could make him laugh and indulge his, albeit narrow, sense of humour-that wasn't vile or at anyone else's expense-except, perhaps, his own. Which, in itself, was a feet of Everest proportions with his egotistical personality.

He chuckled briefly at her rather true-ish statement, rolling his eyes fondly. "Sleep is an elusive bitch at times, yes. Outside of drugs and injury, I typically need something to tire my mind and that's a rare accomplishment...relaxing it's even rarer." It was meant, however oddly, as a compliment, his fingers tapping out a rather subconsciously complex pattern on the skin of her side.

She chuckled softly, burrowing her face into his chest as she took a deep inhale, indulging in the natural scent of him and those divine pheromones that he gave off.

"Mmm, thank you, dear, I'm flattered, once again.." She murmured into his chest softly.

"Don't be," he murmured in a playful mockery of irritation, half-arsed at that, harkening back to his first response to his so-called flattery. It always sounded like foolish denial, and he played on it now, even as he let out a quiet rumble of appreciation at her moving closer, throwing his arm around her thoughtlessly. He indulged the sensation for a moment before shifting back a tad.

"I'll be right back," he said simply into her ear, brushing his lips against it faintly, figuring his destination would be rather obvious as he reluctantly pulled himself from the sheets to stand to his feet, and pad towards the door.

She hummed in appreciation at his sentimental 'loo-parting,' at one point utterly unfeasible that he would ever adopt such 'sweetheart' acts of behaviour with her. Like with most other things, however, he always managed to surprise her with his uncanny ability to evolve, even if it was to his minor 'self-stated' chagrin.

She rolled over on her stomach as he left, tilting her head to the left to appreciate the view his exit so gratuitously gave her.

Once he was gone, however, she let out a melancholy sigh, glancing at the digital clock which glared at her the early morning time disdainfully. It was odd, the way she suddenly felt unwanted, or that she was out of place, at his, now that their coupling had finished. Although, to be fair, they never had only 'dined' one time-it usually at least hit the four or five mark, if not higher. Yet, out of some deep-rooted fear or anxiety she had the distinct feeling that to spend the night with him here, in 221b Baker Street, was somehow indicative of some 'serious step' in their 'relationship'-whatever terms, labels, titles, and regulations that that term held with regards to them. Spending the night in all of their previous rendezvous was more than assumed, as they had always spent the night in some hotel or secretive meeting place. But now that they were back on English soil, and especially, his, personal soil she was not about to risk heartache at assuming, and assuming wrong, tonight.

That being the case she, reluctantly, sat up, stretched and made her way down the hallway to the bag she had left on the couch, grabbing a pair of black jeans, leather ankle boots, and a black cashmere V-neck top, along with her lace undergarments, before padding back to his room to begin to change and figure out her next 'moves.'

He made his way back to the room fairly quickly, out of instinctive anxiety, and it seemed once again he wasn't wrong. He would've liked to have been, for once. He stood silently for a moment, watching her back as she moved to fasten her bra, and only then did he quietly stalk up behind her. His hand over taking hers and unclasping it beneath her fingers once again, he pressed her shoulder to turn her around to face him, urging her to let him remove the lace from her arms.

"Get back into my bed," he said simply as a vaguely sardonic command, his very typical 'Sherlock Holmes' attitude returning, if briefly, with a challenging tilt of his head. "If for no other purpose, I have every intention of picking your brain in the morning."

She locked eyes with him, a silent exchange flashing between then before a small, relieved smile tugged at her lips and she glanced down, blushing ever so lightly at her silly 'female' train of thought. He was a far better man than that, and they had come too far together now to still be playing the game, at least, the high-stakes emotional one-that was all settled now, more or less, apparently. The sexual, mental one-well, that was always in play, to be sure.

"Clever boy. You passed 'The Test…'" She teased him lightly, more teasing herself, however, in vocally acknowledging her corrected, unnecessary actions.

Once her bra was off and safely on the floor, where it belonged, she wrapped her arms around his neck, a sultry haze beginning to cloud over her eyes, before grinding her pelvis against his as she challenged darkly, "Now then, Mr Holmes, how about breaking our previous record…?"

His lips turned up into a wicked, knowing sort of smile. She was of course calling her own bluff, and he was more than happy to let her, one of his hands easily bracing the back of her skull as he practically lifted her off of her feet into a seething kiss, partially even out of gratitude for her continued presence. One wouldn't think they'd been perfectly satisfied not too many minutes before, but that was, he supposed the nature of suppressing oneself to an annual coupling...or, a few. Especially with them, it seemed.

He had to wonder when exactly they'd managed to be considered oddly monogamous, at least on her end. It had never been an issue in his mind, but when she began bluntly insinuating she'd been bottling for his sake, he had always wondered. He'd never had the nerve to ask, or perhaps he just would rather not have known. But he was obscurely thankful for it regardless. He didn't have to look too far past her unbridled appetite to see the proof, or they'd never have managed to christen the rest of his flat, and manage to sleep in between, over the next 14 hours.