A/N: Katelyn and I wrote this oneshot at about 4am so please note that this might be extremely OOC and we apologise for any mistake and basically the poor storyline. Anyway, we still hope you enjoy, read and review.
It was late at night in 221B Baker Street when Sherlock's phone moaned. Yes, it moaned because quite some time ago THE woman had personalized her text alert.
Even though he hadn't seen her in a while his heart jumped when he heard the familiar noise. Sherlock had promised to divorce himself from every kind of emotion and all kinds of feelings but there was something about Irene Adler that eliminated all of those promises.
"Hello, darling - IA"
Sherlock chuckled silently as his eyes skimmed over the words on his screen and he pressed "reply".
Excuse me? Since when are we on a "darling" base? - SH
If you don't like it, you'll have to come and find me to make me stop - IA
Who said something about me wanting you to stop? Maybe I enjoy it. - SH
Do you? Or is it just an excuse you've chosen so you don't have to come and find me? You know, it doesn't matter either way, darling. - IA
In order to find you, I would have to start looking for you. Looking takes ages. I prefer keeping myself busy with more relevant things. - SH
I'm bored. Pretending to be dead is dreadfully dull - IA
Why don't you just come over for dinner then? You could tell me all about the dullness of being dead in full detail - SH
Sounds lovely. It would be a pleasure, Mr. Holmes - IA
I'll be waiting then , Miss Adler - SH
Until then, Sherlock - IA
Do hurry up, though. - SH
I shan't be long. Promise. Are you alone, sweetheart? - IA
No, I am not and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't make a loud entrance, my muse. I bet a lot of people enjoy the enormous luck of having a good nights sleep - SH
That sounds thrillingly dangerous - IA
Why do I get the impression that you take that as an invitation to carry on doing it with even greater joy, woman? - SH
Because I did. - IA
Irene smiled at her phone and stood up. She's already been dressed since she had wanted to pay him a visit anyways. A hint of lipstick and toss of the hair and she's gone. Irene walked down the gloomy streets, eventually paying attention to the noises of the London nightlife around her. Her mind was focused on getting to Baker Street as fast as possible.
Wild thoughts shot through Sherlock's head. Long time ago, he had made a note never to flirt back at her. What had happened to that? What had happened to him? Anticipation built up in his body as he sat and waited for her arrival.
It wasn't long before Irene stood on the doorstep, looking up at the door of 221B. Checking her lipstick for the last time, she pulled out her phone.
Open the door for me, would you? - IA
Sherlock took one deep breath after he had read her text. She was here. With just a few swift movements he was at the door and he swore that he could smell her through the thick wood of the door.
One last pull and the door swung open. There he stood, gazing at her as the moonlight made her appearance even more appealing to him.
Irene looked up at him, the barest hint of amusement on her features. Her long hair was pulled into a loose fall that flowed softly over her shoulder, revealing one side of her neck.
"Good Evening, Mr. Holmes.", she purred seductively.
Sherlock had to swallow the lump of whatever it was that had dried his throat before he could answer.
"Good Evening to you, Miss Adler. It has been a while", he said while taking a step backwards and signalling her to enter.
Irene passed him, letting her fingers trail his shoulder as she did. "Quite a while", she course she would be the one leading him up the stairs and not the other way around. For a moment, a picture of him looking like a lost puppy following her crossed his mind but he shook it out of his head right after it had shown up.
"May I offer you something to drink?", Sherlock asked politely, his voice sounding husky as though it hadn't been used for ages.
"I would love something. What do you have to offer?", she replied shortly. Irene let her eyes travel over the entirety of the space.
"and what would that something be? A glass of wine or something stronger perhaps?"
"Wine would be perfect", Irene mentioned with a smile. She took in his mysteriously attractive looks with satisfaction.
Sherlock all but ran off to the neat little corner of what John and he called 'kitchen' and grabbed the shiniest glasses and his most delicious tasting bottle of wine out of the shelf.
As he returned back to her, Sherlock sat the glasses down onto the table to pour the wine into them. Once again, he let his eyes roam her body before gazing into her face.
Her piercing blue eyes met his pale ones and hung there. She couldn't move her gaze, nor did she want to.
Sherlock cleared his throat in an attempt to clear his mind from the fog she had brought in. Still, it was no use. He just couldn't avert his eyes no matter how hard he tried. Whenever he thought he had succeeded pulling his eyes away from hers, they fell on her luscious lips.
A desperate sigh of frustration had almost slipped his lips but he was able to hold it back. You couldn't really call it 'holding back' because just no he noticed that the sigh had turned into a stifled moan.
Irene had almost laughed out loud, watching him. Sherlock was, in her eyes, simply too adorable when he was flustered. She reached her hand out to touch his shirt and rested her fingertips there.
He shook his head one more time and blinked thrice before picking up both of the glasses from the table and holding one out to her. His hands were, much to his surprise, calm as ever.
"To…shall we say..our nice little reunion?", he asked, slightly cocking his head to the left.
She touched her glass to his. "A nice reunion", she repeated, bringing the liquid to her lips.
Sherlock must have taken a rather big gulp of wine because when he looked at his glass I had already been emptied. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. A smile for which he had no justification whatsoever but it felt like that smile wanted to stay plastered to his face for the rest of the evening.
Irene had sat her glass back to her lips and after another small sip she turned to look at him again.
"I see, you've been busy in my absence", she stated dryly.
Sherlocks mind was reeling. 'You're making a proper idiot out of yourself', his mind kept shouting but all that seemed to pass unnoticed.
"Why would you think so?"
"The flat has gotten messier", Irene replied mildly, a constant smile on her face.
"Ah,well you know how I am. A little bit of chaos and all that Jazz. Welcome to my home, it is.", said Sherlock while shrugging indifferently.
"I have missed you", she whispered as she leaned closer to him.
The smile vanished off of his lips for a split-second as he was looking for a reply.
"Oh really, have you now? I am flattered", he then said.
"You should be. I tried to get by in America, but their detectives are so dull. Nothing of interest for me. Not even closely as interesting as you", Irene whispered, matching his volume. She took a step closer.
"Well, of course they are dull. Nothing could possibly match the charm of the British force", Sherlock murmured, fighting an urge to just grab her by the shoulders and do indelicate things to her.
"No place like London", Irene muttered quietly after having set down her glass, her breath hitching slightly.
"Right you are", he added with a tiny, barely noticeable nod. His fingertips now began trembling as he had stretched his hand out to lightly trace the frame of her precious face.
Irene leaned slightly into his touch. Their faces were only a hairsbreadth away from each other and they continued looking at each other with passion in each others eyes.
Her hand came up and gently rested on his chest. "Sherlock", she whispered. Her voice broke. There was nothing she could have said to calm the sparks of tension between them.
Her name escaped his lips and his voice was a mere whisper as he found any other tone of voice bluntly inappropriate in this situation. Sherlock was this close to just erasing the distance between their faces and, first and foremost, their lips.
His hand had automatically risen up to touch her wrist while he looked at her with a faint smile which signalized that he had already given up fighting his feelings for her.
Irene slid her hands up Sherlock's broad chest and up to his neck. She let out a small breath when his hands touched her, her eyes still locked with his.
The time had now come for Sherlock to take action. He closed the tiny excuse of a distance between their faces and slid his arms around her. Never had he ever felt such a strong affection towards anyone. This had, until now, been untouched territory for him.
Irene let herself be pulled close, let her lips meet his, gently at first. She wound her fingers in his dark curls, losing herself entirely in the kiss.
His hands now slid onto her waist, allowing him to pull her even closer to his chest. He savoured even the smallest touch of her lips as he pressed his to hers determined but still carefully. The thrill they both felt at the touch of each other and the bittersweet taste of longing consumed their minds.
Her tiny hands had now found their way back to his neck and she pulled his mouth closer to hers, wanting-needing-to deepen their intimate touch. She sighed, not breaking the embrace. His touch sent fire dancing over her skin, electrifying her movements.
With every second his craving and longing for her became harder to suppress. His fingers ghosted over the delicate exposed skin on her bare neck while his other hand tangled itself into her hair as he put even more force into his movements. Her scent was clouding his mind and surrounding him,making coherent thinking impossible.
Irene moaned, yearning for his touch. His scent, his taste, his touch, were far more intoxicating than any wine.
Unconsciously he had pushed her into the wall behind her back. A gesture he had only noticed because there was no space left to fill between their heated bodies.
His breathing had hitched for a second but lust and need overcame him all over again.
Irene's back hit the wall again. Rather hard this time, but she didn't care. She let out a gasping sigh.
Even the tiniest sound of her voice sent his mind into other dimensions. He had removed his lips from hers only to now trail kisses on her neck, probably leaving marks.
She gripped Sherlock's back, her head tilted back slightly. Her eyes were open but glazed. She was consumed by his kisses.
Sherlock's hands tugged harshly at the fabric of her dress which was the only thing withholding her divine skin from his hands. A stifled moan left his throat as he could taste every inch of her luscious body.
Irene pulled his face back up to hers. She couldn't handle the emotions his lips on her neck sent through her body.
Moving her hands to his chest, she began working on the buttons of his shirt.
His hands had now found their way to the back of her dress and he slowly unzipped it. He moaned again. A deep husky moan which was only muffled because his lips were once again forcefully crashing down on hers.
His hand finally had unlimited access to the soft skin on her back. Her creamy skin felt delicate and flawless under his trembling fingertips. They were trembling with anticipation. At the same time chills shot through his body every time her fingers came in contact with his bare chest.
It felt smooth and cool beneath her touch as she let her hands wander his torso, his neck, his back, his strong shoulders. She wanted to feel every inch of him. Irene flung his, now useless, shirt aside.
Sherlock lifted her up against the wall. Maybe it had been too forceful again because another quiet moan escaped her lips but she,herself,had no chance of escaping. He was caught up in the process of slowly peeling the thin fabric off her delightful slim body. His lips began trailing her chest, planting soft kisses on every inch of skin he could reach.
Irene's toes skimmed above the floor. Sherlock was a good head taller than her, but now they were eye-to-eye. She wrapped her legs around him,gasping.
Her small gasp made him smile mischievously. He would never have dreamed of ending like this. Especially not with her but he regretted nothing. Not a single thing.
He took a second to glance at her and his chest swelled up with a feeling he had never experienced before. Only moments later, he had torn her dress and tossed it aside.
She moaned his name. She needed him now. More than she ever had before. He'd known that she loved him ever since the first time she had visited his flat. But this…This was just pure bliss.
Sherlock placed his lips at hers and whispered a silent "I need you…now"
It wasn't even a whisper. It was less than that. He mouthed it against the tender skin of her lips and he meant it.
"God,yes",she hissed back. His mouth felt so wonderfully cool on her overheated skin. So perfect in every way. She moaned again, tracing his perfect jaw line and collarbones.
With one smooth movement he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to their room.
They couldn't risk being caught now although it would have been a quite pleasant thrill.
Sherlock put her down on the soft mattress and leaned over her, pinning her body down.
Irene's breath caught in her throat as she looked at him hovering above her. Her arms were pinned down. She whimpered as she tried to reach for his mouth, finding it just out of reach.
"Sherlock…",she sighed longingly.
A smirk tugged at his lips as he heard her pleading voice. He then, began removing the rest of her clothes, slowly. So slow that it was sheer torture to him.
Her heart beat faster in her chest. She wanted to run her fingers and lips over his body so badly but she had to restrain herself. Her breathing heavy and laboured, she stayed on the bed while she was going through his undressing-torture.
In a moment of sickly sweet surprise she freed her arms from his grip and her hands made their way down to his belt, opening it and freeing him from all the clothes he had left.
Her eyes were closed, cutting off one of her five senses. But that in no way stopped her from seeing bursts of colour mixing in front of her every time she felt his touch. She whimpered, her fingers gripping the soft sheets.
His lips met hers once again and he pinned down her arms as he thrust into her. He really had to restrain himself from mauling her right there.
Irene cried out. Her back lifted towards his chest and her legs clinging onto him. She struggled to feel more of his flesh.
One of his hands sneaked around her as she arched her back and he thrust harder. Every sense of his body was on alert and he moaned her name softly.
"Sherlock…God,Sherlock";Irene breathed. She had to keep reminding herself to breathe. Her body was aching but certainly not from exhaustion.
Her soft moans made it hard for Sherlock to contain all his feelings. He grabbed onto her and let his lips crash onto hers forcefully.
She dug her nails into his back. She was almost worried she'd draw blood, but that worry was soon overcome by a wave of mind-blowing pleasure.
Irene cried his name. It was like an explosion of colour. Everything felt perfect. They were synchronized beyond anything Irene had ever felt.
She loved him. Truly, deeply loved him.