She was standing so close, oh so close and he almost couldn't breathe. Her proximity and fragrance made it impossible to get air into his lungs properly. His hand catches hers as it sneaks behind his back to grab the handcuffs lying behind him on the kitchen counter.
"I don't think so." He almost growls holding her hand tightly, making it impossible for her to move. She overcomes her initial surprise at his rather bold action after a split second and gives him a sly smile that seems almost predatory. Sherlock has to swallow. Challenging The Woman, in any way, was always a risky game. She gets what she wants, like the energy of the universe is always constant, it is a natural law. And yet here he is, shifting their own, very unique, equilibrium in his favor.
"Carful Mr. Holmes. I might have to punish you." She breathes almost inaudible, but threatening nonetheless. Her calling him Mr. Holmes was always a threat these days. Still, he decides to be even bolder and leans down until his lips just barely brush her ear.
"Punish me for what?" He whispers, with a smirk, knowing exactly that him playing innocent while he was aware he wasn't innocent at all, brought forward a very special side in her. A side that is not played with, as he has learned from experience. She twists her wrist so she is holding his hand and he lets her, knowing that too much of a shift in their carefully created bubble might cause it to rupture. Like he said, the energy in the universe has to remain constant, in constant equilibrium, shifting, but never changing all the same.
Since she is still in her heels, she has the advantage that if she presses her body against his, she will not only create some very distracting friction between them but also reach his ear and return the favor.
"Misbehaving." She just says while running her tongue along the shell of his ear. It makes him suck in a quick breath, something she knew would happen. He can almost feel her grin against his ear.
"We can't have that, can we." He says, almost nonchalantly, twisting his hand out of her grip. Lazily he runs it up and down her arm, over her chest, teasing her with the whisper of a touch. It's their thing, he thinks. Everything they do is too much and at the same time never enough. He catches her eye and her look is somewhere between predatory and tender. He knows that after all they have been through, there would always be a special something between them. Not sentiment, no. Not only. So much more that he will never be able to put into words. He wouldn't ever dare to say he loved her, no, love was for regular people, people who saw each other on a regular basis, lived together, were able to share their lives. They will never be like that, he knows. Somewhere deep in his chest he feels a pinch at the thought, but immediately snaps back into reality as she puts her hand to his cheek, stroking her thumb over his lip.
"No. We can't." She says, putting on her dominatrix armor. That happens sometimes. When they look at each other for too long, let their minds wander too far, thinking about what could, should, be. They have to go back to their defenses to regain their balance. Everything else would be too dangerous. He remembers the momentarily forgotten handcuffs and quickly, before she even realizes what he is doing, snaps them around her wrist. She lets out a noise of surprise, one that makes Sherlock almost laugh. He likes that, surprising her. He's done it twice already today. This is turning out to be interesting. Even though he is very aware that there is a high chance that he will regret his choices later on in the evening.
"Someone is being a bad boy tonight, it seems." She says, showing her teeth behind her smile. He swallows as he pushes her back against the wall, hands over her head. Things she has done to him countless times. But mind her, he could also play that game. After all, he has had a very good teacher. Their balance isn't so much about energy, but about power and control. She is giving in, but only for a minute, he is not about to fool himself. He knew her too well.
He rolls his hips against hers and she hums in approval. Slowly he kisses his way down her exposed sternum, one of his favorite body parts. There is only so far he can go while holding her hands in place, so he spends some time there, teasing, breathing, kissing. Nothing too bold. He knows she won't let him. He can feel her getting impatient and he knows better than to keep her pinned against a wall like this for too long. It would ruin the game. He glances up at her and her eyes tell him what he already knows.
"Out." She breathes heavily. He carefully allows her arms to come down, all the while holding them in his hands. He kisses her neck and she subtly arches into him. He fishes a key out of his pocket to unlock the handcuffs, taking them off her and rubbing his thumb over her wrist where she strained against the formerly cold metal that has her body temperature now. He smiles to himself, formulas, postulates, laws running through his head. He discards them immediately. Not important now. She takes them from his hands and he is prepared to have them snapped around his own wrists, at a much crueller angle, he is sure.
Instead she ducks out under his arms and walks towards the fridge. He is mildly confused at first. Maybe she wanted them to be cold…? But then she would put them into the freezer, much more effective. She always liked playing with fire and ice. Very much like himself, he had to admit. Which is why he keeps them in there. Just in case she turns up. She opens it and places them back where she found them.
"Now Mr. Holmes, if the handcuffs go there, do I have to ask where my whip is?" She asks, the dominatrix now almost fully returned in her eyes. The tenderness, love, is hardly detectable, though he knows her well enough to know that it is most definitely there. It always is. He swallows hard, he knows that there comes his payback.
"Right then mister. Now, I need your handcuffs. I happen to know there is a pair in the salad drawer." No one can keep anything from Mrs. Hudson, he should have learned that by now, he thinks. Next time, The Woman needs to find a better place to hide them. They're hers after all. "I've borrowed them before." She finished. He cringes, but then realizes that the occasion probably, hopefully, was different than their original purpose.