A/N: An idea on how the woman became a part of his thought process in such an intimate way. Let me know what you think. If you don't like smut, then I suggest not reading.
Welcome to my mind palace.
It was a series of murmurs that clued him in, peaking his interest until he couldn't fight the urge and his feet were in motion before his mind truly wrapped around what actions he was going to do next. There was strange sensation in his heart as he mind sorted through the endless possibilities on this new adventure.
The situation he found himself in did not top the list that formed in his head. Honestly, it was not in the top 40 and was something he considered in an after thought as he lied to John when he told him he was going to see his parents for a day.
But there he was, launching himself into a raging river, Irene's hands locked in his as they left their scents behind and evaded those desperately trying to find them. As they struggled, he pulled her towards a bank, something slightly isolated from the rest of the foreign world they found themself in. It still posed a risk, an uncalculated risk with an unlimited amount of ambush points. Escaping into the river again would not work and he anticipated seeing a boat coming sooner or later.
When they reached the point where they could safely stand, Irene wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close, a shiver shaking her bones. It hit him then that the robes draping them were beginning to chill and the adrenaline was losing heat in both their bodies. Their best chance of survival was possibly finding a new disguise and a new place where they can easily turn invisible. Hopefully, something where they could dry off and get fresh nearest -
"I thought I was never going to see you again," she choked out, his attention falling back to the woman who held onto him for dear life.
"You thought wrong," he said in a whisper, his arm wrapping around her with an uncertainty that this might be comforting. When she seemed to find solace in the action, he said, "we need to find a new disguise, change our appearance a bit so we can get to -"
She kissed him then, silencing his plan and his thoughts. His heart erupted in that familiar sensation that pushed him into this adventure. The silence in his mind was comforting and drove him to kiss her back, begging her to make him feel like that again. But he couldn't feel like that again as the thought that they were in danger blared through his mind.
"We need to find someplace safe for you," he said as he turned his head from hers. There was a curious look as she tried to search his eyes and a coldness left behind as she let go of him. "We can go west, hopefully soon we can find some fresh, western clothes and blend as tourists. I think that's our best and safest option."
Irene's eyes followed his fingers as he pointed west, or so she believed. She began walking in that direction, her fingers pushing as much hair as she could back into a lazy bun on top of her head. "I could use some new clothes," she said lowly. "I haven't worn actual clothes in Lord knows how long. That doesn't seem like a bad idea."
Her downward vision was uncharacteristic of the usually confident woman walking in front of him. There was a strength missing from her steps as she lead the way to places she didn't know. Sherlock knew of a small town, a popular tourist spot that enjoyed taking money for just about anything. He let her walk ahead, her frustration showing in her frantic motions to free her body from the wet cloth that clinged to her.
But she didn't talk to him, and he couldn't figure out why. He helped her escape, found a safe plan that involved no deaths, specifically her own, and would help her get set up in a new safe cover. Her anger, on the other hand, was not part of the plan and the silence was not what he wished for.
"You're mad," he said simply.
She stopped short, a mild blank stare of disbelief on her face as she tried to understand the words coming out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"You're mad," he repeated simply. She she continued to stare, he asked what seemed like a dumb question. "Why are you mad?"
Their lives were in danger and safety was his primary goal. Her inability to see this was mildly frustrating but the anger and disappointment in her actions were confusing to him. He asked, not knowing what answer he would get. She had a habit of leaving him unable to figure out the reasons to what should be obvious answers.
"I am not mad," she said cooly, a smile spreading on her face. "A rain is coming in, we should hurry up so we can be done with it."
He caught her arm as she prepared to walk west, "Did you not want me to come? Did I interfere with a plan of yours?" There was a small hint of insult, mostly at the casual nature she was taking to his actions to save her life. He did not understand, normal people don't show gratitude in this manner.
"Sherlock, we don't have time for this foolery." Irene pulled on her arm away from Sherlock but he tightened on her wrist. "Let me go, we can't waste time."
"I am trying to buy us more time, time we can use later," he said, looking around. There were faint lights in the direction they could be walking in. "I don't want to waste time now because I don't see us having any time later when we're dead."
Irene slowly pulled her hand back and Sherlock loosened his grip. A new emotion washed over her face and she silently nodded, trusting where his plan might lead her. This feeling was not something a women as confident as her was comfortable with but his words meant more to her than her pride.
This time, Sherlock was in the lead. He was in the lead when he bargained for new clothes with the locals and when he charmed his way with the concierge, chatting about the unique honeymoon adventure they found themselves concierge ate his story up and extra blankets were in their room before she could put the key in the door.
Irene threw herself into the bed, the first comfort Sherlock figured she could afford in many months. Silently, Sherlock stole away to take a shower, hopefully to wash himself of the mud and sediment that soiled his body. Warmth wasn't that bad of an idea, either. Unfortunately, the water temperature begged to differ as he teased his fingers in it. Western comforts were not easily found but something as simple as hot water in today's day and age of advanced science shouldn't be that foreign.
Fingers teased his shoulders brought his attention away from the water and to the milky skin he missed for many months. She towered over him as he sat at the tub, her body bare and her confidence guiding her fingers as they played with the fine contours he graced. The hard swallow he made did nothing to bring logical thoughts to mind. Once again, his mind was silent.
It wasn't until the thought of kissing her came to the surface that he stood up and did that his mind commanded, silencing its request. He studied her likes in the few moments they landed themselves in these oddly sensual situations. He knew that placing his hand at the base of her skull, his fingers woven in her hair would make her smile and that stepping closer, until there was nothing but wall behind her would cause her to press her body against his. She would melt a little, allowing the kisses to get deeper in their closeness.
Usually something would break them. Her need to escape or his inability to understand the situation typically slammed the brakes. Today, Sherlock didn't care to understand the situation and she made no more to leave. This unchartered territory only left him guessing and wishing for the best. His palm on her hip, his fingers digging into her soft skin elicited a soft noise from her he never heard before. When she pushed closer, closer than she ever stood to him before, it shook his mind and caused a stir in his body.
His mind spoke up after the few moments of silence, telling Sherlock the logical ending to their actions and it scared him. She pulled on his belt and pulled the thoughts from his head, his eyes trailing down her body to the ends of her fingers as they undid the metal from the leather. She looked up, a smile on her face as she kissed him again, her hand slipping in to grip him. He bit into her lip as he tried to regain control, as he tried to find that logical voice in his brain that told him what to do, but she had no intention of letting go and he was beginning to enjoy the silence this occasion afforded them.
How simple it could be, her simple actions, the back and forth of it all, to drive him crazy. She ceased and played with the rim of his pants, his body taking over as he rid himself of his shirt and the rest of his clothes. She offered soft assistance, little touches as he flexed and pulled the clothes. Her fingers played with the groves of his stomach, the gentle muscles his adventures gave him. She pressed her soft body into his stiff stance, their closeness shaking his brain once again in a way that resonated into a warmth in his chest that ached as it burned off.
He grabbed her by her waist and lifted her, placing her on the sink and forcing himself closer, standing between her as she sat there open. With her legs wrapping around his hips, he kissed her cheek, his frustration escaping his nose as he pressed his lips into her neck. He couldn't find the familiar guidance his mind gave him and was searching for answers in the women who commanded his sanity. When she guided him to her, they connected perfectly and he didn't want to let it go. For once, the rest of his body spoke and told him what to do.
In a remote village, hiding from villains and as an endless amount of dangers possibly approach them, Sherlock cast it all aside for the woman underneath him. Her hands over his back, her nails in skin, were nothing but distracting. Gripping her arms, the pads of his fingertips pressing into her wrists, allowed him to focus as he held her pinned her down. The sounds she made as he commanded her body were intoxicating. The familiar sound brought a small smile to his face as he thought of the countless times he heard her while communicating through texts for all this time. Her logical inquiries might have worked before but now it was his body, his manhood, and his deep desire to completely wrap his mind around her elicited a better sound that would disturb his thoughts for time to come.
He would wrap his mind around her again that night, this time between the sheets of the bed they shared and later again in the shower she distracted him from before. When they slept, he found himself wanting to hold her closer with no explanation. Ordinary people sought these simple comforts for reasons they never understood, made connections with people for reasons that escaped them.
A fear set in, a fear that stabbed his chest. While he didn't want her to leave, while he didn't want the warmth of their embrace to end, he knew it would happen. Sherlock decided to do what he knew best. He let go and took a step back, separating himself from the woman in his arms both physically and emotionally. As she tried to read his face, she smiled and cupped his cheek. It was an understanding smile. Rolling over, she caught a few more hours of sleep. As Sherlock analyzed what to say the next day, his eyes close and he, too, found a few more hours of sleep. What he did not find when he woke up was the woman.
Returning to his life was the most painful. Sharing breakfast with his friend and being unable to vocalize the pain that gripped his chest was what truly drove him mad. It was the smile John gave him during the silence and the small talk he offered when Sherlock choked on his words that he was truly grateful for.
One day, out of the blue that doesn't exist for Sherlock, John said, "she'll come around," over his laptop screen as he typed. Within a few days, he had a text from an unknown number with a familiar sound.
A/N2: I try not to venture from the story line. I do these to supplement the story we are told. I am sure that as time goes on I will be proven wrong as I'm sure somewhere deep down Sherlock would not give into these temptations or anything truly as animalistic but he has been surprising us all with all these emotions. To me, he isn't the person he puts himself out to be.
This would prelude my other Sherlock fic, as it does in the timeline. These two are meant to tie into each other as they are based in the same universe. Please review, I appreciate constructive criticism.