When Sherlock deduced the men at the wedding, he rather thought Janine would find one perhaps suitable enough to quail her needs for a relationship, so he's not quite sure how she came to be laid out on his bed, her bridesmaid dress spread out around her with her shoes kicked off on the floor by the door. He's even more unsure of how he came to be kneeling over her, although he thinks it might have something to do with the alcohol they drank after she followed him back to the flat after the reception, complaining that the men there were too dull for her and she much rather enjoy the company of the consulting detective.

After taking a break to visit the loo, he came out to find Janine gone from the couch where he had left her, and followed the smell of her perfume back to his room. Flashes of The Woman sleeping in his bed appeared at the forethought of his memory, and he couldn't help but wonder what the attraction was of his bed to women.

"Are you going to join me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock could easily deduce what the woman was looking for had it not been for the stag night style haze he had fogging his brain as he climbed onto the bed, an innocent look in his eyes. He knew the concept of sex, of the powers it held over people, but it was never something he bothered with, something he didn't have time for.

His stance on the matter was obvious to Janine as he climbed over her, his eyes glazed over from the alcohol, the look on his face reminding her of a schoolboy virgin about to get his first shag. Part of her thinks it's cute, the same part that wants to defile the innocence, to feel those long slender fingers in her. The thought is enough to make her moan, Sherlock giving her a questioning look from over top of her.

She grabs his dominant hand, the consulting detective's eyebrows coming together in a look of confusion as he shifts all of his weight onto the other arm, his legs flexing as he compensates for the position change.

His hand is at Janine's mercy as she slowly pushes it down her body, their eyes locked as Sherlock feels the tips of his fingers slip under her dress and into wetness. He's about to ask what she wants him to do when he feels his fingers slide over a small mound of flesh between her moist lips, the movement immediately causing the woman's body to arch into Sherlock's and a guttural moan to escape her lips.

Her eyes are closed now, her breath coming out in shallow gasps as she shifts his hand again in a slow deliberate motion, moans coming from deep inside her.

Watching her in this state, her mind an obvious mess as she pants and moans mesmerizes Sherlock, the consulting detective studying the pleasurable look on her face the way he studies a crime scene, the information forcing its way into his mind palace.

He doesn't realize he's matching his breathing to her own, or that her hand has slipped away from his to grab onto his back. His fingers continue in the rhythmic motion that she created until she rolls her hips forward suddenly and he feels a warmth envelop the digits, his movements stopping suddenly, causing her eyes to slip open as she groans from the sudden loss of stimulation.

"I'm sorry," the words are said with genuine concern present in his eyes, but she only grins, contracting her muscles around his fingers briefly before grabbing his hand and bringing it back up her body.

A smile plays on her lips, one that Sherlock takes as forgiving as she continues to manipulate his movements, his gaze flicking over to his wet fingers as she finally pulls their hands between them.

Her tongue is moist and pink as it slips out of her mouth, the tip running up the undersides and a small amount of her own juices puddling on her tongue before she completely envelopes his fingers in her mouth. His throat suddenly feels dry at the sight and feel caused by the movement of her tongue on his digits, and he swallows hard at the look of pleasure burning in her eyes.

It's evident that he has no control over his own body anymore, his mind palace struggling to find a place to store all of the information, all of the sounds and movements that the woman creates from beneath him as he struggles to keep his other arm from giving out from under him and his weight collapsing onto her.

She releases his fingers from her mouth with a wet pop, his hand dropping back to the mattress to catch his weight. Her eyes burn as her smile returns and she pulls him close, her breath warm as she whispers "taste me, Sherlock Holmes" in his ear. When she pulls back so that they're face to face again, she catches Sherlock's gaze dart over to his fingers that were previously being manipulated by her tongue before returning back to her.

The shake of her head is almost unnoticeable as he feels pressure suddenly being put on his shoulders, and he realizes that she wants him to follow the same trajectory that his hand did moments ago.

"You want-"

His mind palace feels like it's imploding, stumbling over his words, his eyes darting back and forth as he searches for the appropriate reaction to this situation. Tucked away in every corner is all the information he's encountered that he's deemed necessary to keep, from maps of London to every type of cigarette ash, but this, there is no information on this. The search through the mind palace brings him to a room with nothing but Janine, and the look on her face as he rubbed her clit moments ago.

"Sherl."

The sound of his name brings him back to the here and now, Janine looking slightly worried but with a smirk still on her face as she puts a hand on the back of Sherlock's neck and pulls him down to meet her lips, the quick movement catching him off guard as he feels the woman's tongue slip into his mouth.

The taste is present on her tongue, a taste that is distinct and foreign to the consulting detective. His inquisitive nature drives him to respond back to her, trying to catalogue it away, but it soon disappears and he's left with the taste of nothing but her saliva mingling with his own.

It's enough to lead him in the right direction as he pushes Janine's dress up to her waist and moves back on the bed so that he's stretched out between her legs, his fingers parting the wet lips.

The smell, like the taste is distinct, being catalogued away in Sherlock's mind palace as he admires the wet, swollen flesh in front of him, the feeling of Janine's fingers rubbing along his scalp and lightly tugging his hair barely breaking through his consciousness as he reaches his tongue out, allowing the tip to gently rub against the mound of flesh that his finger previously massaged.

Hips buck ever so slightly, Sherlock's name coming out as a moan on parted lips as he revels in the new taste, his hands coming up to steady Janine's hips as he builds the courage to snake the tip of his tongue in a circular motion around her clit.

He can feel her body shaking under his grip, his tongue tracing languid patterns on her wet skin and drawing out strings of moans and curse words, her hands leaving his head to cover those holding a tight grip on her hips. Her nails dig into his flesh, his fingertips into her skin, the both of them leaving marks that will surely be present tomorrow.

Time is lost between the two, Janine's breathing coming out at the rate of multiple orgasms, words caught in her throat. Sherlock can feel her tiring, her grip on his hands loosening, and he takes one last lap with his tongue before sitting up, wiping his mouth with his hand as he stares at the woman splayed out in front of him, her chest heaving and eyes closed.

He leans over her, his tongue still coated in her juices as he kisses the corner of her mouth, asking for an invitation in. She doesn't hesitate, taking control of the kiss, tasting every bit of herself before pulling away, her hands lightly holding his shoulders as she squeezes her legs on either side of the consulting detective.

She wants to continue the fun but the sound of Sherlock's phone snaps her back to reality as the consulting detective doesn't hesitate to answer it. She figures she can only ask so much from a man who goes days without eating in order to pursue a case, and she supposes this situation is no different as he climbs off the bed, leaving the room while talking about a dead body found on a rooftop.