The door burst open, cracking like a pistol as it smashed against the back wall. A woman blazed through, like an inferno, in a skin tight leather cat suit, brandishing a whip with wicked looking tassels.
"You chose her!" She screamed, her handsome features contorted with incandescent rage.
She looked like a creature from hell, her fury burning with caustic heat.
"Ah.." Sherlock started to say but the sentence stayed unfinished as a blow crashed against his cheek, rocking his head sideways.
The whip, he thought rather belatedly, but it was in the wrong hand, she can't possibly have produced that much force with her weaker side.
"I'm ambidextrous, you fool!" The woman said, switching hands for effect and attempting another blow.
He was an open book to her, as always.
He caught the whip this time, pulling her close in an attempt to restrain her. He could feel her body writhing against his as she tried to escape. Soft flesh taut against his body. She was stronger than she looked and her anger had made her into a force of nature.
He drew her in much closer using every muscle in his lanky body. Her smell was musky and sweet. He could almost taste it. There was something alluring about it, seductive, addictive, like he couldn't have enough. It was as if she could sense the power her scent had over him. She stopped struggling and snuggled up to him, drawing him into her body.
"What's going on, Sherlock? What is she doing here?" a quiet voice said from the direction of the door.
Sherlock looked up. Molly Hooper stood at the door, hands on her hips. She always looked pretty in pink, he thought. He'd bought her that sweater for her birthday. Well, Mrs Hudson had chosen it and gone to the shop to get it and taken the money out of his rent, but it had been his idea. She wore it whenever she came to stay over. She knew how he liked the way it emphasised the colour of her eyes.
John Watson and Rosie were next to her. They'd just been to the park and Rosie was carrying a red ball in her little fingers.
"The Woman…" he spluttered, but before he could say anything else, he sensed it before he saw it.
Her hand had snaked up to his head and tilted it downwards with delicate strength. Her lips were engulfing his, her tongue an experienced invader exploring his mouth. He could feel her every breath and the taste of her kiss, was like nothing he had ever experienced. His body tingled with electricity.
The muffled squeak and footsteps racing down the stairs, drew him back to reality and he pulled away from her magnetic grip.
"Molly!" he said, pushing The Woman to one side.
John Watson had a lop sided grin on his face but one Sherlock knew was involuntary. He always looked like that when he was confused and he didn't know what to do.
Sherlock stood helpless, his mind was considering several possibilities all at the same time, rendering him paralysed. He couldn't process the emotions that were crowding out reason and clouding his perfect logic. He felt a dull ache in his heart, as various outcomes laid themselves before him. Molly was all that mattered but what would he do about Irene?
END OF CHAPTER
I don't normally write like this so any feedback would be appreciated.