"Do you have any Scotch?" She asked suddenly. "I want to get blindingly drunk."
She was only slurring her words a little as she was only tipsy at this point. Nowhere near drunk enough; still capable of coherent thought, which she desperately did not want to be capable of. She didn't want to think about him-the man she would be tying herself to forever. It was too much, too utterly depressing. She needed one night to be happy. One night with the only him-Sherlock.
"I think John does." Sherlock replied, raising a brow at her comment, which only proved his point more. His deduction that she was nowhere close to being in love with the man. He walked to the liquor cabinet, peering in it before taking out a rather nice bottle of scotch. He grabbed two classes and poured them each a shot.
"You sure you're alright?" He asked her as he watch her walk towards him slowly. He took a moment to asses her before handing her the class.
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm basically sober." She muttered with a smirk before downing the drink and handing the glass back to Sherlock to fill up.
He gazed at her, impressed before throwing back his own shot and refilling their glasses.
"You definitely aren't sober." He remarked, lowly.
"Fine, not drunk enough then." She relented facetiously, taking a sip of the shot, deciding to go slightly slower this time.
He smirked to himself at her agitation before warning her lightly, "Careful Miss Adler, alcohol is supposedly a truth serum." He eyed her before sipping his own shot as well.
"I'm willing to take that risk." She murmured, finishing her drink before glancing up at him and narrowing her eyes suspiciously, "You don't strike me as someone who drinks." She commented.
"I don't." He confirmed.
"Then why are you drinking now?" She asked, taking the bottle to fill up her glass before crossing -well stumbling, back towards the sofa.
He shrugged, following her to the couch. "I'm bored."
She turned to face him, catching herself on the back of the sofa when she nearly fell off.
"Oh, I'm sorry. You're bored?"
Sherlock finished his glass. He noticed his head was beginning to get fuzzy as he sat down on the couch next to her. He felt...odd. Uninhibited...risky and daring. He looked at her, his pupils dark, and continued, "I'm usually bored."
"What a dull life you must lead." She muttered, downing the rest of her drink and clumsily putting the glass on the table, nearly slipping sideways and onto Sherlock in the process but managing to steady herself.
"Miss Adler, you appear to both be unable to walk and unable to even sit properly, he observed, catching her petite form and assisting her to an upright position, beginning to get too drunk to stiffen at the intimate, physical contact.
"Perhaps you should take off your heels." He suggested, eyeing her legs darkly.
"Probably a good idea" She slurred, falling on the sofa next to Sherlock and slipping off her shoes, flexing her toes slightly.
He glanced down at her 5-inch Christian Louboutin, red-soled heels. They were the same she had been wearing the day they met he recalled, have a secret, special fondness for them, and her in them.
He cleared his throat and shook his head, forcing him back into the present as he commented dryly, "I don't know how you women walk around in those things." He muttered.
"You get used to them." She murmured, resting her head back. "Plus, we look damn good in them." She winked at him. "Want to know why it is that men find it so attractive?"
He snorted, somewhat offended that she thought him that daft that he couldn't even deduce the obvious attraction to the female form being lifted and elevated. "High-heels accentuate the legs, pronounce one's backside, and lift the breasts." He replied, quickly and matter-of-factly. "It's rather apparent...Not that I pay attention or care for that sort of thing." He added quickly, looking away.
"All true, but those are the obvious reasons. There is another, much more subtler and interesting one that you have missed, Mr Holmes." She purred, leaning towards him slightly, as she did her best to keep her balance. "With Louboutins, there's a particular reasoning for the exact specifications for each heel. For the height and shape of the shoe and how it restructures its owners arch. When a woman is wearing a pair of his heels, the arch of the her foot is that which most usually occurs during an orgasm." She smirked. "Which is why men, unconsciously, find them so appealing."
Sherlock processed the information as best he could given his clouded state. "How base" He sneered, "I'm embarrassed for my sex."
She raised an eyebrow and put one of the heels back on and stuck her leg out, forcing him to look at her shapely calves and delicate, small foot.
"So you're saying, they don't affect you at all?" She asked dubiously, bending her leg at the knee to pronounce her lower leg further.
He swallowed forcefully as he felt a heat begin to rise from his pelvis and something stir at his loins. He furrowed his brow in confusion and annoyance before looking away quickly. "No." He lied stiffly.
"So you don't care that it's like a glance into what I look like when I have an orgasm?" She pressed, not lowering her leg.
He eyed her leg, it was dangerously close to his own. He looked up at her, "Why on earth would I want to imagine that?" He countered, going on the offense and challenging her.
She sighed, lowering her leg. "You're a boring drunk, Mr Holmes. She leaned back with a stretch. "I don't know, maybe you have pent up sexual frustration?" She offered. "Let's not beat around the bush. I am an attractive woman, even you cannot deny that."
"That may be true Miss Adler, but I thought I made it clear that I'm not interested in such affairs." He spat.
"Or it's the fact that I'm an attractive woman. Maybe I should give these heels to John. Might spark your interest." She laughed.
His eyes snapped back to hers, his nose twitching. "I. Am. Not. Gay." He hissed, lowly.
"I don't believe you." She said mockingly. "I've seen the way you are around him. Never seen you like that with any woman. Never even seen you show the slightest interest in any woman, as a matter of fact." She murmured, doing a successful job of not sounding bitter.
"We're friends. Platonic mates." He growled. "You misunderstand my constitution, Miss Adler. I have no interest in romance of any kind. It distracts and is a waste of time." He explained irritatedly.
"Oh dear, I'm not talking about romance, dear, I'm talking about sex." She corrected him with a wry smile before continuing her pursuit, "So, if you've never shown any interest in women and you're not gay, are you asexual?" She asked, the alcohol aiding her in being so blunt and curious with him.
He faltered at her question, his mind racing to calculate and process his inner being.
"I don't know. I've never thought about it..." He began. "I know I am not interested in men." He replied, the alcohol effecting his openness.
"Do you not know if you're attracted to women?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.
Sherlock glanced at her briefly before nodding his head slowly and stuttering his confession, "No, I-I, uh, know that I am."
"So you aren't asexual then. You're 'straight'" by conventional society's sexual labels." She pointed out, pausing to review his recent statement before asking with a foxish grin, "How, how exactly do you know, though?"
He paused for a moment, considering his answer, deciding to answer truthfully. What the hell, he figured, he'd never see her again. What did this-their-whole charade even matter anymore? There was no real point in continuing it tonight, for he never would have to again. She would be gone from his life forever. So, it was time for a bit of honesty he decided.
"Because I've been attracted to one." He said slowly.
"Really? I can't see you being attracted to anyone." She teased him, surprised by his blunt honesty. She smirked at him, scooting closer to him on the sofa. "Well then, if you're attracted to women and not men. Chances are, you're straight, like I said." She commented.
"I suppose so." He responded, his lips twitching slightly at her proximity.
"Either way, I'm still no way near drunk enough." She murmured, before jumping up suddenly and stumbling as she tripped over her left foot. She fell backwards landing in Sherlocks lap, dizzy, though giggling at her clumsiness, usually being so graceful and free with her body.
He caught her, his hands grasping her hips as she fell into his lap. Her face was inches from his and her arse landed on his groin. He withheld a low moan at the sudden contact.
She peered at him. "That wasn't supposed to happen." She sniggered unapologetically, noticing how his breath had caught in his throat.
"Drunk, Miss Adler?" He asked lowly, licking his lips as he realised just how close hers were to his.
"It appears so." She murmured, gazing into his eyes, which were frightfully close to her own. She had a feeling that the alcohol was clouding her judgement, her control of the situation, but couldn't be bothered to care.
"You have interesting eyes." She said out of the blue. "Interesting colour, I mean. A sort of blue with specks of turquoise and gold...I, I like them." She murmured softly.
He searched her eyes, his brow furrowed, taken aback by her intimate words. "T-thank you." He stuttered, not knowing what else to say.
She grinned a dazzling smile at him as the alcohol swept through her brain preventing her from knowing how out of character she was being.
"You're welcome" She smiled.
"Feeling...sentimental, Miss Adler?" He asked, with a smug smirk as he discovered he now at the upper hand.
Her face darkened almost immediately at his utterance of the 'S' word. "Oh, fuck off, Sherlock." She said simply, the alcohol talking. "I'm fed up of all this sentiment shit."
"Then stop giving me such undeniable ammunition." He countered, gripping her hips tighter.
"Fine. I will." She snapped. "It's not like what I said was even that revealing...or sentimental." She lied, mumbling more to herself than him.
Sherlock felt her shift her weight, her arse causing friction against his groin. He bit his lip at the bolt of subtle, throbbing pleasure that ran through his body. He swallowed before remarking, "You're dreadful at lying." He eyed her smooth thigh that had been exposed as her dress had ridden up when she fell. He let out a huff of desire before running his hand to her thigh, utterly unable to stop himself.
She raised her brows and let out a low moan at his touch. "Apparently alcohol is a truth serum." She commented about her reaction.
He squeezed her thigh lightly relishing the feel of her muscles and bare flesh beneath his hand. "Is there something you would like to tell me?" He asked slowly, his eyes dilating.
"I like having your hand on me." She blurted out suddenly. "Fuck, I need to stop doing that." She muttered, half meaning it and half wanting him to call her out on it, to push things further.
He flexed his grip again, unknowingly this time as his primitive male instincts began to emerge. "Why?" He dared to ask.
"Mmmm." She moaned again at his hand's assault. "Why what?"
"Why should you stop?" He explained, his fingers now tracing her inner thigh lightly.
"Because..." She began, "Blurting out the first bloody thing that comes into my head isn't exactly the wisest move." She breathed, arching her back as his hand slowly worked it's way north on her upper leg.
"Afraid you'll admit your love for me, Miss Adler?" He husked into his ear, the alcohol causing him to ask questions with subjects that he otherwise would never desire to bring up with her.
She chuckled lowly "You wish, Mr Holmes." She purred, managing, somehow, not divulge her honest answer.
"And why would I wish that?" He asked, beginning to knead her inner gracilis muscle.
She gasped as he found his way to the portion of her upper thigh that came right before her centre. He was close, so very close to her most sensitive and intimate area. It was tantalizingly arousing and frustrating.
"Ammunition." She murmured, swallowing her lust down, to echo his earlier words.
"Now you're just quoting me." He breathed against the back of her neck. "My, my someone's fond." He continued smugly.
A flash of anger ran through her as a tiny part of her that was still loyal to her self-preservation and heart's protection fumed with annoyance at him.
"Seriously Sherlock. Fuck off with the whole sentiment thing. I'm drunk and about to get married. Now is not the time." She hissed.
He quirked an eyebrow at her sudden mood swing but persisted in his inquiry, "Yet, you continue to sit on my lap...deductions could be made, my dear."
She leaned forward, locking her gaze with his, glaring at him darkly before retaliating herself, saying, "And your hand continues to explore my thigh...'deductions could be made.'"
"Where else would you like it?" He asked unexpectedly, daringly. His brain was fuzzy and uninhibited.
"Now deductions could definitely be made, Mr Holmes." She husked. "Mhmm."
She took a moment to ponder how to advance before grabbing his hand, a wicked glint in her eye, and slipping it under her dress, placing it against her hot centre. "There works." She purred.
Sherlock's eyes flew open in shock and slight anxiety as he felt his hand make contact with her apex. He took a moment to asses her. She was warm and moist-very moist. Her knickers lacey and soaked wet with her desire. He closed his eyes and swallowed, praying that he could and would regain control.
"Wha-what are you doing?' He stuttered slowly.
She released her grip on his hand, thus allowing him to make it his decision whether he kept it there or not.
"You asked me where I'd like it. I answered your question." She breathed before leaning closer to him, her face an inch from his. "You know, I really liked that piece you played before. You really are good at playing the violin. Why don't you show me that excellent fingering you employ?" She asked breathily.
He quirked a confused eyebrow as he evaluated her double entendre as his fingers began to trace her over her knickers lightly, running them up her slit to find her swollen clit ready and eager to be touched. He circled it slowly, not touching it directly, however.
"You're about to get married, Miss Adler," He reminded her quietly, "Are you sure you should be asking me this?" He waited for her answer, his fingers continuing their onslaught. He secretly prayed she would say yes. He wanted her. He had always wanted her, loathe as he was to admit it. And now he downright needed her, as he felt his member begin to swell and harden beneath her arse.
Irene bit her lip and let out a deep moan as he teased her throbbing nub. God she wanted him. She swallowed, closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation as she responded breathily, "About to get unhappily married, as you've pointed out multiple times. Besides, I'm in the market for a lover. Consider it your audition." She smirked to herself, rocking her pelvis against his hand, needing more contact.
He grunted at the sensual sounds she was emitting and shifted her weight as his trousers began to tighten with his growing erection.
"You think I would be your lover?" He scoffed, though his hand remained on her mound.
"Once you've given me a go. You won't be able to stay away." She purred, grinning to herself as she felt his obvious arousal beneath her.
"I thought I made it clear, I'm not interested." He lied, stressing the words as he did his best to keep is desire and need out of his voice.
"Mmm, your hand and your trousers plead the opposite, Mr Holmes. Plus, we've both definitely had too much alcohol to be able to say no. Maybe you just need a little more incentive." She whispered before taking his hand again to slip it under the fabric of her knickers, now no material separating their flesh.
It was the first time that Sherlock Holmes had ever touched a woman in such an intimate place. He swallowed, his eyes locking with hers. She was even warmer and wetter in the raw, dripping actually. He felt his cock grow as he fondled her folds. He slid his finger along her slit. finding her entrance as his thumb rubbed her clit. He had no idea what he was doing but he swore he would figure it out.
"I can always say no." He growled.
Irene closed her eyes, her breathing heavy, at the feel of his warm fingers on her. "Well, you're not being very convincing." She breathed.
"Am I not?" He asked, slowly inserting a single digit in her.
She gasped, a soft moan hitching in the back of her throat as he penetrated her. "No, not even slightly. I mean, I'd guess that you wanted this. Really wanted this." She murmured between moans and grunts.
He shifted in his seat again his member aching with need for release. There was no doubt she could feel it, having had commented on it moments before. He cleared his throat as his fingers continued to probe her.
"I don't." He was barely able to lie, unsure of how much longer he could feign disinterest, his lust beginning to overthrow him.
She opened her eyes and grinded her arse against his boner. She glanced up at him giving him her most lustful look, which was quite an achievement seeing as she was completely drunk and more than a little overwhelmed.
"Your poker face is horrendous." She whispered, amused.
"Are you calling me unattractive or a bad liar?" He asked lowly.
"The latter. Obviously." She murmured.
He quirked an eyebrow, "So you do think I'm attractive?" He asked, inserting another finger into her.
She closed her eyes again, another gasp escaping her mouth as her body moved with his touch.
"Yes." She half breathed, half gasped. "You're gorgeous, Mr Holmes." She was back to blurting things out again.
"Likewise, Miss Adler" He slurred, gazing at her as he began to pump his fingers in and out of her.
"Then stop feigning disinterest" She said, shortly, her hands clutching at his forearms.
He growled as he bucked his hips against her, his erection grinding against her arse.
"Do I really seem so disinterested?" He asked lowly.
She moaned at the mixture of feelings. "Much better." She murmured in approval.
Sherlock glanced from her eyes to her mouth. He licked his lips before leaning up in an effort to catch her lips with his own.
Irene brought up a hand and pressed a finger against his lips. "Now now, dear. We're about to fuck. Not make love. Your sentiment is showing." She purred, tracing his lips with her finger.
He pulled back, searching her eyes for a moment. "Right. Of course. Don't know what I was thinking." He mumbled, a stab of pain erupting in his chest.
She looked down at his face, his wonderful, beautiful face which showed a slight flicker of something. Hurt? Rejection? For a moment she wondered whether she can hide it. Conceal the burning desire to kiss him; kiss him with as much tenderness that she could muster. This lasted for a moment before she shook her head internally, dislodging the thought. This was sex, not love. How could she leave him and get married if it was?
"Obviously not." She murmured, not looking him in the eye.
Sherlock grasped her in his arms and stood up, carrying her into the his room and placed her down gently on his bed.
"Miss it?" He asked, referencing his bed with a smirk.
Her gaze snapped back to his "Miss what?"
"My bed." He said curtly.
"Yes, I do. It smells like you." She confirmed, recalling the day she had slipped into his flat and had the luxury of taking a nap in his sheets. She shut her eyes and sighed. She needed to stop, really stop.
"Careful Miss Adler, need I remind you of the 'S-word?'" He asked, perching on the bed.
"I'm not ashamed of thinking you smell nice. I like the smell of gingerbread too, doesn't mean it has a special place in my heart." She mumbled.
He smirked, "Gingerbread? Me too." He murmured, gazing at her for a moment too long.
She sat up, ignoring the dizziness and smiled at him. Not a smirk, a genuine smile.
"I always buy myself a gingerbread man when I'm feeling sad. And bite it's head off when I'm feeling mad." She laughed lightly.
He laughed heartily. The first time he had ever done so in front of her. He felt so happy in that single moment. Content and full.
"The latter is much more you." He replied with a small smile.
She couldn't help but grin at his laugh before her face sobered slightly, her feelings seeping through her drink-filled haze.
"You obviously don't see the sadness then." She murmured softly, her voice haunting.
He gazed at her before leaning forward and capturing her lips with his. Fuck her rules, he thought. She was a woman who deserved to be happy-loved.
Irene closed her eyes, the feeling of his lips on hers feeling so... sweet...familiar. Comforting.
She kissed him back for a moment before realising that she couldn't-she couldn't do this. She couldn't let herself get hurt.
"No. No. Stop it!" She half spat, pushing him off of her.
He looked at her, hurt and confused. "W-what?" He asked, bewildered.
"We are not making love. You cannot kiss me." She hissed, hating the heartbroken look on his face. She willed him to bring up his usual emotionless mask; prayed he would, so that she wouldn't feel like she was being so cruel.
His face twitched. His head was buzzing. He looked at her longingly, "B-but I...love you, Irene." He said quietly, unable to stop the words from coming out.
Irene's eyes widened. "You...you what?"
He swallowed, cursing himself for admitting his feelings. No turning back now he figured. "I...I love you. I-I'm in love with you." He answered, looking down.
His words resonated through her, changing her.
"No." She said quietly, refusing to let herself give in to his confession. If she did, she'd never leave him and she was getting married, for God's sake. Admittedly, an unhappy marriage. But a much needed one.
"I...this was a mistake." She muttered, rolling off the bed, and stumbling to her feet though his words sobered her significantly.
"I...I…I should go." She didn't look at his face, knowing exactly how it would appear.
His heart, newly found, broke. He closed his eyes slowly, "Please..." He whispered, slowly reaching a hand out to her.
Irene closed her eyes, her own heart tearing in two. She walked to the door and couldn't help but glance back at Sherlock.
"Move on. Please. Forget about me, I promise you'll never hear from me again. I won't hurt you anymore." She whispered.
He opened his mouth, trying to find words, but was unable to. He closed his eyes and looked down, letting her walk out of his life forevermore.
"I'm sorry." She whispered before heading out of the door and rushing out of the flat, barely able to hold back the moisture in her eyes. As soon as she had stepped out of the flat she leaned against the door, closing her eyes and her heart before walking away from the only love she had ever known.
Sherlock heard his phone moan. He swallowed, picking it up slowly, half hoping, half dreading what she had texted him.
Goodbye, Mr Holmes. IA
Sherlock clenched his jaw before throwing his phone against the wall. He ran his hands through his hair as he let out an enraged scream. As hot tears slowly began to run down his cheek.
The great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat, was broken.
