Bedroom Bore
She didn't know what to expect when he leaned over her, hands holding hers, body hot against her skin. His shirt draped over them in mock privacy.
She felt his lips against her back, a line of kisses. It felt intimate, it felt cherished. She was surrounded by the smell of cigarette smoke and sandalwood. His hand dragged down her body, fingers slipping between her thighs and finding the small bundle of nerves that made her breath quicken. He moved lazily, slowly, pressing kisses as her grip tightened around the fingers clutched in hers. He perched over her, entirely still, until her knees were weak. When he stepped away, she held in a whimper of protest, waiting. She propped herself up on her elbows, about to turn to look at him when he hmmed, breaking his silence.
"Don't move. Stay exactly like that."
He did not waste any more time. He entered her slowly, his nails digging into her hip. His first few strokes were short and tantalizing, a tease of something greater. He'd just slanted back over her, pace quickening, breath hot against her ear, when she heard the most dreadful noise.
His phone buzzed on the floor beside their feet. He ignored it for a moment, persisting until the third round of vibrations on his floorboards. The answering groan was entirely of irritation when he pulled away from her.
"This had better be a bloody ten, Lestrade."
She wondered briefly if the detective would question Sherlock's tone, but knowing Sherlock, he'd have been more suspicious if he'd been polite. Maybe it was a three, or a four. Maybe Sherlock would ignore the case.
She knew that wasn't likely the moment Sherlock's eyebrow quirked upward, an impressed ticking of his lips into a smile. He turned his head towards her, eyes lingering over all of the places he'd left a mark. She wondered how many were stained on her skin.
The conversation ended, Sherlock clearly excited about whatever case Lestrade had found for him. She refused to sigh or huff about it as she walked over to her shirt and pants. Luckily, she hadn't wobbled in her new heels, able to keep her dignity intact.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?" As incredulous as he sounded, she could swear there was a laugh in that sentence.
"Um… getting dressed? You have a case." She turned red, clutching the awkward jumper over her breasts.
"The man is dead, I'm sure he can wait until we're finished."
"Aren't you… excited?"
"Yes, well, a man can be excited for more than one thing, can't he?" He grinned at her, curled head tilting to the side. For the first time that she was properly paying attention, she was able to see him entirely nude. Lovely. "Well, I do think the mood was ruined a bit, of course. That's the risk of being on call."
"A bit."
She didn't move when he walked up to her. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, another around her knees, and before she realized it she was swept up and on her way to his room. He paused at the door, facing her with a serious expression.
"Not bored yet? You can go if you'd like."
It was a bit ridiculous to hear the offer as he held her, covered only in her new heels and the jumper she'd not dropped. With one look she could tell he was serious. He was offering her an out, if she wanted it.
"No. Not bored. Never bored of you Sherlock."
When he left, over an hour later, she was wrapped in his coat on his bed. She slept soundly, that night and many more.
Maybe he was just her type.