((A/N: This is my first go at writing a lemon, so bear with me…))
They walked around the park for a while, Rahne picking up feathers that the crows and pigeons had left behind during the day. Sherlock was about to question why when she pulled bits of string from her pocket and started tying the feathers together. In a few seconds she had an impromptu crown of feathers. She laughed and danced around him proclaiming herself queen. He had laughed at the silliness and bowed to her. The beaten down girl he had seen smoking on her front stoop was gone, had been since the paper nautilus penis. He watched her trying to climb a tree and wondered which was the real her. Only when she fell backwards, knocking the wind out of herself did she leave the tree and trot back over to him.
"Mr. Holmes," she said, " I do believe that you are watching your queen in a most curious manner." Sherlock allowed a small smile. "Your crown hath fallen, Park Queen," he told her. She patted her head and shrugged. "So it has. What are you thinking about Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock looked at her for several seconds, questions bubbling in his mind, everything that he wanted to ask her, everything that made him curious about her. "Why are you calling me Mr. Holmes again?" he asked and then mentally kicked himself. He got the feeling that there were only so many questions that she would answer.
Rahne cocked her head, looking at him like a confused bird. "Because that is your name. Aubrey said 'Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson are coming to help us find the skulls.' She said some other things too, but it was boring and I forgot." She walked off, found a bench, sat down, pulled another clove cigarette out, lit it, and took a deep drag, "And then you told me to call you Sherlock and you kissed me," she said, smoke leaking out the corners of her smile, her eyes intent on his, "Then you got up and left like I'd done something wrong. So now we're back to Mr. Holmes." He sat down next to her. "Call me Sherlock," he said softly, looking at her, "please." Rahne blew smoke at him. "Alright then, Sherlock," she said. He could feel embers ignite in his blood as his name passed her lips and the clove scented nicotine hit his lungs.
"How long will you answer questions tonight?" Sherlock asked, the nagging suspicion that she would only remain agreeable for so long still floating in his brain.
Rahne blew smoke out her nose, and allowed a momentary daydream in which she was a dragon soaring high in the clouds, laughing at the stick figure humans stuck to the ground below her. She shook her head, clearing the dragon from her mind. "For tonight you have until I have smoked this cigarette to the filter." Holmes pondered his questions. "Where did the bruise come from? I judged it to be two days old when I came by last week." Rahne inhaled smoke and let it curl out of her mouth. "I fell down the stairs." Holmes stared at her. "There are no stairs in your flat. If you fell on the front steps there would be scratches. Where'd the bruise come from?" More clove-scented smoke as Rahne spoke.
"Pass," she said. "Excuse me?" Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Pass. I won't answer that question. You're smart enough to figure it out, I'm fairly certain you already have. Don't take the short cut, choose another question," her voice left no room for argument. "Why were you in hospital?" he asked.
"I thought you might listen in on that lovely little spat. You didn't have many friends growing up, did you? You've seen the scar on my leg? That was from the last fight I got into before I got put in the asylum. I worked at a fish and chip shop when I was eighteen; this bloke attacked me when I was walking home one night. He had a knife and I'd left mine at home again. He got me cornered and started cutting. I was on the ground before he dropped his guard enough for me to get the knife. He was trying to get his zipper down and I kicked him in the knee. I saw it go backwards and I grabbed the knife. I don't remember what happened next, I was told that I castrated him before I slit his throat. The court sentenced me to a mental care facility until I was deemed sane. It took one nurse, four doctors, and six years to decide that I was well enough to leave. Next question."
A long drag this time, she wouldn't go back on her word but they wouldn't be here for much longer. The cigarette was already half gone. "Why'd you bite me?" The scornful look in Rahne's eyes said he was an idiot. "I was having a bad day and you scared me. Next."
Sherlock was scrabbling for questions, a genius at a loss for words. He heard the faint crackle, saw the cherry flare, as she inhaled smoke again. "Which is the real you?" She looked at him, mid exhale. Smoke continued to trickle from her parted lips, but it appeared that she had forgotten to continue expelling it. Finally there was a rush of smoke, making her face blur. "What exactly do you mean, Mr. Holmes?" He breathed in. He wasn't very good with people, it was true, but it would take a stupider man than him to miss the warning in that question. The warning that slapped you in the face, possibly the genitals, and said loudly 'If you continue she will leave and if you try to see her again you will get stabbed!'
"You are one of the complex people I have ever met, second only to Moriarty," he began. "Excellent," she muttered, "I'm second to a serial killer." He decided to ignore that comment. "In the two weeks I've known you, you've hidden from me, bitten me, kissed me, and proclaimed to be queen of a park. You've taught me how to play video games while you held a knife. You've been feral, and then scared of your own shadow. As soon as I catalogue you in one section you become something completely different. On top of all that you are incredibly brilliant and yet you do nothing with this intelligence." He sighed. "You confuse me, Rahne. It's not something that happens very often." Silence followed his small speech and Sherlock shifted on the bench. Rahne stared at him then burst out laughing. "First you compare me to a serial killer, and then you say I confuse you?"
She stubbed out her cigarette and collapsed with laughter again. Sherlock opened his mouth to defend himself, could think of nothing that would work, then shut it again. "Oh, don't get your feathers all ruffled, Sherlock," she said, laughter making her voice dance. He turned to her, about to say something when she leaned toward him. Before he could register it, her lips were on his again, more tentative than last time.
Everything… fractured. On the one hand there was his sociopathic self, analyzing everything, down to the bodily functions that were currently causing his penis to harden. On the other side there was a voice that he had thought was long dead telling him to stop thinking for once in his goddamn life and just act. When she had kissed him the first time it had been vicious, an attempt to affect him. When he had kissed her it had been clumsy, the fumbling of someone who'd never done anything like it before. This kiss lacked everything, just a soft, warm pressure on his lips; it was a gateway to a possibility, if he wanted to find out where it led. His brain wasn't working anymore and she was pulling back.
"Well, it's been a party Sherlock. I'm done with the Q&A session now. I'll see you around." Rahne got up and started walking away, Sherlock still waiting for his brain to tell him what had just happened. Five seconds and he could almost hear his brain powering back on and all it said was "You are a complete nit. Stop thinking and act like you're not a complete fucking twat." Sherlock bolted up and after her, grabbing her arm, spinning her into him and crashing them together. "Sorry," he said, before lowering his lips to hers. She followed his lead, which was hilarious to him because he'd only done this twice before, and he stopped thinking and let his body take over.
His tongue traced her lips, and forced its way into her mouth. She stroked it with her own before lightly sucking on it. A small moan forced it's way from his mouth to hers and he pulled her closer. Her arms snaked around his waist and her hands slid up his shirt, nails lightly scratching the skin of his back. He was mindless now, he could only focus on Rahne. She tasted of cloves and faintly of nicotine and even more faintly of Lucozade. She smelled like lemongrass and lavender, and she was so warm against him. He ground himself against her and she moaned into his mouth as she felt the bulge of his arousal. He almost went cross eyed at how good it felt, to have a female molded to him, moaning when she felt the press of him against her.
He pulled back, heard her growl in frustration and allowed himself a small smile full of masculine pride. They were both out of breath, and he had to stop himself from dragging her off and fucking her against a tree. "This is what it must be like to be normal," he thought to himself, saying aloud, "I'm not going to be able to stop soon Rahne."
Her brow furrowed and her eyes closed, trying to gather herself, trying not to think about his heated skin under her palms. It didn't help that all she could smell was him, all she could feel was him, and if his dick twitched one more time she was going to fuck him in this very public park. "So what would you recommend, Sherlock?" Good lord, she could feel him inhale through her hands, feel him shudder as she said his name. "It's up to you. If you want, I'll go my way and you go yours and we'll pretend like this never happened. Or we can go to the nearest place where we won't be charged with public indecency and take care of a few things." She shivered at the heat in his voice and he dropped his head to the crook of her neck and groaned. She grinned and nipped his shoulder. "Follow me, Mr. Holmes," she whispered in his ear. She pulled away from him, shivering at the loss of his heat. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the other side of the park. Two left turns after they hit the sidewalk, followed by a right, another left, two more rights, and a left down a side street that looked like an alleyway and they were at a flat that Sherlock didn't recognize. Rahne unlocked the door with the key that hung around her neck and walked in, turning to look at him. "Come on in, Mr. Holmes."
The flat was small, three rooms, but the bedroom was large. It warm in the flat, the heating was on so someone obviously lived here. "I own it," Rahne said, "In case Aubrey gets serious about making me go back to the asylum." Rahne was faced away from him, locking the front door. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. "I won't let them take you back," he said. She turned around and kissed him, slow and sweet, reawakening the urgency that had driven them before. God, he hadn't known that a human penis could get hard that quickly. The sociopath in him was buzzing with facts, but it was a low drone, like a fly hitting a windowpane, and easily tuned out. He pinned Rahne to the door, breaking the kiss long enough to pull the sweatshirts off her. She pushed his coat from his shoulders and he let it drop. The jumper went next and before it hit the ground her fingers were already working on the buttons of his shirt.
Sherlock curled his fingers in Rahne's hair, pulling her back into a kiss, his other hand already under her shirt trying to unhook her bra. He was fairly certain that he would've already gotten the bloody thing if it hadn't been created as a rudimentary chastity device. He pulled away from her and employed both hands, crying out in triumph as Rahne shook against him, laughing at him as she finished unbuttoning his shirt. She stopped laughing as the shirt fell to the floor. She looked dazed. "Rahne?" Sherlock asked, "Are you okay? Is this alright?" She looked up at him. "Yes, I'm fine," she said, brushing her fingers over the burn scars on his chest before stepping around him, sliding her hand down his arm, pulling him into the bedroom and closing the door. The room was faintly lit by the street lamps outside and by a glowing alarm clock, but it was dark enough that Rahne was almost invisible with just the pale blur of her face visible. His hand whispered along the wall, groping for a switch, but Rahne grabbed his hand and kissed his palm. "No lights," she whispered. She sounded scared. "We don't have to do this Rahne, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to," he told her, cupping her face and lightly stroking the pale yellow of the bruise she wouldn't tell him how she got. "I want this, believe me, I do. I just… It's a thing, okay? Just trust me, I do want this Sherlock."
His name on her lips made him feel like he had just been gifted with something extraordinary and he wanted to hear her say it again, wanted to hear her scream it as she came. He pulled her closer to him. "Okay," he said simply, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Okay." She pulled him closer, like if she got close enough they would become one whole and entirely new entity. He could feel the roughness of scabs and stitches and knew that she had removed the bandages a day or so ago. Long enough that the ointment had dried on her skin.
Her hands skated across his back, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, one sliding down to rub him through his trousers while the other unbuckled his belt and pants. He groaned, his mind shutting off, nipping at her neck, licking the sensitive cartilage of her ear, his hands working to get her shirt off so he could have a slight reprieve from the burning that ate through his bones at her touch. His pants hit the floor and her shirt and bra followed.
She pulled him towards the bed, his nimble fingers working at her belt, then her pants, and by the time he pushed her onto the mattress she was completely naked. His hands explored her body, as his eyes couldn't in the dim light. He memorized what made her squirm, what made her gasp, what made her moan, and every time she tried to draw him on top of her he pushed her hands away. By the time he leaned down to kiss her again she was almost frantic and she kissed him so hard that their teeth clicked. His long fingers skated down her body to find her core already dripping. He smiled into the kiss as he traced her opening, listening to her keen and moan, feeling her buck her hips against his hand. He slowly pushed a finger into her, slowly moved it, listening to her breathing as he did so. He moved down, pressing kisses on her thighs as he continued his slow torturous movements. He pressed another finger into her, felt her clench around them and groaned as his cock twitched. He was almost painfully hard but he wanted to make her scream his name in pleasure before he indulged himself.
His fingers still moving slowly within her, his other hand holding her still, he kissed his way to her moist slit. He flicked his tongue against her, and she cried out. His fingers sped up as he licked and sucked her clit. For someone who was married to his work, the man had magic fingers. And a magic tongue, Rahne decided, crying out again. She could feel something coiling in her belly, heat rolled over her. "Oh god," she whimpered, allowing the undignified noise to pass her lips. She could feel Sherlock smile against her, feel the press of another finger, feel his pace increase just a little bit more and… sparks shot across her skin, making her shudder and dig her nails into any of Sherlock's skin she could reach as she moaned his name.
He was on top of her before she had fully recovered, his mouth covering hers as he braced himself above her. "Condoms?" he breathed, proud that he still had some cognitive function. "You clean?" Rahne asked, still panting. Sherlock nodded. "Me too, and on birth control, so no need," she said, wrapping her legs around him, flipping them over. One hand guided him in and the groaned in unison. He filled her completely, beautifully and she almost came again just from the feeling of him inside her. When she looked at him she saw he was looking at her like the most intricate of puzzles, completely focused on her, pupils blow wide in arousal. Her breath hitched and she tightened around him, making him groan and grip her hips tightly.
She smiled and started to move, slowly, torturously slow. Sherlock's eyes slid closed as she moved against him, panting him time with her movements. Suddenly he growled and flipped them over, pounding into her as the fire in his blood built to a raging inferno. She cried out as she came again, her walls squeezing him as he came. He bit her shoulder to muffle the sounds of his release.
They lay together, trying to catch their breath, for a few minutes before she spoke. "If you tell me you're sorry and you don't know why you did that, I will hurt you," Rahne said. Sherlock looked at her and burst out laughing. "No, Rahne. I think you are quite safe from that particular ineptitude." Rahne smiled back at him. "Good," she said, "Because I really didn't want to have to hurt you." Sherlock smiled and pulled her closer to him, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of her skin against his. "I wouldn't want that either," he said, kissing her forehead and tasting the salt of her sweat on his lips. Rahne sighed and pulled a blanket over them, curling against him as she closed her eyes. Sherlock lay awake for a few more moments, smiling as he thought about the reactions of the people he knew when he told them that he was with a girl, a woman, who could take him in a fight. Rahne murmured in her sleep and moved closer to him. He rolled over and pulled her to him. He didn't know the future but he knew that he would keep her for as long as he could. His wonderful, crazy, beautiful, sad, nonsensical girl.