CHAPTER VI:
WHAT WE DANCE
It was Friday night, and the Wild Bunch was getting ready to rock. Lestrade managed to get himself a night off the work and his wife, and join his friend and the gang to the Adler-Holmes party. There weren't any danger connections for him, so the corrupt and womaniser DI of the New Scotland Yard was decided and determinated to go to the famous party, enjoy himself and maybe make a move on Molly Hooper.
Andy. A Anderson also managed to escape from the wife and there he was, in the back of the Wild Bunch's car with Sally over his lap and kissing like two horny teenagers.
"Hey, keep it in your pants will you!" Harry also joined them, of course. She agreed with John when he told her to dress smartly and well. There were going to be lots of important people and they needed to make new connections. As Harry was the brain in the gang, she was the one in charge of the selection of new and potential clients. And finally, our dear Johnny-Boy completed the gang. He had put some effort on his clothes, though he tried to deny it when Harry, his right hand woman, and Lestrade, his best mate, pointed out his choice of clothes and his new blue striped jumper, gift of Sherlock Holmes.
"Whoa, look at this place. Never knew the freak had good taste," said Sally as soon as they got out of the car. They were facing a big house, a mansion more likely, with white walls and the black number 666 beside the door.
"Harry, make the contacts. You Anderson and Sally, sell your seven-percent-stronger. I have a small matter to take care of. What will you do, Greg?" commented John while assigning every member of the gang a job to do at the party.
"That Hooper woman will be on her knees for me."
As soon as they rang the bell, they were greeted by a red-haired woman wearing a tight, short black dress and high heels. She looked at all of them from head to toes, but she only smiled at John.
"Who are you?" asked Sarah, seductively sipping her champagne.
"My name's John," replied the thief, mimicking the same tone of voice of the assistant.
"Oh, you must be with Sherlock," she said, smiling even wider, showing her perfect teeth and her red-painted lips.
"No, we're the SWAT team, sweetie," Harry cut off, obviously exasperated to get in, drink, make acquaintances and, why not, get a bit of action.
"Well, you better get swatting then. Come in, help yourselves to drinks." Soon she disappeared among the crowd of people inside the house. The team disappeared as well, and John found himself alone, admiring a smiley face on the wall. It was painted with yellow aerosol and if he wasn't wrong, it has gunshots around it.
"I have to admit I was bored when I did this. Irene almost killed me when she saw the state of her precious wall." Sherlock Holmes appeared behind Watson, with a cigarette in his left hand. He was dressed impeccable as always, with a dark, tailored suit and a tight purple shirt which had three buttons undone. John swallowed hard at the sight of his pale skin.
"Good night, Mr. Holmes. Nice party by the way," the head of the top gang in London replied coolly, sipping from his beer.
"I see your Wild Bunch are enjoying themselves," Sherlock said, glaring at the rest of the gang. Sally and Anderson were talking to some of Irene's political acquaintances while Harry and Greg were nowhere to be seen.
"Indeed. Haven't been to a party like this in ages, with naked waitresses and women touching themselves in front of everyone, getting high… Well done, Mr. Holmes."
"Sherlock, please. I'll tell my wife. She's the brain behind this party. This is certainly not my area of expertise."
John frowned. He could see how much the consulting detective disliked the people around them, and how he made a strange gesture with his nose when he mentioned the famous wife. It had been the same when he told Holmes he was hiding behind the skirts of Irene Adler.
"So, she's your beard."
"I am her beard. A marriage of convenience. This is quite convenient for both parties, you see."
They started walking between the different scenarios the party had to offer. The living room contained a special show of female and male strippers offering white lines over their naked bodies to the guests and the kitchen had two bodies, a woman and a man completely naked with only sushi covering their private places. People around them were smoking, dancing and kissing each other.
"You like men?" asked the blonde man from out of the blue. He certainly hadn't thought the words over until they escaped his mouth. But Holmes looked at him, pleased as if it was the question he had been expecting for so long. So John didn't know what to do or what to say when the younger man gestured him to enter an empty and dark room with only two armchairs.
"Thanks for bring this topic of conversation, John. Tell me, do you want me?"
John looked at those grey eyes and his sharp cheekbones. His full and pink lips hypnotised him. They invited Johnny-Boy to a world of ecstasy, desire, lust. All his sexual frustrations had a solution and that solution was on the consulting accountant's lips. His slender and thin frame was tempting him and all of this was doing good and delicious things to his lower part.
'Waiting for a train' by Flash and The Pan was filling every room of the big house. John frowned and opened his mouth instinctively to say something but he couldn't articulate a word.
"I'm Irene. It's my party."
Harry was sitting on a large, red velvet sofa, drinking beer and champagne and smoking some weed as well, when the powerful and beautiful Irene Adler sat next to her. The lawyer was only wearing a sheer green lace peignoir. It was transparent, and behind that posh and soft fabric Harry could see those perfect and modest breasts. She was also wearing a pair of Christian Louboutin's high heels. Her red lips twisted into a smile, and she batted her long eyelashes while she spoke.
"Oh, the famous Mrs. Holmes, I presume? Nice party," replied Harry, coolly while she smoked the last of her joint. The brunette and powerful woman smiled more, and her green eyes travelled from head to toes over Harry's frame. She liked her.
"So you're part of the Wild Bunch? Sherlock says you're dangerous."
"I am dangerous, yes. And I am the Wild Bunch," replied Harry. She liked this Adler woman. Her pale skin was radiating the desire and lust; the same the party was offering. But the powerful woman smiled.
"Oh. I like you. My dear husband was right after all."
"Your posh little pup was right? Right about what?" The truth was that Harry had never spoke to Sherlock Holmes. That wasn't her job and she wasn't interested either. To her, the consulting accountant was just the 'posh pup' and nothing more. She was glad they were doing business with him, it certainly increased their personal accounts, but she never held any hopes to meet him nor his wife, the famous lawyer Irene Adler.
Maybe she could make an exception.
"I know all about your type," Mrs. Holmes stated.
"Oh, yeah? How's that, then?" Harry Watson tried to sound cool as if Irene's words were nothing to her. But the real thing was that Adler had something the Wild Bunch was interested in.
"I'm a criminal lawyer. I know a secret about your part of town."
"And what might that be, ?."
Irene moved her green lace peignoir, showing more and more of the pale skin of her chest. "Miss Adler, please. But I'm Irene for you, sweetie. You have an informer breathing down your neck. If I'm not wrong, you're the one facing a five? Uh, that's quite a lot. Such a waste I'd say. A pretty woman like you in jail, that's not good."
"What's his name?" Harry threw her weed cigarette to the floor and crushed it with her shoe. She was now interested and she was showing it.
"You have to pay for secrets, sweetie."
"Now, now, that's not very nice, is it? What's your price? And remember, I am dangerous," Harry Watson warned her with her index finger in the air. But Irene just smiled and told her what she wanted.
"I want to meet the Wild Bunch," the posh and beautiful woman admitted before taking Harry's lips with her owns.
"I beg your pardon?"
Holmes stepped forwards this time and now their faces were merely inches away. The thief could taste the warm and sweet breath from the consulting accountant when Molly Hooper appeared at the scene.
"Molly, thanks for joining us. Did you bring what I asked?"
The blonde and shy assistant nodded with a furious blush on her cheeks. And Johnny Boy understood her when he saw the way she was dressed. Molly Hooper was only wearing her underwear: black bra with matching panties and black tights. Her long blonde hair was swept back high and tight in a pony tail. Holmes gestured Watson to sit in the armchair opposite him in the deserted room while he sat down too. With a cold look, Molly sat on his lap and he touched her left breast, pulling out his Smartphone from her bra.
John felt uncomfortable. It was a very disgusting thing to look at. And it wasn't disgusting because of Molly, she was a very pretty and hot woman and if things were different, he would have been like a horny teenager after her long legs and her round breasts. But the disgusting element was Holmes. He didn't like that attitude. He hated seeing a man taking advantage of a woman and that was exactly what the consulting accountant was doing to poor and faithful Molly.
"Same job as before, John. Same place, same money," Holmes said, looking at the blue-eyed man with his piercing grey orbs. His left hand was now on his assistant inner tights and Johnny-Boy knew for sure he was doing it on purpose. He knew that Holmes knew how much he disliked that.
"Blue looks good on you, John."
The head of the top gang in London looked down at his new blue stripped jumper, the very same one the consulting accountant had sent it to him. He was right. Blue was his favourite colour and it fitted him perfectly.
"Thank you. How did you know my size?"
"Oh, I know all about numbers. I work with numbers, don't I?" Holmes answered with a smile. Now he managed to put one of Molly's arms around his neck and he undid her bra.
"This one isn't done by my accountants. Two heavies are doing the job. You might want to take all your gang with you."
"Thanks for the advice. I'd better be going."
When John got up to leave, Molly did the same and Holmes gave her another look. "Oh, I had another present for you. Molly, leave us alone please."
The assistant nodded and made her way out of the room, closing the door behind her bare back.
"You want to meet... me?" Harry asked incredulously. And she was surprised because the posh woman had all the power and money to have all the beautiful women of Britain if she wanted. But she wanted her.
Harry Watson wasn't proud of herself. Her drinking problems were getting worse and she couldn't keep a woman at her side for too long. She even felt she couldn't be attractive any more. But there was Irene Adler, kissing her, touching her and telling her that she wanted her.
"More like on a personal level... But I don't want to talk about work-"
"If you tell me who this informer is, then we can talk about anything you want. If he's an informer, you'll have his depositions and poems," Harry cut off, interested not only in the sex and the joy Irene had to offer but also in the information she had.
"My, my, not just a pretty face. How'd you know about those sort of things?"
"Give me your mobile."
"My phone? You should be crazy my dear. My phone is my life and I'd die before I let you touch it."
"You heard me. Do as you're told."
Irene was surprised when the Brains of the Wild Bunch asked for her phone, but even more when Harry took it from her hand with ease and added her mobile number in her contact list.
"Oh. That's nice. Here, we'll go for a drink next week, and I'll tell you all about it. All I need is some paperwork."
Harry Watson gave Irene Adler a last kiss and left the room.
"I wanted to give you a little present before you leave-"
"Mister Holmes-"
"Sherlock. And sit down, John."
As soon as Molly closed the door, the consulting accountant stood up from his armchair and moved towards the thief, who was also getting ready to leave, but Sherlock stopped him and John fell down in the armchair again. The blonde man sighed tiredly, but his blue eyes shot wide open when Holmes knelt down and placed both of his long and pale hands on his belt.
"What are you doing?" the thief panted when he felt Holmes's long and cold fingers inside his pants. The dark haired man didn't say anything as he kept his position over the floor with his body between John's short legs. His right hand was caressing his already hard member while his left hand was touching his inner thighs.
"I'm merely doing what you want me to. I've been observing you, John."
They were in complete silence, though the only audible sounds came from outside the room, people moaning and getting high, dancing, all behind that door. And inside, John was in heaven. Sherlock Holmes was doing such very nice things to him and he was so close to exploding in ecstasy when he suddenly stopped.
"Monday 9 a.m. Do the job, and I might finish what we started today."
When the thief opened his eyes, Holmes had left the room. And there he was, sitting in an armchair, with a hard-on and a very much missed orgasm.
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