Sherlock stood before the woman with his hands clasped protectively behind his back and his eyes trained fixedly on the bookcase just over her right shoulder.

The woman walked forwards, her breasts milk white, voluptuous, and not at all appealing as she pressed them against his chest. "Have you been wicked Mr Holmes?" She purred, leaning up and nipping his ear lobe none too gently. Sherlock winced, trying his best to retain his air of unrepressed lust and not shy away from her impertinent advances.

She wanted him to play hard to get, and this was him at his best. Sherlock refused to look at his client as she ran her ice cold fingers over his skin and scratched lightly at his chest with the vicious red talons which encased her nails. "Yes, Miss Adler" He replied, his voice stagnant and monotonous.

Miss Adler pushed the shirt from his shoulders, her spiteful tongue flicking out to taste his flesh as she licked a trail from his collar bone to the curve of his jaw. It should have been arousing, but all the dominatrix could feel was her hand straying to the front of his jeans and the cold wet sensation of her saliva drying on his skin. It sickened him.

The woman gripped his shoulders painfully and shoved him back onto the bed, clambering on top of him and straddling his hips. She was heavy, heavier still when she ground against him, and he pretended to gasp as the weight of her on his chest choked the air from his lungs.

"What's the matter?" The woman growled as she rubbed his flaccid cock through his trousers.

Shit.

The dominatrix tried a sardonic half-smile, his lips twitching in a grimace as he cupped her breast with one hand and caressed a small mole on her thigh with a finger of the other. "I said you had to work for me, Irene, did you really think I would be that easy?" He snarled, nails digging into her creamy flesh with relish.

His client grinned, an evil flash of perfect white teeth which presented a mere ghost of the normally impassive expression. She was empty, hollow inside, consumed by greed and lust. He raised a questioning brow, his muscles cramping as she slid down his body and began to unbutton his jeans...


Sherlock grunted as the woman pressed her naked body against his own. He pretended to look aroused as she began to stroke him slowly, her thin fingers curling around his limp member in an effort to stimulate him. She frowned, her pretty features scrunching up like the arsehole of a cat as she tried her best to get him erect beneath her palm.

The dominatrix closed his eyes. He couldn't keep this up forever, sooner or later she was going to want her money's worth and he would have to deliver, there had to be something he could do to become aroused. All his previously faultless methods were ineffective, and Sherlock wracked his brain to think of anything that would resolve this situation. There's always something Sherlock. Think...

Irene Adler smiled demurely as she felt the man's body waking up, his cock hardening as she touched him intimately. He mumbled something incoherent, his lips moving slowly, ghosting the shape of a single word, a name maybe...hers?

"What's that darling? You'll have to speak a little louder if you want me to hear you scream my name!" She hissed.

Sherlock gave a deep, guttural moan and pushed up into her palm. "JOHN!" He cried, thrusting against her desperately.

John.

"What?" She spat, releasing him as though he had burned her and rolling off instantly. "How dare you?" Irene growled, pulling the sheet around her body and glaring daggers at the infuriating man who still lay with his eyes closed and the trace of that name on his lips.

Sherlock didn't move for a while, realizing his mistake all too quickly. He found that he no longer cared.

Slowly, that bubble of insatiable happiness fought its way up his throat from the pit of his stomach, and he let it.

Then, for the first time in a long time, Sherlock Holmes laughed. He laughed at his client, laughed at the horrified expression on her evil face and the curve of her cruel mouth, he laughed at his job, and he laughed at the husbands and wives, at the secretaries and managers, at the pathetic fallacy of the thriving city, all the times it had seemed like he cared about anyone but him.

Sherlock Holmes looked his life right in the eyes and he laughed in its smarmy gratuitous face.

"Where are you going?" The woman, that woman cried as Sherlock leapt out of the bed and began tugging on his trousers and shirt. Still he laughed, the hilarity of the situation unapparent to his former client, who stared at him in disbelief, clearly resenting being the Punchline of such an obviously raucous joke.

Sherlock swiped his jacket from the floor where it had been discarded, his face aching with the sense of elevation brought on by his joyous epiphany.

"Not that it's any of your fucking business, Madam, but I'm going to go and sweep the love of my life off his feet, and then I do believe we are going to go ahead and make passionate love on his coffee table." Sherlock said cheerfully, straightening his collar and raising his eyebrows, daring her to challenge him. "Now if you'd be so kind as to hand me my other shoe, I'll be on my way." He said politely, reaching out his hand to the woman seated on his bed.

The woman stood up and slapped him soundly across the cheek. The dominatrix grinned, lifting his hand to touch his cheekbone, feeling the wet presence of blood which curiously had seeped from Miss Adler's hand. She had slapped him so hard that she had sliced the skin of her palm on the sharp angle of his cheekbone where the joints of her knuckles came into contact with his face. "You can't leave me here!" Irene hissed, pulling the sheet tighter, her anger flaring.

Sherlock looked at the red stain blossoming on his white sheet where Irene had wrapped it around her body and was holding it with her injured hand. For once it was his client's blood, not his, which stained his bedding.

"You've never had anyone like me Mr Sherlock Holmes, that man of yours can't even begin to compare-"

"Oh I can assure you I have; headstrong, arrogant, violent, narcissistic, cruel, pathetic. I've had many like you Miss Adler, more than I'd care to mention, and not one of you insolent creatures could ever be worthy to even speak his name. You have no idea what that man means to me. No idea."

"Just who do you think you are?" She yelled incredulously as he bounded to the door, fully clothed and grinning like a lunatic.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes" He said running into the hall "and I'm late."


Let me know what you think! Oh, and also, 'GO SHERLOCK GO!' ahem. ~K