Sorry for the wait, guys! If you can't remember, I live in England, so my exams are later than all of you in America (I think that's where the majority of my readers are… where are you all from? Leave a note in the review!). Much love, sorry for the wait, and ENJOY!
This poem was sent to me from xRDJ603, and she perfectly explained that it reminded her of Rena and Sherlock. She's SPOT ON. Thank you for the share; this chapter goes out to you!
"I'd rather
heave half a brick than say
I love you, though I do
I'd rather
crawl in a hole than call you
darling, though you are
I'd rather
wrench off an arm than hug you though
it's what I long to do
I'd rather
gather a posy of poison ivy than
ask if you love me
so if my
hair doesn't stand on end it's because
I never tease it
and if my
heart isn't in my mouth it's because
it knows its place
and if I
don't take a bite of your ear it's because
gristle gripes my guts
and if you
miss the message better get new
glasses and read it twice"
Infinite Xs and Os,
Mistro
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"He's a bastard, Rena."
My hands pressed down on John's shoulders, attempting to keep him still on his bed. "Yes, John." My words came out in a mumble. "I know he is."
John resisted my push. "Do you? If he were to come here, would you be able to tell him how angry you are? Or would you melt into his arms like any woman?"
"Careful John, you're beginning to sound rather sexist."
John paused to let his head fall. I watched in silence while the feathers of his pillow curled around his head, as if they were a soft crown for a gentle King. "I say it because I care. You must know that."
I paused as John's words reverberated through my ears and across my skin. When John and I had walked in silence back towards Mycroft's flat from the ball, I had tried not to cry. He must have seen me. He must have watched my throat tighten to keep the breathy sobs trapped within. Both of us needed a proper night of sleep, though I was not too certain that we would get one.
"John, is that really a question we should be discussing right now?" He only grunted in response, my fingers moving towards his hair. "Please try to sleep. I know you have a lot on your mind, and just as much alcohol in your blood, but you will feel better if you rest."
John turned his back from me. Mycroft's oversized nightshirt made him look like an innocent child filled with spite. "I will never be free from this incident. Sherlock Holmes has broken my trust. My best friend has betrayed me."
The back of John's head stared at me, and it was up to my imagination to decide if he had tumbled into his dreams or not. At any rate, he grew quiet and I was able to slink towards my room with a heavy heart.
As I trailed down the hallway, the sound of my dress brushing the floor was the only sound accompanying my thoughts. Picture frames lined the walls, but I never had the courage to spare them a glance. I knew what they were: newspaper clippings, old photographs, shots from detainment in Pentonville Prison. Pictures of Sherlock.
Mycroft and Sherlock were stubborn, but they loved one another as all brothers did. I had never taken Mycroft for a sentimental man, but how could he not be? He was a human like anyone else, and he was one of the best humans I knew. It was a trait that seemed to run in the family.
I paused just before my room to glance at one of the articles near my door. It was a photograph from the second case that we had worked on together. In the clipping he seemed tired, and was covered in dark stains of soot. His eyes were glazed over with ache; his skin matching the weariness with bruises and cuts. It had been taken after he had come up from the sewers. After he had nearly died in my arms. My heart began to slam against my ribcage as the memory reappeared in my mind.
It took me a moment to pull my eyes away from the image. The door flew shut behind me with a rage that was unfamiliar. While the house shook momentarily, I allowed myself to take a deep breath. Thankfully, no one was there to see how much anger was pulsing through my veins. It was extremely beneficial that my mother had not been in the room, as she would have deemed it unladylike.
"That is a lot more hostility than I recall you ever having, Miss Adkins."
My head shot up as I tried to make sense of the voice. There was no figure to be seen, and therefore I could not tell which corner he was hiding in. "How did you manage to get here before us?" I grumbled, unafraid to show my displeasure. Admittedly, I was not surprised that he had shown up, though the feeling of happiness was far more difficult to place my finger on.
"In the game of mouse and cat, I am oftentimes-"
"The cat," I interrupted. "Yes, I believe you've said that once or twice before." I tossed my Dorothy bag furiously on the bed, its thud ringing out in the silence that followed.
I did not move from my spot, but my eyes waited for Sherlock to make himself known. On the surface, my expressions showed loathing and fury. Of course I was angry with him! The tighter my fists clenched, the more my body shook. In the deepest part of my soul, I wanted him to show his face so that I could look upon it again out of sheer curiosity. For every second that I hated him, I loved him double. And I was filled with mountains of hate.
It did not take long for Sherlock to finally step from the shadows. There was a small patch of moonlight streaming in from the window that stopped just before the wardrobe. He had been in the crook between my walls, and when he finally revealed himself, it was the moon that touched him first. I was envious that the shimmer of the moonlight wrapped itself so effortlessly around him, while I found it difficult.
He was just as tall as I remembered, and seemed sturdier. Something about his arms looked youthful, as his maroon sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forming pools of red as they bunched up in the middle of his arms. I could see the veins coursing through his skin, taught with nerves. His skin was sun-kissed, and I knew that the message from Morocco was valid. He had gone halfway across the world to get away from us.
"You look different." My voice sounded foolish as I spoke, like a child who did not know how to do anything but insult. However, he looked more handsome than he ever had, and I hated him even more for it.
"You do not." He smiled with closed lips, sending my head spinning. I had to reach for the edge of the bed to steady myself, unwillingly giving him permission to approach to me. "Renadale-" He started, placing his hands on my shoulders to steady me.
The instant his fingers touched my skin, I knew all of my strength was for nothing. Tears began forming at the edge of my eyes, as dangerous as the waterfall that had carried him to his demise. He caught sight of the tears and moved swiftly to cup my cheeks in his hands.
"How could you do it?" I mumbled, reaching my fingers up towards his face. "How could you leave us like that?"
"Renadale, it wasn't easy." His thumbs stroked the sides of my face, his lips brushing against my forehead while I tried to gather strength to look at him. "When I was on the Blackwood case, I thought it would be the end of me. However, leaving you was…" He may have changed his looks, but his inability to speak what his heart felt was still persistent. "You must believe me. I beg for your forgiveness. Now that I am with you again, I cannot watch you suffer."
My hands reached out for him with misery, knowing that he was no longer far away. They clung to the open buttons of his shirt and found their way over his tense arms. "How could you do it…?" I muttered as my head fell into the crook of his neck. His scent was all around me, blinding me into a state of ecstasy that I could hardly control.
Sherlock gently pulled me onto the bed for stability. After a moment, we dropped to our sides, staring at one another as our eyes started to adjust to the darkness. When he spoke, I could not find whether my life was in front of me, or coming from the pages of fiction. "Renadale, I am in love with you." His fingers danced through my hair, knowing their twisted and curled pathways better than anyone. "You must know how much I love you. You must know that I never stopped." He inched closer, pressing our foreheads together, fearful that our lips would meet too soon.
"You are cruel…" My whisper descended into the room and hung there for a moment. Sherlock made no comment, so I took his hand in my own. I kissed each finger with as much softness as I could muster. "You cannot love me as you say you do. How could I be created for such suffering?"
"You were not." His eyes never blinked as he watched me kiss his skin. "It is probable that you chose the wrong man to-"
"To love?" His eyes darted up to mine for a moment, but he could not seem to hold the gaze. "If that were true, it would mean that you chose the wrong woman. However, I have questioned your love for me after what has happened."
His lips curved further into a frown. There was slight annoyance on his face, but I enjoyed making him squirm. After all the pain his disappearance brought me, he deserved to get a bit nervous. "You should not question my feelings for you."
"What kind of feelings?"
Sherlock paused momentarily, realizing the game that I was playing. He could never admit his own feelings to himself, let alone to the woman he cared for. Though it seemed an unfitting time, I couldn't help to grin as I gained the upper hand. "You are mocking me." He pulled his fingers away from my grasp. "Very well, I suppose I deserve it."
"You may deserve it…" My whisper trickled back into a more serious tone. "But, perhaps it's not what you want." His eyes scanned my face for an answer. Did he even know his desires? "What is it that you want, Sherlock Holmes? Why have you come back to us?"
There was a long silence that floated across the room. If my life would have been a Jane Austen novella, he would have turned away with a stern brow and replied, 'You'. However, this was not a story. Our lives were real and needed long pauses for deep thinking. Words had to be chosen carefully. They could not be scribbled out and rewritten.
I asked Sherlock the question again as a minute ticked by on the clock. "What do you want most, Sherlock Holmes?"
His eyelashes cast long marks over his tanned skin. The shadows looked like tear drops, doomed to be etched into his skin forever. "What I want is a part of me that isn't always broken. My life could be utter bliss; I could have all that I desire, and yet there would always be something in me that needs fixing. I am a broken man, Renadale Adkins." He turned to lie on his back, his eyes wandering towards the cold oil lamp above us. "I do not know my mind or the decisions behind it. I give them credibility where I can find it, but oftentimes I end up feeling as if I lost rather than won. You were the only person who helped me see things clearly, and I threw that away. Now there will always be a part in my soul that cannot be mended. What I have done to you and John is unforgivable and worthy of-"
There was little more he could say as my lips rushed to meet his. Sherlock made up for his surprise by returning the gesture with as much passion as it was given. His body turned to lay above my own, his tongue meeting mine with no minute to spare.
I let out an moan, escaping my dignity for a moment, while his hands trailed to the sides of my neck. He gently pressed his palms into my skin, his fingertips sliding towards my hairline as the kiss deepened. I tried to break away for a moment to tell him that there was forgiveness in my heart. I wanted him to hear it from my lips, but it was as if he already knew. He wouldn't let me speak, only kiss and touch and understand.
Oh, how I had missed him. I did not know of how sweet his kiss was until it was entirely stripped away from me. I had loved him up into the stars when he was with me, and more so when I thought him dead. However, loving him after I thought he was lost to me was an entirely new feeling. It was desperation. Clinging. If he were to leave me again, I would curl into myself and be lost forever.
Sherlock's lower body pressed down against mine. Though my dress had thick layers of skirt to keep distance between our bare skin, I could feel the passion taking over. It was a physical sensation, and though I had experienced it once or twice, it frightened me in that instant. Heat rushed to my cheeks, freezing my hands as they passed his chest.
"Forgive me." He pulled his lips away. I wrapped my arms around his back, pressing him back to me. "I did not mean to…" His eyes looked everywhere but at my own, trying to hide his embarrassment. "I'm afraid things are unavoidable in certain times-"
Could I possibly say what I was thinking? Would it be proper? No, it certainly would not. However, my mind was full of emotions, and none of them seemed logical. I followed their lead and spoke what I felt in my heart. "I want you." Sherlock leaned his head back a bit, his eyes finally scanning my face. He looked confused, but it was not by the sentiment, but rather what I was suggesting. "I am furious with you. Part of me wants to reach up and choke you for what you have done." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, but I turned his chin back to my sight. "And yet, I want you. I thought I had lost you, without ever knowing."
"Knowing?" The lines between his brows deepened with confusion. "You already have me, Renadale."
"No." I mumbled, letting my hands fall. They dropped lower than they had ever dared as my fingertips brushed against the cold metal of his belt. "You misunderstand me."
Sherlock's entire body tensed up as my fingertips travelled over him. He seemed light-headed, an entirely new trait of the great detective. If I was saying that I wanted him, I was simultaneously giving myself to him. And, though it was not the right thing to do, it was the only thing I could seem to focus on. I had only God to judge me, for my lips would never tell another soul what we had done. God had not been very kind to me in the past, so why would I fear shaming him? In that moment, Hell seemed like a warm and welcoming place. If that was where I was to go for loving Sherlock Holmes before a ring passed my finger, so be it. That was what I wanted.
"I could not," Sherlock started. "It is not noble for a man and woman to-"
"You once said that you would have married me, had you been brave enough to ask." The thought sent flutters through my stomach. "I like to think that you would have kept your word. We are as good as married, if you love me as you say you do."
Sherlock quickly brought his lips against mine, kisses dotting my neck and my nose shortly afterwards."I do not say it. It has always been a struggle to say how much I adore you, because I cannot put it into words."
"You do not need to show me in words."
Sherlock's head fell into the crook of my neck, his warm breath trickling through the space between my dress and skin. It was like a deep embrace, but I longed for something different. I did not want there to be any barriers between us, and neither did Sherlock. I knew that he felt guilty about our immoral thoughts, and if my persistence was unwelcome, then I would not risk upsetting him.
"I am sorry," I whispered. "I got carried away. We don't need to do anything." Sherlock remained still, his head turned away from me. I wondered if he was relieved or upset that we were not partaking in a private scandal, but I certainly knew the way I felt. "It's only me, after all." A small chuckle fell from my lips. "I always make myself look like a fool in front of you. Do you remember Simza's tent? How much I drank and how much trouble I caused?"
"If I recall correctly, you were the life of the party."
I laughed against his collarbone, my lips unable to stop their kisses. "Well, that is sweet of you to say."
"Perhaps we should rest," Sherlock mumbled, his fingertips rolling up my sleeves so that my arm was bare. His lips lightly trickled over my fingertips, trailing upwards until they stopped at my shoulder. Was this what he would be like if we did not partake in cases? Would he always be alive, and warm and beautiful?
"Perhaps we should…" I muttered, trying to bring my thoughts back to reality. Despite the suggestion to sleep, I found my eyes trailing over the curve of his back. His shirt only had a few buttons, all of which were easy to slide from their holes. I found my fingers subconsciously nearing them, tearing at the top one, then the middle, closer to the end…
"Renadale." Sherlock snatched my hand as I gripped the bottom button. "We cannot."
"Alright," I muttered, slowly continuing on my quest to remove his shirt. His eyes were stern as he watched me slide it from his shoulders. I leaned forward to press my cheek against his breastbone, the warmth of him flooding me.
"You must be exhausted," he muttered. His fingers trailed to my back, where the string of my dress tied at the base of my neck. With a gentle pull, it broke loose, making it easier to slide the golden layer around my waist.
"I'm utterly exhausted," I mumbled, pressing myself upwards and into his chest. My fingers fumbled around on his belt, as I was not used to the act of removing one. "Perhaps it would be best if I simply fell asleep."
Sherlock began to pull the strings that laced up my corset. He nearly forgot our little game in the heat of the moment, but after a pause he chuckled slightly and nodded. Half of my corset was already removed by the time he snapped back. "Yes, of course you should. I am merely helping you remove your dress so that you may change into something more suitable."
"Naturally." My lips planted moist kisses on the base of his neck. Audible moans passed his lips, the curves of his fingers neatly fitting around the curves of my hips.
"Renadale, you must control yourself-"
"I am in complete control," I snickered, sliding the belt from its loops. "It is you who seems flustered."
I do not know where our words seemed to go. It was as if they had spirits that could transcend beyond our natural selves. They disappeared out of our reach, and we were left with only the sensation of touch for conversation. I had never shown someone how I wanted them with only the use of my body, but I let myself believe that Sherlock Holmes wanted me. I could hear it in his soft moans, slipping from his lips like a secret. When he tugged off my stockings, chucking them effortlessly towards the bed frame, I could assume that he desired me in more way than one.
His hands snaked their way over my body, the thin chemise suddenly becoming a fortress wall that needed crossed. Sherlock looked down at it in frustration, his mouth tightening into a frown. "I feel that I cannot-"
My finger reached up to brush against his lips. He silenced himself for a moment, drawing his attention to what I was about to do. My own fingers trailed down the front of the light robe, untying the strings until nothing but a strip of my bare skin stared at him. He blinked without emotion, and I could feel frustration rising within me.
"Are you just going to look at it like it's some sort of clue, or shall you take the hint?"
Sherlock's lips spread apart in laughter. The sound was like honey on lips; sweet and lingering. He broke the laughter by placing another kiss on my lips, deep and inviting. I felt his tongue wrap itself around mine, pulling my head off of the pillow as his arms trailed behind my back. He pulled my torso against his, the heat of our bodies crushing against one another. "I quite like this," he mumbled against my cheek. "You are very beautiful, you know."
I laughed nervously, turning my head away from him. He chased after me with his lips, planting kisses along my nose and forehead, or any other place he could manage. "You are so…!"
"Handsome?" He lifted his dark brow seductively. "Wise? Gallant? A complete and utter arse?"
"The last one," I snickered, crossing my arms over my bare chest to maintain some of my dignity. We were acting like children; as if what we were in the middle of doing was nothing unacceptable whatsoever. "I think the last one is quite fitting."
He began to press his lips down my torso, making a pathway towards the edge of my skirts. His fingers lingered there for a moment, a thoughtful smile on his lips. "You mock me, Miss Adkins."
"Do not call me that!" I gently hit him upside the head. "Every time you do, I shall have to…"
"You shall?" He tilted his head from my waist to access a better look at me. The entire time, he wore a playful smile on his face. He had not seemed so amused in ages, even long before he declared himself dead. "What is it that you will do?"
"I will take away a piece of your clothing, every time you say that dreaded title." The idea came to me along with the coloring of my cheeks. Did I not know the ways of the bedroom? Had I not read about them in my novels, hidden under my sheets so that mother could not catch me? I was acting ridiculous and very unromantic, but Sherlock and I never seemed to do things as one expects.
"That sounds almost like a game, Miss Adkins-"
"Remove your trousers!" I pointed threateningly towards his waist. "You said the words, now take them off. I'm too exposed to do it myself."
He stopped short for a moment, not realizing that I had been serious. However, he took the defeat gracefully and tugged at the strings and buttons along his waist. "This seems unfair, but I am a man of my word." It did not take long for him to remove his garments, and before I knew it, Sherlock Holmes was lying above me in nothing but his undergarments.
"You look nicer in a suit," I snickered, tucking his long hair behind his ear. "You also need to get a trim, your hair is becoming a waterfall."
He shuddered at the word. "That is the worst possible comparison you could have made, Miss-" He stopped himself short. "I nearly lost the rest of my clothing there."
A small smile broke across my face. I wore it proudly; pleased to have the man I loved beside me in bed. "You are a perfect fool, Sherlock Holmes."
We said nothing for a moment, and then we did not say anything afterwards at all. Our lips met several times over, each kiss softer and deeper than the last. Our hands never failed to discover a new part of each other's body, embracing all that they touched. Our breath was caught short in unspoken passion, as we soon wore little clothing but each other, and the reflection of the moon's beams.
We crushed against one another in desperation, the sound of each other's moans and heartbeats the only reassurance we needed. I felt him slip easily between my legs, his body stronger than I remembered. Oh, how I longed for him. He was perfection in my mind, and I in his. There were things we need to discuss: his abandonment, as well as our unspeakable decisions that were occurring before our very eyes.
However, that was not the right time, nor the right place. All I wanted was to feel him against me. I could not have prepared myself for that moment, but I did not want to. It was better than my imaginings. I felt heat in places that I did not know had any importance, but he soothed me with his kisses and caress. He was real, and close, and gentle. His body moved against mine easily, in that rhythmic motion only stopped by broken kisses.
My eyelids flickered shut as he carried on, his thrusts growing deeper and stronger. As he placed his forehead against mine, my lips found freedom. With a flicker of air that I could manage to grasp, I whispered lovingly into his ear. "I have missed you, Sherlocl Holmes."
~.~.~.~.~.~.~
And THAT my friends, is where I shall stop. ;) Don't worry. There's plenty more to come…
