Hello my darlings! I wrote a new chapter for you xD Here are my responses to your reviews:
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fandomenforcer: Yeah. The Sherlock in my head is a sexy womanizer. Oh well... ;D
harliesue: Thank you my dear! I hope you will approve of this chapter as well. Thanks for continuing to review!
watergoddesskasey: Haha thank you :)
Max: Yeah. Mycroft was being an ass. In a way, he just really cares about Sherlock.
rycbar15: Thank you!
Gwilwillith: Merci! I'm always nervous when I start writing for a new fandom, but the Sherlock fans have been lovely :) Thank you for the review!
Precilla: Thank you my dear!
LadyShadows410: Thank you so much! All of your questions will be answered in this chapter, not to worry!
Sherlocklover: Thank you for all nine of your kind reviews!
Slyork1991: Ask and you shall receive ;)
sherlockhomesgeek: Haha I agree with the chemistry. I just write what I would want- or not want, in the case of Mycroft being a complete dollop-head- to happen to myself. No problem! Your story is quite good! Thank you for reviewing!
AshleyV6661: Thank you so much for the sweet review! Here's a new chapter for you :)
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Disclaimer: I only own Mel.
Mel stepped into the tub gingerly, one foot at a time. It was hot- bordering on scalding. She pushed the burn from her mind, knowing that it would help her forget the previous day. The woman laid down in the porcelain tub. A moan of pleasure fell from her lips as the sensation of the heat and fragrant bubbles lapped at her skin.
Scents of exotic fruit floated through the air.
Contented sighs pulled from her slight frame. Long, loose curls swirled in the water as she started to sink lower into its depths. Her slim legs came up, ankles resting on the tub's edge. They were crossed across one another lazily. Mel glanced at her feet. She saw her scars and calluses from dancing. She swallowed the odd lump that formed in her throat.
She missed dancing. The fluidity of the movement. Just releasing the inhibition of thought and allowing a crescendo to be the only thing that mattered Mel wanted to feel the rush of music. Just let it move her until her blood pulsed in time with the bass.
She wanted to drown out the chatter of her mind with her art. Her unending memories were always tribulations to behold.
What some believed to be a gift- namely Sherlock- the woman had more difficulties with.
To notice every single quality of a random person passing on the street. To deduce something from their past and know she shouldn't open her mouth to point out an error or a flaw. It was restricting and excruciating.
Sherlock was parallel to her in so many ways. They both had the ability to notice things and form a history and a case. They were clever- obnoxiously so, to most.
But they were different in so many ways. The consulting detective was meticulous and calculating. Emotion did not have any relevance. Trivial matters and facts were deleted from his mind systematically, as if the man was a computer hard drive.
Mel, on the other hand, thought herself to be a very emotionally driven person. She was smart- yes- but it never overshadowed her human traits. The dancer didn't have the luxury of deleting anything from her memory. She could re-visit every moment like it was a snapshot in history.
Thinking about the handsome detective made her miss him even more. It'd been less than two days and she was itching to see him again. She felt like a drug addict.
Those lips of his are certainly like a drug, aren't they?
Mel missed his kisses. He stole the breath from her lungs every time, leaving her with a lightheaded rush. His long, slim fingers- so used to pulling at the strings on his bow- played her like an instrument. He would tug her hair, only a step away from violence, so her lips would be easier for him to reach; so his lips would slant at another angle over hers. Those large hands would flex against her lower back, pressing her impossibly closer.
Mel was utterly addicted to Sherlock Holmes.
Shaking herself from her thoughts, she quickly grabbed the shampoo and poured some in the palm of her hand. The scent of strawberries joined the symphony of the expensive bubbles. Humming quietly under her breath, The redhead went through the motions of scrubbing her hair thoroughly. After realizing that someone had done her makeup and styled her hair while she slept, Mel took extra care to lather the suds into her scalp.
She ducked under the water rinsed the shampoo away. The bubbles swirled tantalizingly around her.
She put the conditioner in her hair and tied it in a quick knot to let the nutrition sink in. Its scent matched the shampoo.
The woman took her time shaving. The water had turned cold by the time she finished. She rinsed off one last time and stepped out of the tub, grabbing the towel from the rack nearby. She drained the water and dried herself thoroughly. The dancer's slender fingers methodically combed through her long hair and styled it in a loose plait down her back.
Remembering that the woman had no other clothing, she reluctantly pulled the nightgown on once more and fastened the lace robe over top with the satin sash.
She grabbed her phone and sent a quick text off to John.
I miss you boys and I'll hopefully see you soon.
The woman paused, thinking about what else she should say.
And I'm sorry for what I did on the bus. I never meant to waste time finding that woman.
-MM
Singing softly under her breath, Mel exited the large bathroom. Billowing clouds of steam escaped into the hall. As she sent the message, her stomach growled with surprising ferocity. Since it'd been several days since the woman had eaten any sort of solid food, she walked back to the kitchen. The hardwood and marble floor was chilly against her bare feet.
The mobile vibrated in her hand.
11:13 AM
MY GOD MELINA. YOU ARE GIVING SHERLOCK A BLOODY HEART ATTACK.
HE'S COMPOSING SAD MUSIC.
JUST COME HOME.
-JW
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11: 14 AM
Well it's a good thing you're a doctor ;)
-MM
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11:14 AM
DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO BE LIKE THAT RIGHT NOW. I'M FURIOUS WITH YOU.
-JW
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Mel frowned. She didn't think the army doctor had the ability to get angry. He had the patience of a saint. Realizing she hadn't replied, the dancer typed an answer hastily.
11:16 AM
Please don't be upset with me. I'm doing this to keep Sherlock safe.
-MM
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She slid her phone shut and placed it on the marble counter before she went on the hunt for something to eat.
When the dancer opened the fridge, she found that it was packed- unlike Sherlock's. Biting her bottom lip, she pulled out the carton of eggs, a stick of butter, a jug of milk, a green pepper, an onion, and cheese. The phone alerted that she'd received another text. She ignored it and placed the ingredients on the island. Moving through the kitchen gracefully, the redhead found a cutting board, a small bowl, a knife block and a grater for the cheese.
Mel grabbed the pepper and took a small knife from the wooden block. She quickly cleaned the white seeds and insides from the vegetable and tossed them into the waste bin she found under the sink. She rinsed the pepper off and placed it back on the cutting board. The redhead grabbed a large dicing knife and started to cut up the vegetables. She minced them until they were quite fine. The mobile vibrated against the marble counter, taking her by surprise. The knife barely missed slicing into her fingers. Mel exhaled shakily and put the utensil down.
You know it's time to call it quits when you almost maim yourself, the dancer thought, pressed a calming hand to her forehead. A breathy laugh fell from her lips at the narrow escape from a mishap.
She took the large section of Grana Padano cheese and grated it quickly. When there was enough shredded, the woman danced over to the metal bowl. She cracked four eggs inside and added a splash of milk.
Her phone buzzed thrice more, making the woman roll her eyes skyward. Impatient males.
Finding a whisk in one of the many sliding cabinets, the woman mixed the ingredients in the bowl together. She uncovered a set of salt and pepper grinders next to the stove and added the seasonings to the egg solution. The redhead padded over to the stove and placed a large skillet on a burner, turning up the heat. Cutting a small amount of the butter from the stick, Mel placed it inside the hot frying pan and watched as it sizzled. Bubbles formed around the yellow substance.
Her mobile started to ring.
Knowing if she went to answer the call the butter would burn, she groaned and grabbed the egg mixture. If it was important, they would call back.
And they did. Again. And again.
And again.
Finally, Mel had two finished omelets garnished and fixed onto plates.
"Mycroft!" She called loudly, walking the food over to the bar. "I made omelets!-" The woman glanced up and gasped. Thankfully the plates were already over the marble counter- they fell the rest of the distance and clattered noisily against the surface. "Jesus Christ, Mycroft! What the hell-" The elder Holmes- who'd was unexpectedly standing in the doorway- stalked to the bar and climbed up on one of the stools. He reached over the counter and opened one of the drawers, bumping Mel's hip. She jumped away immediately. Mycroft retrieved two sets of cutlery and rolled the door shut. He passed one to her, not bothering to look up as he slid his plate closer.
Mel observed the man carefully and attempted to figure out the source for his bizarre appearance.
How long had he been standing there?
Mycroft tucked into his omelet with a quiet noise of appreciation. He sliced his knife skillfully through the meal. Hot cheese oozed out. Smiling to himself, the man ate- every so often a content sigh fell from his lips.
A scowl marred the woman's delicate features. "You were already here."
"Hmm?"
Her arms came up to cross over her chest. "Before I called you. You were already here..." Her eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Were you watching me?"
The man kept his eyes focused on his plate. He exhaled quietly and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Pale fingers retrieved a silk red handkerchief and pressed it to his lips, wiping away a non-existent mess. "You should eat your food, my dear. It's getting cold."
She reached forward and yanked the handkerchief right out of his hand. "Answer me!"
He finally looked up, breathing out with no small amount of exasperation. "Please do not ruin this perfectly adequate meal with childish tribulations."
Mel's jaw dropped with an audible pop. "Excuse me?"
His pale eyes searched her features for a brief moment. "You're excused," he finally said before snatching back his square of blood-red silk, pinning the dancer with a cool stare. For some reason, the woman wasn't hungry any more. She slid her plate across to him, moments after he polished off his own. He looked up at her, blinking in surprise. "You are not hungry?"
Mel's lips pursed. "Not anymore."
He shrugged impenitently and dug in. She noticed that the man's table manners were impeccable, despite the speed at which he ate. It was as if he hadn't eaten in weeks.
Her phone chimed again. Mel jumped. "Jesus..."
"You should answer it," Mycroft advised. Her eyes followed the man as he picked up her- now- half eaten plate and exited the kitchen, most likely to return to his study.
The redhead answered the call on the third ring. "Hello?" A loud sigh came from the speaker. "Hello?" She asked again, more forcefully this time. "Who is this?"
"Thank god..." The deep baritone breathed. He was relieved.
A shiver went down her spine. "Sherlock? Is everything alright-"
"Why the hell didn't you answer your phone?" He was angry. No- the consulting detective was livid.
"I- I was cooking breakfast..." Mel whispered. She never liked when he was upset with her.
He was quiet for a long moment.
The redhead swallowed. "Has something happened?" She pondered tentatively.
Sherlock expelled another sigh. "It was just something the bomber said. Or I suppose what he made the blind woman say whose strapped to a bomb."
"There's another?"
"Obviously," the voice scoffed condescendingly. "The others weren't blind."
His suddenly sharp tongue took her aback. "Oh. Alright. I guess I'll leave you to it." She moved to hang up, but she heard Sherlock cry out, telling her to "Wait". Crossing her arms over her chest, Mel leaned against the counter. She didn't appreciate his attitude, especially after everything she was doing for him.
"He..." Sherlock paused. The woman placed the phone back to her ear. "He says that he, 'likes to watch me dance'."
Mel's heart stuttered. A pit formed in her stomach and twisted uncomfortably, quickly tampering any hunger she might've had earlier. "Is that why you called me?" Her mind couldn't help but think about the similarities to the note Jim gave her.
"Yes," he exhaled. "I believe he may come after you next."
"It's Moriarty, isn't it?"
Another sigh. "I'm almost absolutely certain, yes." Mel pulled away from the phone and pressed it against her forehead. "Are you still there, Melina?"
She brought it to her ear once more. "Y-yeah I'm still here, Sherlock." She listened to his heavy breathing in the speaker and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear that fell from the braid.
"I have the urge to kiss you."
The words were so soft that the dancer wondered if they were meant to be spoken. "You can, and you will. Just not now."
Another sigh came from the speaker, this one much more frustrated. "I'm an impatient man, Miss. McAllister."
"I'm most certainly aware, Mr. Holmes," she smiled softly. "I'll talk to you later... I miss you."
Without waiting for an answer, Mel disconnected the call. She held the phone to her lips for a long pause before tearing it away.
3 NEW TEXT MESSAGES
11:20 AM
I know. I'm sorry. It's probably for the best that you're away from all this.
-JW
The next two were from Sherlock, ordering her to call. She deleted them quickly and set to cleaning up the kitchen. The dull ache of hunger in her belly had been replaced by a coil of worry. When all the ingredients were back in the fridge, Mel washed the dishes and left them to dry on the rack.
Her feet took her back up the marble and gold steps to her room. Her room was exactly the way she left it- IV and drip still near the bedside table. The blankets and duvet were rumpled and undone. Soon she was under the covers of the monstrous bed, hiding from the reality that was happening outside of the safety of Mycroft's estate. Sleep came quickly and crashed over her like a tidal wave.
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Mel woke to the sound of yelling. Her brow creased as drowsiness clouded her mind. The room was dark. The soft light of the moon glowed through the curtains.
"You can't be here!" Mycroft's voice hissed from down the hall. "There's still an hour-"
There were heavy, stomping footsteps against the hardwood floorboards. They were approaching her room. The woman yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Get out of my way, Mycroft. My mind is finding very few objections to punching you in the face at the moment."
There was a long pause. "Is that the way you act when someone tries to help you?" His voice was strained.
The woman could see shadows right outside the door. She sat up in the bed.
"This is how I act when someone takes what's mine," the second voice spat possessively.
The door swung open with a loud bang. Bright yellow light blinded her. A hand came up to shield her eyes.
She whimpered quietly. "What's going on?" There was a dark figure standing in the doorway with Mycroft. A long coat swirled around the body. "Who's there?"
The figure rounded on Mycroft. "What the hell have you done to her?"
The voice was so familiar. "Sherlock?" She asked sleepily. Her head swam. "You shouldn't be here..."
"That's what I was trying to tell him!"
"Oh do shut up, Mycroft." The consulting detective snapped. "What did you do?" The man entered the room. His eyes immediately turned to the IV drip. The expression on his face was the epitome of rage. "YOU DRUGGED HER?!" He roared, making the woman jump. His hands were bunched into fists as his sides. His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked under his left eye.
Suddenly, he whirled around and grabbed his brother by the throat. He slammed the man against the wall, causing his head to smack against it with a dull thud.
"Sherlock!" The woman cried out. "Stop!"
I've never seen him so violent before...
It was terrifying.
He didn't answer. He just shook his head, making his dark curls bounce wildly. Mycroft gasped for breath and clawed at the gloved fingers around his throat. His brother lifted him from the ground.
Mel slid out of the bed. The material of her nightgown brushed the ground as her feet met the cool wood panels of the floor. She approached the handsome man carefully. Her hand tentatively reached for him. Delicate fingers brushed his side. He tensed immediately. A sharp inhale of breath sounded through the room.
"Please... Sherlock..." She begged, leaning forward. Her lips pressed against the back of his wool coat. "Let him go."
"He hurt you. Kidnapped you. Drugged you..." The man scoffed. "I would kill him for only one of those offenses."
Mel was struck by the honesty in his harsh words. "But he kept me safe." She implored the man to understand. She went up on the tips of her toes and kissed the back of his neck. "Come lay down with me," she whispered against his flesh. She felt him shudder. "Come to bed, Mr. Holmes."
Letting out a shaky breath, the younger brother dropped his hold.
Mycroft gasped for air as he fell back against the wall. His face was almost purple in the dim light. Several beats later, he chuckled and straightened his tie. "I'm assuming you're not speaking to me, my dear," he stated drily. "Even though it is quite disappointing-"
Mel couldn't help the bile that rose at the back of her throat. "Please shut the door on your way out, Mycroft." He smirked and did just that, leaving the couple in complete darkness.
The dancer sighed and leaned into the man, letting her forehead rest against his back. Her arms wrapped around his waist. Slowly, she pulled the wool coat from his body. She let it fall to the floor. It pooled in the small place between them. The man was an immobile statue. Mel slowly tugged the leather gloves from his hands, leaving them bare for her touch. Her fingers traced the knuckles in his slim fingers. Her nails gently grazed from the callused pads of his fingers to the man's large palms.
"Come to bed with me, Sherlock..."
Sherlock turned around, breaking their connection. He looked down at her with an unfathomable gaze she couldn't place. The glow of the consulting detective's silvery-blue stare was not unlike the light coming through the window. Leaning up on the balls of her feet, Mel pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. His eyes fell shut as he exhaled with a shudder. The trail of her lips moved to just below his ear. Teeth grazed the lobe lightly.
The facade of stone cracked almost instantaneously. His hands were suddenly on either side of her face, pulling her up to him. He swooped down, closing the remaining distance between them. Mel mind stopped working the instant his lips crashed down on hers. The kiss was hard and unyielding. It contained all of the frustration and anger flowing through him. His hands traveled to the back of her head, holding her possessively against the hard line of his body. His tongue begged for entrance at the seam of her lips. Mel's fingers threaded in the man's silky curls. She tugged roughly and tilted her head to the side, allowing the kiss to deepen. His tongue slipped into her mouth. She moaned but Sherlock quickly swallowed the noise. He consumed all semblance of thought the redhead had left. She was swept up in the passion. Sherlock's fingers gripped the woman's braid and jerked sharply. Mel gasped at the sudden pain- head tilting back out of its own accord. The kiss heated. It was filled with teeth and tongue.
They came up for air, pulling away from each other.
Mel was left gasping. Her burning lungs gulped the air in greedily. Her head was spinning from the lack of oxygen. When she found her bearings, she looked up at the handsome detective. Sherlock's gaze was busy ravaging her form, taking in the satin, silk and lace. His pupils were so large, they swallowed the entire ring of beautiful, pale iris.
The man reached a hand out. Mel shivered as his fingers grazed her waist before clasping around the satin tie of the robe. With one sharp tug, the lace came undone. His hands came up to brush the material from her shoulders, caressing her bare neck in the process. The expensive material pooled on the floor. Sherlock groaned. The sound rumbled from his chest.
"You're the most gorgeous creature I've ever set eyes on," he breathed, watching her with lust-filled eyes.
The redhead flushed and shyly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, looking up at the handsome man from under her lashes. Her hands found the button of his blazer in the dim light and unfastened it. Sherlock's gaze watched her movements as she slipped it from his body, leaving him in only his white button-down and black slacks. The beautiful, elegant creature moved forward tantalizingly. Her fingers didn't waver as she undid the first black button of his shirt. His hands snatch them before they could move onto the next, forming unbreakable manacles around her wrists. She looked up at him in confusion. The area between her brows creased. The man couldn't resist the temptation of kissing it. Her hot breath brushed against the bare skin of his chest. She smelled of strawberries.
He groaned softly. "What are you doing to me, Melina?"
She wasn't sure how to respond to that. "S-sorry-"
"Even your scent is more enticing than any drug on this planet..." He breathed her skin. Even without perfume, she smelled of vanilla and roses. "I have not picked up a single cigarette since the day I met you." His nose trailed down to the hollow of her throat. "Did you know that, Miss. McAllister?" He felt her shiver against his touch.
Mel swallowed. Her heart was beating wildly. Her lower belly clenched. The rough grip around her wrists softened as he ran the pads of his thumbs along the sensitive flesh. Her face flushed. He was taking her pulse.
"Hmm..." He sighed. Lips pressed to her neck. "Your heart is beating very quickly, Melina." His mouth moved to her ear. "Why is that?"
"I-I..." She stuttered. Her brain was finding it hard to focus.
"Are you excited?" He kissed the corner of her mouth gently.
Mel gasped. "Y-yes."
"Do you want me?" Sherlock asked conversationally, as if they were talking about the weather.
"More than anything," she breathed with all the truth she could muster.
He released one of her wrists but quickly snatched it up in his other hand, shackling them both easily in his grasp. The man cupped her cheek with his free palm, brushing against her delicate cheekbone. He leaned down and pressed his lips softly to hers. Mel couldn't help but feel how soft they were against hers. The kiss was deeper and more languid than the first. Their tongues tangled as they explored each other- just tasting and feeling. Grasping her backside, Sherlock lifted the beautiful woman into his arms. He was surprised by how light she was.
Mel gasped as she was lifted into the man's arms. Her back was suddenly pressed against the wall. His large hands tugged up the material of her silk nightgown. Callused fingers skimmed her thighs. Without the material restricting her movements, the dancer slid her legs around his waist, linking her ankles at his lower back. His large hands flexed their hold against her backside, causing a unbidden moan to fall from her lips. She could feel Sherlock's arousal nestled intimately against her. The only barrier between them was the thin material of the man's slacks. Mel could feel the wet heat pool between her thighs. He pinned her against the wall with his hips as his teeth moved to nibble her full bottom lip.
"Please... Sherlock-" Her words were cut off as he gave a sudden shallow thrust against her. Her strangled cry was dampened as the man placed his mouth swiftly over hers.
He shushed her under his breath. "Patience, love..."
The pet name shook Mel to her core.
Then she collapsed.
The lips pulled away. "Melina?" His voice was alarmed as the woman went limp in his arms. He quickly carried her to the bed and deposited her delicately onto the rumpled sheets. She was already coming around.
"You... made... me... faint..." She accused softly. Her eyes searched for him. Sherlock took off his shoes and crawled into the bed with her. He propped himself up on the pillows and helped Mel slip under the duvet. She could see the satisfied grin on his face, even in the darkness. The redhead slapped his chest weakly. He caught it and pressed a sweet kiss to her palm. The redhead could feel is lips smiling against her hand. "You're so pleased with yourself."
"Yes," he admitted unabashedly. "You should sleep. There's no telling what that drug did to your system." His jaw clenched.
Mel sighed. "I haven't eaten in days. I probably have..." An enormous yawn cut off her words. "... really low blood sugar."
Sherlock chuckled and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Sleep, love. We'll feed you when you wake up at a more reasonable hour this morning."
Mel hummed contentedly and closed her eyes. She felt Sherlock's strong arms wrap around her and tug her into his body. She ended up laying on him. Her head turned slightly... searching. He knew what the woman was after. His lips descended and pressed against hers gently.
"Thanks."
His mouthed pressed softly against hers once more. "You're most certainly welcome, Melina."
"Goodnight, Sherlock," she murmured, not bothering to fight the waves of unconsciousness that were descending.
"Sleep, love."
There was the name again.
Love.
Mel fell asleep with a soft smile curling her lips.
Well there you have it! What did you think?
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