Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews :
...
IKhandoZatman: Yes, I thought some of you might think it was a dream but alas, it was not. Thanks for the review!
Frostivy: Thank you for your permission. Thank you once more for reviewing!
Slyork1991: Thank you so much! I hope that you like this chapter as well.
xxxMadameMysteryxxx: Hahaha I hope so too. Thanks for the review!
Jo Gurtrude: Hahaha... what do you think about cliffhangers? I am happy that you are enjoying the suspense. I concur. David Tennant's eyes are a beautiful thing. So, by the process of deduction, you must be a Whovian. I've had a dog, four gerbils, two guinea pigs, and boatload of fish- who all ate each other. If you are- by chance- a Whovian, what is your favorite episode? If not, what's your favorite Sherlock episode?
Dez10d2Rite: I'm so glad that you're liking this story :) Craziness is never a bad thing, dear, as it shows the things we like and appreciate. Thank you for reading and reviewing.
lostineternity256: Thank you! That's true. It's a lovely song. Thanks for the review.
Gwilwillith: Thanks!
harliesue: Haha, no worries. Please, do not feel obligated to read if you don't have the time. You can always catch up later down the road. Yes, you were right about the cough, my darling. I do love the shouty capital letters, I must say. Your enthusiasm is infectious :) This is what I planned out, the hitting and the delirium. When I'm sick, I know that I don't really want people near me, and I become quite a menace. Sherlock is so... contained and perfect all the time, that I wanted him to break- just a little. Every relationship needs trials to become stronger :) Thanks for the review, and as always, I've enjoyed our chat.
croatian reader1: Hello there :) Sorry about getting the movie marathon wrong. I replied to the reviews at three in the morning, so my mind was a little... foggy to say the least xP Karl Urban is also quite the actor, as well as the handsome man, if I may be so bold ;) I am quite well here in Canada. This weekend, it was minus thirty-seven degrees Celsius without the wind chill. Goodness, I need to take out my sweaters. Does it snow in Croatia? Enjoy the sun, and say hello to the gang for me :)
fairytale07: Lemons are certainly quite distracting, I agree :) much :D Mycroft won't be coming to Brazil- not in what I've planned- but there will be more happening, suspense wise. Yes, he was trying to push her away because he was sick, but I really don't like it when characters hit each other, even in that sort of way. Thank you once more for all of your words of encouragement!
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Disclaimer: I only own Mel
Mel was humming softly to herself as she danced about the kitchen. Her hips swayed slightly to the quiet classical music that flowed from the living room. She twirled once, giggling airily. Her ankle was feeling better. The smooth white tile was cool under bare feet. Her hair was loose and curled, floating around her like a scarlet curtain made of the finest silk. Perhaps I could try to dance today, she thought, smiling brightly to herself at the possibility. The timer went off, buzzing loudly. The woman flinched and ran to it, quickly shutting the alarm off. Sherlock was still asleep and she wanted him to stay that way for as long as possible.
The redhead approached the oven with a pair of protective mitts and pulled out two dozen blueberry muffins. The scent of the sweet cakes filled the air, forcing away the remaining musty smell of the rainstorm. She turned off the stove. Placing the pans on cooling racks on the bar counter, Mel went to work taking the muffins out. A hushed yelp fell from her lips as she burned the pads of her fingers.
Long fingers wrapped around her wrist. She gasped and turned. Sherlock- standing in the middle of the kitchen, completely nude- lifted her reddened fingers to his lips. His raven curls were a wild halo around his head, mussed from sleep.
"Sherlock, you should be sleeping-" Mel's chastising was cut off as soon as the man slipped her fingers into his mouth. His silky tongue deftly caressed the stinging flesh, laving them entirely. "Sherlock...," she inhaled sharply as he withdrew her fingers, instead blowing cool air onto them. The sensation went straight to her groin. "Y-You... should be resting."
The consulting detective shrugged. "I am not tired," he stated; voice still rough with sleep. "I wanted to see you." Then he slipped her fingers back into his mouth, soothing the burn away with his saliva.
The woman blushed prettily and tugged lightly, trying to detach herself. "You need to go back to bed, Sherlock. You're not feeling well."
"On the contrary," he murmured, holding fast. His teeth teasingly bit her fingertips, making her exhale shakily. He smirked at the faint reaction. "I feel wonderful."
"Do you?" Mel breathed, finally managing to pull herself away. She went back to the muffins, placing them on the cooling racks. Throwing the pans in the sink, she washed her hands thoroughly.
"Mmhmm...," Sherlock hummed, coming up behind her. His hands moved her hair aside, brushing the length over her shoulder. His lips trailed a line of fire from the edge of her jaw to the nape of her neck. "Wonderful...," he reiterated, nibbling on the lobe of her ear.
Steeling her resolve, she turned and pressed her palms against his naked abdomen. He dipped his head, trying to capture her lips. The woman turned her head at the last moment, causing him to peck her cheek. He pouted like a petulant child before trying again. Once again, the redhead moved away. Letting out a frustrated growl, the consulting detective grasped the hair at the nape of her neck and tugged, tilting her face involuntarily to his.
"Back to bed, Mister," she ordered quietly, eyes widening.
"No," he answered defiantly, arching a brow. His hot breath washed over her face, causing her stomach to clench.
"Sleep?" Why did that sound like a question?
"No." His mouth hovered just a hairsbreadth away.
Mel sighed. "Sherlock-"
"What do I receive if I do as you ask?"
She shrugged. "Rest?"
He tsked under his breath, smirking. "I will need a form of... persuasion, if you will."
The woman exhaled tiredly and tried to move away. The man's hands slammed down on the bar counter, effectively trapping her with his arms.
"You're not healthy, Sherlock. You need sleep," she sighed, crossing her arms across her chest, showing her displeasure.
"And I need you."
Mel flushed at that. "Fine. I'll come read to you."
The consulting detective chuckled throatily. "I was considering something more..." he paused as he thought of a word to finish his statement. "Beneficial," he settled, "To both of us."
She rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide the coursing blood that pounded through her veins, starting to pool in her lower belly. "I'm not sleeping with you while you're ill, Sherlock. You need to regain your energy. You need to get better- oh!"
Sherlock lifted her into his arms- hands at her back and under her legs. He chuckled once more. "I've read several medical papers that suggest that intercourse is vital in regaining health and sustaining muscular stability." He proceeded to walk down the hall to their bedroom.
How the hell can he carry me when he's sick? Shouldn't he be weak, coughing and in bed where I left him?
"Oh, the silent treatment, I see. Do not be upset, Melina." His arms tightened around her as he pressed a swift, heated kiss to her pouting lips. "You're much too attractive to sulk, love." He pecked her mouth again and again.
Don't smile. "You should go back to bed-"
"If you have not taken notice of our current position, that's precisely what I intend on doing," he shot back, resuming his assault of kisses. The man kicked open the door to the bedroom and threw the dancer onto of the mattress.
At that moment, a sweet chime sounded through the air.
The doorbell.
Sherlock started at the noise. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at Mel, who was panting lightly on top of their bed. "Were you expecting someone?"
Mel's heart stuttered in her chest momentarily. "Get in the bed, Sherlock. Now." Slipping off the satin sheets, the woman rose and went to the mirror on the wardrobe. She quickly righted her hair and clothes, smoothing the wrinkles from her violet sundress.
Ignoring the consulting detective's shouts, she rushed to the front door and pulled it open.
Standing in the bright light of morning, was Dr. John Watson. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a navy t-shirt, the doctor was dressed in the least amount of layers she had ever seen him wearing. The circles under his eyes had darkened considerably; whether from lack of sleep or stress, she didn't know. A multitude of grey had invaded his short-cropped blond hair. He shifted stiffly and his grip adjusted on the small duffle bag he was carrying. Then his eyes widened, taking the woman in.
"Mel... Jesus. You look good- uh, pretty." He shook his head, internally smacking himself. "Beautiful." He finally smiled, albeit a bit shakily.
Without a second thought, the redhead jumped into his arms, winding herself around the doctor like a koala bear. He grunted and dropped his bag, catching her with little effort, hands under her thighs. Throwing decorum aside, Mel peppered kisses all over his face. John let out a genuine chuckle and held her tighter to him. He pressed a timid kiss to her cheek before lowering the dancer's feet onto solid ground.
"I-I'm sorry...," the woman laughed self-consciously. She pushed back the lump of tears in her throat. "I've just missed you so much."
"Me too," the doctor admitted, smiling down at her. His eyes were shining.
Realizing they were still awkwardly standing on the front veranda. "Oh. Come in," Mel said, ushering him into the beach house. He picked up his discarded duffle bag and followed her inside. He let out a low whistle as he looked throughout the massive parlor.
"Jesus," he breathed again, running a hand through his short hair.
The dancer chuckled and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I just made some muffins," she told him as they walked through the multitude of halls before reaching the kitchen. "Would you like one?"
The man let out a little moaning noise and breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the baked goods. "Yes, please. I took a direct flight here. The food was... terrible," he finished, shrugging sheepishly.
Mel laughed at the curl of his lips as he thought back to the meal he had. She slipped her fingers from his and pushed the doctor over to the bar, motioning for him to sit on one of the tall stools. Walking through the kitchen, the woman took three plates from the cupboard and retrieved the butter from the fridge. Plating a hot muffin on each plate, the redhead slathered a small amount of butter on each, letting it melt into the cake. Smiling sweetly at John, she placed a plate in front of him. Thanking her quickly, the doctor tucked into his muffin.
Hearing footsteps on the tile floor, the dancer looked up.
Sherlock was standing in the entryway of the kitchen, dressed to perfection in a pair of slate-grey slacks and a burgundy button-down. Mel could feel his cool glare on her as she busied herself with washing the dishes. One of the stools pulled out from the bar, scraping the white tile.
"What are you doing here?"
"Sh-rl-k!" John cried, mouth still full of muffin. "Wh-t -re -u -oing w-king around?"
"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that," the consulting detective muttered.
The doctor swallowed loudly. "Mel said you were sick-"
"'Mel said'?" His gaze immediately flickered to her.
The woman bit her bottom lip as she dried the dishes and placed them back in the cupboards.
"Oh." John coughed. "Well-"
"I wasn't aware that Miss McAllister had been in contact with you, John."
Oh, you're 'Miss McAllister' now... Mel rolled her eyes and turned to face the men. "You're upset that I called him?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed but didn't stray from the military doctor. "I'm not upset."
"Sounds like you are," John whispered under his breath, taking another bite of his muffin. "Most people say 'hello' when their friends come to visit-"
The dark-haired man ignored the jab. "I don't have friends, John. You're already aware of that."
The doctor flinched almost imperceptibly and went rigid. "Right. That's why I flew all the way here when I heard you were ill."
"I didn't ask you to," the other man snapped, "I'm fine. Miss McAllister was over-reacting. She shouldn't have called you."
The woman felt as though she had been slapped. "Over-reacting?"
When he finally turned to face her, his expression was void of emotion. "Yes." He looked away as he plucked one of the buttered muffins and started to delicately eat. His long, slim fingers pulled apart the dense cake and slipped the pieces into his mouth. Unlike John, he didn't thank her. He made no noises of pleasure as he ate; only pausing to chew and swallow.
I stayed up with this man, brought down his fever, read to him until the early hours of morning, and slept with him all night- just to make sure he was alright. Angry tears clouded her vision. And here he is throwing it all back in my face, claiming I was over-reacting?! That pompous, son of a-
Letting out a irritated growl, Mel stalked forward and grabbed the last plated muffin. Before she knew what was happening, the small cake was flying through the air. It hit Sherlock in the forehead with a dull thunk. The muffin bounced off his pale brow and fell into his lap.
Nobody moved. The room was completely silent.
The consulting detective blinked once. Twice. His brow creased with a mixture of shock and confusion. Pale fingers came up to his forehead, ghosting over the print of butter and blueberry juice.
John was the first to break the silence. His roaring, belly-aching laughter echoed through the quiet room. Inhaling some of his muffin, the doctor started to wheeze and choke. Finally managing to dislodge the food from his lungs, the man wiped away the tears of mirth from his eyes.
The redhead swallowed angrily and moved from the kitchen, fleeing to the bedroom.
"Melina!" Sherlock shouted from behind in the kitchen.
She slammed the bedroom door and locked it. Jumping onto the bed, the woman dove face-first into the mountain of pillows and screamed at the top of her lungs. No sound came, as it was swallowed by the satin and feathers. Sherlock Holmes, you asshole. Allowing her anger flow from her limbs, the redhead pounded her fists into the sheets, doing little damage; though the resulting satisfaction was worth every moment. Once the tension depleted, Mel felt exhausted.
Her head swam from the lack of oxygen and she turned, flipping onto her back. "Sherlock Holmes, I swear to god, if you try to pick that lock I won't let you touch me for a month," she said monotonously, just loud enough for him to hear behind the door.
There was a long, pronounced pause.
"How did you know I was picking the lock?" Came the muffled reply.
"You're fucking predictable," the redhead spat back, glaring up at the ceiling.
There was a rough chuckle. "You're cursing, Miss McAllister. I'd gather that you're quite upset, then?"
Mel snorted and flopped back onto her front. She let out another yell into the pillows.
"I'll take that as a yes...," Sherlock sighed. "And it's with me, I suppose?"
No response came.
"If you're not going to answer, I'll pick the lock, Melina."
She lifted her head. "Oh, I'm 'Melina' now?" She rolled her eyes. "Try to come in here. I fucking dare you."
"Ah, and I receive my answer," he noted; his tone preposterously triumphant. "Why don't you stop pulverizing our bedding? I'd rather do that this evening-"
The woman let out a livid shriek and punched the mattress. In her haste, she caught the bed frame with her knuckles. Letting out a stifled cry, she curled up on her side and cradled her hand to her chest, observing the ludicrous shade of red in her hand.
"If you let me come in Melina, I'll massage your hand-"
"Stop deducing me through the fucking door!"
Another chuckle. "I'm not. I heard you punch the wooden bed frame. Technically speaking, that would be classified as listening, not detuction."
"Are you trying to piss me off?"
"Not intentionally, no."
"Stop smiling, then."
"I'm not-"
"Yes you are."
There was a pause. For the first time that morning, Sherlock let out a loud, wet, hacking cough. "Yes. I am," he finally rasped.
Don't feel sorry for him. Don't feel sorry for him. Don't you dare-
A soft clicking noise came from the lock. Mel peered at the door through her curtain of hair. Glaring, she watched as it slowly swung open, revealing a hesitant Sherlock. He closed the door behind him and locked it once more. Eyes flashing, the man threw aside two bobbypins- which had been warped and mangled to fit into the lock. Without a moment's pause, the consulting detective sauntered forward.
Her eyes widened. "You can't touch me now-"
Snarling animalistically, Sherlock grasped the woman by the nape- fisting the hair there- and tugged her up to her knees. Swooping down, the man kissed her ferociously; taking everything, leaving nothing. His talented tongue slipped past her gasping lips, breeching the confines of her mouth. Despite her intentions to push him away, the redhead's fingers clutched at his shirt, pulling him onto the bed with her. His free hand went to the woman's waist. His fingertips dug into the material of her dress, scraping along the flesh underneath. Guiding her onto her back, Sherlock slipped between her parted legs. His hips thrusted shallowly. Throwing his head back, the man let out a loud groan. Mel reached up. Slipping her fingers into his curls, she wrenched roughly, eliciting a grunt from his perfect lips.
"I thought I said you couldn't-"
Sherlock lowered his weight onto her, supporting himself on his forearms. "I'm touching you, Melina, whether you're cross with me or not."
Her subconscious did a series of back flips. After another heated kiss, Mel pulled away, nibbling at his bottom lip. "I should throw a muffin at you more often."
"I'd prefer it if you didn't."
"You deserved it," she pointed out. Using all of her weight, the woman managed to flip them so she was on top.
"I disagree."
"Excuse me?"
"I disagree," he repeated, the mask of cool indifference already back in place. The woman groaned and moved away. Sherlock caught her easily, hands locking round her thighs on either side of him. "Stay," he instructed.
The order frustrated her more than anything. "I'm not a dog, Sherlock-" His hand came down on her backside, making her yelp. Her emerald eyes went impossibly wide.
"No. But you are mine."
"I. Am. Not- AH!"
SMACK!
The second blow was harder than the first. The angry sting made her stomach clench deliciously. She squirmed on top of the consulting detective, searching for some sort of friction. His hard length was straining against his trousers.
SMACK!
"Tell me."
Mel was gasping. Her chest heaved. "What? Tell you what?"
"That you are mine."
"I'm not-" SMACK! "Jesus, Sherlock!"
His fingers flexed over the smarting flesh. In one fluid motion, he hitched the woman's sundress up to her waist. "You are mine. Say the words, and I will take you now. I know that you want that, Melina."
"B-But... you have a cold... and John-"
His palm came down again, connecting with bare skin, catching her off guard. She was about to cry out when Sherlock took siege of her mouth, ravaging her mind and senses; swallowing her whimpers.
"You called John. Why?"
Oh. Change of topic. "He's a doctor. You're sick." Mel breathed carefully, looking down at him.
"Is that all?" He asked; the image of cool ferocity. "Those were the only reasons?"
"Yes. Yes!"
Sherlock's silver eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I believe you, Melina." His large hand flexed its hold on her stinging backside, ebbing the pain away. At the same time, tingles of electricity sparked in the apex of her thighs.
"S-Sherlock what are you saying?"
"That you want him. John. Sexually. Intimately." He spat the words in a frustrated staccato. "Do you want to have sex with the doctor, Melina?"
"No! Jesus, Sherlock. You know that I love you. I want you. Only you. For the rest of my-" Mel stopped herself.
Sherlock sat up immediately, bringing them nose-to-nose. His jaw slackened. "What were you about to say?"
"Nothing." She pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head. Mel's cheeks were flaming. His knees came up, allowing her to lean back on his thighs.
"'For the rest of your...' what?" He hovered centimeters away, inhaling and exhaling jaggedly.
The woman shook her head. Rolling to the side, she managed to escape. Throwing the door open, Mel made it halfway down the hall before strong arms wrapped around her waist, dragging her back. Ignoring her cries, Sherlock locked the bedroom door once more and pressed the dancer against it. Palms flat against the door, the man let out an aggravated noise.
"What were you going to say? Tell me, Melina."
Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. "You're a clever man. I'd venture that you could guess well enough."
"I don't guess. Deduce, infer, collect and surmise facts-" His eyes flashed. "I never guess."
"You know what the end of that sentence was, then," she breathed. Her gaze flickered from his perfect mouth to his imploring stare.
"I have... an idea," he admitted, swallowing. His Adam's Apple bobbed in his throat. "But I want you to say it. Out loud."
She gazed up at him dryly. "And I wanted a unicorn when I was three. We can't always get what we want."
"Yes, we do," Sherlock muttered.
"What did you get, then?"
"I claimed you."
The statement was simple enough, containing only three words. In correlation with the meaningful gaze from the beautiful man, his proximity, and tone, the one sentence left her reeling. Mel let out a shuddering breath and tried to ignore the heat that was pooling between her thighs.
"Now, tell me. Finish the rest of the sentence."
"Life."
His brow creased with confusion. He pulled away slightly. "Pardon?"
Mel worried her bottom lip. Turning her attention away from his face, she focused on counting the buttons of his shirt. Seven. Nine, if you include the ones at the wrist cuff-
"Melina. Look at me."
Closing her eyes for a moment, she did as the man asked.
"You want to be with me. For the rest of your life."
Her stomach turned inside her, flipping and tangling with her intestines. She listened to his rough breaths- still thick with sickness. Maybe he isn't that ill, she mused, maybe he just had a one day cold. The really bad kind that just needs rest and soup-
"Melina."
He sounds better. His voice isn't that bad.
"Melina."
If he has enough energy to be rude to John again, he has to be feeling better-
"Melina!?"
His hand was cool against her skin where he cupped the woman's face. Maybe I have a fever now. Or perhaps I'm just blushing. She focused again, looking up into his silver eyes.
"What?" She questioned, frowning.
Sherlock leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. "You've been silent for more than five minutes. I thought... I had broken you, somehow."
Mel laughed quietly and reached up, pulling his hands away from her face. "Sorry. Just thinking."
The consulting detective nodded slightly in understanding. He pressed his lips to her nose. Then to each of her cheekbones in turn. Her jaw. Her closed lids. He traced every feature with his mouth, as if he was memorizing the taste and shape.
"You want to be with me for the rest of your life."
The dancer flushed pink but didn't turn away from his intense gaze. She nodded. Please... don't be angry. Don't be upset. Don't- Her inner monologue was silence by the touch of his mouth. Locking their lips together, Sherlock cupped her face once more. It was by far the most tender of touches they had ever shared. His thumbs stoked her flaming cheekbones in time with his mouth. They couldn't get close enough to each other. The man caught her about the waist, pulling her flush against the line of his strong body. Before the kiss could deepen into anything more, the consulting detective pulled away, pressing a final, closed-mouth kiss to her lips.
"I love you," he breathed, forehead creasing with emotion. "And I want you to be mine. Now. Forever. On paper and in our bed."
"I love you too." She leaned up to kiss him again, taking her time to taste. "And I... want to be yours."
A loud knock shook them from one of the most meaningful conversations they would ever have. Sherlock exhaled with no small amount of distress. Pulling Mel to his side, he opened the door.
"I do apologize, John," he said, his voice cool and dejected once more. "But I am busy with Melina at the current time-"
"Actually, I need to talk to Mel," John admitted, shifting his weight between his feet awkwardly.
Sherlock stiffened as the woman in question moved away from him.
"What is it John?" She asked, smiling kindly.
The doctor sighed and ran a tired hand down his face. "Before I left for the airport, a man came by Baker Street. He told me-" The blond man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slightly wrinkled and yellowed envelope. "-To give this to you."
Mel took the small envelope and turned it over in her hands. There was a seal of red wax on its back.
"For me?" She asked, not looking away from the seal. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. He told me to give it to you immediately, whenever I saw you next. I forgot about it until just a moment ago."
"That's... peculiar," she breathed. Slipping her fingers under the wax, the redhead opened the envelope. Turning it over, a small, cool object fell into her flat palm. It was a sleek USB stick. The black object was spotless, except for a single, a perfect drop of a dark, brown-red substance.
Mel's stomach pitched. Her body was completely numb. She dropped the USB. It clattered noisily on the floor.
"Melina? What is it?" Sherlock was beside her in instantaneously, wrapping his arms round her waist.
"No," she breathed. Her hands flew to her mouth. Tears flowed unbidden from her eyes as she glanced up at John. "Who...?"
"What?"
"Who gave this to you?" She demanded. Her face was wet with salty tears. She struggled in the consulting detective's arms. "What did he look like?!"
The doctor's eyes went wide. "I- uh, I don't know. He was wearing a hood-"
"What is it?" Sherlock cut in, "What is that?"
Mel wiped at her face frantically with the heels of her palms. "John, what did he look like? Tell me anything you can. Please."
"I- I don't know...," he stuttered, eyes wide. "It was dark-"
"Think, John!"
His forehead creased as he tried to remember any detail. "I don't know!" He cried. "English. Six-one, six-two. White. Glasses- large frames. Dark hair."
The woman's heart seized in her chest. Her stomach fell once more, turning. She pressed a hand to her belly, attempting to quell the nausea. "Oh my god," she breathed, pulling away from Sherlock. Without his arms around her, her body sagged. The men cried out and rushed forward, barely managing to keep her from hitting the ground. The consulting detective lifted her into his arms, and placed her on the bed. Mel shivered and stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling.
"Mel! Can you hear me?" John asked, his concern and worry evident in his voice.
She nodded.
"Who? Who was that man, love?" Sherlock asked, stroking the side of her face tenderly.
Another shiver ripped through her petite frame. She shook her head slightly. No. Please... no.
"Alright," he sighed. "What did he give you? What does it mean?"
Mel bit her lip. A soft sobbing noise sounded through the room.
"Please," John beseeched. "Let us help you, Mel. You always take care of us. This one time, let us do the same for you."
The tears were back, blinding her vision.
"It's a file. The file."
The men shared a long look.
"What file? What does that mean?"
Mel rolled onto her side. She curled up- grasping her knees to pull them into her chest. She was making herself as small as possible. The way a child would.
"I helped him find it," she stated, her voice watery and so very, very small.
"Who? Love, who?!"
"The man. The Bad Man." She swallowed. "The Shadow Man."
Cliffhangers are the light of our lives... do not fret my dears. What do you think is coming?
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