Chapter 22 - Quite a Gambler That Woman
This is lovely, thought Rose. She was lying with her head resting on Sherlock's chest, one arm casually across his torso, with both his arms embracing her. This was the third night in a row that she and Sherlock had engaged in a post-coital three minute hug. Rose was enjoying the almost-tenderness caused by Sherlock distractedly caressing her arm with his thumb as he offered his theories on John and the bonfire. These last couple of nights his monologues usually alternated between John and the terrorist threat and how to read 'tells' in people's faces when they played Poker. It was the second topic that alarmed Rose the most: the impending card game with the Clarence House Cannibal.
But still, while Sherlock was distracted with his own musings, Rose was sure the "three minutes" were getting longer, so she endeavoured to stay silent in case Sherlock remembered she was there and that he was hugging her. She was quite certain that he was only thinking aloud anyway, and didn't require any input from her.
When he tapped her arm, she knew the fun was over, and it was time to respond to his damn questionnaire.
"Why don't I just fill it in myself?" Rose asked as she sat up and handed over the laptop. "You don't always have to read them out to me."
Sherlock had sat up also, positioning himself against the headboard. "Because you accidentally delete things."
Rose stifled a laugh as Sherlock continued. "And don't feign innocence with me. I saw your fingers hit the control and minus keys after you highlighted an entire column. These things don't accidentally happen. I do credit you with a moderate amount of intelligence after all."
He shot an irritated look at Rose as she leant in to kiss his cheek.
"Oh, Sherlock," she said in a half-whisper, as she attempted to nestle against his shoulder. "I just can't take you seriously when you start talking about penetration. I just want you to penetrate me all over again."
"That's rubbish, Rose," Sherlock snapped, reflexively hunching his shoulders to discourage Rose's close proximity. "We've only just finished. You couldn't possibly be aroused so soon."
Rose pouted, sitting up fully and swinging her legs off the side of the bed.
Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "Question One... " He looked up in surprise as Rose left the room. "Where are you going?"
"That's a different Question One," she shot back facetiously.
"Not funny, Rose."
Sherlock quietly and thoughtfully filled in his own responses to the questionnaire about the condom they had chosen at random for the evening's entertainment. When he had finished, he checked the wrapper for the final question, which asked whether or not the label and description of the condom matched his experience. Sherlock tutted and shook his head. Another one for the false advertising category.
"Can I fill it in now?" Rose asked when she returned from the bathroom.
"No. You'll only look at my responses and cheat."
Rose sighed and curled up under the covers, giving monosyllabic answers to most of Sherlock's questions. Luckily the questions only required such simplistic answers until the last half dozen. Sherlock tutted as he closed the lid of the laptop and placed it onto the nightstand once they'd finished.
"Well, you're getting better, but I'm in two minds whether or not to invalidate tonight's results."
"That will be three out of three," Rose replied sleepily.
Sherlock turned out the bedside lamp on his side of the bed and shuffled under the covers.
"You're not taking it seriously," he said sullenly, his voice floating through the darkened room. "And don't think for one second that I'm not aware of the fact that our hug went for nine minutes. So in effect, you owe me two questionnaire responses with no after sex hugging."
Rose sighed and closed her eyes.
Saturday morning. An all day shift. Crap. Rose shivered and tightly pulled her dressing gown around her as she shuffled to the bathroom. Sherlock had woken up earlier. He had established a habit of showering, shaving and dressing early, then taking 'breakfast' out on Rose's balcony before leaving for the day - breakfast comprising one rolled cigarette of Golden Virginia tobacco.
However this morning when Rose emerged from the bathroom, she found Sherlock waiting for her in the kitchen after his morning smoko. He was dressed to leave, complete with scarf and coat, and held out a mug of tea.
"Saw that you were awake, and thought I'd make you tea before I left," he said warmly.
"Hmm," Rose replied pensively after taking the proffered beverage. "You never make me tea. You don't even say goodbye. What are you after?"
Sherlock sighed and replied wearily, "You know Rose. Just a heads up."
The tea was halfway to her lips before she realised what Sherlock was requesting. "Sherlock!" she said in protest, and placed the mug back down onto the kitchen counter.
"I can't just turn up," Sherlock argued. "Everyone will recognise me and it will take all the attention away from Ms Small."
"I don't want you to go!"
This was a continuation of an argument they'd already had the day before. Sherlock was still determined to attend the monthly Poker game hosted by Tonya Small, the Clarence House Cannibal, who lived upstairs from Rose. He was fascinated by the woman as an interesting specimen of the criminally insane.
"This may be my only chance before she does something stupid and gets herself caught. I have to meet her in her natural habitat. Can you just let her know I'll be coming?"
"Sherlock, no!"
"Rose..." Sherlock paused, before huffing a sigh then saying the word he despised the most. "Please?" He even attempted an accompanying smile.
Rose calculated her options. This was a favour to Sherlock, and he could possibly owe her big time. He only needed her to check whether or not it was okay with Ms Small if he joined their table at cards, given that Rose wasn't going to attend. She was eligible as a resident of the block of flats, with Sherlock technically being her guest. Rose was working that night at the strip club, and even if she wasn't working, there was no way she'd want to go.
"Okay," she said slowly. "But you have to do something for me in return."
Sherlock frowned. This couldn't be good. Surely this had pointless sentiment written all over it. He was correct of course.
"You have to give me a hug and a kiss every time you arrive and every time you leave."
Sherlock scoffed. "Really? But you're asleep whenever I leave, and I'm already here before you get home."
"So? Wake me up with a kiss. That'll be nice. And you can still greet me when I get home. Just try to detach yourself from the couch when I come in, okay?"
"I... suppose," Sherlock responded with a shrug of indifference. Seemed like a small price to pay, however idiotic.
Rose was pleased. This would make a nice change to just waking up and finding the flat empty, or returning home after a late night at the crisis centre or strip club to find Sherlock lolling about on the couch. Last night he greeted her with, "Did you know that Mr Scanlan who lives directly above you masturbates at ten past seven every evening? Turns the news on first, then I think he locks his dog in the closet. So there's the sound of these dramatic news events interspersed with a yapping dog and a..."
"Sherlock!" Rose had remarked, horrified at the visual imagery he was providing.
They never ate dinner together, nor took breakfast, so this would serve as something approaching a normal relationship. At this point in time, Rose would take what she could get from him. The first morning he'd left without saying goodbye, she dreaded what she'd discover on the side table before the door. But she was relieved to find that Sherlock hadn't paid her for the evening. So they were making progress. One day Sherlock may actually admit to having feelings for her, she was sure of it.
"Right, well I'm going then," he said, patting his pockets to check that he had everything. He fished his gloves from his coat pocket and preceded to put them on. "There's an online Poker game starting in the U.S. in two hours, so I want to get home to sign up and organise my credit. Get a few games under my belt before tonight," he added enthusiastically.
"Am I supposed to tell Tonya that it's the famous Sherlock Holmes who wants in, or should we make up a name?" Rose asked.
"The truth, Rose," Sherlock answered, as he moved toward her. "My photo's been plastered in every paper from here to Kuala Lumpur. I don't think I could get away with a pseudonym. But I should be fine. There's an unspoken rule with these games. Everybody exercises a certain amount of discretion." A sly grin spread from one corner of Sherlock's mouth as he said, "Apparently what happens at Poker nights stays at the Poker nights."
Rose's stomach churned at the thought of what could happened at this particular Poker night. "It's a wonder the press don't follow you around, though. Aren't you worried they'll find out you come here a lot?"
Sherlock's smile reassured her just a little. "I can easily shake off a tail, Rose. The only person who's been particularly keen to go to any great lengths to stalk me is pretty benign. He was one of a handful of people who believed I was still alive, so he's still a bit obsessed with me. Oh, you know him. You joined his little club."
Rose furrowed her brow, then tutted in distaste. "You mean that Philip guy who ran The Empty Hearse?"
"Philip Anderson, yes. He's followed me as far as the corner, but he doesn't know I come to your apartment block specifically."
"Okay then," Rose remarked wearily. "I'll go up and talk to Tonya before I leave for work, okay?"
"That's fine."
Rose smiled wanly as Sherlock held out his arms.
"This is your hug," he began.
"You won't need to explain it each time," Rose cut in as she was enveloped in his embrace.
"Just keeping up my end of the deal."
Rose wound her arms around Sherlock's neck and said that she wouldn't be home in between finishing at Roches and commencing her shift at the Rendezvous. It was quicker for her to go directly to the strip club than to come home to change first. Not seeing Sherlock beforehand worried her though.
"Sherlock, please be careful."
"It's just Poker, Rose. I'm merely using this opportunity to study the woman in her..."
"...own habitat, I know. But still... if she's what everyone says she is, then you may be in danger."
"From what?"
"From her. Being eaten!"
Sherlock began to chuckle and his eyes were bright with mischief. "You do know it takes two to participate in Ms Small's little culinary soiree don't you? She doesn't just pounce on people with a carving knife wearing a frilly apron. It is all consensual."
Rose reeled at Sherlock's description, wondering how he could remain so calm about it all. "How do you know that?"
"I've done my research."
"Then why hasn't she been arrested?"
"There's no obvious victims, no real witnesses and no evidence. Just heresay. But I know when someone's lying or not." When Sherlock realised that Rose was still looking concerned he rubbed her back a little and added, "Look Rose, nothing's going to happen to me that I won't want to happen, all right?"
"Why am I not reassured by that statement?"
Sherlock bent his head and said, "Do you want your kiss now, so I can go?"
Rose applied make-up and dressed for work faster than usual. She was resigned to the fact that she would have to speak to Tonya Small before leaving to take the tube to Roches Entertainment. Ringing was not an option. Tonya had supplied her mobile number as the RSVP contact for the card game, but Rose knew it would only go through to her Messagebank. Tonya despised the impersonal nature of the technology and Rose wanted to receive immediate confirmation as to whether or not Sherlock could attend. Of course she could always just lie to the man, and say it wasn't possible for him to participate without a block resident present, but she knew he would be enormously disappointed if he didn't get to go, and she would feel worse if she hadn't even tried on his behalf. And something told her that he would know if she had lied.
Rose inhaled deeply before knocking on the door to the fifth floor flat. Tonya's sultry voice from within called out, "I won't be a moment, darling."
Tonya called everyone darling, without exception.
When the Welsh beauty eventually opened the door, Rose was rendered practically speechless as always by the mere presence of the forty-something year old. Long dark locks cascaded over one shoulder, which she casually flicked aside with a perfectly manicured hand. Her small dark eyes and luscious lashes were made for smiling, which is what she was doing at this moment on seeing who her visitor was. Her whole face lit up in greeting.
"My darling Rosebud."
Ms Small also had an affectionate name for everyone she had met in the block. Ettie Schafter, who lived three doors down from Rose, was called SpagEttie, and Michael Scanlan, the serial masturbateur - at least according to Sherlock - received the nickname Mickey Mouse. Rose had only spoken to Tonya on three occasions, but Tonya remembered every single detail of their encounters and welcomed Rose like a long lost niece. Curiously though, Tonya seemed to know additional details about Rose that the latter had no recollection of ever revealing. It was as if Ms Small could read people, a little bit like...
...Sherlock.
"Ms Small, sorry to call so early," Rose said hesitatingly.
"Nonsense," Tonya said dismissively, waving her hand to usher Rose into her flat while she sashayed into the kitchen area. "Please call me Tonya, you know that by now. Come in. You'll have to excuse my rudeness. I have to feed my darling babies before they start nibbling on Mummy's favourite cushions again."
Rose hesitantly followed Tonya into the kitchen where she found two miniature Schnauzers lying in a soft dog bed. They immediately sat up and starting barking at her.
"Don't mind them. They're just waiting for their din-dins, aren't you my darlings?"
Tonya bent down to give each puppy a kiss. Rose immediately wanted to leave. She hated small dogs. They were always so jumpy and yappy. She was relieved when Tonya placed their food bowls on the floor and the Clarence House Cannibal's "babies" were suitably distracted.
"Now, Rosebud dear, a cup of tea?"
"Thank you Tonya, but I mustn't stay long. I'm due to open the store in half an hour."
"Ah, the television store. Not as exciting as working in an adults only nightclub, no?"
Rose smiled politely, while internally panicking about the fact that Tonya knew this about her. Where had that information come from?
"Come. We'll sit comfortably while my darlings are having breakfast."
Rose followed Tonya back into her living room, saying, "I won't keep you. I just wanted to ask about the card game tonight."
Tonya spun around gracefully, her face lighting up. "You are coming? Darling Rose, I've been asking you for two years!"
"I'd love to, but I'm working the late shift at the club."
"Not dancing I hope," Tonya remarked with a frown.
Rose smiled wanly again. "Not dancing. Just checking coats. No, I was actually wondering if a friend could come in my place. He's really keen, and..."
Again Tonya's face lit up. "A gentleman friend?"
"Just a friend," Rose added swiftly.
Tonya quirked an eyebrow in the manner of someone who knows otherwise. "And he wants to remain anonymous... because he has a disapproving wife?"
"Ah, not quite. He's a bit of a celebrity actually."
"Oh!" Tonya clapped her hands in delight. "Which celebrity? No, let me guess. From Sussex Sons or Summerville?"
"Ah, neither," Rose replied, wondering why Tonya assumed he'd be an actor on a TV soap. "He's not on telly. He's... um... Sherlock Holmes."
Tonya's eyes widened in ecstasy. "Sherlock Holmes!"
"You've heard of him, then."
"Mr Sherlock Holmes! The poorly misunderstood genius detective. Oh!" Tonya exclaimed again, and she fluffed out her hair as if Sherlock was just around the corner.
So you have heard of him, Rose thought with a sinking feeling.
"My darling, of course Mr Holmes is welcome," Tonya gushed eagerly. "Will he be bringing his friend?"
"His friend?"
"The other one... ah..." Tonya furrowed her brow, deep in thought. "Oh... Doctor... ah..."
"Doctor Watson?"
"Yes!"
"Um... no. I don't think so."
"Pity," Tonya replied, looking quite disappointed. "But still, this is... most opportunistic. I may have to bump Mr Cadogan..." she muttered to herself.
"Oh, don't go to any trouble," Rose replied swiftly. Any hiccup that would somehow exclude Sherlock from the game was welcome. "If there's no room at the table, Sherlock will understand."
"No, no... Mr Cadogan has been having difficulties repaying his debts from the last game. I will have to insist he pays up or he's out," Tonya mused, more to herself than to Rose. A sly smile spread across her lips, and Rose's heart thumped anxiously.
"Tell Mr Holmes 8pm sharp. And I'm sorry, Rosebud, but if you're not coming along to play, you are not permitted to observe. I have very strict rules about audiences."
"No, that's fine, Tonya. I'll be at work til quite late," Rose replied defeatedly. She was rather hoping Sherlock would be excluded. "I'll let Sherlock know."
Tonya kissed Rose on both cheeks. As Rose left, she heard Tonya Small humming to herself as she moved about her flat. Clearly the woman had a new spring in her step at the prospect of the Consulting Detective joining her Poker game. Rose felt positively ill as she left for the Bayswater tube station.
There was no way Rose could sleep. It was almost 2am, and there was no sign of Sherlock. She had sent him a text on her way to work that morning, telling him that he was in, and to be at Tonya's flat by 8pm. She'd received a brief, "Thanks," as a reply and nothing else. She was far too busy at closing time to remember to phone Sherlock before he arrived at Leinster Gardens. She was focussed on travelling from the entertainment store to the club in Shoreditch in the early evening in time for her shift. She assumed she wouldn't be able to contact him during the game, so she was anxious to find out how he was going, or even if he had actually made it to the game.
When she was dropped off at the kerb outside the block after her midnight shift had ended, she glanced upwards, first toward her balcony and then to Tonya Small's fifth floor balcony. There were no smokers standing outside, and the only presence of life she could see was the light through the window. There were no shadows or noises from within that she could detect.
Her flat was disappointingly empty. A few times Rose thought she could just sneak up and hover outside Ms Small's door, but she thought that would seem quite pathetic. So she showered and changed into her dressing gown, and lay on her couch to watch late night telly.
Her eyes were starting to droop when she heard the sound of keys in her door. She sat bolt upright as Sherlock strode in. His eyes were twinkling and his grin broadened when he caught sight of Rose.
"My God, Sherlock!" she cried as she raced over to him and threw her arms around his neck.
Sherlock cleared his throat and banded his arms around Rose. "Did you stay up just so you could receive my hug?"
"No," Rose replied, her voice muffled against Sherlock's coat. It smellt very smoky. "Are you okay?" she asked, pulling back.
Sherlock matched Rose's look of concern with one of amusement. "Of course I am."
Rose stepped out of his grasp, and cast a worried look at his extremities. "Are you sure?"
"God, Rose," he replied, shrugging out of his coat."Of course I am," he said again. "What did you think?"
Rose watched as Sherlock hung up his coat by the front door. He then removed his jacket, his brow furrowed in distaste. "I'll have to get these dry-cleaned tomorrow. The odours of no less than five different types of cigarette tobacco and one cigar. And Ms Small's a pipe smoker."
"So... it was all okay?" Rose asked hesitantly. "Did you win or lose?"
Sherlock grinned again, and made his way toward the living room window, grasping Rose's hand as he went. "Come and have a look," he beckoned.
Puzzled, Rose let herself be led by Sherlock. He parted the curtains and gestured for Rose to stand in front of him at the window. "There, Rose," he said.
"What? I can't see anything. It's too dark."
"Precisely. No lights, remember."
"The empty house?"
"Yes. I'm now the proud owner of number 23 Leinster Gardens."
Rose paused a moment as Sherlock's words sunk in. "You won?"
"Eventually," Sherlock said, leaving the window abruptly. He huffed and said, "I just need a shower. She uses this oriental tobacco, grown in Turkey. Its sour room note doesn't agree with me."
"How much did you lose?" Rose asked, but Sherlock clicked the bathroom door shut behind him.
Rose sighed and turned off the television and the lights in the living area and decided to wait for Sherlock in bed. He emerged ten minutes later, freshly showered, with a towel wrapped around him, carrying his shirt and trousers. He smiled again at Rose, who was lying under the covers. Obviously he had enjoyed himself tonight. Rose looked on as Sherlock hung up his clothes in her wardrobe.
She had made sure her laptop was as far enough away from her bed as possible. She had stowed it in a kitchen cupboard along with her plastic containers.
"Henry Baker was on a losing streak," Sherlock began, as he opened one of the drawers in Rose's bureau.
"Who's Henry Baker?"
Sherlock frowned and shot a glance at Rose. He withdrew a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms from the drawer. Rose noticed that they were Sherlock's pjs as he replied, "Number 12, third floor. Married to Ailsa. Prince Harry, Ms Small calls him."
Disregarding the information about Prince Harry, Rose asked, "H-how did your pyjamas get here?"
Sherlock turned around then had second thoughts. He dumped his nightwear on top of the bureau and said, "I don't need to bother with dressing until afterwards, do I?"
"Why are they here?" Rose asked suspiciously.
Sherlock tutted as he dropped the towel on a chair, then slid, completely naked, under the covers. He lay on his side facing Rose. "Isn't it obvious? Rose you really need to look at visual cues and use what you know of the world in order to reach an intelligent conclusion."
Rose sighed and lay down. "You brought them here earlier?"
"Precisely. The fact that I opened that exact drawer without hesitation and had no reaction to seeing my own garments stored among your things has made your query superfluous. I brought them to leave here along with a spare toothbrush and razor. You don't mind, do you?"
"Why would I mind?"
Sherlock shrugged. "Dunno. You seem to get upset about an extraordinary amount of ridiculous things."
Rose reached out, cupping Sherlock's face and lightly caressing his cheek with her thumb. "You're the ridiculous thing I get upset about," she said softly. She narrowed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his.
Sherlock automatically slid his arm around her, pulling Rose closer. This level of intimacy had become a reflex for him now. There was no hesitancy in obtaining what he wanted from Rose these days - to feel her soft skin and smooth curves pressed up against him. He returned her kiss briefly before he drew away, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"What?" she asked, puzzled.
"I don't understand what you're upset about."
Rose's dropped her hand to Sherlock's chest and her gaze fell as well. "I thought you might come back with pieces missing."
Sherlock chuckled again and planted a kiss on Rose's forehead. She looked at up him and he challenged in a voice pitched low, pressing himself against her, "Why don't you check? See if everything's where it's meant to be?"
"Sherlock Holmes," Rose murmured against his lips, "Are you flirting with me?"
Sherlock's lips brushed against hers again, and he brought his hand up to the nape of Rose's neck, entwining his fingers in her hair. "I never flirt."
Their lips met once more, crushing against each other in a fierce heat. Rose rolled onto her back bringing Sherlock on top of her. She wasn't completely passive but these days it was definitely Sherlock who dominated their love making. Rose was more than willing to give up the role of facilitator of sexual encounters. She was able to enjoy sex for herself; there was no need or desire to carefully manipulate the play so that she didn't become aroused, or her partner didn't get exactly what he wanted in as quick a timeframe as possible. Her needs were as important as his, and Rose relished the fact that Sherlock made her satisfaction his highest priority.
Rose's sigh was like music to Sherlock's ears. As he continued his descent he noted whenever she'd arch under his touch, press herself harder against him or murmur his name. He knew every inch of her so intimately that getting her within moments of a climax was mere child's play. She wouldn't let him take her there though, without withdrawing herself from his touch and fumbling through her bedside drawers for the protection.
Sherlock sat up suddenly and looked around as Rose's fingers grasped a random condom packet.
"Wait a minute," Sherlock said, frowning. "Where's the laptop?"
Rose tutted and placed the prophylactic on top of the nightstand. "It's Saturday night. Survey-free sex. I've decided."
Sherlock scowled. "You're ruining the study."
"You're ruining the mood," Rose countered as she lay back down again and waited expectantly for Sherlock to resume.
And so he did, and Rose was sorry she had annoyed him. He brought her to the edge three times, chuckling each time she gasped and then left her there while he turned his attention to her neck or earlobe, or anywhere else except where she wanted him to be. After the third time, Sherlock, now the expert that he was, slipped on the condom keeping Rose distracted and then plunged inside of her, enormously satisfied with the moan he elicited from her.
Rose was determined to get her own back. When they swapped positions she purposefully teased him with a slower than usual rhythm, and then she climbed from him and the bed altogether.
"Rose," Sherlock said breathlessly. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Rose looked on in surprise. It wasn't very often she'd hear Sherlock swear so impulsively.
"Getting a drink of water," she replied mischievously, and she swanned out of the bedroom.
Sherlock was momentarily shocked by this interruption to their session. Recovering quickly he shot off the bed, surprising Rose by the wall before the kitchen. He grabbed her by the arm and whirled her around.
"You're fucking kidding me," he rasped, pushing her against the wall.
Rose yelped in surprise, then saw the fire in Sherlock's eyes. She would tease him no longer. Arousal and desire cut deep within her from that gaze alone. Her arms were around him, and she pleaded, "Do you want me here?"
There was no verbal reply from Sherlock, but the hunger in his eyes was all Rose needed. His arms pulled her in roughly and he used the wall as leverage to hoist Rose upwards. Rose straddled him and Sherlock drove into her once more, the intensity sending a delicious shudder right through her.
Her head was reeling, and she initially went rigid when she felt how roughly he had taken her. Then she softened and yielded to him as his quick ragged breath cooled her neck. As her response grew, Rose moaned in satisfaction.
Desire ripped through Sherlock as Rose's mouth found his, wet and hungry. He hadn't known a need so dark and desperate. There were too many sensations raging through him, and he drove in deeper, his rhythm quickening as Rose demanded more.
She clung to him and Sherlock met her needs with an urgency that triggered a raw intense heat inside him. Hearing her gasp his name, Sherlock found himself driven beyond his ability to think and reason.
Rose gripped Sherlock's hair and dug her nails into his back as her body shuddered, the waves of her climax overwhelming and consuming her. She brought Sherlock over the edge with her, his own orgasm ripping through him, staggering him, leaving him stunned and terrified in its wake.
He pulled out of Rose and slowly released her, lowering her to the ground. They hadn't had sex with such intensity and ferocity before and it completely unnerved him - particularly the sense of abandonment and loss of control.
"Rose, I'm.. I'm sorry." His voice was thick with emotion and regret.
He moved away from her and Rose could see that he was conflicted. She reached out to reassure him, but he stepped backwards.
"No... I hurt you. I'm sorry." He backed away then turned, escaping into the bathroom and abruptly slamming the door behind him.
Rose called to him through the door, but his silence spoke volumes. She had to let him have a moment, so she went back to her bedroom, drew on her dressing gown and waited in bed.
In the bathroom, Sherlock cleaned himself up and splashed cold water onto his face. Sex doesn't alarm me, was what he thought over and over. He'd spoken those words to Mycroft, years ago now, but how could Sherlock have known what he was saying? What happened here, right now, with Rose?
They'd had sex almost every night since his return. He'd never indulged that much in his life, and he could see now it was definitely becoming addictive. Perhaps Mycroft was right after all. About everything.
He had to leave. He had to reset. He wasn't himself - he couldn't be. He'd been away too long and everything had changed.
Sherlock found that he'd left his boxers in the bathroom, so he quickly drew them on. Feeling ill, he re-entered Rose's bedroom to retrieve the rest of his clothes.
"Sherlock," Rose began, sliding from the bed and walking over to him.
"I have to go," he said quickly, without making eye contact.
Rose swiftly moved to his side. "Sherlock it's okay."
"It's not, Rose," he replied, his voice crackling under the strain, no longer strong and confident. It broke Rose's heart to see him like this.
"It really is fine. Sherlock, please." Rose placed a hand on Sherlock's arm as he made to take his shirt from its hanger. "Don't go."
Rose's eyes implored his. Sherlock swallowed hard. He'd never felt so disgusted with himself in all his life. He breathed deeply then said, "I hurt you. And it's not okay."
"But you didn't hurt me... it was just... different."
"It was primitive and base."
Rose stepped closer to Sherlock and he dropped his hand from the shirt. She gently caressed his cheek and replied, "It was spontaneous and passionate and that made it beautiful, Sherlock. It was amazing. You were amazing, and so fucking incredible."
Sherlock studied her. He didn't know what she was saying. That was beautiful? That brutish, wild, self-gratifying act?
When Sherlock continued to look remorseful Rose continued, "It was a different approach to sex. We were teasing one another, playing games with each other's emotions."
Sherlock blinked and straightened up, prompting Rose to drop her hand from his cheek. His voice was pitched low and flat as he remarked, "The last time somebody played games with my emotions I ended up leaping from a hospital rooftop."
Rose slid her arms around Sherlock's neck, and drew him closer. He bent his head, feeling completely contrite, but desperate to hear the words that would ease his guilt.
"But this is you and I," she said. "This is what we do. Tonight we had sex not in a bed, that's all."
"I thought I was too rough and I over-powered you."
"You took me by surprise. And it was completely consensual. I'm okay. You didn't hurt me." Rose caressed Sherlock's nape then kissed the corner of his downturned mouth. "Please stay. Come back to bed with me," she beckoned softly.
Sherlock nodded imperceptibly and Rose released him. She turned back to the bed and slid underneath the covers as Sherlock grabbed his pyjamas from the dresser. He pulled on his pyjama pants, feeling slightly lighter. He tried to concentrate on Rose's words. You were amazing, and so fucking incredible.
Yes, he was feeling considerably lighter.
He pulled on his t-shirt and gave Rose a tiny smile as he slid into bed next to her. Silently he put out his arm, gesturing for Rose to snuggle into his chest. He intended hugging her for a good 15 minutes. He at least owed her that much.
