"Just let me say my goodbyes, and you can take me where you will."

Sherlock was gazing out of the window of the taxi, pondering her simple statement and the layers of meaning it possessed. He recognized that Tessa might misinterpret his silence for disquiet, but his mind was in unexpected tumult and he needed to think these things quite through. He had known for some time that his affection for Tessa had grown beyond anything he had previously experienced for a woman. Well, there had been that business with Irene Adler, and yes—if forced to—he could admit that he had been as attracted to her physically as he had been to her mind, deliciously deep and devious as it had turned out to be. But in the end, her true hard-heartedness, and her involvement in the intrigues of James Moriarity, had been abhorrent to him. Solving her mystery had been the only satisfying thing that came out of that "relationship", and he couldn't even find it in himself to feel sorry for her plight at its resolution.

And just lately there had been dreams in which he had from Tessa things he knew she'd been longing to give to him. These were the first such dreams he'd had since the callowness of his youth. Waking from them now, he swiftly dismissed them, seeking as always the discipline of detachment, doing his best to ignore the physical ache they left behind. As Tessa sat beside him in the cab, her hand nestled in his, Sherlock wondered if she'd been having dreams along the same lines.

Tessa remained practically speechless as well, very nearly holding her breath, still thunderstruck at the bold hunger of Sherlock's kiss, and now at his quiet. Instinctively she felt they had taken a giant step forward; but he was so unlike any man she'd ever grown close to, that she couldn't trust completely in that assessment. Viewing it in terms Sherlock himself would favor…..she needed further evidence before drawing the conclusion her heart was hoping for.

Arriving at her flat, Sherlock discharged the cab, pausing on the sidewalk as it pulled away. He had still barely spoken, his brow knit in thought. Yet he placed a hand on the small of her back (not knowing, even now, how that simple gesture always sent a thrill of happiness coursing through Tessa's body), guiding her to the door, standing close as she unlocked it.

They'd barely closed the door to her flat, when he had pulled her into his arms, with a passion she had seldom seen him muster. Again, it was the most urgent of kisses, as though it was a need, rather than just a want. Tessa kissed him back with the same fire, but then she lived for those moments to kiss him thusly.

As exciting and wonderful as it felt, Tessa still couldn't help but question exactly why he was so suddenly zealous. Her lips burned from his fervor, and she needed to know why. She managed to pull back, catching her breath, laying her hand aside his cheek to get him to concentrate on what she had to say.

"What's this?" she asked, a bit fretful, "Something's changed, hasn't it?"

Sherlock's eyes appeared dazed, but slowly came to focus on her. "Yes." He looked down, then back at her, clearly searching for the right way to answer. His voice held a rawness that heightened her concern. "I'm ready now, if you want me; if you want to show me the way."

Of all the things Tessa might've expected, this was the least. Astonished, she closed her eyes, trying to calm the happy racing of her heart.

"Oh my darling," she told him, licking her lips, her voice pitched to sooth, "It's really only a little farther now….." She trailed off, seeing his expression made him look conflicted. Yet his answer to her was firm, "I know."

"But what's changed?" she asked softly.

Sherlock took a moment to find the right words. "Watching you tonight, seeing you in your element. Not just the stage, but among your friends, your company." He gave a huff of a laugh, remembering, " God, how you sparkled! The finest of diamonds. How those men looked at you." His eyes were locked on hers.

Tessa tilted her head slightly, treading with care, this new ground, "Sherlock, you can't be jealous, can you?"

"No." He drew a heavy breath, looked away a moment and then continued, "I think I saw myself, in their faces. Do I look that way? Hungry at the table, but waiting to be allowed to dine?" His expression was almost desperate, and Tessa couldn't help but reach for him, touch his face, make him see the truth of it, "You've never had to wait, you know," she reminded him, gentle with understanding, "I've been waiting for you"

"I know" He could see his revelation had touched her deeply, her eyes wide with wonder, her mouth open in surprise. "But I'm ready now for my fill—of everything you've been offering me…."

Neither moved or broke the weighty silence. The pivotal moment having arrived at last, Tessa wanted only to do right by this man who had finally reached the crossroads where she'd been lingering, hoping for him to join her. She had craved him for a while now, but his vulnerability as he stood before her, was enough to give her pause. This was now as much a matter of his heart and what he needed, as an answer to mutual physical desire. Tessa felt the responsibility settle around her own heart, and knew she could give him the things, perhaps, no one ever had.

Tessa felt tears prickle at her eyes, as the wonder of the moment filled her. She was slow, deliberate, as she kissed his cheek, then whispered, "You can trust me, Sherlock. Let's find the way together." She felt him release some of the tension that had held him rigid, as his arms completed an embrace about her. He breathed deeply, his face against her hair, until she tipped her head back in order to look at him. Sherlock appeared calmer now, and she parted her lips in a small but knowing smile, then began kissing his mouth tenderly. His kisses matched hers, measure for measure, and he clasped her closer still to him.

As the minutes passed, Tessa teased his mouth with her lips and tongue, their breaths mingling until he moaned softly into her mouth. Sherlock managed a whispered "Tessa", before she broke the kiss, so to tell him "Come with me," running a hand down from his shoulder, all along his arm, to take his hand. He followed without a word.

Tessa led him into her bedroom, the one room of her flat he'd never been in before. In the darkness, he cupped her face in his hands, kissing her ever more eagerly. All his past reticence had disappeared, replaced with an urgency Tessa had yearned for so long to have him feel. Sherlock was murmuring as his lips caressed her neck "So soft….so warm….my dear Tessa…."; to hear him thus made her feel like her knees might buckle and she would simply have to melt into him. That would be soon enough, she realized, but for his sake she needed to slow things a bit.

She had to say his name twice before he heard her. The light from the hallway was dim and it left his face in shadow, but Tessa could feel she had his attention, mayhap fleetingly in the rush of his desires. "The lights?" she asked him, "Do you want leave off the lights?"

She heard his quick intake of breath, and knew he had paused to consider it, before asking her, "What do you want?"

Everything and more, was her first thought, everything we've waited so long for. You, only you. Her answer was simpler, "I want to see you, Sherlock. Oh how I do." Tessa let go of his hand, and moved to the vanity; she switched on the small lamp there, and then picked up a silken scarf and let it flutter down over the shade. Turning to face him, she asked, "There, that softens it a bit, don't you think?"

In the low light, Tessa was struck anew by his masculine beauty, the dark mass of curls his crown, the singular mystery of his blue eyes, the ruddiness of his skin upon his cheekbones, coloured now with wanting her. Again, she felt weak, but the best kind of weakness, for she knew there was a strength in him she could depend on, just as she had tried to show him time and again that he could depend upon her. When she started towards him, Sherlock moved to meet her, reaching for her. They came together at the side of her bed, but before he could hold her, she laid a hand on his chest. There was one more thing she needed, for his sake more than her own.

They had never discussed the topic, and what small knowledge she had of his past relationships—derived from off-hand comments he had made—left her with the clear impression his experience was rare. "Sherlock," she said carefully, sensitive to his pride, "you have done this before, haven't you?" Tessa didn't want to embarrass him, but she needed to know for certain, for surely it would affect how she should proceed.

He showed no surprise at her query, hesitating only a moment before answering, "Truthfully, not with a woman grown. And frankly, not very well." Sherlock looked down, and when he raised his face, he wore that half-smile that had charmed her from the first, one of the dozens of things that had fated her to lose her heart to him so thoroughly. "Those few times were perfunctory, really," he said wryly, "I was little more than a boy myself."

"Sixth Form?" Tessa smiled to think of him so young, wondering what he had been like and thinking he had to have been just as beautiful as the man before her.

Sherlock nodded his head, "Yes, and University." He continued, a faint tone of self-deprecation in his commentary, "It was expected by then, you know…"

That was all Tessa needed to hear, making her wish all the more to give him the many things he clearly had been denying himself. She shook her head, sighing with the longing she felt to satisfy him.

And so it was-Tessa moved behind him, reaching around for the lapels of his jacket, slowly sliding it off of him. Sherlock stood quietly, eyes closed, plainly lost in the feeling of it all. She draped the jacket on the post at the bottom of the bed. Leaving one hand on his shoulder, she completed the circle, to stand before him again. He opened his eyes to look down at her; Tessa's gaze never wavered, even as she began to unbutton his shirt. She pulled his shirttails loose, and undid the last button, beginning to kiss the expanse of his chest, her hands sweeping slowly, steadily down to his waist. Sherlock remained still, breathing long and deep, at her caresses.

"Wait,"he said, as he touched her chin lightly, tilting her face up so he could see her as he spoke. "Didn't you say 'skin against skin', 'nothing between us'?

Tessa closed her eyes, giving a little gasp of surprise, then saying, "You remembered." It was only the truth, but Sherlock could see how moved it had made her, the softness of her face beautifully tinged with all the longing she had never really hidden from him. At last it was time for Tessa to act on her desires, and for Sherlock to share those things he had suppressed for too long.

He laid the back of his fingers against her cheek, Tessa leaning into his touch with a sigh. "Oh, I remember everything about you" he told her, glad to finally share what he had been holding close, his apprehension of admitting how much she had come to mean to him finally dissolving. She opened her eyes, dazed, as he continued, deliberate so she would feel his full meaning, "Every word you speak. Everything you do."

At that, she took a step back and lifted her blouse over her head, letting it fall to the floor. The dusty rose lace that covered her breasts left little to his imagination. Sherlock, marveling at the sight, whispered "Good god, you're beautiful." Tessa's mouth curved slightly, thrilled at his reaction; she answered breathlessly, "So are you".

Any need Sherlock had for control was gone. Tessa was—and had been for some time—his, and he claimed her willingly now, pulling her to him with haste, kissing her madly, her face, her neck, her shoulders; his hands sliding up her back from her waist, his elegant hands splayed across her shoulder blades, undoing her bra and sliding the straps clear of her shoulders, as she held tight against him, covering his skin with her softest kisses yet. Sherlock paused to look at her again, his eyes lingering on her breasts, seen for the first time in the muted light, then he crushed Tessa to him, reveling in the feel her skin on his, and fulfilling that wish she once had made.

His kisses became hungry and probing, for he wanted every part of her now. Tessa's mouth and hands were as fervent as his, and she fitted herself against him, game to his will, the little sounds of her pleasure encouraging him on. Sherlock's hands on her waist, searched for the zipper of her skirt and finding it, eased it down, careful not to catch her precious skin, sliding the skirt from her hips, so it too landed on the floor; Tessa stood naked in his arms, but for the satin cloth of her panties.

She had found his zipper as well, and pulled it down, biting his lip softly as she did, utterly disrupting his focus, dizzying him, making him pant out her name. Tessa reached beneath his trousers to feel him through his boxers; Sherlock gasped in surprise and pleasure at her bold grasp; Tessa gasped in delight at what she discovered was in store for her; she caressed him through the fabric, her desire to please him clear. He began to wonder if he might even last enough for them to couple.

Perhaps Tessa sensed this, for she lightened her touch, moving her other hand up to his shoulder, boosting herself enough to whisper in his ear. "Now, Sherlock," her warm breath in the hollow of his ear, "take off my panties, please." He immediately slid his hands down her back, cupping her bottom, sliding them off of her, then rose back up to face her again; as he did so, he brought one hand to linger between her thighs. Her eyes widened, her pupils dilated in the muted light. "Dear god…" she crooned, overcome by his touch.

Sherlock's senses were alive in ways beyond their normal range. He tasted the salt of her skin, felt the tremble of her lips and hands as they explored him, relished each breath and little sound she made as though they were the finest of music. As she kissed the hollow of his neck, Tessa put a single finger under the waistband of his boxers, running it along the length of his abdomen, then back again, coming to rest her fingers below his navel, slowly working her way downward, brushing against his erection, delicate touches that only increased the heat he was feeling there. His head falling back, Sherlock closed his eyes, giving a guttural moan.

When Tessa broke that contact, Sherlock opened his eyes to see she had lain across the bed. He needed no further prompting. Her pushed his trousers and boxers to the floor, and knelt on the bed above her. Tessa rose up onto one elbow, reaching for him; as if reading his mind, she took that part of him fully in hand, her cool skin soft against his hot steel. He exhaled forcefully, his mouth a wide O of ecstasy, then he came down over her,hands on either side, but letting her lead. Tessa's face and neck were flushed with excitement and she was breathing shallowly in anticipation. She pulled him gently down upon her, the closest they had ever been. Bending her knees to accommodate him, she guided him where they both burned for him to be. Tessa paused with him against her cleft; he could feel she was more than ready; but she took that moment to make sure his eyes were on hers. "I want to see you," she said, her voice low, breathy with yearning, "I want to feel what you feel. I want to please you." Sherlock, in the heat of his desire, couldn't find words to respond to her declaration; instead he nodded his head slightly, his eyes still on hers, and she slid him inside of her at last.

Sherlock's body shuddered at the sudden, delicious sensation, the feel of her enveloping him. It had never been this divinely overwhelming with the others he had known. The heat and the wet of her swallowing him, driving him on. Tessa moaned with each of his thrusts, moving under him, with him in perfect sync.

She soon wrapped her legs around him, allowing him to penetrate her more deeply. Her hands were on his loins, pulling him in. "Oh yes," she said, breathing raggedly "yes, oh yes. I've wanted you like this for so long. Please. Don't stop. I need you…"

Their kisses were sloppy now, messy, greedy, on mouths, on necks, shoulders, chests. Hands moved to tangle in one another's hair, then back again to hips and thighs, longing, grasping, seeking satisfaction as much as to satisfy.

Sherlock could feel his climax growing ever nearer. He didn't want it to happen so soon, but he knew he couldn't stop it. This first time with her, he had no control; his mind no longer the driver, his body responding to the stimulation as nature intended. "Tessa," he panted, "I…I can't hold back…it will be soon…"

"I don't want you to hold back" she gasped with pleasure, "Don't stop. Fill me. Oh please, I want to feel all of it." Her cheek, always so soft against his, seemed to smolder with the friction of their movements. He wanted more time, more time to relish each sensation he was feeling, but that was no longer possible. Involuntarily, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut as he gave over to the momentum hurtling him forward.

And then all his being was focused on the place they were connected so intimately, and he exploded and flowed into her, after all those years of the ascetic life he'd chosen for himself. In those moments, he was unaware of time or place, only being and harmony and release. Tessa was speaking softly, tremulously, against his ear "Oh Sherlock, yes, yes my darling, yes.", but he couldn't even fix upon that.

Spent at the last, his breath heaving and then slowing, he opened his eyes to find her looking up at him languorously. It was still a little bit until he could speak, and when he did, his voice sounded deeper in his ears than he'd ever noticed, asking her, "I…um…did you…?"

Tessa closed her eyes as a small smile lit her face. "Yes, yes I did." She opened them again, "And it was heavenly." She began to tenderly kiss his cheek, his jawline, his neck. Sherlock, relaxed already, savored her sweetness.

He kissed her forehead softly, and found himself asking "Why ever did we wait this long?" Tessa smiled in full, laughing gently, "You said it was a courtship." She bit her lip, her eyes alight with amusement. Sherlock broke into a wide grin, "I did, didn't I?" starting to laugh as well, the deep, hearty laugh she'd told him had captured her attention at their beginning.

Tessa gave a little gasp of disappointment as Sherlock withdrew from her. Of all they had just shared, he found that to be the dearest of moments; that even satisfied, she didn't want to let him go. He moved to lay by her side, facing her as she turned to him. Lovers now, they twined their free hands together, each memorizing the other's look of content.

They spoke very little in the minutes that followed, satisfied to breathe each other in, sharing quiet kisses and whispered endearments. Neither was ready for sleep, preferring this waking dream to any other.

Their lovemaking so far different from the rushed and clumsy encounters of his youth, it surprised Sherlock to find he was growing aroused again already. The need not yet as strong, but his pulse was quickening and he felt a wonderful urge to sink into whatever his body was telling him. Tessa's head on his shoulder, his head inclined against hers, he could not stop from asking, "So, my dear…" he felt her head move a fraction as she paid him close attention, "how long until we can go again?"

His earnest question made her purr pleasantly, as she scattered kisses on his neck and shoulder. There was a hint of happy laughter as she answered, "My darling, it's all your timetable."

"Well that's," he waited as he cupped her breast, kissing her brow, then her eyelids, letting his mouth hover near hers, saying "….mmmm….so good to know…"

This time, Nature did not master him; rather, Sherlock controlled the pace, taking at leisure the things that passed in that earlier rush. There was time to delight in each move and moment, Tessa yielding to him beautifully. Buried deep inside her, murmuring "my sweet, sweet Tessa", she gripped him even tighter, asking him to call her his. When he did, she ground even harder against him, her moans increasing in intensity, until she cried out his name—once, twice, thrice-in utter abandon, as wave upon wave of her orgasm took her, bringing Sherlock to his.

He realized as they lay entangled in the aftermath, that it had not only been the way Tessa had given herself over to him so completely, not only the power of those physical sensations, that had driven him to his own climax, but as much and perhaps more, the way she had cried out his name as she came. From the depths of her soul it had seemed, as though he was the very center of her world. If Sherlock had asked her, Tessa would have told him it was exactly so

Tessa still lay on her back, visibly weary, but content. Sherlock leaned above her, wanting to commit how she looked to memory, a treasure to keep for colder days when she might be far from his side. In his astonishment, he tallied the lovely details; her dazed, unfocused eyes, the red of her cheeks where his stubble had burned against them, her kiss-engorged lips, her shallow breathing-made her the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Sherlock told her so, and Tessa looked away, her lashes hiding her eyes from him, "Please," she said softly, "Sherlock, please don't say such things." She looked back at him, seeming to be embarrassed by his unabashed compliment.

Sherlock laid his hand against her cheek, intent that she see his statement was entirely heartfelt, "I have to say it, Tessa. It's the truth."

She held his gaze, perhaps probing his sincerity. What Tessa saw in his eyes brought a slow, sweet smile to her face. Yet she looked sleepy, worn out by their passions. Sherlock knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from wanting her yet again, and soon, but he could see she was fading fast to sleep.

Smiling still, she ran her fingers lovingly through the curls upon his brow, the roots damp from their exertions. "You're like the sun to me," Tessa murmured quietly, "and I'm just this little piece of flotsam, caught now in your gravity…", she trailed off with a small yawn, closing her eyes as sleep at last overtook her.

Sherlock kissed her cheek tenderly, before laying back beside her, closing his eyes as well, falling swiftly into the most satisfied sleep of his life, knowing without her speaking the actual words, that he was finally, deeply and truly, loved.

(their love story continues in The Best Laid Plans...)