Just so you know, I'm going to be putting a chapter reference for when these scenes happen within the timescale of The Game That You Learnt at the start of each of these. Hopefully, that'll make things simpler.

Two
Killed the Cat
When: 5 (Indulgence)
Warnings: Smut

The first time I saw Sherlock Holmes without his shirt on, I was more than a little surprised.

It wasn't necessarily the image of a half-naked Sherlock that surprised me, but the entire situation I had landed myself in.

It was unnerving. I wasn't a slut, I knew that. And I wasn't the type of girl who gave it up on the first date. Sure, I used to be like that. But that was in my teenage years when I'd do anything to feel connected to another human being. I had progressed in the past ten years. I was twenty eight. An adult. And my dating habits were almost normal.

Except when it came to Sherlock Holmes, it seemed.

But there was something about him, something different, something interesting. I needed to know more. I yearned for it.

So there I was, standing in the middle of some guy's flat whom I had met not three days ago, with the full intention of taking things to a slightly more intimate level. Part of me was relieved when he turned me down, fearing that I was regressing into days I didn't want to visit again. And yet I still couldn't leave it alone like I should have.

It was my own fault.

It was my choice to have lunch with him. It was my choice to go to his apartment. It was my choice not to push him away when his tongue invaded my mouth. And it was most definitely my choice to follow him upstairs.

It was dangerous and stupid, but I barely noticed the warning signs as they flashed up inside my brain. They were unimportant. What was important was how bloody unfair it was that I knew virtually nothing about this man. I needed to know. My curiosity would never be sated otherwise.

When I entered the room, he was standing by the window – not looking outside, but staring resolutely at the closed curtains. I shut the door softly and leant against it, wondering what my next move should be. I couldn't exactly just pounce on him, but at the same time I felt as if any words I were to say would surely be unnecessary. What could I have said? I was never one for bedroom talk. It was pointless.

As suddenly as he had moved earlier, he swept around and strolled towards me. This time however, he stopped several inches away. I looked into those cold calculating eyes and found myself secretly praying for him to make a move. Anything, just anything, that would lessen the distance between us. Physically and mentally, but not emotionally. I wanted to see inside that mind, but I didn't want to feel it.

Almost painfully slowly, Sherlock raised a hand and placed it on the side of my neck. His touch was warm. I didn't know why that shocked me the way it did. Had I been expecting a coldness in his skin to match that of his personality? But there it was, as warm and solid as any other person I had known.

He didn't say anything, as if he already knew of my hatred of instigating conversation, which, I corrected myself, he probably did.

The longer he stared at me, the more I couldn't take it, but the more I didn't want to look away. There was something in that gaze, something so primal and wild, yet so logical and together. It was confusing and captivating. I could see it in him – the knowledge that that was what he had done. Captured me.

He took a final step towards me, so that the clothes on our bodies were just brushing against each other, and finally, after what I had thought was far too long, he leant forwards.

His lips were soft this time, almost agonizingly so, barely pressing against mine. I knew what he was doing – I could feel it in the gentle touch of his mouth and the feeble stroking of his thumb against my throat. He was teasing me. Testing to see what I would do. This was as much of an experiment to him as it was to me. Both of our curiosities had been tempted.

I thought about playing along in his game, about letting his touch slowly taunt my senses, but I found I couldn't. It was too much. My longing was too much.

I felt his lips curve slightly upwards as I pressed further against him, forcing my mouth against his ardently. My hands had found their way to his chest, where they clutched at the silky material of his shirt. I leant into him, dissolving the air between our forms. His right hand crept further around my neck, and the soft touch was quickly replaced by a firm hold, keeping my lips on his. I felt his other hand land gracefully on the small of my back, gripping me tightly to him. His lips parted and I relished in the feeling of his tongue exploring my mouth.

Kissing Sherlock was strange. As I would soon become accustomed to when around him, he was always one step ahead, judging what to do milliseconds before I had started to adjust my body language to convey the message. But far from feeling out of my depth, as if he was taking things too fast, it seemed right. He wasn't jumping in, but merely implementing my thoughts before I had the chance to. It was as if he was reading my very thoughts.

We stumbled backwards, still in our embrace, but it was now becoming more urgent. I tugged at his shirt, pulling it loose from his waistband. His fingers had managed to find the concealed zip at the back of my pencil skirt and slid it down easily. I wiggled as he yanked the material down over my hips so that it fell to the floor in a heap. I didn't even bother undoing most of the buttons and we were forced to separate our lips for a second as I lifted his shirt over his head and discarded it flippantly.

I traced my fingers down his bare chest, delighted to find that his entire body, not just his hands, was warm and undeniably human. You could tell when you saw him dressed just how slim he was, but I had no idea how lean his entire torso would be, as if any fat simply melted away and was replaced by a thin but hard layer of muscle. His tongue began assaulting my neck, sending shivers all the way down to my toes and causing a gasp to escape my lips.

I pushed him further backwards until I heard his legs strike the end of the bed. His mouth had made it all the way down to my collarbone by the time we fell back, Sherlock not even letting out a small huff as I landed on top of him. I barely felt his fingers as they started popping open my shirt buttons, starting at the top and working their way south. Our lips connected briefly again before it was my turn to explore his throat. I finally managed to crack his cool exterior as I nibbled on his earlobe, my hands brushing over his nipples, and a moan grumbled out of his mouth. He stripped my shirt away, his hands fixing themselves on the bare flesh of my waist.

Apparently he had had enough of playing quarry and in less time than I had to register what was going on, I found myself on my back, Sherlock leaning over me, no longer half-hanging off the bed. Sherlock wanted his control. His face made it clear to me – he was in charge of this. I didn't really mind, to be honest, especially since he had found the extra sensitive spot on my lower back even before my top had come off. It had taken my last boyfriend a month to figure that out.

We sat up momentarily, as he smoothly undid the clasp to my bra and tossed it away to the side. Now his hands were free to roam my ample chest, causing a loud groan to surface from my throat as his fingers swept their way along my breasts. His lips found mine again, all pretence at gentleness abandoned. My hands moved down to his belt buckle, roughly tugging at it until it came undone. My mind was ablaze. I barely even recognised my actions as I jerked the button on his trousers undone and slid the zip down. I felt rather than saw Sherlock kick off his shoes and I quickly did the same, for once not caring what state they landed in.

His mouth left mine and he shifted downwards. I moaned as he began sucking greedily on my nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. I heaved my hips up as he pulled on my tights and knickers, forcefully rolling them down over my thighs. We both kicked at them for a few seconds until at last they slipped over my feet and onto the bed.

His tongue left my chest and he returned to my eyelevel once more. He aided my attempts at removing his trousers, shaking them free of his long legs, his boxer shorts gone with them. Neither of us had the patience to wait anymore. Our bodies were both burning with want. My right hand twisted itself up in his dark hair, pulling his face down so that we could share another desperate kiss.

His hands were pushing my thighs apart. His stance was adapting for his next move.

Something snapped in my head and I suddenly put a hand to his chest and pushed him away. He frowned at me as he hovered above, his eyes portraying his confusion.

"Do you have a condom?" I asked, grateful that I had at least managed to keep enough of my brain cells intact to remember that important detail.

His jaw tightened. "Does it look like I have a condom?"

My eyes narrowed and I gritted my teeth together. Even at a moment like this, he could still manage to be a giant arse.

"Yes or no." I asked very slowly, my pride battling furiously with my lust to let me kick him in the jewels. At the moment, neither side was winning.

His face remained stern as he answered clearly. "No."

Fuck.

I let out a monumental sigh and turned my head upwards to stare at the headboard, more than a small part of me whining like a little kid inside. Sherlock obviously got the message as, without saying another word, he rolled off of me and flopped onto the bed beside me. I shifted my gaze to him. He looked more than a little upset. And so was I, actually. And certain parts of my anatomy were being extremely vocal in their complaints.

We had come all this way. We were so close. But it looked like there would be no cigar.

I shut my eyes and grimaced. My body could not stand being teased like that.

I practically jumped off the bed and began yanking on my skirt. "There's a chemist's down the road, right?"

Sherlock raised his head to watch me, the tiniest hint of a frown crossing his forehead. "Yes."

"Well, then," I said breathlessly, slipping into my shirt and hurriedly doing the buttons up. After fumbling for a minute, not being aided by the fact that I got the buttons in the wrong holes the first time, I walked around the bed, leant down, and gave Sherlock a small peck on the lips. I hopped over to the door, fixing on my heels with one hand, while freeing my lopsided hair from its clip with the other. "I'll be back in five minutes."

I couldn't help but chuckle at Sherlock's commanding words as I walked out of the room, closing the door behind me.

"Make it three."

Haha. Sorry, couldn't resist putting that last bit in.

Thanks for the reviews last time! Again again again?

Ok, teletubbies not exactly the right thing to think about after a chap like that.