Chapter 13
Sherlock stood up abruptly and, smirking slightly, walked to her kitchen; "I'll make some food then shall I?" he called back and began putting lettuce into a bowl.
He was cutting up tomatoes when her hands wrapped around his wrists, preventing him from continuing. Her mouth caressed his ear and she whispered,
"Mr Holmes, this game is over. We both know that."
Sherlock's next action came almost naturally. It felt like they'd been holding something back for the months, years maybe, that they'd known each other. Now, as usual, was the most inconvenient time for Sherlock to think about losing the game, but that didn't stop him. He turned, dropping the knife and holding onto Irene with the other.
They stared at each other for a long while, both of them curious. What was in the other's head?
Sherlock' thoughts were quickly brought to an end when they heard a knock on the front door, but Irene kept him pinned against the kitchen counter.
"You know what? As much as it pains me to say it; I'm not hungry" she smiled and didn't move. Sherlock also, finally, smiled. His smile didn't belong to him. It belonged to the woman leaning him against the counter. Hopefully not as feminine or dominatrix-like but not at all the same Sherlock Holmes sneer.
This time it was him that leaned much closer so they were millimetres apart.
"Good"
As Irene smiled, Sherlock leaned forward and their lips finally met. It was hardly romantic or sweet.
Sherlock's lips, far more inexperienced than Irene's explored her own. He let his mouth open a bit, letting her tongue invade. No. Not at all loving. It was hot and wet and far more sudden than either of them had realised.
Irene bit his lip gently and his hands moved to her waist and his head moved down to kiss her neck.
She was not entirely surprised by his feigned "expertise". She'd known he'd be a fast learner from the beginning and, more worryingly, a strong contender to be the one in power. He hands slid down lower and, taking her weigh in his arms, sat her on the counter top.
Their kisses had become longer and almost violent, leaving each other breathless but still unsatisfied and still ravenous.
Irene's hands were now wrapped around his neck whilst his moved up her legs, intent on exploring her entire body.
Irene smiled to herself as she let his skilled violin-playing fingers battle with the buttons on the back of her dress.
She was also dissatisfied with his current attire. He was still stubbornly wearing his coat, jacket, shirt…far too many clothes.
He let out a small, painful groan pulled him closer, pressing herself against his chest and preventing him from breathing properly. She slid of his coat and jacket and let them drop to the floor just as Sherlock triumphed over the final button.
"You're wearing my favourite shirt" her voice was as soft as the silky purple shirt he wore and she nibbled his ear playfully.
"Is that a problem?" Sherlock had begun slowly sliding her dress down pass her shoulders revealing a bare chest and red lacy underwear that matched the colour of the chess pieces at home.
"Let me re-phrase. You're still wearing my favourite shirt" Irene smirked again and her hands, soft against his face, skimmed through his tangle of dark hair. Her mouth moved to his neck. She kissed it harder and bit it slightly leaving an obvious mark. Irene grinned to herself. She wanted to leave as many marks on Sherlock as she could. Someone would notice soon enough.
Sherlock was still concentrating on her dress. He pulled it further down her legs until it finally fell to the floor to join his pile of clothes. Without wasting time he began kissing her shoulders, her neck, her chest, her breasts, which were now heaving as her breathing got heavier. Irene's body shivered a little with pleasure each time he kissed her and she ran her hands along his chest. Their lips returned momentarily to each other as the tension grew. Irene could feel his erection against her and her growing sense of impatience must have shown because Sherlock smiled and caressed her spine.
Irene wrapped her legs around Sherlock's waist and unbuttoned his shirt, kissed one of his cheekbones and admired his torso. It wasn't immensely muscular but he was far from scrawny.
Sherlock's mouth closed around her breast and caused her breaths to shorten and a quiet moan to escape her lips.
Sherlock had by this time decided to take her to a more comfortable place than the kitchen. He picked her up again, one hand stroking her hair and carried her out. He was aiming for her bedroom but Irene leant her weight against him, pushing his back against the wall. She freed one of her hands to let it fight with his belt and zipper. Eventually, Sherlock's trousers had also been abandoned on the floor and they were instead in the sitting room they'd been in five minutes ago.
Sherlock lay Irene on the sofa and again worked down her body, feeling her grow hotter to his touch.
Irene was more or less clawing his own pants down his legs and Sherlock descended properly on her.
Sherlock's eyes flashed with recognition at the glint in her eye and he pressed her hands down against the sofa, pinning her down.
His head moved back down and he nuzzled between her legs. This made her entire body jerk with pleasure. He ran his tongue in and out of her, making her moan louder. He increased the speed until Irene was almost writhing underneath him, breaking a sweat.
Sherlock looked up at her face, he knew she was on the verge of climaxing but he wanted to tease her. She made some impatient noises of protest but Sherlock cut her off by kissing her again, on the mouth this time.
The tension grew even more but Irene wanted more control. She rolled him over, as a result ending up on the floor on top of him. Irene laughed as Sherlock grunted with pain and her legs rose again up his waist so she was straddling him but purposefully hovering over his crotch, purposefully making him suffer as much as she just had.
He stroked his fingers through her hair and, when he could bare it no longer, thrust into her. Her body made another jolt and she rocked her hips forwards and backwards making both of them groan with satisfaction.
Sherlock's hands clutched her tighter as he moved faster, thrusting into her and receiving increasingly louder renditions of her text alert noise in return. Irene's nails scratched his chest and neck as he pounded into her.
Sherlock rolled her over again, Irene gasping. He let out several badly concealed strangled cries of pleasure as he kept plunging into her.
He was still speeding up, making whatever speech she had intended, turn into more moaning and kissing her breasts again when she came, hard, accompanied by a loud gasp.
Sherlock still hadn't orgasmed yet and he continued, almost violently, Irene's body curved into his own, clawing his back as he finally came too.
His hot, sweaty body collapsed onto hers and they lay there, weak and limp, for a while panting, their breath still too heavy for speech.
They both had some marks on their own bodies. Irene knew that the pleasure was worth the pain but Sherlock was worried someone would put two and two together and make Irene.
Still panting slightly, Sherlock clambered up, his mind completely blank for once, pants in hand and left the room to rescue his other clothes. As he slid his leg into his trousers Irene appeared again in the doorway.
"You were supposed to beg for mercy darling" her face was mischievous once more.
Sherlock smiled a little, doing up his belt, "Twice, if I'm not mistaken."
She brushed past him and returned to the kitchen to dress herself; "Another time then Mr Holmes."
They dressed silently and, perhaps slightly reluctantly bid each other farewell, acting as if all they'd done was drink tea together.
Sherlock left briefly turning to say "Until next time Irene."
She smiled. He hadn't noticed her slip something into his pocket and also…Irene. He'd always addressed her as Miss Adler or The Woman. Although each of those titles carried more power, she preferred the use of her firs name.
When Sherlock got home he found John typing on his laptop.
"You look a little...windswept considering it's the middle of summer." Sherlock said nothing.
"How'd the case go? You lost your harpoon..?"
Sherlock repressed a smirk and, ignoring John, walked to his room and closed the door. He sat down on his bed. He wasn't what he was meant to do now. Part of him was angry with himself. He had given in. Lost. Bloody sentiment. But she'd lost too. Was she annoyed as well? Sherlock doubted Irene was regretting anything at the moment. Had she planned this? Almost definitely. Should he contact her?
Sherlock wondered briefly if John had suspected anything. Irene hadn't exactly been gentle with him. Were there any traces of fifteen minutes ago?
He ran his hand over his face and neck. There were definitely some scratches and possibly some sort of bite mark but his coat collar had obscured that.
He felt something hard in his pocket and he reached into it.
When he pulled it out he saw a red queen lying in his hand. The final piece of his set. It didn't take a consulting detective to work out who the red queen was meant to represent. He turned it over in his hand and spotted a small etching on the bottom;
You lose.
Sherlock's expression switched between a smirk and exasperation. She had planned the whole thing in her devious mind and he'd fallen for it. No. They both had. He put the queen back in his pocket when an oh-so familiar text alert noise rang through his bedroom.
Looking forward to round 2-IA
Sherlock looked inquisitively down at his phone. Was she going somewhere now or was it jus another one of her suggestive texts? His eyebrows knitted together in concentration. She was still as impossible as ever.
It turned out that he was right about the text. He never did see her again. Only the occasional "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Birthday" blessed his phone with the moaning sound, ringing through 221B Baker Street.
Sherlock carried the queen around with him as some sort of good luck charm, John assumed. When it wasn't in his pocket it was locked safely away in the top draw with her old phone.
Sherlock became bored once more, only when the odd interesting case came along could he focus his mind on other things. John seemed to have finally met his match and eventually moved out, repeatedly promising to visit often and stay in touch. These promises were short-lived soon after he and Mary Morstan were married. Sherlock was ultimately persuaded to attend the wedding. Best man was apparently an important role and John was very insistent.
Sherlock remained in 221B, solving cases on his own once more whilst John occasionally updated him on his countless offspring.
Sherlock had been absorbing himself in more and more dangerous cases until finally he was facing a cliff edge, Sebastian Moran pointing a rifle at him.
Sherlock had decided never to tell John. He had his own life now and would surely have forgotten Sherlock by now…
Moran did not see Sherlock's hunched, bloody sleeve produce a phone and send one final text before he plummeted to his inevitable death.
Goodbye Miss Adler-SH
He raised his foot out over the edge just as he heard the gunshot.
After a few moments, Sherlock turned to see Moran's body lying on the ground, a bloody red spot in the back of his head.
Sherlock looked around but everything was surrounded in mist.
His phone moaned.
Ready for Round 2?-IA
The End
I hope this wasn't as cheesy as I thought it was. If it was sorry…
Whether you enjoyed this or not please review. If you do please also leave another fan-fic suggestion. It doesn't have to be Sherlock it can be anything and I'll try my best to write another one.
Now go read something good dammit!