Notes: Again, sorry for the delay. Baby Schmiezi does not require that much sleep any longer. This is wonderful, but also time consuming. ;-)
Tomorrow I start working full-time again, with Baby Schmiezi and Mr Schmiezi staying at home. It is rather likely that the next chapters will take some time to come online.
Thank you for everybody who read on anyway. I'll do my best to hurry a little. Probably have my pupils working quietly a lot so I can sketch the next chapter. :-)))
Of course Mycroft deduces what happened in the bathroom but does not say a word. (Not that he needs to, his face is talking about his disdain loud enough.)
Janine also knows (but won't mention it to Mary. Many little hints in her behaviour tell me that somehow, some time ago Mary got the wrong side of Janine. Interesting. Need to investigate further.)
Mary sleeps for another two hours, and when she comes back into the living room, I am finally able to control my manic grin. The fact that John immediately switches to concerned husband makes it easy.
Now that the Moriarty Enigma has become less enigmatic, investigations proceed well. At least inside my head. Am not a team player, so I ignore everybody and consider our options of how to go on from here. When I am finished with determining new markers and made the necessary changes on my evidence wall, I am alone in the flat. Not an extraordinary incident, but the thought of John leaving without my noticing bothers me.
Problem: cannot simply text him and apologize. (Mary secretly reads his texts.) Need to rephrase it. So instead of saying sorry I ask about Mary's well being. The content of the text is irrelevant anyway. Only need to know how fast John answers to know if he is understanding or angry. Answer comes twenty-three seconds later. (Understanding!)
Relieved, I decide to go to bed. So many nights with nightmares have left me more tired that I care to admit. The second I lie down, I realize that Mary's smell is on the pillows and the duvet and the sheets. Wish it was John's smell. I could lie for hours and just smell John. Did that when he was living here again, before moving back to her.
Did that also long before he knew I love him. Had to sneak up into his bedroom and always remember to rearrange the sheets of his bed when leaving again.
But now Mary is everywhere. How symbolic. Think of how she has rested here, body swollen and tired, while John was giving me a wank in the bathroom. Try to feel boastful and victorious, but only manage to feel offended by the lingering of her smell.
Tiredness pulls me into pre-sleep soon enough. My body struck down with exhaustion, my mind uncontrollably racing. A dreadful state of mind. There is genius lurking in my thoughts when I'm like this. There is also madness lurking.
Tonight, it is genius. After mere seconds, the Moriarty Enigma partly unravels with new clarity, and I realize a fundamental mistake with my markers. There is no way I am going to heave my body out of bed again, so instead I conjure up the evidence wall inside my mind palace. It is placed in a room that looks just like our (mine? our!) living room here in Baker Street, only that there is a lot of John's stuff lying around. (Remember briefly how I realized years ago how much it meant to me that John's stuff was spread everywhere. Meant that he lived here. Meant that he liked being with me.)
But Mary's smell invades my mind palace, and before long, my inner Mary appears, t-shirt with arrow, fake smile and all. "Sherlock," she says, admiration in her voice, "I am so impressed at how well your mind is working on the case while John is sharing a bed with me."
All thoughts about the case shatter instantly. My stomach reduced to a hard ball of dread. Damn it. Damn her. Damn the situation. Damn my insecurity. If only …
"Maybe you are over-estimating the threat your real self is to him," another voice counters. My inner John.
(Mildly surprised at his appearance. Usually he serves to discuss theories and leads with me. Well, discuss. To be brutally honest, I need him to listen to my theories in awe.)
Today, my subconsciousness has other plans with him. He swiftly steps by my side and places a possessive hand on my shoulder. (Always love that in real life.) Inner Mary looks like she is ready to murder any one of us, but before she can answer, he goes on, "Maybe he knows exactly that my real self is longing to be with him right now." (Do I know?)
Mary opens her mouth again, but inner John interjects once more, delivers the final blow, "Or is real me doing that to real you right now, Mary?" Before I can even wonder what my mind has in mind now, he grabs me by my shoulders, pulls me close and kisses me. Hard and ruthless. Were we real, I would have bruises on my shoulders soon.
Would love to take a boastful look at inner Mary now, but inner John's hand wanders into my hair and pulls, strong, steady. It hurts, but brilliantly so. Fixes my head so I am helplessly at his mercy. He assaults my lips forcefully, leaves a harsh stubble burn on my cheeks, leaves my legs wobbly with desire.
"Oh please," I hear inner Mary snorting, "is that all there is inside your mind, Sherlock? A funny little kinky kiss? I always thought ..." I never get to hear the rest of the sentence, for inner Mary's voice dies when John yanks me around, presses me against the evidence wall.
"So, this is how you want it sometimes?" he asks, a bit amused, and forces his tongue inside my mouth before I can answer. Yes, God yes. I gasp for air, my scalp tingling, my back burning. Briefly wonder what my real body is doing right now, because inner me is hard as can be.
Real John gets rough sometimes, but only in the heat of passion. Never controlled like that. He has never caused me pain on purpose. I never told him how I am longing to ask him for it sometimes. "Pants down," inner John orders in his Baskerville facility command voice. My body obeys without hesitation. While I get rid of my trousers, inner John strips me off my shirt, and within seconds I am naked in front of him.
He smirks at my erection and grabs my balls. Mirrors what inner Mary did to me once, on the rooftop, but this time it fills me with pleasure and pain and ecstasy. "No cuddling this time, pretty boy," he hisses into my ear and kisses me again. Then, while one of his hands is still holding a streak of my curls, the other moves down my throat to my chest and pinches one of my nipples. Hard.
I close my eyes and cannot help but groan, feral, deep. Only groaned like that once in real life. Made John come instantly. Not inner John. He just smiles, that dangerous mischievous smile.
When I open my eyes again, the room has changed. Boring decent wallpaper, boring decent carpet, boring decent plants in front of boring decent curtains. It takes me a second to realize we're in John's and Mary's bedroom. Where real John is lying by his wife's side right now. The utmost symbol of that I've nearly lost him for good.
Wonder if I should be ashamed of the fact that this arouses me further. No time to contemplate. For inner John (when did he get naked?) is still completely in charge. "Down" he commands, and pushes me onto the bed before I can obey.
I am so hard now that I wonder if I will come instantly the next time he touches me anywhere. "Don't you dare" he murmurs and starts sucking my throat. Would leave incredible love bites in reality. Am I still breathing? No idea.
Feel my body squirming. Can't stop it, am beyond control and loving it. All of sudden, he jerks my hair again so that my head is turned to the left. Inner Mary is standing there, watching us in speechless outrage. God, how much more aroused can I get before dying of heart attack? "She will watch us until the end," inner John explains. Now, please, now now now.
Try to breath and fail. Try to control my flailing arms and fail. Try to find words and fail.
He is sucking my throat again, and at the same time spreads my legs. Real John is too small to … Again, thought is lost, as I realize that inner John is not going to spend too much time on opening me. Try to swallow and fail. Within less than a minute he is inside me, hard and big and oh yes oh yes.
His hand is still holding on to my curls, and every thrust of his hips moves my helpless body forward a bit and pulls at the root of my hair and sends waves of pain and lust through my head. Feel boneless and thoughtless and helpless and fearless and if he stops now I will loose my mind.
Feel John (inner John! Inner John!) shift his body slightly and then touch my penis without breaking the rhythm of the overwhelming thrusts. Think my head bumps against the ridiculous head-rest of their bed but am not sure. Am screaming now, body stiffening, arching, leaning deeper and deeper into the thrusting, wanting it wanting him wanting it nownownownow -
Heat pulsating, body slackening, brain burnt out. Panting. Sweat on my skin. Spent. Used. Fucked senseless.
And John (INNER JOHN!) slowly descending to the bed, laying next to me, becoming warm and loving and caring again, takes me into his arms, murmurs words of admiration into my ears, and before I can even think of leaving my mind palace I am falling asleep. Fuming inner Mary the last (wonderful) thing I see.