Author's Note: This is slightly AU given that it doesn't follow the timeline of the show. Sherlock goes to visit Irene Adler in her home after his first visit with her. This is rated T but can borderline on M simply because of Irene's...hobbies. I've wanted to write this and could barely sleep last night, I was so excited to write this. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Please read and review and let me know how I did with my first Sherlock fic! I may make this a chapter fic if that is what you all would like! Also, I do not own Sherlock. Please enjoy!
Sherlock stood in front of his mirror, wrapping his brighter blue scarf around his neck. He scowled at his reflection, dismissing himself. He decided to adjust his collar on his jacket, and run his fingers through his hair for a brief moment. Glancing back, somewhat skeptically, at his reflection, Sherlock finally decided he looked at least presentable enough to be in her presence.
While he was getting ready, The Woman sat at her vanity, calmly applying blood red lipstick. She had dismissed the maid - actually, she had ensured that she'd be a bit tied up for the afternoon - and was now preparing for his visit alone. He had not given her any indication that he would be dropping by for a visit, but The Woman could feel it. He was coming that afternoon. She needed to look her best for her him, after all. After applying the blood red lipstick, The Woman scowled at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She twirled a curl around her finger, frowning. She needed to be presentable enough to be in his presence.
When the door bell tolled, she tightened the silk rope around her red velvet dressing gown. She had chosen red, as opposed to green, because it brought out the blood red color of her lips. She paused briefly at the door before finally opening it. Her knuckles were white on the knob in her hand.
"Hello," Sherlock slid inside, without waiting to be invited.
"Oh please," Irene rolled her eyes, "Do come in. What, may I ask, is the reason behind this visit? A joy as it is."
Sherlock detected the sarcasm in her voice, but the scarcasm seemed to be a mask concealing something else. He hated the inability he had to read her. She was almost impossible. It drove him mad. He'd spent quite a few sleepless nights replaying her mannerisms in his head, trying to pinpoint what each action and word meant. But he could not. She frustrated him completely and he had come here in hopes of some answers. No man - or woman - beat Sherlock Holmes. Ever. He needed to read her. He needed to know more about her. She was driving him mad, and he needed to put a stop to the madness.
"Can't I stop in for a visit without my motives being calling into question?" Sherlock asked, leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, "Perhaps I just wanted to see you."
"No one just wants to see me, Sherlock. I know better than that."
"Alright," Sherlock removed his jacket, and handed it to her.
"I am not the maid."
"Ah yes. Where is the maid?"
"Naturally," Sherlock nodded, "Put that in a closet or something for me."
"I do not take orders. I give orders," Irene opened her mouth to say something else, and Sherlock quirked his brow. Sighing, and with a roll of her eyes, Irene opened the coat closet and hung up the jacket. Sherlock rolled up his sleeves, buttoning them in place, "Now then, please tell me what you are doing here or I shall call the police and tell them that I've had a break in."
"A break in?"
"Yes. A crazed mad-man forced his way into my home and is refusing to leave."
"Man man?" Sherlock seemed to alight at the description.
"It was hardly a compliment."
"But wasn't it?" Sherlock asked.
"Come with me," Irene lead him into the parlor. She sat across from him in a large antique chair. Sherlock took a seat on the sofa. Irene crossed her arms and said again, "I will give you one final chance to tell me what you are doing here, Sherlock. You have five seconds."
Sherlock bit his bottom lip before replying, "Alright. Perhaps I wanted to stop by and try to read you a bit better. You are nearly impossible for me to read and I have never met a person I have not been able to read. You, woman, are quite frustrating."
Irene beamed, "So then, I am special?"
"Special? Oh no. A unique case? A puzzle that needs to be solved for me to find sleep again at night? Yes."
"Do I make you lose sleep at night, darling?"
"The prospect of a person I am unable to read causes me to lose sleep at night."
"Ah, I see," Irene kicked off the heels and tucked her feet up underneath herself, "So what do you want to know, darling? About my life, perhaps? My business? My hobby?"
"Is your hobby not your business."
"My hobby is a gateway to my business," Irene explained, "My business is secrets. My hobby - a hobby that flirts along the lines of passion - is to extract those secrets. From the right people. The right...clients during the right sessions. Understand? You read people, Sherlock. I do the very same."
Irene smiled, happy to share with him the fact that they had the same talents, "When I get a client come to me, or I go to them, I have to read them first. It always starts with that. A sit down. A cup of tea. And I talk to them. I ask them about their hobbies, their passions, their families...provided of course they are open to sharing with me. And even if they are not open to sharing, I am always able to read their desires. I am not a cruel person, Sherlock."
"Heavens no," Irene laughed shortly, "I read people so that I might not be cruel. In my business, in my passion, I need to know just how far to take things. I need to know how far a client is willing to go. And I push them beyond that. Not too far beyond that, but just enough. I need to know their limitations. I need to know my clients. What they're comfortable with - what they're uncomfortable with. For example...you."
"Me?" Sherlock tried to fight the small blush that was working its way across his cheeks, "What about me?"
"Well...you could take a beating. I'd put you through quite a bit. I'd make you beg for mercy...twice."
"Woman, I do not beg."
"You would if I made you," Irene smirked, "And I said twice. I would use various implements on you...a riding crop, the hot wax..." Irene stood from her chair and walked slowly over to him. She straddled him, sitting perfectly in his lap. She leaned close to him, capturing his earlobe in her teeth, "...my teeth. Darling!" Irene pushed back from him slightly, her smile broad, "I've already made you shiver. Such a guarded person like yourself!"
"Stop that," Sherlock tried to adjust, move her off of him. But she stayed put.
"I'm only having a spot of fun," Irene pouted, "Don't ruin that for me," she continued, "But I would not use the whip...not yet anyway. You need to be worked up to something like that. I would tie you up though. To the bed posts. That'd be it though. I don't think you're quite ready for a trip down to my basement. Oh The Dungeon is filled with such fun toys! But like I said, I know you Sherlock. I know all my clients before I begin a session. I know just how far to take them and when to stop. That's important when you're a Dominatrix. Would you like to go to The Dungeon...just to see? You came here to find out more about me. Why don't I show you?"
Sherlock's heart rate quickened and he swallowed, hoping to keep his voice even, "I...I would love to see your dungeon."
"Excellent," Irene hopped off of his lap, grabbing his hand in hers, "Right this way, darling. Now then, as I said, this is just a show and tell. No demonstrations unless you ask me for them, or unless I can read that you want a demonstration. And I will be happy to provide you one. A sessions with you would be of no charge," Irene led him to a door down the hall. She withdrew a key from inside the bodice of her dressing gown, and unlocked the door. It was completely pitch black within. Irene flipped on a small light and guided Sherlock down the steps.
"This is where I have my most elaborate sessions," Irene hit another light at the bottom of the steps.
Sherlock glanced around. There were hooks in one wall, a suspended beam across the ceiling, hooks on various other walls in various other positions. There was a mattress with O-rings soldered into place at the head of the mattress. Along one wall was a table with various implements laid out upon it. Sherlock felt slightly dizzy as he glanced around. He didn't know where to place his gaze first. Everything seemed to scream out for his attention.
"What do you think?" Irene asked, slightly giddily, "Hmm?"
"Very...impressive," Sherlock replied honestly.
"I think so too," Irene admitted, walking over to the table, "These are my toys here."
Sherlock was almost frightened to ask, but he did so anyway, "Which is your favorite?"
"It depends on the client. I have different toys I like to use on different people that all elicit different reactions. It's about what reaction I can get out of who," Irene explained, "That's the power. Being able to make a person squirm, cry out, beg, moan...orgasm," she said the last word with a slight twinkle in her eye. Sherlock blushed furiously as he ran his hand over some of the whips, crops, feathered things...
"For example," Irene lifted a riding crop from the table, "This..." she ran her hand along the length of it, tenderly, "Would be my first choice to use on you, dear."
"Is...that so?" Sherlock tried desperately to keep his voice even. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake. A wonderful, wonderful mistake...
"Mmhmm," Irene slapped the crop in her hand and grinned, "Here that pop it makes. Now imagine that...on your ass, your face, your feet, your thighs, and...here," Irene touched his inner thick, right next to his crotch, "...one of my favorite spots."
Sherlock's face had turned from pink to a bright red. He had no idea how to respond to her. This was a whole new territory for him. Normally he knew how to read situations and people. He rarely felt unprepared or lost. But here, in Irene's Dungeon, he felt totally alien to his surroundings, and to her.
Irene ran her hand along the crop again, not sure why she had invited him in so far into her personal life. She had pretty much stripped herself of any poker face or upper hand. She had let - invited - Sherlock into her most personal of places. And here she was...showing it off for him. She turned her head slightly so that he would not see her roll her eyes at herself. What was she doing with him in here? She knew what she wanted to be doing with him there, but what was she actually doing?
"But you know, darling, life is dull without a little variety. When I feel like mixing things up a bit, my favorite is this right here," she kissed the tip of the riding crop, "On my breasts."
Sherlock nearly choked on his own saliva as he had a vivid mental image he was unprepared for, "You...you like to change things up sometimes?"
"Of course," Irene sat the riding crop back on the table, "Life would be far too dull without a little variety, don't you agree? Sometimes with certain friends of mine, I allow myself to play the part of submissive. It's good for a dom to be be a bit submissive every once in awhile. It teaches us what it's like. And gives us more insight. Doms always need to have insight. That's why I always take time to read my clients first. It's all about deductions, darling."
Hearing the word 'deductions' come from Irene Adler's lips made Sherlock's knees feel slightly weak.
"Being a sub," Irene explained, "is all about pride, believe it or not. Strength. I push my clients to the point of the strength I know they have. I look at them and I know what they think they can endure and what I know they can endure. I push them beyond what they think is their breaking points. Which is why I have to know them very well. I have to know them better than they know themselves. See darling? We are both detectives in our own right. And when a session is finished, and after I do the 'care giving' part of the session, they will leave here with a sense of pride. And when they go home and see their marks in the mirror before they bathe, or as they are changing, they will feel a sense of pride. 'Look what I endured.' Were you ever one of those children who secretly loved when you'd get hurt?" Irene asked.
"I'm afraid I do not follow."
"Oh you know," Irene waved her hand, "You'd fall on the playground. Scrape up your elbow something horrible. And after the pain went away, you'd feel a sense of pride. Like, 'I endured that.' And you'd want to show off your bandages, your wound, your scar? Just to show off to the other kids? It's sort of the same with this. I hurt you. I do. I know that and you know that. But when you leave here, you'll be proud of what you endured at my hands. Each bruise, cut, bite mark, lash mark...its a badge of honor for you. Do you understand?"
Sherlock was surprised. He finally had some insight into who Irene Adler was. Finally she was no longer a puzzle he could not solve. He began to see more of her now than he had before. He saw the way her eyes would light up when she was talking about her passion - being a dominatrix. He saw the way she'd smile and become giddy with excitement over her toys. He saw the way she genuinely cared about each one of her clients. She truly did. She was not in this business to cause pain, but to give a release.
"Perhaps you'd like to have a session sometime," Irene ran her hand along some more of her implements, "I'd happily do you for free." Sherlock picked up on the blush on her own cheeks.
"Perhaps. Perhaps you'd be willing to have a little variety in our sessions," Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Irene bit her lower lip. She turned around, facing him and holding onto the edge of the table with her hands behind her.
"And tell me," Irene's jaw jutted out slightly, a challenge, "What would you wish to do to me, darling?"
Sherlock grabbed his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking things over for just a moment, "First, I'd like to see you tied to your bed. Just so that you can't thrash around. And secondly, I would love to put a gag over that pretty little mouth of yours. Just because I do not think I have ever had a moment of peace and quiet around you, Woman."
"Understandable," Irene nodded, and Sherlock took note of the goosebumps upon her decolletage. Her breasts were also rising and falling at a quickened pace, "What next?"
"You said you enjoyed the crop upon your breasts? I think I should start there," Sherlock reached around her, lifting the crop from the table, "I'd start here," he touched it lightly to her breast, "And then here," he placed the crop on her other breast, "And here..." Sherlock used the crop to lift the skirt of the dressing gown up, then placed the crop on her now-exposed inner thigh, "And finally...here," Sherlock rested the crop on the small bit of fabric of her black underwear. He took notice of how it barely covered anything. Irene's eyes flutter closed and she let out a soft moan as he applied some pressure with the crop.
"You...you've done this before," Irene stated, her voice nearly out of breath.
"Not once," Sherlock explained, "but like you, I can read people. I know exactly what you want. I've never given a woman anything before. But with you, I know exactly what you want me to do to you...and I am willing to."
Irene squirmed slightly underneath him, "I never let many man have their way with me," she explained, "mostly I am keen to a woman's touch. But with you, I know exactly what you want to do to me, and I am willing to have you do it."
Sherlock held the riding crop to Irene's cheek, "Shall we begin today?"
"Hmm," Irene, in one swift motion captured the crop from him, and now it was her pressing him against the table. She held the crop to the crotch of his pants, "Unfortunately, I am busy today. Though it'd be quite fun to play with you, darling. Perhaps come back tomorrow. We shall have dinner and fun?"
"I will clear my schedule," Sherlock pushed past her and headed towards the stairs. At once, Irene was standing in front of him, blocking his way.
"You did not think I'd let you out of here without at least a little punishing, did you?" Irene asked, "Silly darling. No one leaves my dungeon without a few marks to show for having been here."
"I-I thought we'd start tomorrow," Sherlock stammered. He had to admit, the woman did scare him. He had no idea what she'd be capable of doing to him. He scanned her face, looking for clues. He saw a hardness in her eyes, but it was a mask hiding something else. Something like...pleasure? She smiled, and Sherlock picked up on the softness of the smile despite the false hardness in her eyes.
"Now darling, do not protest. I want you to strip."
"Did I stutter," Irene snapped the crop against his leg. Sherlock winced, but quickly did as she instructed. He only felt a small bit of uncertainty. He had never been naked before a woman before. And this woman was different from any other, he was certain of it. She both terrified and delighted him. He did as she said. Soon, he was standing completely bare before her. Irene bit her lower lip, glancing him over. Sherlock felt incredibly exposed. Normally a feeling he hated, this time though he almost felt a sense of excitement and enjoyment.
"Over to the table," Irene instructed, "Bend over with your hands on the table."
"Yes...mistress," Sherlock followed her instructions. Irene felt something stir at the sound of Sherlock calling her mistress. With his ass to her, Irene grinned ever so slightly. She would thoroughly enjoy getting to thrash the renowned Sherlock Holmes.
Their first session lasted fifteen minutes. Irene would normally have gone for thirty, but decided to be gentle with him his first time. He was her darling, after all. Once the session had ended and Sherlock's buttocks was a deep shade of crimson, Irene put the riding crop away. She bent down on her knees and ran her hand soothingly across the raw skin. Sherlock shook beneath her touch.
"Shhh," she hushed him gently, "You're alright, darling. A little pink never killed anyone. Are you alright?" She asked, still gently rubbing his reddened flesh.
"Oh I suppose no real damage was done," Sherlock's voice was still a bit shaky, "...do you do this to all your clients? This, I mean."
"With any session there's always a bit of aftercare following. But darling, you are not a client. A client pays me for my services. You...are a friend. And my friends receive special attention during and after any session," Irene kissed the dimple of his lower back, "You are special. Do you feel the same way about me?"
Sherlock nodded, "You are special as well."
"Not just a unique case?"
"A literal pain in the ass, a nuisance, a brat...but no, not just an usual case. Woman, you are quite like nothing I have ever encountered before."
Irene smiled. Sherlock turned around and gave her a hand, lifting her up off of the dungeon floor, "Dinner tomorrow?" He asked.
"Dinner and some fun," Irene knelt to the ground once again, picking up his clothes and handing them to him.
Sherlock dressed and Irene led him back upstairs to the hallway. She withdrew his coat from the coat closet and handed it to him, "Your coat, darling."
"Thank you," Sherlock slipped it on over his shoulders, "I shall see you tomorrow night then."
"I will look forward to it eagerly."
"Good bye, darling."
That night, Sherlock tried once again to sleep without success. He had gone to Irene in hopes that solving her puzzle would allow him sleep at night. He had discovered however, that solving just one of her puzzles lead to more puzzles. His head was spinning with thoughts of the woman. It also didn't help matters that she had left her mark, a literally pain on his ass.
Sherlock reached for the phone on his bedside table. He typed a quick message, "Woman, because of you I cannot sleep."
A few seconds later, a reply, "So you decide to wake me up and cause me to lose sleep with you? Not very polite, Sherlock."
Sherlock typed back, "Looking forward to dinner and fun tomorrow."
Another reply, "As am I darling. Try to get some sleep. You will need your rest for tomorrow."
"As will you, woman. As will you."