A One Time Thing
by dwilivia


Summary: Holmes is missing. Watson is mad. He looks up Irene. Sex may or may not happen. Irene/Watson

She was calmly sipping a cup of chamomile tea when he burst into the room, panting, his hat quite nearly falling off his head and with a bit of frizz in that usually tidy moustache of his.

She smiled sweetly at the intrusion and placed her cup down. "Why, Dr. Watson... I can't say I was expecting you at this present moment." A slight pause, as she shot him a look through her thick, dark lashes. "Are you quite ready to concede?" She licked her lips slowly, and for a split second his gaze trailed down to that luscious red mouth, and she suspected she almost had him.

But this man did not heel easily. "Where is he?" Watson practically barked, which, considering his rather gentlemanly exterior, she found rather... amusing. Her left eyebrow hitched upward in a deliberately sensual motion as she quirked one corner of her mouth.

"I'm not quite sure what you're talking about, Dr. Watson." She demurred, leaning forward to reach for her tea yet again. But he was on her in a second with a feral snarl, his one hand outstretched to pin her backwards into her chair. The heat from his fingers was deliciously seeping into her maroon silk overlay, and she didn't break his gaze as her palm came up to brush away his hand. The contact sizzled something fierce in the air, and she stood up, brushing against him and causing him to shudder away.

"I'm only going to ask one more time, Irene. Where is Holmes?"

He'd called her Irene. Her heart thudded in her chest, which was ridiculous considering she didn't mean anything to him, and he didn't mean anything to her. And yet...

She considered lying to the poor man. After all, his famous detective partner had gone missing for nearly two weeks already, and she suspected it had something to do with Moriarty, which in turn, would have meant that they would inadvertently come looking for her. But honestly, as much as she wanted to stake credit over the disappearance of the most sought-after detective in London, she was just as clueless about his whereabouts as the next man.

The next man being his very attractive partner, Watson, of course.

Irene circled Watson, which she knew irritated him because his eyes narrowed at her. "I gather you haven't discovered anything new since the last time we met." She came up to his back and pressed her breasts against his shoulder, causing him to close his eyes. "Mmmhhmmm." She trailed a breathy whisper into his ear and down his jaw. "I still remember that last time we met, Doctor."

The way he shivered, inadvertently pressing his neck to her cool, smooth cheek, told her that he, too, remembered. Her fingers slid up his waistcoat to the last button on his vest, and slowly she began to tug at it.

But he was more resistant than she last remembered. He leapt away from her caress and almost crashed into the chair. "What do you think you're doing?" He whispered harshly, and she wanted to laugh. A quick glance down at the very prominent bulge of his pants told her all she needed to know.

She started to strip off her silk overlay, exposing a dress that was displayed her bare shoulders, cleavage and back all too indecently. Watson froze in his corner of the room, but his eyes took in the skin and naked flesh bared to him and could not look away.

"Do you want to see more, Doctor?" She whispered coyly, bringing one slender leg up on the porcelain tea table and drawing back her dress, exposing her dark silk stockings. When he didn't answer, she started to sneak her fingers up her thigh to drag down the thin material of her stockings, revealing the pale flesh of her one leg, all the while flashing him her dirtiest smile.

Watson swallowed against a rising tide of panic and arousal. He was goddamned married, for heaven's sake. And he was on a mission. Holmes could be in pain, could be dying at present moment, and he hadn't the common sense to pull away from this... this harlot and get himself focused. It was that moment she rid herself of the second stocking and kicked off her heels, turning to face her back to him, that all logical thought fled his head.

There was little material to hide that expanse of beautifully curved back of hers from his depraved self. It was a corset =type of backing, with red ribbon criss-crossing her flesh and making the paleness stand out beautifully against all that crimson. She shot him a look over her shoulder, beckoning him with that single, lusty gaze, and he went, pressing her fingers to her back and quite nearly groaning at the first contact. She sighed sweetly, whispering for him to undo the ribbons, to touch her everywhere, so that they could both end up on the floor, naked, sweaty, and so damned satisfied.

He breathed in the floral scent of her hair. Peonies, he realised. Mary usually wore English Rose scent.

His eyes widened. Mary.

And if that thought didn't just put a damper on his arousal, he wasn't sure what else would. But the very idea of him cheating a second time on his wife made him feel just... dirty.

The first time was excusable, of course. Holmes had been gone for three days, and combined with his frustration, his helplessness, and Mary having her monthly courses (she was always in pain and they slept in separate bedrooms during that time), he'd found pleasurable relief in Irene, of all people. He'd come to her apartment, angry, almost to the point of throttling the damned coyness out of her useless answers and shameless flirting, until that anger and frustration turned into something else altogether. She'd been willing and available, and maybe he was hoping a little that she'd slip up during their romp and finally tell him where the hell Holmes was. But he left her that night feeling dazed, guilty and still not a clue closer to solving his present mystery.

It was only supposed to be a one time thing. But here she was, trying to seduce him in her very enticing, very lovely way... and she smelt so damned good, too.

He backed away slowly into a chair and sat down, his hand cover his eyes, rubbing his forehead where it was throbbing incessantly. "I'm married." He mumbled, and whether it was to her or to himself, he wasn't sure, because evidently it was a fact neither of them was willing to accept tonight. In a moment she had herself kneeling in front of him, her hands bracing themselves on his knees, with her dress slipping so far down her chest that he could quite nearly see her nipples. With the practised ease of a courtesan, she slipped her fingers up his thigh to brush her knuckles against his hardening cock, and he jerked up, fighting against the betraying rush of arousal that filled his veins. She chuckled, then leaned over to unbuckle his belt and slip it through the loops in one quick, efficient tug. Soon, she was unbuttoning his pants, and while the noble side of him was protesting so badly, his otherwise depraved side just craved for her lips on his cock.

His eyes slid shut as the first tentative touch of her tongue quite nearly had him groaning from expectancy. And then, she showed him just exactly how much of him she could take into her throat, which quite made him want to cry, it was so damned good. Her throat was clenching, swallowing around him, and he couldn't help but come with a guttural cry, shuddering violently in the chair.

It took a while for him to recover, but as he opened his eyes in the aftermath and saw her in a lace chemise so thin, her dusky nipples were plainly visible and erect under the material. A smudge of lipstick marred the side of her mouth, and he stood up, raising his hands as their bodies came into contact, and she smirked, pulling off his cravat, his vest, and his shirt, so that she could glimpse the spectacular chest beneath. He grabbed her to himself and ground their bodies together, even reaching down to lightly nip her jaw, her neck, before sucking away the lipstick smudge on her face. Her smile was coy, mirroring his own, and it was she that pushed him into the wall and started licking erotic patterns down his chest.


It was over before they even reached her bed.

Dazed from the exertion, Watson leaned her body against his and swept away sweaty tendrils of dark curls around her eyes, making her smile.

"You really haven't a clue where he is." He whispered between them, and a brief look of sadness crossed her face before she shook her head, tucking her arm underneath her temple for support.

"He's alright." She said, after a beat of silence passed. "I imagine Moriarty's just as intrigued by him as he is with Moriarty."

He pulled back to look at her warily. "You think that all they've been doing in the past two weeks is talk about how intriguing they are to each other?"

She began to feel the irritation grow, and suddenly it occurred to her that in matters where Holmes was concerned, she came no where with the dear doctor. Not that she fancied herself in love with Watson, but really, she would appreciate a little sensitivity in her lovers.

She stood up, slipping on her chemise and sat down to sip her tea. It was cold and she could see the sugar granules gathered in the bottom of the cup, but she remained aloof, uncaring, until the moment exact moment he walked out of the door and allowed her to finally breathe.


She is not in love with John Watson- he's too imbecilic. Too uptight. She just likes to fuck him, really. That's all there is.

And damned if she's not thinking about how delicious it would be if Holmes could join in all their little, devious fun.

It might even give her a tiny incentive to get that damned bastard back.


Wrote this for the SH kink meme over at livejournal :D

Irene/Watson, LOTS OF UST PLEASE (i dont care how!)
Bonus if Watson is tied down, protests, and is promptly shut up with a blowjob :D
captcha says: swamp mrs. yes, that's right. my mind's in the gutter.

Okay, I'll be honest. I wrote that prompt. HAHA. But no one filled it so I had to write it myself ):

Irene/Watson sounds really awesome :D

Didn't know how to end this, so the ending is a bit sucky and in the wrong tense but I was never really good at writing present tense. ]: Future Lit Undergrad dreams are CRUSHED.



PS: at the time of posting, this is the first Irene/Watson R fic there is :D yay me :D I don't know how my deranged mind wants to ship awful and weird pairings. :[