Having lived with the world's only consulting detective for as long as I have, I have become exceedingly intimate with the lethargy of his black moods, brought on by a lack of cases and only made worse by the contents of a small Morocco case. On an occasion that will be forever etched into my memory, we were between cases and Holmes had been just about to delve into the oblivion to be found within the vials in his case when I entered the room. Originally, I had been headed for the shelf above my desk, but when I saw his hand reach for the bottle of cocaine next to his chair by the fire, I moved with all haste to his side, catching his hand gently in both of mine mere centimeters before it could close around the bottle.
I held his hand in mine, unconsciously stroking my left thumb over the back of his hand as I pleaded with him to leave the drug alone. His eyes were locked onto my hands around his, and I saw the tension seem to bleed away from his form the longer I held onto his hand. I moved my right hand to capture his left, threading our fingers together easily, and he seemed to relax further.
As a glimmer of an idea began to form in my mind, I opened my mouth to speak when we were interrupted by Mrs. Hudson's knocking. Inspector Lestrade was at our door inquiring as to whether or not we could help him on his most recent case. A familiar glint sparked in my dear Holmes' eye, and our moment seemed forgotten in the excitement of a new case.
A few days into the case, however, Holmes once more became agitated when even his great mind could not connect the pieces to find the culprit, and I decided to test a theory. As he was pacing that night in front of the settee on which I was perched with my back against the arm, I watched his restless movements before coming to a decision. I grabbed his hand as he passed me once more and pulled him until he sat with his back to my chest between my spread legs. He was stiff at first, but I gently rubbed my hands up and down his arms until he relaxed against my chest, his head lolling back against my shoulder.
Quietly I said, "Explain the case to me, Holmes." My lips brushed against the shell of his ear as I spoke, and I felt a fine tremor run through his whole body where it was pressed close to mine. Haltingly, Holmes began to recite the facts of the case to me, his voice becoming smoother and softer the longer I held him. My arms moved to encircle him completely as he talked, and I could practically see the wheels in his mind begin to spin in the correct directions. He suddenly sat up, taking me with him, wrapped around him as I was, and he turned his head to look at me.
Holmes, for all his brilliance, had a sometimes terrible tendency to forget or misjudge his surroundings when his mind was otherwise occupied by a greater purpose. When he turned to look at me, I knew he had misjudged the distance between our faces because our lips accidentally brushed. We both froze at the contact, my arms tightening reflexively around him, before Holmes made a small sound in the back of his throat and pressed his lips harder to mine.
After remaining frozen for a long enough period of time that Holmes began to pull back, I returned his kiss with equal fervor, moving one of my arms so that my right hand could thread through his hair as the kiss deepened. We had to break for air after a seemingly interminable amount of time spent just kissing one another, and he somehow managed to turn himself while still in my arms so he could straddle my lap. Holmes ground his pelvis against mine, making a low groan force itself from me as my head fell back slightly. He took advantage of the exposed skin of my neck to place kisses and little kitten licks to the flesh as my hands moved to clench at his grinding hips.
My fingers tightened on him as the kisses turned to gentle nips, and I roughly suggested, "Bed, Holmes?" He made a noise that could only be described as one of affirmation as he stood, grasping my hand and taking care not to trip over the hearth rug as he led the way to his bedroom. No sooner had the doors to the sitting room and the street been locked and the shades been pulled down then I was pulled back into Holmes' arms, his lips pressed to mine once more as his hands moved to undo the buttons of my clothing. My hands returned the favor, and in an impressively short time, I was pushed onto my back on the bed, legs spreading reflexively as he settled atop my aroused body.
Those drugging kisses of his returned, and I could do little more than to kiss him back, my hands roaming over his skin as he began to thrust his hips against mine. We rocked slowly together, his weeping arousal pressed against mine between our bodies as we kissed and stroked one another. I learned a fair few things about his body that night, only some of which I will share in this tale. I learned where to press gently and scratch lightly, where to bite and suck, and where to barely place my hands to make him writhe against me. As the end of our time came, I found my nails digging harshly into his shoulders, dragging themselves down his back seemingly of their own accord before gripping harshly at his flexing buttocks as the rhythm of our hips began to stutter in our release. His lips captured mine to swallow our cries of completion, and I willingly gave myself over to his kisses once more.
After a powerful release like the one that I had experienced, my body begins to systematically slow down in preparation for sleep. Holmes, on the other hand, was the kind of person to be energized after a release that left him quaking slightly for long minutes after. He moved to pick up one of our discarded garments, wiping himself down perfunctorily before gently wiping away our combined release from my abdomen. I wondered vaguely how we were to explain that to Mrs. Hudson but set the matter aside as I realized that Holmes seemed to be moving farther away from the bed rather than onto it with me.
I reached out and grabbed his hand as I had earlier in the evening, dragging him back to the bed with surprisingly little fuss. We both knew he could break my hold with little effort on his part, but he settled into my arms easily enough, his back to my chest in a repeat of our previous positions on the settee. Our legs entwined of their own accord beneath the blankets that Holmes brought up to cover us from where they had been kicked during our exertions.
Even though my body was more than ready for sleep, muscles pliant and warm, Holmes' body was as taut as before. I held him close to me, nuzzling the back of his neck and pressing lazy kisses to the soft skin behind his ear as my arms encircled his midsection. My right hand rested lightly on his stomach, idly stroking up and down the taut flesh. I felt his body begin to relax in my hold once more as my hand moved in gentle motions across his abdomen, pausing now and again to gently scratch at the dark trail of hair I had only briefly glimpsed earlier. Soon after my hand begin its gentle massage of his stomach, I felt his breathing even out. With a small smile on my face, I joined Holmes in Morpheus' embrace, secure in the knowledge that he would wake me within a few hours, completely rested and ready to solve the case.
Reviews are welcomed and loved. This is my first real story for the Sherlock Holmes fandom, so I'd very much like to know if I buggered something over too badly.