I will never forget the way he looked when I entered that room. He had taken off his coat, waistcoat and cravat, and his hair was in a slight disarray. The curtains were halfway drawn, so that only a part of the milder afternoon sun could reach into the room. Lights and shadows were playing over his white shirt, open at the collar, and he looked absolutely breathtaking.

I crossed the treshhold, and then I deliberately closed the door.

"Ah!" he said, approaching me slowly. "I knew I had been missing some-" And then he interrupted himself and shook his head, as I indicated his cigarette case that I had brought with me, as if I still needed an excuse for coming to him. "No. That's not what I meant." He plucked the case out of my hand and let it slid into the pocket of his trousers without taking his eyes off me. "Thank you, anyway", he added. And then he just kept looking at me, and I could only wonder if his heart was hammering in his chest the way mine did.

His gaze locked with mine, and it was just on the edge of my field of vision that I saw him slightly drawing his lips between his teeth. They were moist and red when he opened them again, and when he lifted his hand to my face and gently cupped my cheek in his palm, they started to form a tentative smile. "It is exactly like I said earlier," he said in a low-key baritone that seemed to go - head to toes - right through my entire body. "Whatever the good doctor wishes..."

The feeling of his touch was incredible, but the effect his words had on me was so distracting that it was only with an effort of coordination that I managed to put my one hand on his that was caressing my face, while at the same time my other was fumbling behind my back to turn the door key in its lock. His eyes widened at the unmistakable sound, and now that my second hand was free to roam again, I dared putting my palm against his chest. "I happen to wish for a good many things," I replied with a voice that seemed much too raspy in my own ears.

Holmes, though, did not seem to mind at all, and I could not spare any more attention to the functions of my vocal chords, because this moment was when he whispered: "All yours for the taking!" and his lips descended on mine.

During these last few hours, while the idea of kissing Sherlock Holmes, or being kissed by him, had been gradually changing from an impossibility to a question of just where and when and how, I had been thinking about how it would be with him. As far as I had been concerned before, he was as celibate as a devout monk and possibly as experienced regarding intimate relations as a virgin on her wedding night. But as far as I had been concerned before, kissing him was something that would simply never happen. And I had been wrong about that... had I been wrong in other aspects as well?

The thought did rush through my mind, but it was a fleeting one, and one of the last coherent thoughts for a while to come - because the moment he started kissing me, and I kissed him in return, and with all I had, my whole world seemed to narrow down to this contact... my body started to take over when his hands started to roam my still fully clothed skin. I felt his touch, his palms sliding down from my shoulders and gripping my upper arms insistently as if he wanted to make sure that I would not withdraw from him - not that I had the slightest intention to. As a matter of fact I was only too aware of not being satisfied with kissing him - despite of my previous best intentions to hold myself back a little, so he would not shy away from me. I still had no idea how far he might be willing to take these explorations... although his kiss was talking of nothing even remotely akin to shyness.

Holmes had always been a master of reading what was going on in my mind. His arms snaked around my waist, and the next thing I felt was a decisive pull towards him, so I found myself pressed flush against him - and oh, how I felt his own body against mine, and I could feel where he was hard and aroused and eager, and without a conscious thought I widened my stance so that his knee could slip between my legs, his upper thigh providing a maddening friction against my erection.

I began to groan helplessly into his open mouth, the sound only partly smothered by his lips and tongue. He withdrew for just an inch, heavily panting by now and eyes wider than I had ever seen them. "John..." His voice was a loud whisper, and it was a moan, and a declaration, and a plea as well - and it was either him shoving me or me pulling him with me, or perhaps both, but soon I found myself pinned against the next wall and in a state of partly undress, and then he was on his knees in front of me, and I bit into the fabric of my otherwise already abandoned cravat in order to prevent myself from shouting with pleasure. His dark head was bobbing up and down, and I stared down at the most amazing sight I had ever seen. I heard him moaning around my flesh and saw the movement of his right hand, touching his own hard length, and I felt something hot and wild building up deep inside of me - not unfamiliar and yet new and overwhelming in its intensity... then I felt a hitch in Holmes' rhythm, accompanied by a throaty noise that told me we were both hovering just over the edge. "Holmes..." I managed to gasp. "Yes! Sher-... Sherlock!" And we were falling and then flying and holding each other until the shaking subsided and was replaced with a bone deep feeling of contentment and peace.

(t.b.c.)

A/N: Dear all, thank you so much for all your encouragement and for staying tuned. I hope you all enjoyed! Happy Holidays, whatever you may celebrate... :)