whatofthewarts (
whatofthewarts) wrote2012-07-01 11:48 pm
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Irene Adler had many homes, and many more hiding places, but months after her death Sherlock was certain he'd found at least half those in the country. She had her many stolen jewels tucked away all over the apartment, and it took him the better part of the afternoon to dig them all out of their hidey holes. When he had them in his pockets, he went searching for someone else entirely.
Although they had their obvious differences, given their different environments, Sherlock found it was remarkably easy to track himself down.
"Making headway, I presume?"
Although they had their obvious differences, given their different environments, Sherlock found it was remarkably easy to track himself down.
"Making headway, I presume?"
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He goes down on one knee, hard enough that he'll be hard pressed to get up anytime soon. So he draws his elbow up, to Sherlock's abdomen.
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His lips part, a careful, needy invitation.
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There isn't anything overtly sexual about it when he realizes he also needs Sherlock exposed, naked, to be able to touch the bruises he can't see yet.
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At least, until he's naked. Then Holmes takes it in his head to find a mark on Sherlock's chest to bite. It's not quite as vicious as the violence of earlier; he's testing.
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Holmes tells him this after he can't decide which he likes better: those whimpers, the vulnerability of kissing himself, or making Sherlock writhe.
"You aren't the least bit dulled by the modern world. But as it is now, I am not certain what part of you to explore next. I think I shall defer to your instinct."
The rather cruel pressure of his fingers eases into something just this side of soothing. It's not kind to have swollen, red marks touched...but at least now it wasn't done to deliberately make them deeper. Now his fingers only lightly brushed them, and his lips just faintly touched Sherlock's.
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"I've never done anything like this."
He doesn't really have instincts, per se.
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It's a little troubling, actually. Between the two of them there aren't many topics that haven't been covered.
"But judging by your subconscious reactions earlier, I think your mind is ready to begin winding down from such...taxing activity. Might I suggest we try something slower."
Like the kissing had been; only now Holmes's fingers map out the sensitive lines of nerves over Sherlock's collarbones, down his sternum.
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"You seem to respond most eagerly to gentility now."
How curious. Holmes touches Sherlock's hair, the way Mary had done to John after the explosion.
"So we shall endeavor to put you back together now."
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Tight, tears starting up again.
"Finish it."
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He digs a finger up under Sherlock's jaw.
"Kindness can be a finish. This, this pain, would only leave you wanting if I left it like this."
He releases that pressure point, aware of how it must feel contrasted with the feel of Holmes's mouth kissing his exquisite collarbones.
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A sigh of relief as he hits the pressure point, and a whimper of confusion at the kisses.
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So as much as he likes that sound Sherlock made, he must be level headed and show restraint.
"How much of this theory of mine is new to you?"
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He tells him, because to hell with level headedness. He pushes himself up on his arms again, close and earnest underneath him.
"Hit me again?"
He doesn't know what else to ask for.
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But he has run out of places to hit, so he doesn't. Instead, he finds places that are sensitive--both because of injury, or because they're erogenous.
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He babbles, and arches.
"Or more of the pressure points. Harder. I don't hate myself half as much as I hate you."
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But pressure points can be used for more than just pain. He points demandingly for Sherlock to roll over, and gives him a solid shove to get him going. The pressure points in his back can be quite pleasurable.
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