#and a quick drag that its only for the liars and mentally unwell

[verysaint-tropez]

This is the only thing i can think about when Johnathan has to take Martin's statement

[baskingintheinsanity]

Devil Devil

A/n: I don’t really know where this came from…I started this during the summer and kind of got swept up in school and graduate school applications. Oh, and Game of Thrones. I started Game of Thrones. Apologies this took so long. This was originally supposed to be much darker but…eh, have some tender smut.

Do not try me devil devil,

Cannot buy me devil devil,

What makes you so special special

to think I would ever settle

for that devious dance between you and me?

“How did you know where I was?”

There’s a lilt of suspicion in her voice, even after his retrieval of her life mere minutes ago, as they walk along the side of a sandy street in Karachi.

He chooses to ignore it. After all, she’s just been kidnapped, likely dragged through a desert, and very nearly decapitated. He can understand the paranoia.

“Mycroft is not nearly as astute about keeping government secrets from me when he assumes I believe the subject of said secrets to be dead.”

She turns her head and looks out into the desert as she attempts to hide a wince. She gained a sprained ankle in her brief stint being tortured. She tries to hide her minute impressed smile while she is facing away from him, “Is it a safe bet then to assume that you hacked into his files while he was out to lunch?”

He doesn’t meet her eye, but she can see the side of his face lifting in a smirk as he answers quietly, “He’s been taking longer and longer lunchbreaks as of late.”

“Any idea as to why-“ she cuts off as she winces, accidentally falling into his side slightly. He catches her weight like it’s an instinctual response in his amygdala, as breathing is.

He tuts at her, almost a scolding, as his own concern for his well-being fills his lungs like a heavy gas, “When I asked you if you were injured, I got a cold look and evasion. I’m guessing I should have asked again.”

She rolls her eyes at they start to enter a little town on the outskirts of the actual city of Karachi, street lamps lining the dirt road, “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Trademark inquisitive eyebrow raise from Sherlock.

“Act like you couldn’t already tell I was hurt. While I am sure it is aimed to make me feel less pathetic, it is rather patronizing when I already know how quick you are. You probably noted me favoring one side within three seconds of us beginning our walk.”

Sherlock continued to aid her, letting her lean into his side as they made their way to a small run-down motel.

His mouth tensed, one of his tells indicting guilt, as he spared a brief glance down at her face, checking for how much pain she was in, “Two actually…”

She let out a mirthless laugh, despite her ungodly situation, at the mere fact that she had landed herself here, in the middle of a war-torn country, running for her life, with this man of all people. This brilliant, ridiculous, socially inept man.

“I expected no less from you, Mr. Holmes.”

               He surprised her in the next few seconds when he did not ask how she was injured. She figured he knew it was not her own doing. He most likely did not want to know the details of her torture. What sweet sentiment lives within this man.

“There’s a small motel up at that street corner, right by the last streetlight,” he nodded to the shabby, tan building that -despite its less than pleasing aesthetics- looked like the Ritz to her after being submitted to less than humane conditions for the last week or so.

“Mm, Mr. Holmes, are you propositioning me to share a bed with you?”

Her seductive tone went to waste, causing an unintended effect, as he cut his eyes to hers tiredly, “Irene, I would be shocked if even you were in the mood for dinner after our recent adventure.”

This tone of his voice was seldom used, and only around the Woman- he was exhausted, very human, and on some level seeking mutual comfort. Neither of them would admit it, but they needed each other more than physically in this situation.

“’Even me?’” she scoffed, “Is that meant to imply that I have an unusual sexual appetite? Is Sherlock calling me a whore?”

He simply looked at her, passed the point of frustration, and slid his arm around her side, pulling her close, “Please be quiet, Woman.”

He stroked his thumb softly against her hip- a single, miniscule movement that expressed an intense desire to pull her suffering out of her wounds.

She blinked, astounded, and hesitantly laid her head against his shoulder as they walked silently to the motel.

               After Sherlock checked them into the hotel-which consisted of him telling the man at the counter their aliases and handing him the Karachi equivalent of 20 dollars- they walked up to a little room on the second story. Sherlock helped Irene sit down on the bed and immediately walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open. Irene laid down on the queen sized bed, relaxing into the surprisingly clean sheets as Sherlock puttered around in the bathroom.

“What on Earth are you doing in there?” she managed to rasp out, noticing a soreness in her throat once she stopped moving.

Unsurprisingly, he did not answer. She figured he was just concentrating on a task he deemed important. She had noticed some of his personal peculiarities over the last year or two, having spent several sporadic days with him every couple months.  She had learned that when he is very interested in a task, his ears tend to turn off without him knowing.

She opted to ignore his odd behavior and relax on the bed, not noticing the thin layer of sweat forming on her forehead. Irene had started to fall asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness. About five minutes later, Sherlock emerged from the bathroom.

“I prepared a….” he spied her dozing on the bed and let out a soft chuckle, rolling his eyes, “The one time I attempt to be compassionate…”

He walked around to her side of the bed, staring at her for a couple of seconds, debating whether to pick her up or let her rest. He hesitated awkwardly, thankful that she was not awake to mock him for his nerves.

He decided on carefully sliding his arms under her sleeping form and scooping her up. He noticed with slight chagrin that she was very light, very easy to lift. She had lost weight. A significant amount and she was a thin woman to begin with. She stirred when he lifted her, mumbling.

“Where are you taking me, strange man?” she slurred.

Sassy even half-asleep, apparently, he thought.

He repressed a small smile as he walked them both into the bathroom, “Shocking as it may appear to you, I was trying to do something nice for someone else. You.”

He nodded his head towards the bath, the steam filling the room and easing her raw throat.

She glanced over to where he nodded, watching the bath like it was an oasis in the desert.

She blinked in shock, an emotion she was very unused to, “You drew me a bath?”

He nodded and frowned at her, probably trying to discern whether she was mentally impaired by her injuries or not, “Yes, I thought that obvious…”

She managed to pinch his arm weakly, “Hush. I was processing. It isn’t like you, after all.”

He nods, “I know that. But you’re unwell. And it’s not just your ankle. You’re sick, Irene. You have a fever, you’re losing your voice, you’re exhausted, and you’ve lost at least two stone since the last time I saw you….” He hesitated, speaking slowly which was her hint that he was very nervous, “I figured that….you needed this. And I wanted to-“

“You wanted to give me what I needed.”

He simply nods.

She smiles, hoping it comes off as an amused smirk. She’s not sure it was a good enough effort to convince him she wasn’t a little touched. He slowly placed her in the hot water, her sigh of relief music to his ears.

She leans back against the ceramic of the bathtub, letting the hot water ease the tension in her aching muscles. She closes her eyes and relaxes for a second or two before something hits her. She opens her eyes languidly and lifts her somehow sultry gaze to his face.

“I’m sorry, are you not going to join me, oh man servant?”

He did not even flinch at her slightly insulting quip, so accustomed to her sharp humor he was. She was slightly disappointed that she could no longer easily get to him.

 He lifted a hand to his mouth, rubbing his lips.

“Quit with your pondering look-you won’t hurt me if you get in the tub with me. I’m not that fragile.”

His mouth opened, obviously agitated and a little startled that she had read his mind, “I wasn’t thinking that.”

He walked over to the tub and slid in on the other side, facing her. She threw a chuckle at him, “Liar,” she whispered under her breath.

He gave her a slightly prickly look, but other than that, ignored her.

She dropped her head back against the tub, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before she closed her eyes again. She sighed pleasurably, trying not to fall asleep right there.

Seemingly without thinking about it, Sherlock picked up Irene’s injured ankle and sat it on his knee. He began to softly message the strained muscles, suspecting it was a sprain and not an actual broken bone. He pressed down very gingerly, feeling the small bones in her foot and ankle, inspecting.

She made a small annoyed sound under her breath, his fingers causing slight pain in her foot, “Sherlock, stop playing doctor. It’ll heal. If it was really broken, I wouldn’t be able to walk.”

“Well, you do have an unusually high pain tolerance…”

She opened one eye and glared at him lazily, “Do you feel anything broken?”

He paused, “No.”

She grinned, having won, “Then put my foot down and enjoy this bath with me.”

He smirked evilly and shook his head, relaxing into the bath, “I don’t think I will.” He started to message her ankle, knowingly avoiding the strained muscles. He pressed his thumb expertly into the contour of her ankle, watching her face react.

She smiled with her eyes closed, letting out a satisfied groan, “Well, I’m okay with that decision.”

“Thought you might be.”

There was a warmth in his voice that only ever appeared when she did. She continued to enjoy his impromptu foot massage, his fingers knowing the spots to rub to relax her cramped and tensed up muscles. The relaxation was starting to spread up her leg and for some reason, this one spot he touched on the sole of her foot shot straight to her core, causing heat to rise in her stomach. She didn’t notice the sexual undertone of her next moan, but he definitely did.

He tried to ignore it and simply let her heal and rest. He really wanted to just give her time to recover. But something in her voice when she moaned entered his blood stream. Damn that sound. His body started to react, blood rushing between his legs as the sound of her voice immediately queued up memories of their lovemaking in his head. He couldn’t stop seeing her face when he first entered her.

He tried to continue the massage for her sake, but she could feel the timing of his fingers  beginning to grow awkward and slower. She opened her eyes to peek over at him and had to bite her lip to keep herself from saying anything. Sherlock may pride himself on his poker face on cases, when around clients, and even on John, but it never worked on her. She could always read exactly what he was feeling plainly on his face. He wanted her. She could see it in the way he wouldn’t look at her face, glancing at the wall behind her, pretending to think. She could it in the furrow of his eyebrows, his mind working to contain emotions. She could read it in the way he was almost imperceptibly gnawing on his lower lip.

But even if she didn’t have the advantage of being able to read him, she did have eyes. And that was enough. The water was clear, so as she glanced down between his legs, she saw him rising slightly.

“I genuinely love how easy you are to rile,” she laughed, “It’s very flattering.”

His cheeks did not redden and she was very proud of how comfortable he was becoming discussing this subject, “I would bet that most men would be aroused by the sound of a beautiful woman moaning erotically like that.”

“Yes, but with most men, I focus on hitting the lust centers of their brain. They purely desire the physical. But I could rile you simply by saying something clever in a certain tone.”

He rolled his eyes, “And what tone is that?”

“The ‘I want Sherlock’s cock’ tone,” she grinned wickedly, knowing her bluntness might make him sputter.

His eyebrows shot up, pupils widening, but to his credit, his mouth did not fall open this time, “And just how often do you use that tone? What exactly does it sound like?”

Oh so he is playing the game, throwing the ball back to me.

She loved this side of him, the mischievous one that liked to play games. She thinks that’s secretly why he likes detective work. Obviously, deep down inside, he has a desire to help people. But she thinks he also just loves the thrill of the game, putting together a puzzle, manipulating people, and seeing what extremes he can accomplish.  

“Oh I don’t know….two or three times a day when we’re together,” she pulls up one side of her lips, “And don’t you recognize the sound of  it by now?”

He nods very purposefully, “I do.”

“And what does it sound like to you?” she asks curiously.

He answered without hesitating, not at all shy, “I can’t tell you what it sounds like, but I can tell you exactly what it feels like. Like someone tugging me towards you. Like someone pouring an opiate into my veins.”

Her body responded to his words in kind; it felt like the steam in the air around them osmosed into her body, her blood feeling almost molten. She could feel her nipples harden at his words.

He grinned wide at that, noticing her nipples emerging from the water. He gave her a look that silently communicated that he was glad he wasn’t the only one feeling it now.

“Please,” she scoffed, “I could be reacting that way because I’m cold.”

“Irene,” he held back hysterical laughter, “We are in a steaming bath. You’re not cold,” he shook his head, letting some of the laughter spill from his lips.

God, I love that grin, she thought. He so rarely fully smiled like that. She almost felt lucky that she was one of the only people to get to see it. It was so damn beautiful. Sherlock was certainly not the type of person that radiated sunshine. But when he smiled like that, it was like gravity around them shifted and she felt lighter. Of course, she would likely never tell him this.

“Ok, so I’m not…” she replied lavishly, slowly starting to creep towards him.

He groaned, the logical part of his brain kicking in again, “Woman,” he started, annoyed at her for starting this, “We both know that we can’t do anything. You can’t even stand on your own. You’re so tired, you might fall asleep halfway through. And you will definitely get me sick. Not that I truly care about that last one.”

She laughed out loud, “You’d be okay with getting my fever and sickness if it meant you could fuck me?”

“Yes,” he replied automatically, as if she were being slow, “Of course I would.”

“You are hopelessly addicted.”

“I could debate that point,” his voice was husky.

“You would lose.”

He snickered, his eyes dark and his voice relaying his arousal, “As contrary to my character as it is to admit this, you are right, Irene.”

“We both already knew this,” she whispered, slowly sitting herself in his lap, moving her mouth an inch from his, “Do stop talking, Sherlock.”

“Do you ever listen to m-“

She interrupted him with a fierce kiss, laving her tongue over his bottom lip, “No.”

He bit back a moan, accidentally biting her lip too as he put a hand up to her chin to hold her back, “Irene, please. Don’t make this more difficult,” he lifted an eyebrow at her sharply, “You are broken.”

She giggled darkly and leaned further into his personal space, breathing against his lips, “Only physically.”

She smirked in victory when she leaned back slightly and he followed her mouth with his, staying close.

“Sex in a bathtub is quite dangerous even when both parties are well, I presume.”

Irene hummed in consideration, watching the way his pupils expanded as he glanced down at the drops of water slowly sliding down her chest, “I suppose it is. But what is your point in mentioning this?”

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, praying for patience before he opened them. There was a slight upwards tilt to the set of his mouth, “My point was that perhaps we should relocate to the bed.”

“Ah,” she was surprised, leaning back against the tub, “So you’re listening to me now. New. But I like it.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m a quick learner. Not to fight you when you’re serious about something is a lesson I learned a while ago.”

He stood and stepped carefully out of the tub and she let her eyes linger over his body as she started to stand up herself, “How did you know I was serious about wanting you?”

He tsked at the back of his throat and put a gentle hand on her shoulder, “No. Don’t get up.”  

She frowned in confusion briefly before he scooped her out of the tub and rolled his eyes,” you’ve been glancing down at my body about every ten seconds since we got into the tub.”

She shrugged as he walked them back to the bedroom, her in his arms “Well you better not get used to this. I am not an invalid.”

“Don’t state the obvious, woman. It’s not becoming,” he chuckled while he laid her down on the sheets.  

She tilted her head at him and gave him an indignant look, “Don’t be a tease to the naked woman on your bed. She might leave…”

At her mention of her naked body, his eyes were drawn to it. Her hair was still up in a bun so that it wouldn’t drag in the bath water. The ends of it were moist, curling on her neck. Her eyes were warm, molten somehow, despite the cold color. Her lips were a siren song, the smirk calling to him. Her nipples jutted out proudly on top of her breasts, husky rose. He could smell a faint hint of something sweet in the air and he had no idea what it was, but it was coming from her. He climbed onto the bed, crawling over her wet body and being careful not to put too much weight on her.

He put his left hand beside her head and stroked her cheek with the right, “I don’t believe you would go anywhere right now even if you could stand.”

She wound her arms around his neck and gave him a wicked grin, “Darling, if I was feeling better, I’d be the one teasing you. Until you screamed.”

He hummed, starting to drag his lips down her body. He pressed a tender kiss to her breast and then closed his lips around her nipple, flicking his tongue once before he sucked. A bolt of indescribable sensation shot through her as she moaned.

“Perhaps I can make you scream tonight instead,” he looked up at her though his dark fringe of lashes, electric blue burning her inside and out.  

She closed her eyes and wound her fingers into his hair, pushing his head further down her body, “I will certainly let you try, Mr. Holmes,” she sighed as his lips brushed her hip, “I know how much you like a-oh!” a loud moan escaped her as his lips found her core, aching for touch.

She used to do this sort of thing for work all the time, yet he was the only one that actually made her ache for attention, without much work at all. She couldn’t figure it.

As he listened to her sounds of pleasure, his tongue lapping at her sensitive bundle of nerves, he felt his body grow impatient. God, how he loved to hear her moan. Her voice, mixed with the taste of her on his tongue and the feel of her soft skin under his hands had his cock swelling painfully. He was tempted to dive into her, thrust into her at that moment. He wanted to forget all the reasons that it was a bad idea. That she was a bad idea. They were obviously in danger. And she was hurt. Not to mention, she would inevitably slip from beneath his fingertips like a wayward wind in a day or two. But he didn’t mind that tonight. They say giving into temptation means you’re weak, but all he felt was strength rushing through his veins.

He channeled that strength, ignored all his hesitations, and lifted his body back up to align with hers. He didn’t think. He laid his hand softly on her cheek and tilted his head in curiosity as he looked into her eyes, “I have never understood how you do this to me, but honestly…”

“Honestly what?” she smirked up at him wickedly as she slid her fingers into his curls, tugging him closer to her.

“Honestly, I don’t care,” he grinned, something strange alight in his soul as he lifted her uninjured leg to wrap around his hip and thrust his body into hers. And so he was lost. There was nothing like being inside of her. Of course, he had only ever been with one woman-her. So perhaps it wasn’t the most accurate declaration. But once again, something about her. About her ivory skin sliding against his. About her heated flesh wrapping around him and squeezing until he could hardly breathe...Something about Irene Adler, mind and soul, made Sherlock throw logic out the window.

As his body drove into hers, over and over again, he listened to her ragged sighs and bossy directions, “God, Sherlock, there!”

His body was on fire, burning for her, but he would not yet say her name. It was a sort of game between them. Whoever called out the other’s name first lost. And even though she seemed to have forgotten they were playing this game, Sherlock’s ego was such that he would not give her the satisfaction of him moaning her name. Not until the very end.

He groaned and rested his face on her shoulder, lightly biting where it met her neck. All of his neurons were firing at once. His senses were overloaded. But he managed to pull back and look at her expression, just for a moment, as he entered her again, slowly this time. Her mouth dropped open and her head tilted back as a moan erupted from her throat. She was magnificent really. She opened her eyes for a moment, sensing his gaze, and looked back at him.

If you look into the abyss long enough, the abyss looks back into you. That was what Nietsche said. He never understood the true meaning of that, metaphorical philosophy always seeming to escape him. But when he looked into Irene’s eyes in the dim light of that motel room, the gaze that met him seemed to sear through him. It was as if she could see everything he was or could be, everything inside of him. He felt as if he were exposed, open to be judged and-if found guilty- condemned. But if this was his damnation-getting lost in her-then he was not entirely against the idea.

A/n: So this got a lot more poetic and lot less sexy than I intended. I apologize for any typos. I edited this very quickly at 1 am. Still, if anyone would like a sequel of the morning after, let me know! “We never really did get a proper bath, interrupted by lust and all.”  Or you know, hit me up with more Adlock sexytime prompts and hopefully it’ll be steamier than this. Also, if anybody has ideas for my multichapter Adlock fic, More Than Kin and Less Than Kind, please please tell me!