It's Not Real

Chapter Twelve

"Sherlock, what's going on? What are you doing?"

Sherlock pushed her into the large en suite once they made it to their bedroom, turning on both the shower and the sink taps. "I give up," he says, dropping to his knees, looking up at her pleadingly. "I give up. Can I touch you?"

Eve's grip on the side of the bathtub became almost painful. "What? You've been touching me all weekend–"

"Evelyn," his tone was hoarse. "Can. I. Touch. You?" His pupils were blown wide, chest heaving, tongue jotting out to wet his lips as they parted. "I won't do anything without your consent. Please, tell me."

Evelyn realised something in that moment. Sherlock Holmes was quite literally begging her, on his knees, to have some kind of physical contact. She had no idea what the hell had gotten into him, but felt like she might just die on the spot if he didn't touch her. "Yes," she breathed at him. "Yes, you can touch me."

"Oh thank god." Sherlock was immediately pushing at the material of her thin summer dress, fingers slipping inside the hem of her knickers to pull them down then lifted each leg to remove them and toss them behind him. He pressed his face into her stomach, kissing downward until he reached the skin of her mons pubis.

She gasped when a finger slipped against her folds from behind. "This is such a bad idea."

Sherlock had the audacity to chuckle. "This is the best idea I've had in months."

She tapped his head, already struggling to catch her breath in anticipation. "Wait, Sherlock... Are we really doing this?"

He looked up at her, his eyes earnest, but she could see a flicker of anxiety. "If you'll have me." He was worried she'd reject him.

"I've wanted you forever." She admitted with a breathy laugh, threading her fingers into the hair behind his ear.

Sherlock moved into her touch, eyes fluttering closed. "Oh, Evelyn, you have no idea."

Before she could respond, he tugged her down to sit on the baths edge, spread her knees, and his mouth closed on her swollen bundle of nerves. She fell forward slightly, using a hand on his shoulder to stay upright. She didn't expect him to jump straight to using his mouth. "Jesus fuck–"

Sherlock was unrelenting in his attention to her wet centre, occasionally slipping a finger inside her only to pull it away again before she could get any satisfaction. She was already a panting mess, but needed a release soon before she went mad. Using the one tactic she knows to work, she yanked on his hair, and this time it was hard.

He gave a guttural moan, staring up at her like a deer in headlights. "You need to stop." His eyes seemed to widen, worrying he'd taken it too far or that she wanted to end this all together, but she smiled lazily to try and ease the panic in his features. "Stop teasing. If you don't let me come soon I might collapse from exhaustion."

Sherlock suddenly looked ridiculously giddy. "I can't help it, you taste incredible." Eve almost turned into a puddle, jumping when he hoisted her leg over his shoulder, pushed her dress up to her waist, and dived back into fucking her with his tongue.

Just as he inserted two long digits and started to pump them slowly, a voice broke the air.

"Sherlock?" It was John.

Eve's eyes were wide as she looked towards the sound of the voice on the other side of the wall. "Did you lock the door?" She whispered harshly.

Sherlock pulled his head back to glance at the door. Evelyn whimpered at the loss of contact.

John knocked. "I'll just come in if you don't answer me."

The door handle creaked. "NO!" Sherlock bellowed. "No!"