The Most Dangerous Game | Sherlock Holmes

08

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"Women are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting."

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

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THE NEXT TWO WEEKS WERE SIMPLY DELIGHTFUL FOR BOTH GALINA IVANOV and Sherlock Holmes- even though he'd never admit it.

After their long-awaited and passionate kiss, Sherlock and Galina had taken to sneaking around like two love-struck teenagers. The territory they were delving into was foreign to the both of them, and they were embarking on it in whatever way felt most natural- right.

Sherlock continued to seem annoyed with her antics; still told her to get off of his chair, still chided her when the whole flat reeked of Russian food, and still rolled his eyes when her abilities were brought up.

However, some things had changed.

He never flinched or shied away from her affections and he always secretly waited for the next hug or the next fleeting touch of their fingertips; for the moments when she would perch herself on the side of his chair and always find her way onto his lap.

He especially waited for her kisses because they were far more intoxicating than any pill he had taken or any poison he had shot into his veins.

On Galina's part, she was so ecstatic at Sherlock's acceptance of their budding romance.

So, every day she pushed just a little bit further.

She would start off with a gentle touch of his arm- testing the waters to see if he had suddenly and predictably regretted his rash action. When he didn't shrug her off or tense, she'd go a bit further; a stroke of his cheek, a comb of his hair, a quick peck on the lips.

Her kisses were the one thing she knew drove him mad, she could feel it radiating off of him every time. She started with tame little gestures- lasting less than a second- and then gradually increased the length and the fever.

They had finally managed to get to the point where they were shamelessly and feverishly making out in their kitchen.

Galina was currently sitting on the kitchen counter with her legs wrapped around Sherlock's waist; his hands were tangled in her curled hair and hers were on his cheeks and urging him closer.

His soft lips had traveled to her neck as his hands inched up her thigh- taking with it the fabric of her grey skirt and white apron- and he let out a soft groan when she raked her hand through his hair.

"Sherlock," she gasped, smiling when she felt his teeth graze her collarbone. "My borscht is almost ready."

"Let it burn," he replied, his hands wandering up roughly to her waist- stopping right before they grazed her chest- and settling again in her hair.

"Богохульство (Blasphemy)," she whispered, feeling her will drain as his lust increased. "Do you know how hard I worked on it?"

"I assume very hard-"

She rolled her eyes.

"-but this is far more interesting," he concluded, letting out an animalistic growl when he felt her tongue glide across his bottom lip. "Do you have to work today?"

Galina sighed as Sherlock rubbed her hip with his thumbs. "No, Speedy's is closed on Sundays, remember?"

"No," he admitted as his lips brushed against hers.