Let's have dinner.

An unsolved case? Then how would I...go about...solving you?

Irene's lips were warm and squidgy on his. He fought against the sensation, attempting to turn his head away. She was, after all, in league with Moriarty...an enemy. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Sherlock heard the sound of his landlady singing softly to herself downstairs. He attempted to shout for her.

MRS HUDSON!

Oh no, she was not going to let mrs Hudson interrupt them. Only if Johm did getting 'caught' would become fun. Otherwise only uncomfortable. His scream for help was muted under her lips.

An unsoved case you desperately want to solve, yes. How do you treat such a case?

She took his right wrist tightly with her left hand and made sure he wouldn't escape. Her right hand had stopped at the lowest button and hesitated.

Sherlock felt utterly helpless. He realised he could probably over power her if he put his mind to it. He was after all, a man, and more than capable at hand to hand combat...but there was something holding him back. Perhaps it was the desire to see what this mad woman would do next...how far she was prepared to go.

I would...do some investigating...interview some suspects...visit the...scene of the crime. Um...that's what I normally do. But...this isn't really like a normal case now is it?

He could feel her hand begin to undo the buttons of his shirt. He wondered how much more he could take.

Her hand stroked the bare skin under his unbuttoned shirt, while unbuttoning it. Her mouth was now at his ear. She did know what men liked, but she wasn't sure about Sherlock. Sherlock had no actual experience with these things, so she saw this as an experiment too.

It's not about the case. It's about the emotion you have. I've seen it before in you. You try to push your emotions away and you succeed! ... Up to a point... The only emotion you show is when you want to solve a case so badly that your body is tense with adrenaline.

She did not know how this would end. She felt the excitement ran through her body.

With some annoyance he realised Irene was right, and he could feel the adrenalin running through his body right now. He shivered when Irene touched his bare skin and wished she would stop, desperately worried she might expose some kind of weakness in him, that his body would betray him.

He turned his head away and tried to focus all his attention a particular section of the wallpaper, then he closed his eyes and attempted to take refuge in his mind palace, rerunning some of his favourite cases like an ordinary person might watch a movie. He was still vaguely aware of Irene's touch on his chest but he was at least succeeding to a point in blocking it out.

Irene noticed that the touching had less effect than before. Before this moment, she had played softly, but now, an extra dimension was needed. She climbed entirely on top of Sherlock and removed her hand from his wrist to his back and pressed his body closer to her own.

Sherlock was snapped out of the comfort of his mind palace by Irene's forceful movements...and found his whole body was now pressed up against hers. The shock of it sent a tingle down his spine. He screwed up his eyes and tried to make it go away again.

Let it go. she whispered.
She was back at his ear again, her cold left hand still against his warm back and her right hand still on top of his chest.

Just let it go.

Sherlock began to relax his body. He was starting to wonder what would actually happen if he just gave into her...how far would she push it...what would it feel like. He was confident that, should he want to, he could give one almighty shove and remove her from him in an instant. With this in mind he closed his eyes, lay his head back and tried to listen to her advice. Let go.

She smiled with her mouth on his left collarbone.

Intuition, my dear Sherlock.
She grabbed his left hand and swung it around her hips.

Follow your intuition.

Sherlock tensed up again as Irene swung his hand round, forcing him to touch her, and he discovered he was stammering as he spoke.

This isn't exactly...a situation I'm familiar with...intuition is...failing me somewhat.

Irene thought it was Sherlock's time to come in action. She doubted whether what she was planning was a good thing, but she did it anyways. She replaced her head before Sherlock's and looked him in the eye. Her hands in his hair.

I'll help you. Be a human.

And then she whispered:

Be a man and kiss me

Sherlock looked at her blankly.

I've never...kissed anyone in my life.

Don't be afraid.

She stroked his hair again and gave him an encouraging smile. She didn't feel like the all-destroying dominatrix at the moment, and that felt awkward. The exciting awkward, the arousing awkward.
She (too) was getting feelings, stirrings of their 'intermezzo'.

Maybe she was afraid to get feelings again. To care.

Sherlock screwed up his eyes. He felt his body stiffen up. He was tense. He waited for something to happen, although he wasn't sure what exactly. He expected that Irene would attempt to kiss him...once she realised that he certainly wasn't about to kiss her.

What is holding you back?
Her hands glided from the back of his head to his back, slowly further down and down. She hoped that he would take the initiative. Or else she would have to use the riding crop that she dropped next to the couch...

Just do.

What encouragement did he need?

Sherlock closed his eyes, willing himself to do it. It was almost like a dare now. He actually /wanted/ to, just to prove he could. But he couldn't. The frustration build up inside his chest until finally with a shout he threw all his body weight at Irene and shoved her away before leaping up out of the chair.

I can't! I can't do it!

She landed starteled on the couch. She got a bit angry now. She know Sherlock could. He honestly could if he would get a special room for it in his Mind Palace.

I know you can! Honestly.

She picked the riding crop up and got off the couch. She took a breath. Pointing at him with the riding crop, she said with a calm voice:

Or would you like me to use THIS?

((oh pleaseee answer!!! I have no idea where this is going to go :S pweeeese answer! ))

((sorry for the late reply, lol...was watching Reichenbach last night))

Sherlock took a step backwards at the sight of the riding crop and raised his eyebrows. He normally used it for beating dead bodies. He realised Miss Adler had an entirely different purpose in mind, the specifics of which he couldn't quite grasp. He had a couple of ideas...

Um...what do you intend to do with that?

(( It's ok. Reichenbach feels have priviliges.))

Irene narrowed her eyes. She stroked softly Sherlock's cheek with the end of the riding crop. Then she raised her chin in the air.

Think, you are a smart boy.
What do you think I intend to do?

Sherlock turned his cheek away slightly as the soft leather of the riding crop carressed his skin. He licked his dry lips and made a deduction.

I'd say you probably intend to beat me with it. To get me to submit to...your will. Am I right?

Yes, you are.

Irene thought: Of course he was. This was a bloody simple deduction. The only thing he couldn't deduce was himself. He thought he couldn't let his emotions go. She knew he bloody could. She tried to keep her voice calm.

I know you can. Just try.