Let's have dinner.

Sherlock is reluctant to move off the sofa where he has been reclining comfortably for the majority of the afternoon.

"MRS HUDSON! OPEN THE DOOR!" he shouts. There is no response. Rolling his eyes he hauls himself up and manages to make it downstairs to open the front door where Irene is waiting. He looks her up and down.

"I see you managed to put some clothes on this time."

Irene walks in as soon as the door opened. Inside she turned to Sherlock and grinned.

Well, you could always change that. Don't you think it's nice from me to wait in front of your door instead of sneaking up into your bedroom?

I suppose it's a mild improvement.

Sherlock turned his back on her and started walking up the stairs to the flat, aware of Irene following closely behind him.

To what do I owe the pleasure this time? I hope you're not expecting me to make dinner. You could always ask Mrs Hudson but I wouldn't hold out much hope.

Sherlock blushed. He didn't like that nickname, even though he knew it was true. He was glad when they got back upstairs to the flat. He felt comfortable in his own environment. He flopped down at the sofa.

So if you don't want dinner...what do you want?

Irene bent over the sofa and raised one eyebrow.

I don't say I don't want dinner. I just want dinner.

Sherlock frowned slightly, unable to understand exactly what Irene was talking about, although as with everything with this woman, he got the impression things weren't as they seemed.

John's gone shopping. He'll be back soon with some food I'm sure...if you're...hungry.

The way Irene was staring at him made him feel a little uncomfortable. He shifted slightly in his seat and played with the cuff on his shirt.

Irene saw him playing with his cuff on his shirt. She grinned because he was so unsure. She narrowed her eyes.

How soon exactly?

Half an hour at the most. If you can wait that long

Sherlock frowned slightly, watching her play with a lock of her hair, curling it round her finger. What was her game this time? He wondered. Surely it couldn't all just be about dinner? Nobody could be that obsessed with food.

Irene bent closer over Sherlock. She replaced her hand from her hair to Sherlock's upper button of his shirt and whispered in his ear:

Half an hour will do perfectly.

while tracing the shape of his right ear with her tongue.

Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat.

What...what are you doing?

He stiffened up in his seat...slightly uncomfortable.

Irene retreated her head from next to Sherlock's head and looked at him in the eyes.

Observe and deduce it.

She narrowed the space between their faces.

Sherlock's mind rapidly scanned through past situations and scenarios, trying to draw on something he'd experienced before in order to make an accurate deduction. He found himself at a loss.

I'm...not...quite sure.

He could feel Irene's breath close to his face. He felt like he was being pinned back to the sofa, unable to move.

I can change that, you know.

Irene felt Sherlock stiffening under her and his warm breath on her cheek. She grinned and closed the space between their mouths. She closed her eyes as she traced her tongue over Sherlock's lips.

Irene was now straddled on top of him and Sherlock was powerless to resist as she teasingly ran her tongue over his lips. No one had ever got that close to him before and he was determined not to let it happen.

Miss Adler...I...um...you do know John will be back any minute.

He hoped John would be back any minute. He needed rescuing.

Irene replaced her mouth to Sherlock's jawline so that he would be able to speak.

Hm, you think so? I bet he will be starving for dinner too.

She knew Sherlock desperately wanted to be rescued. The fact that she had him in her power made her smile. Her hand traced downwards the buttons of his shirt.

Please...please...don't.

Sherlock was becoming desparately uncomfortable. He could feel a light sweat breaking out on his forehead. He tried to wipe it off but his hand was pinned down by Irene. He glanced at the door, willing John to return.

She noticed his sweattyness. How cute. She kissed him again on his mouth to make him stop talking. She didn't like her men talking. An exception made for begging. She wanted her men to beg. In the need to breath, she murmured:

You are an adventurous type, aren't you? I can sense that you are very new to this. Well, treat me like an unsolved case and you will do fine.

She traced her hand down his chest. Her hand was not at the end of the buttons... Yet... But very close.