Let's have dinner.

Consciously or unconsciously, Sherlock had pinned Irene down, resting his hands on her wrists. Probably taking her pulse that moment, she guessed, but her head wasn't really that interested in that fact. A dominatrix likes to dominate, but has to take a break sometimes. She loved to rest the power in Sherlock's hands, but she really felt like pulling his hair that moment. Instead, she bent her head back, revealing the skin of her neck, a token of surrender and submission.

Sherlock didn't quite know what to do at that moment. He'd never been in this kind of position before and at the sight of Irene's long slender neck being offered to him he was quite at a loss. He hesitated a second, then bent down and inhaled deeply, the scent of her perfume and natural aroma, rather intoxicating. He found his lips gently carressing her in small kisses once again.

Irene felt Sherlock's soft lips brushing and pressing kisses on her neck. She closed her eyes and sighed for a moment. This felt great, steady and without any hurry, scenting and enjoying the moment. She softly freed her right hand and crawled it into Sherlock's hair and neck.

((I will keep going on until your Sherlock realizes his Johnlock feels, just a hint =))

Sherlock continued with the kissing, enjoying the warm feeling against his lips. He closed his eyes, then quickly snapped them open again. For some reason every time he closed them he could see these...images...dancing in front of his eyelids...John's face...He stopped and sat up, frowning.

"I.....I don't know what's going on..." he said to Irene. "It's...quite confusing."

"Is it?"
Irene wondered what was going on in the detective's head. If something he considered 'quite confusing' was bothering him, how would he deal with it? She sat up too and admired the silhouette of his face with her hand still in his hair.
"Enlighten me."

Sherlock fell back onto the chair, suddenly feeling embarrassed at Irene's eyes boring into him. He felt like she could already read his mind. He looked at the floor, a little uncomfortable.

"It's John," he said quickly, "I keep thinking about John." He could feel blood rushing to his cheeks. He was blushing, he realised.

And there you have it. Now are we, finally, getting somewhere. Her work was almost done. He just had to admit it. That they are a couple, and not only in a platonic way. He just had to admit it (and have wild sex with John) and then her job would be done.
But now she had to be careful to keep her facade opaque. She noticed that he was uncomfortable and looked around for a moment. The living room of Baker Street was a total mess, just how she liked it. But that was not the most important thing at the moment.

"Do you regard that as bad?"

Sherlock searched his mind frantically. Did he regard that as bad? Why was he thinking about his flatmate when an apparently beautiful woman was attempting to seduce him? It didn't make sense. But nothing...nothing felt right without John being here.

"John is....John is my friend..." he stated simply.

"and.. you think about him during sex?" Sex wasn't the right word, but Irene wanted to provoke him with deeds, and now words.
"Doesn't sound to me like just friends". She wished she could capture this moment. This moment of cuteness and humanity of the great emotionless detective, Sherlock Holmes. She wanted to laugh, but thought better of it. She didn't want to offend him in his vulnerable state, so she resisted it with effort. She knew that doubt was his greatest logical weakness and she took advantage of that.
"Are you sure?"

"I think about him all the time," Sherlock said immediately, instinctively. Then he realised the implication behind Irene's words. She was trying to suggest that he and John were...were....He frowned deeply and rubbed the back of his head.

"John and I are...friends," he repeated, although somehow it seemed less convincing now. "I am....married to my work," he added. Of course he was. He would never be interested in anyone in /that/ way. And yet here he was allowing himself to be kissed and allowing himself /to/ kiss Irene Adler. Beyond belief. He stood up, his heart pounding. What was /wrong/ with him?

Irene raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh?"

Irene didn't stand up, pulling her legs on the couch, eying Sherlock. A glimpse of a smile lingered on her lips.
"And now John is connected with your work, isn't he? He is your companion to most of your cases." Irene remembered the day that the couple visited her residence. How amusing that was. They were wonderfully aligned, in the way they reacted on each other vocally, but Irene had noticed physically too (in the sense of exchanging looks and movements).
"You should see yourselves, it's very interesting to see you both."

"So what are you trying to say?" Sherlock demanded, "that because John is connected to your work that makes me married to him too? Don't be preposterous!"

He began pacing up and down in front of Irene, rubbing his temples with his hands. Why was he getting so worked up by what she was saying? What did it matter? This was all because he thought of John when she was....when she was...why did he think of John?

Sherlock collapsed back into the arm chair and made a loud groaning noise, holding his head. His mind felt overcrowded and confused with a mess of thoughts and emotions.

"I am not trying to be preposterous. I am trying to help you." Irene said soothingly. She got up from the couch and sat down in the armchair in front of him. John's armchair. She could see that Sherlock was having a rough time in his head. Poor man. This must be fixed.

"Tell me, Sherlock. What pops up in your head if I mention 'John'. Blurt out everything that comes up." She sighed and locked with his eyes. She sighed.
"Please"

Sherlock closed his eyes and lay back in the armchair, taking a deep breath and emptying his mind of everything else except his thoughts of John. He could do this.

"When I think of John..." he began slowly, cautiously, unwilling to expose himself in this way, but as he started to speak he found the words came easily, flowing out quickly and smoothly as if he was making a deduction at a crime scene. "John is my best friend, my only friend. John is the only person I trust, the only person who matters. He is brave, loyal, trustworthy, exciting, fascinating, incredible. I wouldn't ever want to live with anyone else. I hate it when he goes out and I spend all my time thinking about what he's doing and wondering when he'll be coming home. I don't care what anyone else thinks of me except John. His opinion matters, I respect him. He means more...more to me than I could ever hope to possibly put into words...I...." Sherlock trailed off, suddenly finding this difficult again. "He's just....John."

He breathed out, exhausted at unravelling his emotions so deeply, then opened his eyes slowly, expecting to find Irene laughing at him.

"And..." Irene was not laughing. In fact, she was impressed and touched by the deepness of Sherlock's feelings for John. But still, Irene couldn't believe it. She saw Sherlock cared for John, she didn't need Sherlock's deductive powers to see that. But she knew there was another layer of feelings beneath the caring. She knew it plain as day and she had tried to activate that part by physically provoking him.

"Doesn't sound to me as JUST John..." She raised one eyebrow. Admit it. she thought.

Sherlock stared into Irene's face blankly. He shrugged.

"I...I don't know what else you want me to say. I suppose you want me to say I 'love' him but...well...how would you even define love anyway? It's such an abstract word, it really means nothing."

Oh silly boy. "Love, my dear, means everything." Irene sat back in her seat. Let's teach him a lesson here. She brought her hands together under her chin and imitated him a bit.
"Love is much and much more then just sex. Love is caring, sacrificing yourselves for the other and be blatantly happy about it. Trusting each other no matter what. Love is not necessarily having a romantic or sexual interest in someone, for example your mom. Family members love each other, at least common families, that may be not so in the Holmes family. You said once yourself that love is a greater power of revenge than hatred."
She took a breath.
"In your case... I would definitely say you love him. You are a couple. Partners, platonic for sure, but as you blurt out John's name in the middle of erotic activities, I suspect other layers in this matter."

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. None of what she was saying made sense and yet, on some level it did.

Why would he love John? That would be stupid and irrational. And yet, he had to admit that he cared about him, that his opinion mattered, that he counted. And she was right, he /had/ called out John's name whilst Miss Adler was showering him with kisses and touches...that was the part that really made no sense.

"Love is something I've never considered before," he said slowly, "it's never been a part of my life and I've never needed it...hmmm, perhaps we should ask John what he thinks?" Sherlock wasn't sure whether that would be a good idea or not, but he certainly trusted John's opinion.

"What? Are you just going to call his name and ask him if he loves you or not?"
Irene wanted to facepalm, but instead, she frowned.
"I don't really think that's a good idea, Sherlock. I think you should have your own opinion straight..." Well... straight wasn't the appropriate word in this case... "I mean that I think you should realise your feelings for him. And then ask for his opinion"
Yeah. That was a better plan. But how could she possibly let him realise his feelings for John?

((Planning on Johnlock, or not?))

"No of course I wouldn't say that," Sherlock snapped. "That would be...odd. I thought we could explain to him what happened and then we could ask him what he thinks that means."

Sherlock stood up and was about to head towards John's room. He paused slightly and looked at Irene questioningly. "I mean...if that's OK with you? You're not going to be 'embarrassed' or anything?"



(( Maybe a bit of Johnlock, but Sherlock is currently too clueless for it to get very far very quickly...a few scenes between the three of us will be fun though...then we can make suggestions as to where to go next later... ))

"I am never embarrased, my dear. What about you?" Irene pointed at his open shirt and his messy hair. Would Sherlock present himself like that? Even to John? Guess not.

"Ready when you are or would you rather have me dressed in a different way?"
His choice. She couldn't care less.

((sure! Sounds great =))

Sherlock glanced down at himself and realised his shirt was undone. He blushed a little and started to do up the buttons. Perhaps he wasn't beyond embarrassment himself after all. He looked Irene up and down.

"You seem fine to me," he stated.

Then he headed to the hallway and approached John's door, pausing slightly to flatten down his hair. He knocked.
"John?" he called through the door.

John didn't feel that well.
Nothing was wrong with him, really.
At least physically.
He had undressed and slid into bed, but even though he had prayed to fall asleep right away and get quickly to tomorrow, it hadn't worked at all.
He had laid there for what felt like ages, trying to ignore the soft noises that came from the living room.

Why was he jealous?
It was unfair to be jealous of someone who would never want him in a million years.

He started when he heard the knock on his door, Sherlock's voice felt strangely low and he was tempted to ignore him at first.
Was he there to ask him if he had a condom?

He sighed, knowing he had to be a proper friend, even though he felt so bloody jealous and miserable about the whole ordeal.
"What?" he croaked as he opened the door just a bit, his eyes filling with hurt as he noticed the disheveled hair and signs of lipstick on Sherlock's neck.

When John opened the door Sherlock was suddenly hit by an overwhelming feeling of dread and nervousness. His cool bravado of only moments before vanished and he was left wondering whether he could actually speak to John about this after all.

"Errr...sorry to disturb you John but uhh.." Sherlock stammered, "I need to ask you a question. Well erm, not exactly a question just...sort of...your opinion on something."

John frowned at Sherlock's words, it felt like someone was gripping his heart tight, making it harder for him to breathe. Why was Sherlock being so cruel? It was already hard enough for him to accept this, he didn't need to be involved.

"I don't want to hear about you and Irene... I don't have any condom to give you... I... I told you..." his voice shook a bit. "I told you I don't like this..."