"How did I know? I told you, didn't I? Please pay attention to the details, I'm not going to tell you a third time," you say and start telling your friend how you knew her husband's been cheating on her.
​
Sherlock sits on a stool with his back facing yours, his attention captured. He knows a deduction when he hears one.

"There," you say and wrap things up. "Look, I gotta hang up now. I'll call you later," you say, ending the call.

"Well done," you hear a male, husky voice say. You turn around.
"Excuse me?" you ask, noticing a dark, curly head of hair.
"I'm sorry," the man turns around to face you. "Well done figuring out how her husband cheated on her, most people would have ignored the signs you learned," he says to your face.
"Did you just listen in on my conversation?" you ask shocked. "Of course you did, I just..." 
"Just learned an important lesson about not airing dirty laundry in public, even when it's not yours," the man says, cutting you off.
You frown.
"I'm sorry, I just love a good deduction. They are so rare, and well, mostly done by myself," he smirks.
"Oh yeah," you say, getting up to put on your jacket. "If you're so fond of deductions, deduct this," you say and give him the finger.

You're just about to leave, but stop, turning around to study him.
A pair of blue eyes are staring right at you.
"How did you know?" you ask.
"That it was her husband, not just a boyfriend?" he asks.
"Yeah, I never said anything about their relationship status on the phone." You look him over, rather enticed by him.
"Like I said, I love a good deduction, and I did some of my own when you were talking," he smiles.
"Like what?" you ask curiously.
He gestures for you to sit down on the chair opposite him, and you do.

He tells you what he learned by your summary on the phone, and you are flabbergasted. Even though you got to the bottom of your friend's case, you could have done so sooner according to him.
"I'm impressed," you say.
"I know you are," he says, and gives you a cocky smile. 
"Sure of yourself, aren't you?" you ask.
"I got every right to be," he locks eyes with you.
His eyes are quite mesmerizing, and you can't help holding his gaze longer than what's probably appropriate considering you just met. Forgetting he's kinda violated your personal space by eavesdropping on your conversation, though you're out in the public.

"And what can you tell me about me?" you ask.
He draws a breath before he rambles on, leaving you even more astound.
"And since you got so much time on your hands investigating other peoples' relationships, I take it you are single, mostly by choice of course, because you've had your fair share of fools. You don't care for idiotic men anymore, so you've made it your hobby to study their stupidity, to learn things that might come in handy when friends' and other women's boyfriends or husbands act suspicious, coming to you for help to sort out their growing suspicion.
You flipped me the bird because you are somewhat frigid. You might hate men, but you need them for one thing. That's why you lingered, and decided to ask me how I knew, even though you were 50/50 indifferent to learn how I knew. You find me intriguing and annoying, but not your common nitwit. Far from it, and that has, well, stirred something in you."

Your lips part and you raise you eyebrows, at a loss for words, as the man's practically head on. "For your information, what started as a hobby, is now my profession. I'm a private detective. Sleazy husbands and boyfriends, sometimes wives and girlfriends, is my job. And yeah, a couple of crash and burn relationships might have steered me in this direction, but I like what I do, it pays. The world is full of cheating, lying scumbags," you cross you arms.

"You didn't correct the last part," the man smirks.
"Why should I? You're right. I might hate men, but I'm not anti-men, I do need them. I've just scared them all off, so I can't get off," you blush some, but you don't care.
"Men are afraid of intelligent women," he says.
"I know, but I don't want to dumb myself down to get laid." You stare down at the table, surprised by the words that just flew out of your mouth.
"And you shouldn't have to. I'd never settle for any less than a woman with a 115 IQ," he smiles. "Lucky for me I got an 125 IQ then," you say. "Though it went down drastically saying that, like it's getting me anywhere."
"It might," the man says.
"Do you... uhmmm, wanna get a drink somewhere?" you ask, following up on the enticement he's stirred in you.
"You know stopping for drinks is just delaying what you really want," he says.
"Delaying rejection, you mean?" you ask and look at him.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," he smirks, meeting your stare.
"What would you say?" you ask curiously, feeling a slight tingle inside your body, starting to fancy this strange man and his sharp wits.
"Where do you live?" he asks.
You tell him your street.
"So my place then," he says.
"Why?" you ask.
"Because it's closer," he smirks.

You get into a cab. He looks straight ahead, and you keep casting sideway glances at him.
He looks kinda nerdy, but he's also very handsome, with very pretty features.
You bite your lower lip. You don't even know who this guy is. You haven't introduced yourself yet, but you like it, the mystery of it all. Who is he? What does he have in store for you? 
For all you know he might be a psychopath. But a psycho is so much more interesting than an idiot anyway.

You stop in Baker Street, and you follow him up to a black door, with the numbers and letter 221B.
He opens the door and you follow him inside.
An older woman greets you.
"Ah, Mrs. Hudson, we are, uhmmm, not to be disturbed. And if Watson should return, tell him the same," he says.
"But, but Sherlock," the woman stutters confused to him as he rushes upstairs, taking your hand and hauls you with him.
You get more and more excited. It's something really wierd and twisted about this guy, and you can't help wanting him. You just hope the attraction is mutual.

"Interesting place you got here," you say and look around his living room.
Plenty of books, paper piles, boxes, files and... A skull.
"Who's this guy?" you ask and go over to the mantelpiece.
"A friend," Sherlock replies.
"You don't make them very easily, do you?" you ask.
He looks at you.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." you start saying.
"It's okay. You're right. I'm not a very friendly guy," he says.
You swallow hard.
"A psychopath?" you ask and smirk, looking at his somewhat trashed apartment.
"I'm a highly functioning sociopath," he replies.
You look at him, and he smiles. You return it, enticed beyond words at this point.
  
"So, Mr. Sherlock, why did you bring me here?"
He takes a few steps towards you.
"You know what I want..." your statement hangs in the air.
"Because I might want it to," Sherlock runs his gaze over you, resting it on your lips.
"I normally... Don't pick up women... I... I'm usually fine with staying in my own mind palace. Physical relations..."
You move in closer while he's talking, staring into his ocean blue eyes.
"I thought you'd be more sure of yourself," you say.
"When I'm deducting, I'm as sure as ever..." he swallows.
You take off his scarf, running your hands down his coat, resting your hands on the lapels, grabbing them.
"Well, deduct this," you say and pull him down towards your face, your lips, and kiss him.
He stands up tall for a second, looking at you with determination, all unsureness gone from his features. Then he leans down to kiss you back, returning it tenfold.

His coat falls to the floor, and your jacket, his blazer... You undo his shirt between sultry kisses, revealing a toned chest.
You kiss his neck, and you hear him sigh.
His hands are on your dress, pulling down the zipper in the back. He slides the dress down to your waist, before deciding to pull it all the way down to you ankles.
You step out of it, looking at him kneeling in front of you. He grabs your black pantyhose by the waistband, rolling it down you legs.
Now you're standing in the middle of his dark and mysterious den in nothing but your underwear.
He stands up, his body close to yours, his head tilted down towards your face. He kisses you, wrapping his arms around you. His manhood feels so hard behind the fabric of his dark trousers.
He starts steering you towards the cluttered desk. He gently puts away the laptop placed on it, before sweeping the rest of the content down on the floor with anything but a gentle move, causing a rather loud racket.
You giggle. He looks at you with a playful smirk plasterd on his handsome face. "I've been meaning to clean this place up, but who's got time for that?"
"Who's got time indeed," you say before your lips meet again.

You sit down on the desk. He kisses your neck and cleavage, his hands snapping open you bra faster than any man you've been with. You sigh lustfully as he kisses your breasts, playing with your peaked nipples.
He finds his way back up to your lips, kissing you hungrily. Then he grabs the delicate fabric of your panties, removing the last covering piece of clothing from your body.
He looks down at your womanhood, then into your eyes, which are most pleading.
You reach for his pants, to undo them, but he stops your fumbling hands before lowering himself slowly between your legs.
Soon you feel his tongue against your slit, and you mewl with delight as he runs it up and down your cunt, inside it.
His tongue is precise, and knows exactly where and how to please you, making you pant rapidly. You tug his hair, his curls curling around your fingers.
"Ahhhh, yessss," you moan, tensing and soon ready to come.
His tongue is working your clit frantically, and he clearly wants you to unravel from the tension he's conjured with it. And you do, oh god, you do, multiple loud moans leaving your mouth while coming undone from his sultry feast. 

You take a deep breath.
He kisses the inside of your thighs softly before looking up at you, his hand running up your thighs caressingly.
You bite your lip, before thanking him. Whether he's got more on his mind or not, you are pleased beyond reason from his oral performance.

He stands up.
"Fancy a drink?" he suddenly asks.
"Uhmmm, sure," you say.
He walks into the kitchen and returns shortly after with two glasses of cognac.
"Cheers!" he says after handing you your drink, and you klink your glasses.
You look at him over the brim of your glass, sipping slowy at the strong liquor. He's so incredibly sexy.
You put your hand on his face, brushing your thumb over his full lower lip, while opening your mouth slightly, giving him a seductive stare.
Soon the drinks are forgotten, and you're making out like crazy.
You undo his pants, sending them and his briefs down his long, strong legs.
His manhood's most impressive and you invite him, it, in by moving closer to the edge of the desk, spreading your legs wide.
He accepts the very wet and wanting invite, and soon he's rammed inside you, fucking you with sturdy thrusts.
He groans some, which you find very sexy, and join him with your moans.
He does you faster, harder, banging against your cunt, the desk creaking.
"Ahhhh, yeahhh, yeahhh," you moan loudly. "Ahhhh, gooood."
His grunts get louder too, clearly ready to come.
"You first," he says.
"Together," you say.
He thrusts himself into your tumid and tensed womanhood a few times more, before you both come hard and loud, screaming, shaking, panting, the desk almost breaking under the rough fucking.

He rests his head against your left shoulder and you stroke his hair, kissing him on the side of his crown.

---

"Are you hungry?" he asks when you are dressed. Well, semi-dressed, you're in his shirt, he's shirtless.
"Actually, I am, yeah," you say.
"Chinese?" Sherlock asks.
"Sure," you reply.
He places an order on the phone while you refill your drinks.

​You look at the tall man who just moments ago sent you into deep, deep rapture.
A brainy, mysterious stranger at a café, hiding more than witful skills. You're glad you've been allowed to scrape beneath the surface of this highly functioning sociopath. 
Who knows, maybe he'll allow you to divulge something deeper in his mind palace?