You open the door to his apartment building, the black door with the golden numbers and letter. Mrs. Hudson is coming down the stairs, carrying a tray.
"Oh, hello! So good to see you again!" she greets you.
"Good to see you too!" you smile.
"I was just clearing away their afternoon tea. They're busy with a case. No rest for those two," Mrs. Hudson says.
"Yeah, they are always knee deep in a mystery of sorts," you reply.
"Do you want some tea?" Mrs. Hudson asks.
"No, I'm good, thank you. I'm here for Sherlock," a small smirk appears on your lips.
"I think he'll be happy to see you, he could use a break," Mrs. Hudson says with a twinkle in her eyes.
She might be an older woman, but she knows what's up and cooking, and you think her rad.

You walk up the stairs, hearing two voices discussing a matter of great importance, but still when they hear you coming.

"Hi, guys!" you say and look from Sherlock, to John, and back to Sherlock.
"Hi!" John says.
Sherlock just looks at you.
"I heard you are rather deep in a case, so maybe I should come back at another time?" you ask and lock eyes with Sherlock.
"Well, we are rather pressed for time," you hear John say.
"No," Sherlock says sharply.
"We're not?" John asks.
"Maybe," Sherlock replies. "But why don't you go ahead, and I'll catch up with you?"
"Seriously, how can you think about that when a case is depending on your brilliant brain?" John rolls his eyes.
"Because my brain is blocked at the moment, and I need to unblock it!" Sherlock's eyes are still fixed on you, and you bite your lower lip, knowing what he means.
"Jeez!" John throws up his hands, meaning to leave.

"Go to my room and take off your clothes. Keep the heels," Sherlock commands you.
"You make her sound like a client, though a most different kind of client," John says.
"I know, right?" you say and chuckle. "And I won't leave until I'm completely satisfied," you say while walking towards Sherlock's room.

You hear Sherlock and John discussing while stripping down to your skin. You and Mr. Holmes are not in a relationship. You're just having sex. And lots of it. You're both taking advantage of each other; he of you because fucking makes him think clearer, something he discovered after your first encounter. He managed to solve three unsolved cases within two hours the very same night, and he's fixed on the idea of having you helped. And you of him because, well, he's hot and you're horny. And you find him interesting. Some of his wits have rubbed off on you and you feel more enlightened in the art of deducting.

You stand by his desk looking at one of his many collections of random objects. He's a first class nerd, but according to the movie Revenge of the Nerds, nerds are more in sync with what a woman wants because they spend all their time thinking of sex because they can't have it. You don't think it's Sherlock's case, but he's brilliant at whatever he puts his mind to, and well, he's a genius in bed.

The door opens, and Sherlock enters. You turn around to face him. He's unbuttoning his shirt while looking you up and down, a sly smirk on his lips.
"Why the heels?" you ask.
"Because you need the hight for what I'm about to do to you," he replies.
A rush of sexual adrenaline runs through your body and you weaken at the knees. You watch him undress. You don't need much forplay. Just knowing you're gonna get fucked by him is plenty. He walks over to you stark naked, placing his hands on your face, kissing you.

"Up against the wall, spread 'em," he says, flicking his head towards which wall he's got in mind. You walk up to it, placing your palms against the wallpaper, your legs apart. You feel one of his hands on your hip, the other one steering his shaft up and inside you. You gasp for air at his first thrust. With both hands on your hips, he does you good, his cock sliding in and out of your very turned on womanhood. You moan, your forhead against the wall, taking it, wanting it.

He slides one hand down to your front, finding your pleasure point. His fingers work your clit just right, making you tense your sexual strings even more. His sexy grunts are coming frequent, so are your moans. He does you hard and firm, his hand never losing control, his fingers rubbing your swollen clit with firce precision. You mewl loudly. "Ohhhh goood!" you scream. He speeds up everything. He watches your fingers clawing at the wall, knowing you're just about to come.

"Ahhhhhh!!! Ahhhhhhh!!!" you moan loudly as you convulse around his cock. Tension being freed from your womanhood in tenfold.He grabs you by the hips, pulling you a bit from the wall, in an perfect angle for him to finish. He fucks you hard, and you feel his shaft being rammed in and out of your cunt. It feels sooo good, you feel like coming again. He grunts and you squeal. The thrusts get rougher, and the grunts louder, and your moans are out of control. Then you both come, the final thrust rendering you both euphoric.

He bends you up, kissing your shoulder blades. Then he slips out and you turn around to look at him.

You smile, and so does he, before leaning in to kiss you.

"I'm enslaved to your touch," you purr between the kisses. "You do things to me no man ever has, or been able to. You sexual wizard."
"Me and my wand," Sherlock does an Alan Rickman imitation.
You burst out laughing, surprised he's even heard of Harry Potter, more so that he's able to do an impression.

He walks over to his pile of clothes on the floor to get dressed while you're still giggling. You try to hush up, but it's hard. You've been seeing each other for almost a month, and though you've talked and made rude and comical deductions of innoncent passerbyes, his impression showed you a different side of him you haven't seen, or heard, before.

Sherlock sits down on the bed to lace his shoes. You sit down beside him.
"Done laughing?" he asks.
"Maybe," you reply and smile widely.
He smiles too, smitten with your cheerfulness. "Feel free to stick around," he says. "I might... I might be able to crack this case sooner."
"Your brain's unblocked then?" you ask and smirk.
"Very much so," he smirks too.
You lean in to kiss multiple times, holding the last one because you don't want him to go, but know he has to.
"You better go and crack it then," you say. He kisses you one more time before getting up.
"Bye then," he says and dashes off.

You fall back on his bed, the sheets feeling soft against your skin. You giggle some more at his Rickman impression, before biting your lip, replaying your act against the wall. The heels for hight so he could easily access you from behind, making it comfortable for you both. He thinks of everything.

You put on his dressing gown and pick up your clothes heading for the bathroom to freshen up. When you come out, you hear porcelain clatter in the livingroom. It's Mrs. Hudson.

"There you are! Sherlock told me to bring up some tea," she smiles. So do you, to her and to the fact that Sherlock thought you might want some tea. You sit down. Mrs. Hudson joins you.
"I'm glad Sherlock got someone... He's not a... He's not your average guy," she starts saying.
"Far from it," you smile and take a sip of your cup.
"I never knew what to make of him, and his... Nature. But clearly..." she looks at you and smiles.

--

Sherlock and John are in a taxi cab, heading back to Baker Street.
"I still can't believe you could stay behind and fuck her," John says suddenly, looking out the window.
"We solved the case, didn't we?" Sherlock asks.
"That's not the point. The point is... I don't know anymore. What the hell are the two of you doing?" John asks.
Sherlock opens his mouth to reply.
"Besides sex!" John says.
"We..." Sherlock goes silent.
"Is it a relationship? Is it going somewhere? What's so special about her you drop everything to please her? She's got you good, doesn't she?" John asks.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous," Sherlock says.
"Jealous? I don't want to have sex with you," John says rather loud.
"Not with me," Sherlock rolls his eyes. "You just want the same for you. Sex, no strings attached," he says.
"Maybe," John says after a while. "Okay, yes. I guess it bugs me that a man like you showing no interest in women or bedroom fun, picks up a woman at at café, and brings her home to fuck her. I couldn't believe my ears when Mrs. Hudson said you were not to be disturbed the first time you brought her to our place. I though you were with a client, but Mrs. Hudson said she didn't think it was the case, since you held her hand while escorting her upstairs. I had to spend the night on Mrs. Hudson's couch."
"For god's sake, John! She's smart and sexy, and I... I felt a strong attraction I wanted to understand better. The attraction is sex, and it does make me feel better. You know I'm an addict. Smoking, other... Substances... I guess I'm addicted to her," Sherlock looks thoughtful.
"So that's it then? Just sex? Nothing more?" John asks. "I mean; you talk, you eat dinner together, you do drinks, making jokes. I know you care for her, you've done several things I didn't even know someone as cold as you could do for anyone. And I've seen the way she's looking at you. It's not just sex."
Sherlock looks out the window. He knows John's right, but he doesn't want to admit it, can't admit it. He's seen how the people he cares about turn into targets... He can't possibly allow himself to let himself feel... Anything... Deep. Though he's in deep.

After spending the night snooping superficially in Sherlock and John's apartment, reading a book, ordering food and made some awful noises on Sherlock's violin, you've gone to sleep in his bed. You don't know why you didn't go home.

Sherlock and John come home, the place smelling of mexican food. "I told her to hang out here if she wanted to," Sherlock says, before John manages to ask.
"Okay, that's it! No woman would hang out here, just to hang, especially alone, for that long if she didn't hope to see you again today. There you have it, man; you're in a relationship!" John states. "She's probably in your bedroom as we speak."
"I know she's in my bedroom," Sherlock says, running a hand through his hair.

He opens the door to his room. You're laying with your back facing him, sound asleep. He gets into bed as well, and you turn, but are still asleep. He looks at your face, at your features, your messy hair. "Relationship," he thinks. "Relationship." He knows the difinition of the word, he just never thought he'd be in one. Every aspect of the word frightens him becuase the expectations are something he can't grasp, or want to be defined by. He's not even sure you want to be defined by it. It's scary on so many levels. Whatever you are, will he ever be ready for it?