Life's Waiting to Begin (Sherlock Holmes fic)
Title: Life's Waiting to Begin
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 890
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes isn't mine, etc.
Summary: Irene/Mary. Every life needs a bit of spice. It's not living without a bit of adventure.
Reposted from shkinkmeme - orginally posted Here - fill for this:
Life's Waiting to Begin
Irene Adler and Mary Watson are walking down the sidewalk. It’s rather late for two ladies to be walking arm-in-arm, unaccompanied by any man, but Irene walks with a steady, confident stride that removes from Mary’s mind any possible worry. Besides, if Mary were to be worried about anything (and she is, she really rather is) it would be about the villains she knows are at work, the schemes she knows are in danger of overthrowing the government, shadows of Blackwood, who escaped all those months ago, returned and growing stronger.
Part of her wishes she had chosen to stay out of all of it, as John had begged her, but instead she’d lifted her chin and demanded the truth of the incorrigible Mr. Holmes. And, as she’d known he would, he’d satisfied her curiosity thoroughly.
Besides, it’s not as if a bit of adventure hasn’t added a bit of spice to her life. A bit of spice, and…
Once again, Mary flicks her eyes to scan her companion’s face, so very close underneath the joint cover of the umbrella Irene holds above them. Irene’s eyes constantly skim over their surroundings, and despite the way her face is easy and relaxed she slides out the tip of her tongue and wets her red lips thoughtfully at the footsteps that move past them, at the shadow of the alley cat at the corner.
Mary swallows thickly, but it’s not out of fear. She feels safe walking next to Irene, safe and something more, something of adventure and danger and exhilaration. The tilt of Irene’s head is intoxicating, the way her hand hovers over her hidden pistol makes Mary half-delirious, the way Irene gives her a crooked half-smile when she catches her looking makes Mary…
…weak in the knees.
It’s really quite ridiculous.
Completely preposterous.
But Mary, oh Mary, she’s an eye for Irene’s dark eyes and the way breath sometimes catches in her throat when she looks at Mary, just as she’d had noticed the way Holmes’ eyes would sometimes stutter over her John when he thought no one else was looking, no one else would notice. But Mary had seen, and Mary had danced toward John anyway, because love isn’t something to be fenced off and imprisoned, it’s something that can flow and bend and encompass and become more than the sum of its parts, and Mary?
Mary can see the thread that runs through all of them, and she’s not about to let a little thing like Blackwood and his men and the threat they pose to the government screw with her plans. Because Mary has plans. Mary has plans, and ideas, and carefully laid out steps, and-
Irene licks her lips, and Mary forces herself not to stumble, because dear lord-
The rain is coming down harder, and Irene points a perfectly dry, clean gloved hand down half-hidden steps to a doorway.
“I’ve a spare room tucked away, there,” Irene says. “It’s closer, and we can return to Baker Street in the morning, unless your man will be worried?”
Mary is rather alarmed at how very little concern she has at the moment for John possibly being worried. “I don’t doubt Mr. Holmes will keep him in hand,” she says.
Irene grins and then tucks Mary in closer into her side so that they can go down the stairs together and remain underneath the umbrella.
Except Mary can feel Irene’s curves against her body, the gentle slopes and the press of her hip against hers, and this isn’t fair because Mary has a plan and-
Irene’s breath hitches just slightly when Mary presses against her on the last step, and Mary instinctively turns into her, so that they’re facing each other, bodies snug against each other, and Irene stumbles over an inhale as Mary breathes out ”Irene-”
And then Irene’s thrown the umbrella to the side as Mary shoves her hard against the wall, mouth finding those painted lips, hand trembling against her hip, and Irene moans into her mouth, tongue sliding along the length of Mary’s tongue, fingers curling along Mary’s jawline, and Mary makes a sound halfway between a prayer and a swear as Irene pushes her back into the opposite wall, Mary’s free hand reaching between their bodies to slide against Irene, and Irene, Irene is crumbling to pieces, because
fuck
and hell
and how does she even-
Water is catching them from the side, but Mary hardly cares, and Irene’s never minded getting a bit dirty before, and besides, the way Mary’s hair settles wet against the side of her face, the way Mary’s dress sticks to her body, highlighting the curves, Irene is only regretting ever having used umbrellas before.
Mary is grinning up at her, now, “Do you have the key?”
And confident, brilliant Irene paws through her purse and then breaks off, unable to stop herself from kissing away the smirk on Mary’s lips, the half-knowing turn of her lips, fingers skimming over her dress until she once more breaks away, needing the key because she needs that dress off, needs smooth skin underneath her fingers, needs
(and when did this happen? How did this happen? Is Watson going to kill her?)
needs Mary’s body against her body, begging and whimpering and finding this whole new adventure together.
...Finis...
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 890
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes isn't mine, etc.
Summary: Irene/Mary. Every life needs a bit of spice. It's not living without a bit of adventure.
Reposted from shkinkmeme - orginally posted Here - fill for this:
Life's Waiting to Begin
Irene Adler and Mary Watson are walking down the sidewalk. It’s rather late for two ladies to be walking arm-in-arm, unaccompanied by any man, but Irene walks with a steady, confident stride that removes from Mary’s mind any possible worry. Besides, if Mary were to be worried about anything (and she is, she really rather is) it would be about the villains she knows are at work, the schemes she knows are in danger of overthrowing the government, shadows of Blackwood, who escaped all those months ago, returned and growing stronger.
Part of her wishes she had chosen to stay out of all of it, as John had begged her, but instead she’d lifted her chin and demanded the truth of the incorrigible Mr. Holmes. And, as she’d known he would, he’d satisfied her curiosity thoroughly.
Besides, it’s not as if a bit of adventure hasn’t added a bit of spice to her life. A bit of spice, and…
Once again, Mary flicks her eyes to scan her companion’s face, so very close underneath the joint cover of the umbrella Irene holds above them. Irene’s eyes constantly skim over their surroundings, and despite the way her face is easy and relaxed she slides out the tip of her tongue and wets her red lips thoughtfully at the footsteps that move past them, at the shadow of the alley cat at the corner.
Mary swallows thickly, but it’s not out of fear. She feels safe walking next to Irene, safe and something more, something of adventure and danger and exhilaration. The tilt of Irene’s head is intoxicating, the way her hand hovers over her hidden pistol makes Mary half-delirious, the way Irene gives her a crooked half-smile when she catches her looking makes Mary…
…weak in the knees.
It’s really quite ridiculous.
Completely preposterous.
But Mary, oh Mary, she’s an eye for Irene’s dark eyes and the way breath sometimes catches in her throat when she looks at Mary, just as she’d had noticed the way Holmes’ eyes would sometimes stutter over her John when he thought no one else was looking, no one else would notice. But Mary had seen, and Mary had danced toward John anyway, because love isn’t something to be fenced off and imprisoned, it’s something that can flow and bend and encompass and become more than the sum of its parts, and Mary?
Mary can see the thread that runs through all of them, and she’s not about to let a little thing like Blackwood and his men and the threat they pose to the government screw with her plans. Because Mary has plans. Mary has plans, and ideas, and carefully laid out steps, and-
Irene licks her lips, and Mary forces herself not to stumble, because dear lord-
The rain is coming down harder, and Irene points a perfectly dry, clean gloved hand down half-hidden steps to a doorway.
“I’ve a spare room tucked away, there,” Irene says. “It’s closer, and we can return to Baker Street in the morning, unless your man will be worried?”
Mary is rather alarmed at how very little concern she has at the moment for John possibly being worried. “I don’t doubt Mr. Holmes will keep him in hand,” she says.
Irene grins and then tucks Mary in closer into her side so that they can go down the stairs together and remain underneath the umbrella.
Except Mary can feel Irene’s curves against her body, the gentle slopes and the press of her hip against hers, and this isn’t fair because Mary has a plan and-
Irene’s breath hitches just slightly when Mary presses against her on the last step, and Mary instinctively turns into her, so that they’re facing each other, bodies snug against each other, and Irene stumbles over an inhale as Mary breathes out ”Irene-”
And then Irene’s thrown the umbrella to the side as Mary shoves her hard against the wall, mouth finding those painted lips, hand trembling against her hip, and Irene moans into her mouth, tongue sliding along the length of Mary’s tongue, fingers curling along Mary’s jawline, and Mary makes a sound halfway between a prayer and a swear as Irene pushes her back into the opposite wall, Mary’s free hand reaching between their bodies to slide against Irene, and Irene, Irene is crumbling to pieces, because
fuck
and hell
and how does she even-
Water is catching them from the side, but Mary hardly cares, and Irene’s never minded getting a bit dirty before, and besides, the way Mary’s hair settles wet against the side of her face, the way Mary’s dress sticks to her body, highlighting the curves, Irene is only regretting ever having used umbrellas before.
Mary is grinning up at her, now, “Do you have the key?”
And confident, brilliant Irene paws through her purse and then breaks off, unable to stop herself from kissing away the smirk on Mary’s lips, the half-knowing turn of her lips, fingers skimming over her dress until she once more breaks away, needing the key because she needs that dress off, needs smooth skin underneath her fingers, needs
(and when did this happen? How did this happen? Is Watson going to kill her?)
needs Mary’s body against her body, begging and whimpering and finding this whole new adventure together.
...Finis...