Sherlock: x you

Sublime Dexterity

Request: (inspired by your latest reblog of loving sherlock's hands...) could you write something where reader loves his hands and so he uses them to please her ? thank you!

Summary: You're completely fixated on Sherlock's hands. So he decides to show you exactly what they're capable of.

Warnings: Smut, digital penetration, overstimulation, mild bad language.

Readers must be 18+

Sublime Dexterity

You'd been waiting all day for this moment; the ding of the bell above the door, the sight of your last customer walking out into the dimming London evening. You inhaled a deep, clarifying breath and exhaled through puckered lips, relieved to finally be alone, to once again be able to hear your own thoughts.

But the silence was tainted by a noise; an irritating, electronic melody playing on one of the keyboards at the back of the shop. You sighed as you stepped out from behind the counter and made your way over to them, stopping on your way to straighten out a drum kit and return a box of guitar strings back to its hook.

You stood in front of the wall of keyboards with your hands on your hips, trying to figure out which one the noise was coming from. Your eyes trailed up to the top row and you groaned as you saw the blinking light on the highest one, cursing the group of teenagers who had no doubt done it on purpose before they left. You huffed, rising to your tip toes and reaching to switch it off, your skirt riding up until it was barely skimming the tops of your thighs.

You barely ever wore skirts to work, especially not ones as short as this. It had been a spur of the moment decision as you got ready that morning; the voice on your meditation app telling you to 'do something out of your comfort zone today' as you stood in front of your open wardrobe. But you'd regretted taking the advice since the moment you got to work; having to hold it down by the hem every time you reached up to organise a shelf or leaned over a customer to demonstrate an instrument.

Now the shop was empty, and you could finally move freely without the fear of someone catching a glimpse of your underwear. So you stretched your arms as high as they could go, flicking the switch on the keyboard to turn it off, the silence that followed like a deep, calming breath.

But a familiar sound broke through the quiet; the ding of a bell and creak of a door that made you sigh and roll your eyes.

"Sorry!" you called out as you hurried around the corner. "Sorry, I was just about to close..." Your voice trailed off meekly when you laid eyes on the man standing near the entrance.

Almost everyone in London knew the name Sherlock Holmes; he was the mysterious consulting detective, the maverick, the dark genius. But you knew him as the man who always insisted on visiting the shop right before closing time. If it were anyone else, you would have found it irritating, but there was something about him; something that made you almost excited whenever he came in.

"I know," he replied calmly. "Not a problem, is it?"

"I... I suppose not." You glanced up at the clock on the wall before making your way towards the door. "You can look around while I'm clearing up. But I will have to lock you in, if that's alright? Just stops anyone else trying to come in."

He shrugged. "I've been held hostage by scarier people."

You laughed softly, unable to tell from his tone whether he was joking or not. He probably wasn't.