Ingenium (✓) | Sherlock Holmes

🎓 3*salvation

I was attending a private party, a few blocks away from 221B Baker Street. My suit was as meticulously trimmed as always, although wearing a tie has constantly made me feel like a nutter. Nevertheless, I was in a slight mood for entertainment, especially because Miss Adair was due to attend as well. I was usually fascinated by the surroundings, but in that very moment, as I was driving towards the party, moon was nothing more than a celestial element.

As soon as I arrived, my gaze fell upon Miss Adair's apparel. Having been recently in a shower, her hay-coloured curls were damp, and there were still droplets of water dripping from her collarbone down to the hollow of her bosoms. Her body was not entirely dry, therefore her silk dress clung curvaceously to her skin, merging the two soft textures into one.

I approached her undoubtedly, flashing a smile I was unaware of until that fraction of a second, when Miss Adair traced the top of her cognac snifter like it was the flesh of a lover.

"Good evening, Miss Adair." I uttered, my gaze complimenting her choice of attire.

She returned my greeting dauntingly, and enunciated her desire to dance. More or less, I yearned to fulfill her every wish, so I extended my arm to her and waited patiently to occupy our spots on the dancing floor.

We were accompanied by a slow melody, the type of symphonic sequence that matched a foreplay between two entities. She placed her palm on my deltoid, and her right cheek on the space defined by my collarbone and armpit.

I felt and heard every movement: her hectic breath coming in subtle pants, her bosoms grazing over my torso, the nearness of her core and my pelvis. Every single element composing the plaster of our bodies was a possible genesis of sin. I lowered my hand on her back, ever so leisurely, until my fingers molded on the rounded cheeks of her derriere. I thought she would complain, but she spoke no words, letting our proximity engulf our senses and fade away any reasoning.

"Come with me to the balcony, Rhea."

The exquisite beauty in front of me nodded rather impatiently, fluttering her lashes as she scrutinized the pattern of my muscles visible through my shirt.

We held hands until the autumn breeze gracefully touched our skin. I turned around to face her and put my thumb under her chin, lifting her visage until our lips almost touched.

I wanted her to witness the pleasure of slow, teasing motions. My lips placed butterfly kisses all over her arched jaw, and the corner of her Cupid's bow. The rising of her chest increased, as the up-and-down swinging of her bust invited me to join the fever of anticipation.

Taking over her in an excruciatingly slow manner was burdensome even for me. Possessing self-control was utterly useless and I found myself disrobing it with no second thoughts. I crashed my lips to hers and devoured the sweet madness of her flesh, nibbling every inch of her moist skin. I then...

"Sherlock, are you having trouble with staying focused?"

I rose from Mycroft's sofa as if my arse were on fire. How could I zone out so unscrupulously? I believe my common sense has just been made redundant.

"Sod off, brother dear! I do not fancy being scolded for my shambles."

I rubbed my temples and almost broke a tea cup on my way to the scotch bar Mycroft was hiding behind a false wall.

"You look like a pissed bloke. What is on your mind?"

I angled myself to face Mycroft, a glass of scotch in my right hand. She made me lose my self-control, for Pete's sake! I was so indignant I could have murdered brother dear in a second.