Work Text:
Easing herself from the bed, Irene grabbed Sherlock’s shirt from the floor at the end of the bed, slipping it over her bare shoulders and beginning to button it as she padded quietly towards the half open bedroom door.
“You know I don’t like you wearing my shirts.”
The corners of her mouth twitching into a faint smile at the rumbling baritone issuing from underneath the duvet, she paused, mischief dancing in her grey gaze as she glanced back over her shoulder.
“Only because you are afraid I wear them better. Besides,” she continued, ignoring Sherlock’s soft snort of disdain her words had conjured. “I somehow doubt Doctor Watson would appreciate my wandering round your flat in my ‘battle dress’. Again.” Lazily stretching, he raised his head from the pillow, raven curls a dark halo framing his face as he gazed at her, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Where are you going?”
“Just because you do not feel the need to eat at regular intervals, Mr Holmes, it does not mean the rest of us are so inclined.”
“Dull. I can think of far more interesting ways to spend your time, Miss Adler than eating.” Laughing lightly, she folded her arms across her chest, causing the shirt to ride up slightly higher on her thighs. A movement, she noted with rising amusement, which did not go unnoticed by the Consulting Detective if the hungry look which had sparked to life in his icy blue gaze was anything to go by.
“Of that I have no doubt, although these ‘interesting things’ may prove a little more difficult if I do not eat, Mr Holmes.”
“And here I thought you had more stamina, Miss Adler.”
“Oh, there is nothing wrong with my stamina, believe me.”
“Prove it.”
Almost before the words had left his mouth, Irene had moved, straddling his hips once more as she pinned him to the bed. Leaning closer, her ebony curls tumbled over her shoulder and gently caressed his cheek as she murmured against his lips.
“Be careful what you wish for, Mr Holmes…”
Giving a self-satisfied grin, Sherlock shifted beneath her, leaning up slightly to capture her lips in a kiss; that had all worked rather well. Feeling triumph and a healthy helping of lust begin to thrum through his veins, he reached out to put his hands on her hips and draw her closer…
Only to be brought up short by a soft ‘click’ as cool metal circled his wrist. Opening his eyes, which had fallen closed during the kiss, he turned his head slightly, perplexed to find his wrist now securely handcuffed to the bedstead.
“What the-?“
Another click as a second pair of handcuffs was snapped round his other wrist left him unable to do little more than rattle the chains, disgruntled, as he glared at The Woman. Having sat back to admire her handiwork, Irene flashed him a wickedly mischievous smile.
“Much better. Now, if you will excuse me…” Discontent dissolving into alarm, Sherlock watched, all but helpless, as Irene climbed from the bed once again.
“Where are you going?” he repeated, voice slightly sharper than he had intended. She couldn’t be intending to just leave him here…
“Really, Mr Holmes, you should learn to listen. I am, as I have already told you, going to get something to eat. Perhaps if you are very good, I will bring something back for you too.” Pressing a soft, teasing kiss to his lips, she straightened and started towards the door again, calling over her shoulder as she went. “You can use my absence to better plan the ‘interesting things’ you suggested earlier; I look forward to seeing how imaginative you can be on my return, Mr Holmes.”
With that, she was gone, leaving Sherlock stretched on the bed, equal parts annoyed and grudgingly impressed as he listened to the clattering from the kitchen, already plotting a suitable counter-attack.