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The Thinker Challenge	By : marksandspence Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2251 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This story is based solely on the television show Sherlock that airs on BBC1, written by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I borrow their universe to play in and do not claim any ownership or intend to make any money off of this fun hobby of m

Chapter List
- 12
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Chapter 12: Session 2 (XXX)
Author’s note: This is the second time Sio and Sherlock meet up for sex, so time-wise this would have occurred between Chapter 4 and Chapter 5.
When Sio arrives at the door of Sherlock’s flat, he is in the middle of something. This was not his intension as he had been looking forward to their meeting ever since he had gotten her text earlier this afternoon. However, he had started something just after tea and found himself still engrossed. He is hunched over his laptop, staring intently into the screen when he hears an odd noise. It takes him a moment for the ringing sound to reach his brain and wen it does, it takes him another few seconds to connect where the noise is coming from and what it signifies. Finally, he looks down at his phone, which he had placed next to the computer on his desk. There is a text in view.
SS: I'm outside.
Sherlock abruptly stands up and walks to the door. Opening it, he still looks a bit distracted.
He mutters, “Sorry. Did you ring the bell?”
Sio nods, “When you didn’t answer, I decided to try the phone.”
“Did you worry I was out?” Sherlock blurts as he steps out of the way for her to enter.
“I thought you were probably in the middle of something. Happens to me all the time.”
Holding his iPhone up to illustrate, “I put it on its loudest setting. Still sometimes takes a moment.”
Recognizing his settings, “Yes. And the old style phone ring. It seems to be the only one to penetrate.”
“A neural throwback, I suppose,” he says, closing the door behind her.
“What were you doing?”
He walks back over to the laptop. Frowning at the screen he says, “Someone has written an article on new tobacco additives and the effects they have on the lattice structure of the ash. Depending, of course, on the medium – cigarette, cigar, pipe, etc. It’s just… I didn’t know anyone else was doing that sort of work.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t you?”
“Pardon?”
“Are you sure you didn’t write the article? I had that happen once. I had written an essay on one of those online forums under some screen name, completely forget and found myself arguing with it in the comments section a few weeks later. Had no memory of it at all. Of course I thought the author was very clever, but completely wrong.”
He is barely listening to her, but manages a small smile as he says “Warring selves. No, I'm quire sure it wasn’t me; this one mentions marijuana and that’s not something I’ve thought much about. Curious.”
“Should we postpone? I fear at this point I cannot accurately gauge my ability to compete with tobacco ash for your attention,” Sio says with a wry smile.
He puts his hand on the edge of the screen and pauses just for a moment before closing it, “No. It’s fine,” he says rather unconvincingly.
He watches as she takes her coat off and hangs it on the peg he had hung it on last time. She glances over at him while she sets her bag down on the couch.
She tilts her head to the side and squinting slightly says, “Have you done anything different?”
He can tell by her appraisal that she is referring to his physical appearance.
“Not that I am aware of,” he responds, slightly uncomfortable at her continued stare.
“Hair cut?”
“No,” he says sounding slightly concerned.
“New shirt?”
He shakes his head.
“You look nice,” she shrugs discretely.
“Did I not before?” He asks, curious.
“Slight change in perception. It’s good,” Sio responds.
She marvels at her how her brain is converting her perception of Sherlock. Although it is true that she found herself attracted to him during their initial meeting, she would not have described him as handsome at the time. With his mop of curly black hair, cold, narrow eyes and unnaturally high cheekbones mounted on an elongated face, he would never have turned her head had she seen him on the street. It was usually more rugged men that caught her eye. But tonight, his features seem less angular, his eyes softer, his hair charmingly unkempt.
“You are dressed differently than last time,” he observes. She is wearing a fitted skirt with stockings; a feminine blouse with buttons, a jacket and high-healed shoes with ankle straps.
She nods, noncommittally as if expecting him to continue.
“If you worked in an office, I’d guess that you came straight from work, but you wouldn’t wear those clothes to your lab. There aren’t enough scuff marks on your shoes for them to have been worn outside more than a few hundred feet and your jacket still has a piece of the dry clearer tag stuck to the back lining…”
She holds her hand up. “If you had to use one word to encapsulate the difference, what would it be?”
“Complicated,” he responds.
“Yes. Why?” She asks.
After a brief silence, he admits, “I don’t know.”
She smiles seductively and turns to walk toward the thermostat.
“I set it to come up at 9,” he calls after her.
She walks back toward him. “Shall we start here, or would you prefer the bedroom?”
Although Sherlock is keenly aware of the purpose of her visit, he finds himself slightly startled when she speaks so plainly and he hesitates before responding, the alternate scenarios rolling around in his mind.
Seeing his conflict, she softens the tone of her voice and offers, “Why don’t I explain the clothes and we can go from there.”
He nods, feeling oddly relieved.
She speaks in a way that is direct, but smooth and sultry. “My clothes are complicated so that they will be more difficult to remove. Some men find it erotic to watch the undressing process. Others like to participate. Still others have no interest at all.” She takes a step closer to him before continuing, “Which would you prefer?”
He blinks a few times, thinning his lips. “Do you have a preference?” he asks, his voice a shade deeper.
“Of course. But this week…and probably next…is about you,” she responds.
Without saying anything, he unhurriedly closes the distance between them, looking her directly in the eyes. Stopping in front of her, his gaze lowers to investigate the details of her clothing. He wonders how many layers there will be before he gets to her skin. First, he lifts his right hand to follow the line if her blazer from her shoulder down to the first connection point, a small hook. He deftly flicks it apart with one hand and moves to the two buttons below. Both unfasten easily and he then uses both hands to lift the jacket off her shoulders, pulls down to release her arms and lays it across the back of the neighboring chair. He glances at her blouse, noting the standard slit buttons at the cuffs of both sleeves and the long line of loop buttons down the front. He decides to loose the wrists first, quickly unfastening the three on the left, then the right. The top four of the central hooks are already unfastened and he runs his fingers slowly down the opening to the first juncture, letting his hand rest for just a moment on the modest bulge of her cleavage, glancing up at her as if to ask permission to touch. She nods almost imperceptibly, after which he continues his work. Again, he is able to undo the loops smoothly and easily with one hand; she is startled by the fluid dexterity of his movements. Soon her blouse is open and he is surveying the next layer as he tugs the shirt gently from her arms. Noting that the next layer – he thinks there is likely only two more – extends down into her skirt, he reaches his hand around back toward the pull of the fabric to find the clasp. He deftly unhooks the eyelet and pulls the zip down. He leans in closer to her body while gathering a grip on fabric running along her hips before he kneels down to pull the skirt to her ankles and allowing her to step out of it. While down low, he briefly caresses her lower calf as he moves his hand down to the tiny buckle on the strap around her ankle. As easily as everything else, he releases the buckle of each shoe and slips them off her feet in turn. As he moves to stand up, he slips his hands under the base of her lavender silk slip at her mid-thigh and lifts it up and over her head in one motion. He takes a moment to see what is left, unsure if the excitement he feels is the longing to touch her bare skin or simply the challenge of unwrapping the next layer. She is now wearing a black bra, corset, garter belt combination that takes him a moment to figure out. The fitted section around her waist is fastened with satin string at the back. Once untied, he is able to pull the ribbon out, thus releasing the sides to be opened and pulled off. He moves more quickly now, excited to be so close to the end. He lets his hands trace the length of the garter straps down her leg to the top of the first stocking. Feeling the clasp with his fingers for just a moment, he quickly figures out the mechanism and releases it with a snap. He kneels down again to pull of each stocking, then stand ups quickly to pull off the lace belt. She is completely amazed by his dexterity and speed; despite the ease with which he was able to work through each layer, there was something about his expression that confirmed to her that he had not done this before. A quick thrill shoots through her body as she imagines other uses for his tactile agility.
Sherlock hesitates a moment, deciding which should come off next – bra or panties? But before he can make a move she lifts his chin up and brings her mouth just millimeters away from his face, before saying,
“Very good. Lets stop there for now.”
He leans forward just enough to catch her lips in a brief kiss.
“Did you like that?” she purrs.
“I found it very… nearly satisfying,” he responds honestly, leaning in for another kiss just as she pulls away.
She turns and walks slowly and seductively toward the bedroom. He watches her go; she has a very pleasing body, curvaceous and soft without being thick or bereft of definition. Not as technically perfect as Irene’s, but in some ways more inviting.
When he enters the bedroom, she turns to face him.
“Now, what about you? Shall I undress you? Or would you prefer to do it yourself?”
Sherlock thinks for a moment, having a hard time switching focus to himself. Oddly, his instinct is to not have her do it; perhaps she would fumble on the buttons and that would annoy him or perhaps he would flinch if her hands were cold or she touched him in the wrong spot, or any number of possible things that might interfere.
He mumbles, “Perhaps this time, I’ll…”
Understanding, she interrupts him, saying, “I’m going to change into something else. Wait for me on the bed.”
He frowns, scanning her body covered only in lovely strips of black lace. “Why?”
“There are various options of fabrics. What was I wearing last time?”
“Silk.”
“I thought we’d try proper lace. Besides, I have found that men often don’t like to be watched.”
He raises an eyebrow. “In that case, can I finish?” he asks rather excitedly, fixating on her remaining two items of clothing.
She hesitates a moment. This wasn’t the plan. But of course, she should have realized he might become fixated on the task.
She nods and says softly, “Go on, then.”
He does a sweet little skip towards her with a pleased muted grin. He had just made the decision to do bottom up when she had stopped him before. He slips his hands down the sides of her hips under the lace and pushes the knickers down her legs until they drop. There is a brief internal battle as part of him has a strong urge to take a moment look at her exposed body, while the other desperately wants to finish the job and remove the last of her clothes. The OCD part wins and he quickly reaches his hand behind her back and snaps apart the clasp of her bra, bringing his hands forward to pull the lace garment away from her body, instantly freeing her breasts. But before he can reach out to touch them, she steps away to go and change.
When she returns, he is reclining on the bed, much like the last time. It isn’t clear if he is entirely naked or not, as once again, he has the duvet covering his body up the waist. To her, his body looks somehow less elongated than before – his pectorals more defined, the contrast of the pale skin and black hair accentuating the lines of his body.
She is wearing an off-white lace negligee, asymmetrically falling to below her knee on one side, the other with a slit reaching up nearly to her hip. Her nipples are clearly visible and she is obviously wearing nothing else as the line of her beautifully trimmed soft triangular muff is discernable through the lace.
“Some men like lace because it is so transparent. Others prefer silk because of the softness and mystique. And, of course, others prefer a less sophisticated look – sort of a prostitute chic, closer to what I was wearing before.”
“What about nothing. Is that ever a preference?”
“Of course. But even then I like to start with something that needs to be removed.” She walks toward the bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress and says, “No decisions need to be made tonight.”
“Can I feel?” He asks. She nods and he reaches his left hand forward to touch the fabric, gently moving his fingertips down the side of her waist and then her thigh, moving them across to touch the exposed skin of her opposite leg.
She closes her eyes a moment when his hand glides across her mid thigh. “You can’t really compare it to skin.”
He lets his hand flatten to embrace the curve of her leg before moving it just up under the lace so that he can feel skin on one side and lace on the other.
“Having the lace on top distracts the hand slightly, doesn’t it?” He comments, analyzing the sensation.
“And when might distraction be desirable?” she asks.
He has to think about this one. He looks up at her and suggests, “Delay?”
“Yes. One of the most universal truths about getting the most pleasure out of sex is the longer the build-up, the more intense the release. All contact is fun and I’m the first to admit that a well-timed quickie can be intensely satisfying, but physically, desire is cumulative and proportional to the intensity of the experience. So mechanisms of delay are worth exploring.”
“We did not practice that the last time, as I recall.”
“No. Everything in time. Tonight, I want to focus on touch.” With that, she takes her hand and runs it along the hair of his forearm, still resting on her thigh.
“You flinched,” she quietly observes.
“Your hand is cold,” he responds.
“No it isn’t.”
To make her point, she moves her hand from resting on his arm to his chest, at which he briefly tenses again. She gently moves her hand around his upper body, keeping continuous contact, sometimes turning her hand over.
With her voice soft and slow, she explains, “As humans, we have evolved to benefit from skin to skin contact. It has long been known that babies and children need regular contact to develop normally. Physical touch has likely been an integral part of our social structure for a very long time and we continue to need it, or at least benefit from it as adults. But people like you, people like me – very clever people, are born with extra sensitivities. Not always touch – can be taste or sound – but often so. This extra stimulation can flood our minds, distract us and make life difficult. So as children, we learn to cope with it in a variety of ways. We do our best to reduce our perception, but that can have other mental consequences. So we attempt to control it by limiting what touches us or reserving physical touch for specific occasions when we can modulate it, prepare for it, control our reaction to it. This often leads to a lack of regular physical contact and thus a tension – however brief – to the initiation of touch. What I have learned over the years is this tension can be reduced through repeated exposure; but more importantly, the sensitivity can be exploited.”
“You’ll show me?” He asks with a hint of longing, confirming her suspicions.
“It takes some time. You have to release it slowly; slowly enough to be able to control it. But the result is truly blissful,” she whispers, inadvertently licking her lips before looking up into his eyes.
He thinks he feels her hand get warmer suddenly, as she continues to massage the skin of his torso. He leans forward, slipping his free hand behind her neck and drawing her in for a kiss. It doesn’t take long before they are both breathing heavily, his hand gripping the skin of her thigh tighter as they greedily explore each other’s lips. She pulls away.
Already disoriented, he complains, “Everything seems to be about delay and that’s not what I want.”
“Trust me,” she implores, sitting back again. “Not all touch should be sexual if this is going to work.” Though, in truth, her body is already aging.
“I think it may be too late for that,” he says, thinking that every touch of her skin now makes him want to throw her on her back and dive between her legs.
She takes a breath and resumes exploring the skin of his body with her hands. She works down each arm, sensually tracing the muscles of his biceps, triceps, then his lower arm, hands and fingers. She moves her hands across the skin of his face, his ears, his scalp. Periodically, she lifts her hands off for a moment, then places them back down, judging his physical reaction. She traces the outline of his waist, careful to increase the pressure to avoid the tickle reflex; she moves her hand across the muscles of his stomach. Then, reaching down under the covers, she touches the smooth skin of his hips. When she moves to reach the skin of his upper thigh, the duvet recedes revealing his impressive erection. She tries to ignore it, continuing to work her hands around the tops of his thighs, but her eyes keep washing over its readiness. She is overwhelmed with the desire to run her lips down it, lick the pre-cum gathering on the tip and suck it deep into her mouth. She tries one more time to run her hands down towards his knees, but then gives in to it, quickly repositioning herself so that she is kneeling between his legs. She slides her hands up and leans over, putting her half open mouth around the side of his cock near the base. The muscles of his legs tense immediately. Taking one hand to stabilize it, she rubs her mouth along the side of his rod until she reaches the tip where she slides her lips over, letting her tongue dip into the opening of the foreskin. He emits a loud whimper at this and takes in a sharp breath. She sucks his cock into her mouth, pushing her lips down, only able to fit about ¾ of it inside her. Another groan from Sherlock as she moves her mouth up and down, wrapping her hand around the part of the base that doesn’t fit into her oral stroke. His mind is swirling too much to think about what he is supposed to do, so he lets his hands fall to his side, loose. He forces his eyes open, looking down, wanting to see his cock disappear into and reappear out of her mouth. Watching this sight only for a moment sends him straight to the edge and he is suddenly aware that he will be unable to hold back, feeling the pressure build too quickly. He wonders if he should warn her.
The only words he can manage to choke out are, “Is it ok?” What he was thinking was actually is it ok to come in your mouth, but he couldn’t get the last bit out.
She can feel him start to come – that beautiful rock hardness that precedes the convulsions. She squeezes the base hard while focusing her movements on the tip, sucking and pumping until she feels the hot splash of liquid hit the back of her throat. She holds him tight, but motionless in her mouth as the rest of the pulses come, the fluid diminishing with each one. Once he is still, she gently releases him from her mouth, swallowing the come, giving a quick lick to the tip to remove any droplets.
When she looks up at him, he has an almost pained look of shock on his face. There are beads of sweat on his forehead and his breathing is still erratic. He brings his arm up to wipe the sweat off his face and leaves it to rest over his eyes. While he recovers, she quickly gets up to get a drink returning after just a few seconds.
“That was naughty of me,” she admits sheepishly as she re-enters the bedroom with a glass of water.
“Quite” he says with a mild laugh.
“I was supposed to wait. That was perhaps too intense,” she says guiltily.
“I wouldn’t say it was too anything. Just a surprise,” he glances down at his nakedness, mildly embarrassed by his lingering erection. After a moment he rubs his eyes and regains a bit of composure. For some reason, he feels compelled to apologize.
“Sorry,” he says as she kneels back onto the bed.
“What for?” She responds, playing a bit dumb.
He glances in the direction of his finally shrinking member.
With a coy smile, she takes his hand and brings it between her legs, pressing two of his fingers between her lips. He moves them, subtly exploring. She is so wet and soft and slippery; it feels like his fingers could get lost in the soft cushions of her pussy.
“Does it always feel like that?” He asks in honest surprise.
“No. That’s what happens when I do what I just did to you.”
She gently guides his hand away.
“Should I…??” he asks, unsure.
“Oh, we will get to that,” she responds, closing her eyes at the thought of it, “but not tonight.”
She hands him the glass of water.
“Drink this and it won’t be long,” she instructs.
He does as he is told and afterwards put the glass on the table.
“Turn over,” she says.
He rolls over onto his stomach. She begins what she had been doing before, running her hands over the skin of his back. This time, he barely flinches at all when she puts her hands on him – lingering affects of the orgasm, likely. She moves slowly along the muscles of his shoulders, over his shoulder blades, down to his lower back. She admires the compact firmness of his ass as she engages the skin there as well. Moving down his legs, she hesitates for a few moments on the skin of the backs of his knees, remembering his reaction the last time. After Sio finishes with his feet, she turns around to straddle him, moving her hands quickly back up his legs. With her knees on either side of his torso, she lifts off her negligee and tosses it off the side of the bed. She leans forward, letting the tips of her breasts touch the skin of his back; supporting herself with her arms on either side, she moves her breasts over him, her nipples quickly getting hard from the stimulation. After a few minutes of this, she shifts her body weight, resting on top of him, her front to his back, lining up her legs so that they are in complete physical contact.
“I want to see you,” Sherlock says after a moment.
She lifts her weight enough for him to comfortably turn over underneath her. His eyes cast over her torso, drinking in the sight of her stimulated breasts. He places his hands so as to cup them as she leans in closer to kiss him. They kiss for a while, pressing their naked bodies into each other, revelling in the warmth and subtle friction. He pulls away from the kiss, then pulls her up higher onto him, making her breasts level with his mouth. He licks his lips reflexively while gently manipulating her left breast with his hand, hesitating with his mouth just inches away, close enough that she can feel his breath. Finally he leans forward and takes the nipple gently into his mouth, sucking just enough to pull in a bit of the flesh. She moans her pleasure, leaning a bit more heavily into him. He sucks a bit harder and she tenses slightly, grabbing the hair on his head with her free hand. Switching to the other breast, he lowers his hands down to her buttocks, squeezing them. She leans her lower body onto him, pressing her wet slit onto the skin of his stomach. Abruptly, she sits up and feels behind her for his erection, which she finds easily.
“See, that didn’t take long,” she says.
“It’s been like that for a while,” he replies.
He reaches down this time to pull the foreskin down in anticipation of plunging in to her body. She shifts her position and quickly engulfs him, putting all her weight to bring him as deeply inside her as possible. She leans back against his knees, tiling her pelvis slightly to maximize the friction. He starts to thrust from below, already with more confidence. She reaches her fingers down and rubs her clit, letting her fingertips feel his cock as it pushes in and out of her body. “Aw, yes. Yes. God that’s good.”
“You’re squeezing me,” he mumbles in amazement, revelling in the sensation as she internally massages his cock.
“We fit well together,” she says, giving him one more squeeze before lifting off. “Lets try another position,” she suggests.
He moans at the momentary loss of friction as she shifts around to her hands and knees, her head facing away from him. He takes a moment to admire the view of her parts from behind – the pink, glistening skin peeking out of the outer fuzz-covered folds. He gets up to his knees and rather awkwardly positions himself behind her, taking a moment to find the right angle. He puts his hands on her hips and starts thrusting gently. After a few plunges, she begins to lean back forcefully with each thrust, increasing the speed and friction.
“Grab my hips,” she begs.
He does and with the added leverage, begins to pick up the speed and the force, making her whimper. Misinterpreting her sounds, he holds back a bit.
Turning her head towards him, she says, “You can’t hurt me. I’m so wet and swollen.”
At this, he starts driving into her with earnest, gripping her hips tightly, enjoying the freedom of having more control since he has already had the earlier release. She starts to gasp louder and louder and the sounds coming from her make his head swirl, his cock feeling harder with every whine and whimper. When she feels him get to maximum thickness, she pulls forward and flips onto her back. He winces at the interruption, then quickly dives back into her hole, his mind clear of every thought save wanting to come. She shifts her pelvis to take advantage of their fit and knows she will come if he can keep up the pace for just a few more seconds. Now he is grunting like an animal again and she grabs hold of his hips as he continues to slam into her. Suddenly, throwing her head back, she screams, startling him. He stops thrusting for just a moment as she writhes underneath him, her walls spasming around his cock. “Slam in. Please,” she whimpers, desperate to give her inner muscles something to pull against. At this, he feels the start of his own release and plows back into her frantically, coming with impossible force, emitting a low, airy growl. She screams again as the internal friction of his cock prolongs her orgasm. Their bodies convulse internally together for a few seconds as he collapses onto her. She runs her hand down his back to feel the slickness caused by his sweat. He cups her chin with his hand, turning her to him for a quick kiss.
After a few more moments, their bodies begin to settle. As before, she is the first to emerge from the haze and she sits up, scanning the bedside for her negligee. Finding it she, grabs it off the floor and slides off the bed. He weakly reaches his hand out as if to stop her from going.
“I think this is going rather well,” Sio says with a pleased smile. “You have better instincts that I expected. This is going to be fun.”
“Going to be?” Sherlock asks with a hoarse voice.
“Oh, it gets better,” she says with a wink.
*
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The Thinker Challenge