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Elle's Story	By : Cozygoma-lover Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3523 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of BBC SHERLOCK. It belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's estate, the BBC, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I gain nothing from my story financially. I enjoyed writing it, hoping you will have pleasure reading it equall

Chapter List
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Anyone seeing the couple first thing would have got the wrong impression. They wore the same pair of pyjamas. He the bottoms under his blue silk dressing gown, and her the shirt over her black undies. Elle was efficient and forward thinking but even she did not walk around with full night attire in her tote, although toothbrush, facial cleanser and moisturiser were there in her make-up bag. Around 10 in the morning the two halves of the pyjamas re-met in the kitchen.
Elle had risen and went into the kitchen to make coffee and see if there was any food in the house, minimal but ample provisions in a most definite bachelor pad were there, at least availing toast and jam. Sherlock had risen to the smell of the Colombian beans fermenting through filter paper and joined her at the table. Both drank their coffee medium strong, black with two sugars.
Their conversation from the previous night, a bottle of Champagne and nearly two carafes of orange juice later, re-ignited on their meeting and again they sat and talked until Elle declared near midday she had better get herself off home.
"What will you do now your job has disappeared, along with your boss?" Sherlock asked attentively.
"Oh, I don't know. I am not in any hurry for further work at this time. Hopefully by the time this administrative PA stroke PR person is ready for another position there will be work in the market for her. I may temp; that is always interesting as you never know what you may be working on next. I did that for a long while, before meeting Colin Michelson. At one time I worked for both a construction company and the Met. I cannot remember which was more demanding but both were very engrossing - time passes so quickly. I have some friends still in PR - I might look in that area again. I do hate to be idle and bored."
"Could I see you again? Soon? I have really enjoyed your companionship" spluttered Holmes, he nearly as surprised at his own words as she was.
"Yes, Sherlock, of course. I would like that, very much. I have enjoyed your company too. The way you use your powers of deduction intrigues me. It is a brave new world for me to discover and understand."
Just some 21 hours later a case-deficient, bored and lonely Sherlock had sent a text to Elle.
S:    Would u like to meet Kew Gardens, today, 11am? SH
L:    Lovely - shall we lunch together? LJ
S:    Yes. My treat. Victoria Gate entrance. C u there.
Just before 11am Elle found herself standing outside Victoria Gate at Kew Gardens, the anticipation of seeing Sherlock again making her tachycardic. As if time would not have allowed him to be late Sherlock appeared crossing the road towards Victoria Gate at 11 on the dot. She could not help but smile, as he came into view some distant clock chimed the hour. He greeted her with a handshake and a kiss on the cheek, then offered her his right arm and they walked into the Gardens together. Sherlock bought their tickets and, both wrapped in scarves, warm jackets and gloves, wearing casual clothes and comfortable footwear, Sherlock carrying a rucksack over his left shoulder, her the familiar tote over her right, they walked around admiring the spring bulbs. It may be March and calm, but the air was still bitterly cold. It was a sunny day though and the daffodils, tulips, hyacinths and various species of snowdrops were all at their best. It was too early in the year for the bluebells but the place looked spectacular as ever.
With a regular roar of an aeroplane leaving Heathrow breaking the Spring silence, the two walked arm in arm and talked at length about absolutely anything, laughing and smiling as though they had been friends for a lifetime. Around 1pm they sat on a bench near a small pond, reasonably sheltered from the wind chill thanks to great gunnera plants close to where they perched. Sherlock reached into his rucksack and withdrew a flask of hot coffee, pre-sweetened (so handy they liked it the same) and a box of washed grapes. Elle laughed.
Out of her tote came a box of washed grapes, and a flask. "I thought I would bring soup, then you could treat us to dinner later", she said smiling. They drank the hot Minestrone soup, then hit the coffee. Both boxes of grapes were untouched. It was cold after all, very cold.
Sherlock suddenly looked like a man with a lot on his mind. For the next hour or so he seemed distracted, though still very amiable. His mind seemed to be wandering. Elle surmised he would be thinking about a current case. Let's face it, a brain like his probably never totally switches off. More walking and talking and finally they made it around the capacious and stunningly beautiful grounds.
"Would you like to come back to my home to warm up?" Elle asked. "I live only ten minutes away."
"Good idea. I can deduce how someone has been murdered and when from a handful of obscure clues, but I failed to assess that just because it is bright and mid March it is not necessarily warm. Brrr." Something now seemed to definitely be on Sherlock's mind.
Staying within the grounds they walked around to Elizabeth Gate and Elle steered the pair of them to her town house, ten minutes walk away from the Gardens exactly, Sherlock noticed. As they entered the house just after 4pm and left their coats, scarves and gloves hanging in the hall, Elle went straight through to the kitchen and turned the central heating to ALL DAY, then made some more coffee. They sat in the lounge near a real-flame gas fire to warm. "Are your house mates around at all today?" Sherlock asked in an almost whisper.
"Yes, but later tonight, they are both off work today, attending a concert at the O2 Arena this evening. Bon Jovi" she added, drinking her coffee.
"Did you not want to go?"
"I would have but when the tickets were bought nine months ago I was supposed to be away in Paris with another girl friend this week. By the time that arrangement had to be changed - my friend Vivienne is currently in Cardiff, her mother is very ill - there were no tickets available in the same block, never mind the same row, I did not fancy sitting on my own. I know you are all fans but I wouldn't want to not sit with friends. Concerts are very much a collective thing, don't you think?"
"I don't know, I have never been. Elle, would you like to show me your bedroom?"
His voice was calm but breathless. Elle tried to keep the stunned look off her face at his lack of subtlety but knew she had failed. Sherlock leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth. Moving slightly away he looked abashed and dismayed at her, shocked and disbelieving, then smiled and raised his eyebrows as he stared into her eyes, his startling pale grey-green into her darker green-grey, clasped her wrist gently, pulled her closer to him and kissed her for a second time. This time she responded in kind. She kissed him gently too, then with more vigour as lips entwined and arms wrapped around each other.
When this kiss finally passed she took hold of Sherlock's hand, both rising from the settee together, flicked her eyes coquettishly at him, then led him upstairs towards the bedrooms. Hers was a bright spacious room, with one ceiling light off-centre close to a large window. The room was painted in soft sage green and cream, with apricot coloured duvet and pillow cases on a kingsize bed, and a dark green throw over the bottom end which matched her curtains.
A green, black, white and cream striped carpet covered the floor, with a square dark green and black floral printed deep-pile rug aside the bed, the wardrobe doors and the dressing table in the corner were pale natural oak. A beautiful deep green upholstered winged back chair sat in the darkest corner. On the wall behind the bed head were three handsome black and white photographs. All this detail Sherlock had analysed and registered before completely crossing the threshold.
He leaned in again towards Elle for more kisses. Her response was open, his kisses were deep, soft and undeniably emotional from a man who, she had believed from his press, lacked this human trait more than any other, other than possibly humility.
"Make love with me" he spluttered, a slight croak in his voice from the anticipation of what may transpire. Again he looked as surprised as she that the words had come from him. Without saying anything, Elle turned a bedside light on low, then closed the dark curtains. She faced him and pulled off her pale lilac v-neck cashmere jumper, revealing a cream camisole of satin over a black underwired bra. He could see the underwires over the years had performed their job admirably as her breasts resembled bountiful soft globes of flesh, beautifully rounded, a look more associated with the fake silicone implanted kind.
Sherlock moved over to her and helped lift her camisole over her head. Kissing her throat he dropped down the straps off her shoulders but bungled the unclipping of her bra. She helped, with a feeling of utter exhilaration: it was nice to know there was something he was not totally adept at.
Just what kind of lover would Sherlock Holmes be? This stunning but androgynous-looking creature? As her bra fell away to the floor Sherlock cupped one breast with the gentlest of touches and lowered his head to kiss the flesh and squeezed the nipple between his lips. It hardened to his touch.
Elle put her hand under his chin, raised him up to full height, they both removed his jumper, then she kissed him as she unbuttoned his shirt. Immaculately pressed his light grey silk shirt revealed a body so astonishingly white it seemed to have an inner glow about it. Not a blemish or mark could she see on first viewing, even hair dared not to show itself on his marble-like chest. She ran her hand up his body. One pale mark near centre right of his torso was the only curiosity and out of place blot on this otherwise perfect landscape.
Elle moved close to kiss Sherlock's neck now. There! At last she had indeed found a natural blemish on this shroud of virgin-like skin: on his throat was a dark mole, and a further two more - vampire-bite spaced - under his collar, then around his neck another small gathering of tiny marks. She treasured the thought of each of these, especially when she followed his gaze to her breasts which, though never tanned, had blood spots on them, which came from she knew not where or when, but had been on her skin as long as she could remember. Then her eyes closed as she remembered something. Each lover unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped their own black jeans, both kicking their footwear and socks away towards the wardrobe as the trousers fell.
Elle looked at Sherlock as he stood in black boxer briefs in front of her, his shirt now removed, she in black high-waist lace-edged knickers that covered to her navel. With a glance to the bed she threw open the duvet and slipped underneath. Sherlock slid in beside her, pulling the duvet back up over them. Noting her mattress was of a hard, memory-foam construction, he sidled down the bed slightly and returned to the pleasure of kissing and caressing her breasts. His index and middle finger then moved down her body to her navel then just below into the top of her undies. He stopped, lifted his head and looked deeply into her eyes, which had reopened on his stopping. There was a question in them which he did not need to put into words, he had found what she had just been remembering; her body was badly scarred.
"I had an ovarian cyst removed last year" she gabbled quickly and nearly apologetically. "Too big for keyhole surgery so had to have a laparotomy. It healed too fast and feels like a zip. I ended up having a total hysterectomy in case there were any cancerous cells - there wasn't", she finished. An explanation for this vertical scar and, there, the potential conundrum about contraception vanished.
"Poor you", he said, tracing the line of her scar from fractionally below her navel to near her pubic bone. Whether by accident or purpose she was unsure but he had gently grazed her clitoris with his little finger, which had made her tummy muscles tighten and sink involuntarily. His index finger hooked through the leg-hole of her briefs and he had banished them off her hips in a most fluent move. She caught the waistband with the toes of one foot and whisked them the rest of the way off herself, kicking them out from under the duvet to the floor. She was now naked to him. In the meantime he was kissing her throat then back to her mouth again. His fingers intuitively re-finding her scar.
As Sherlock paused for breath she moved slightly away from him and she disappeared below the duvet. Lying on her right side beside him she ran her left hand down his near perfect torso to the waistband of his briefs. He moved to lie flat on his back. Lifting the duvet a few inches with her head her eyes looked for his as if asking permission to continue. His eyes were tightly closed though, anticipating her next touch. She would know, she thought, because he would either stop or help her remove his briefs. This had been his idea after all. As she tucked a thumb inside his waistband he automatically took his weight on the back of his shoulders and his feet, lifting his pelvis a fraction leaving a gap to slide away the last piece of clothing between them. Prising the waistband from his waistline she pulled gently downward revealing the first smatterings of hair running in a near plumb perpendicular line from his navel to his pubic bone, where the hair filled out, curly, dark, coarse.
Rolling a few pubic hairs between thumb and index finger she let her left hand see what her upward averted eyes could not. She was still looking for a facial reaction. Her toe caught in his briefs this time and she caressed them away from his lower limbs and out from under the duvet to join hers on the floor. His face was calm with a near serene expression upon it. She slinked her body down the side of his, tracing a route in kisses from his nipples to his navel. His tummy made an involuntary dip at this. Sliding her tongue slowly into his navel she ran it around the rim whilst her fingers delicately walked across his pelvis until they bumped into his erect shaft.
Both lovers sighed at the same time. He at her touch, so gentle and exquisite on a part of his body now yearning for her, her at the pleasure of finding her quest. Using her right arm as leverage she moved further down the bed, low enough to touch the base of his shaft with her tongue then let it glide towards the head, which she kissed. He sighed again, stronger this time. Carefully gripping his form near its root she guided the head again to her lips, pulling back his foreskin gently, licking him this time, sensuously, erotically then, once dampened from her tongue she licked her own lips to coat them with the saliva lubricant she needed to slide her mouth down. This was a new sensation to him.
Another sigh, no, that was more of a groan. "So that's what that feels like" he breathed. Again she danced her tongue around the head then took a little more of him into her mouth. Six or seven times she did this creeping down until finally taking nearly half of his length, gripping him with her lip-shrouded teeth and sliding back to the tip. Another loud groan had been expelled by her lover. Eager to go again she felt a hand touch her. Not to hold but stop her. She could feel his heartbeat through his stomach now, echoing fast throughout his body. Taking hold of her hand with his he released her grip on him and pulled her upwards. Using her feet as anchors she shuffled herself back up the bed so their heads and eyes were again level. "That was amazing" he whispered.
A gentle nudge, then a kiss, and he rolled her off her side on to her back and he was now on his side gliding his right hand unceremoniously passed the scar he had been so fascinated by only minutes earlier to her labia and clitoris. His fingers seemed inexperienced in this environment but they instinctively wandered gently investigating her clitoris then, sliding between the labia he slipped a long middle finger delicately inside her and found her swollen, engorged with blood, and damp. Now a deep intake of breath from her. His lips touched hers and the two pairs linked together, his tongue lazily infiltrating her mouth. Following the lead from his finger he pressed the head of his cock between her labia and found target first time.
Elle sighed, her open eyes closing as her mouth burst into a smile of pure ecstasy, her fingers in his hair. Pulling back again slightly he re-pressed his hips closer towards hers. There was definitely an audible sigh that time, but that had come from her. Back and then slightly deeper he slowly and exactingly manoeuvred his body within her. He was so controlled, so precise in his actions. As the couple became more heated her mouth finally opened in earnest and made a noise that was not just a sigh.
A loud moan of pleasure escaped her lips. That was obviously the cue he had been unconsciously awaiting as his strokes within her became longer and deeper, then gradually quicker and less precise. She could feel the air being aspirated out of her lungs as his weight pressed upon her. Her breaths were short and shallow now. Her inner walls were involuntarily squeezing him. She was so pleased she had kept up her Kegel exercises long after her last relationship had ended over four years ago.
Four years? Was that right? Had she really been without a lover that long? She had been content not having a man around; she had been both pleased and relieved she had been brave enough to take herself most definitively off the market around the time when her house mates were looking eagerly and seriously for boyfriends. Yet here she was, in the throes of one of the most sensual sexual encounters she had ever had, hoping Bon Jovi would overrun tonight.
Her body was suddenly swallowed by orgasm. She could feel nearly every individual pore on her skin overheat and exude sweat, her heart rate increased rapidly yet the air she was able to take into her lungs reduced significantly to barely a gasp. Her internal muscles were squeezing him uncontrollably. Tightening her legs around his hips she tipped her pelvis forward, enabling her to take him in deeper than ever. Surprised, she reached orgasm again and as her senses enflamed her focus moved sharply to the man within her; he was triggering sensations she had never felt before.
His body was starting to quiver all over now. Glistening beads of sweat shone like diamonds on his marble form. He no longer controlled the rhythm of their dance; it had intensified to short, fast, powerful thrusts. Perspiration loomed from beneath his glossy dark brown curls, occasionally splashing down on her face or breasts. Her body tensed yet again, squeezing and igniting his fire - a third orgasm for her. Then, close to the noise of a lion's roar, he released all the air, power and seed within him.
His neck weakened and head fell forward. His eyes glazed, his body wracked from exhaustion of the moment. His arms collapsed at the elbows, they could no longer support his weight, and he dropped on to his side beside her, still entangled between her legs, still inside her throbbing walls, her arms stroking him, holding him.
Neither wishing to break the intimacy, she opened her eyes to find his open and only inches away, a smile on his lips, those beautiful eyes sparkling more than ever. Cuddling into his neck she could feel his heart pounding against her body. He rested more on his back. They stayed like that for about twenty minutes, not talking [he had murmured "Oh my God!" earlier!] but occasionally exchanging kisses and him stroking her hair, her his face or chest, as slowly their heartbeats returned to something like normal.
"Wow", she whispered finally, "that was incredible" and stifled a mini giggle at the stupidity and inadequacy of her statement. "I think it is fair to say I have most assuredly been screwed!" Her face rubbed delicately against his as she planted the softest kiss on his cheek.
"And for the second time this month, if you think about it [Sherlock was back in Sherlock mode]. Your boss was the first, financially anyway, remember? Sorry you now understand what he had done, but at least it was him and his larcenous ways that brought us together in the first place."
"Always the truth, clearly and precisely, all the facts, no swaying from the ultimate detail. You amaze me Sherlock. Your brain is so incredibly fascinating." As she was teasing him, she kissed his forehead then his mouth, smiling.
"Thank you. I'm pleased to know it's my brain you like so much" he sighed, grinning. "Could I use your bathroom please?"
"Of course. Next door to your left."
Sherlock pulled away from her and headed for the bathroom, naked. He found it was a wet room about half the size of Elle's bedroom. White tiled and showroom clean it entailed a toilet next to a sink on the wall in front of a window. Grey slate surrounded a capacious double length fully-enclosed cubicle with adjustable rainfall shower head and additional hand shower-in-one along the opposite wall. A tall cabinet stood in the farthest corner from the door. Half a dozen LED spotlights availed light if required. A couple of ladder-style towel rails heated the room and under tile heating below more slate negated the cold feet feel - a winter morning's dread. A narrow-depth mirror cabinet near the door reflected the bright sparkle in his eyes and the smile and release on his face.
He turned on the shower and waited for the water to reach temperature before going in and sliding the glass door behind him. Shampoo, conditioner and body wash were all in a row in a rack hanging over the cubicle side. An extractor fan kicked into life. "Can you find everything you need?" Elle called through the door after knocking.
"Thank you, yes." he replied just after soaking himself and before realising there were only a couple of rolled white hand towels in the room he could spot. "Why don't you come in and join me? The door is not bolted. I could do with more..."
"Towels?" Elle finished his sentence walking in with two large and two smaller dark green towels, hanging them over the towel rail on the door side of the room. Sherlock was under the rainfall shower, eyes closed, face turned up to the shower letting it rinse the last remnants of conditioner off his head and down his torso. Sliding the door open then quickly closed not to release all the warm steam Elle joined him in the cubicle.
His eyes found hers, then dropped to her breasts, her nipples were erect from the pummelling of the water. He kissed her lips passionately then bent his head and suckled on one of her nipples at length, finally re-raising his eyes to hers in a child-like sheepish way, with a cheeky grin to match, a soft kiss of thanks grazing her cheek. "Two can play that game!" she purred.
Elle lowered herself to her knees in front of him and took the length of his flaccid shaft into her mouth, cupping and gently squeezing his balls at the same time, feeling the former gorge to a hardness she had so recently encountered, now within the perimeter of her lips. Sherlock leaned against the shower wall, head dropped, watching her, then his head and eyes raised skywards in pleasure. After a few minutes he pulled on her wet mane to remove her mouth from his body. "Anyone who thinks a woman gives a man a blow job solely for his pleasure is most truly mistaken" she stated straightening up smiling.
"Again?" he questioned, breathlessly.
"Again" she agreed, nodding.
No subtlety, no further foreplay this time. She had re-ignited his desire and this time sensuality had been surpassed by animal instinct. Grasping her right wrist in his left he stretched her arm high above her head. Catching her left in his right he put that up there as well and clamped both her arms at the wrist together by one strong left hand. Guiding her around and backwards until she was pinned against the shower wall he re-entered her with one elephantine thrust of his body. He angled the shower head so it kept the pair of them directly under its flow. Trapped between wall and man Elle orgasmed uncontrollably as she felt every throbbing movement as he drove himself hard and fast into her, both then climaxing simultaneously only minutes after this second encounter had started.
Pulling away immediately this time Sherlock rinsed down again then exited the confines of the steamy cubicle leaving Elle to complete her shower. He wrapped a large green towel around his waist, then took a smaller towel, dabbed water droplets off his chest then sponged his hair removing most of the water as he went out of the wet room back to his abandoned clothes. By the time Elle had showered, washed and conditioned her hair then towelled off some of the water and headed into the bedroom herself Sherlock was just finishing dressing, tucking his light grey, now slightly ruffled, shirt into his black jeans and putting on his dark trainers whilst sitting on the edge of the bed, his jumper in hand.
"Wow, Sherlock, what have you done to me? I have never had such strong orgasms before."
"What have I done to you? What have you done to me? You are amazing; you have turned a near virgin into some sort of animalistic trojan." There was a slightly nervous laugh to his voice.
Elle, looking enquiringly whilst towel-drying her own hair asked "What is a near virgin?"
"I recall having sex a few times in my late teens, but at the time found the pleasures of the brain more appealing and satisfying. Outside that I have not been with anyone since; closest was last year - a bridesmaid at John's wedding, but that was so I could get her on side to allow me into a building to help me solve a case and we didn't... I was not attracted to her. A lot of good that did me anyway - that office was where I was shot." His fingers unconsciously hovered over his shirt above that indistinguishable mark Elle had spotted on her travels down his body earlier.
"Shot! When? Why?"
"I will tell you some time. Anyway, get dressed. If I remember the more gentle part of our day together I still owe you dinner! Do you know of any recommendable eateries around Kew, or should we make our way back towards the City?"
"There are some great restaurants here, all kinds, a favourite of mine is a lovely Italian on Kew Road, superb pasta if you have the appetite for it. Lots of choice. Alternatively we could go into the City. Do you want me to come back with you this evening then?"
"Yes. Why not? You are no longer working and are going to be alone most of tonight thanks to Mr Bon Jovi, and I am going home to an empty flat and am also not working thanks to just concluding a most interesting case for an extremely agreeable client." With these words Sherlock grinned inclining his head.
Twenty-five minutes later Elle and Sherlock left the Kew town house. She sent a text to her two house mates saying she was going to stay in the City with another friend, hoped they enjoyed the gig, not to expect her and she would be in touch very soon; packed her tote with a few changes of clothes, plus nightwear, refreshed her 'emergency pack'; removed the now empty flask [which she rinsed] and the untouched grapes [left out for her friends with a post-it saying 'Help yourselves'], and grabbed her coat, gloves and scarf and followed Sherlock out the door.
A beautiful Italian meal later, they found themselves fully sated, gastronomically at least, riding in a cab towards Baker Street, kissing, laughing and talking as though they had been lovers for years.
Within moments of being in Sherlock's Baker Street flat, they were again in bed together, his bed this time, kissing, touching, stroking, anything to stimulate the senses of the other. A thirty-five minute long love making session, culminating with a further orgasm from him and another series for her, saw the conclusion of their first consummation at his home. Both drifted into dreamless sleep, still enjoying the warmth of the other's body, each contouring to the other as either of them moved.
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