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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

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Session 12
Sio sits in her home office, typing frantically on her keyboard. Every twenty or thirty seconds, she pauses briefly and looks over to her phone. Of course, she doesn’t have to pause. She is a touch typist and could glance over with only the slightest reduction in typing speed. But the glances harbor thoughts.
What she should do when she is finished typing up her notes is sleep. She had been working nearly continuously for 16 days straight, sleeping in short shifts throughout the days. For some reason, she was particularly driven on this problem and entirely absorbed in her attempts to solve it. Not to complain – this is exactly the sort of thing that she loves about her work. But it is rather punishing on body and mind.
The thing is, she doesn’t want to sleep. She wants distraction. She wants relief. She wants him. Wait, did she just think that? Sio attempts to correct herself – I crave physical contact, I want sex, I want to relinquish control to the other part of my brain for a while. It doesn’t have to be Sherlock. And yet, she continues to glance over at her phone, hoping he will respond to her texts.
After a few more minutes, she grabs her phone and sends another text – not to Sherlock, but to one of her other partners, the least annoying of the bunch. She is definitely not in the mood to find someone new. It would take too much effort and she doesn’t have the energy or the time. After hitting send, she gets up and heads to the shower. When she returns, she is disappointed to find an answer to her text, but not the one she was hoping for. As she gets ready, she attempts to convince herself that Ewan will be fine; he is nice looking, experienced, enthusiastic. Sometimes too enthusiastic, honestly. And what is it with all the car metaphors? Not to mention that his breath smells of juniper. And he always gets so anxious if she doesn’t greet him with a big smile. She frowns at her phone. It’s only 21:00. Maybe she will just call….
*
Sio blinks the tiredness out of her eyes as she walks down the street toward Sherlock’s flat. She had decided against a taxi, not wanting to arrive before him and thinking the night air might take some of the dizziness away. Dangerously, she lets her mind wander to him. She has no plan for the night, no lesson. She envisions a much simpler scenario with more skin and less talk. Why is his initial indifference, his hesitancy so arousing? Perhaps because there is no need to pretend, not even for a moment. He has no defined expectations of her or how she should behave. His reactions are genuine, if not always nice. He never does anything he doesn’t want to or says anything he doesn’t mean. Most women would find that appealing in principle, but appalling in practice. Sio finds it rather irresistible.
When she arrives at his flat, the door is not open as it has been the last few times. She knocks. Sherlock opens the door with a rather sharp brusqueness, stepping out of the way for her to pass. He looks unusually disheveled, but purposely so? She quickly hangs her coat and walks towards him.
“I hope you’re hydrated,” she says with a sexy smirk.
Before she reaches him, he takes a step back and says, “Good point. Shall I make some tea?”
Giving him a quizzical look, she replies, “I didn’t come here for tea.”
“No, but sometimes when the opportunity presents itself, best to take advantage,” Sherlock says as he walks into the kitchen and fills the kettle.
Sio is left standing in the middle of the room, unsure.
“Interesting case?” She asks, assuming that perhaps he is simply distracted.
“Enough to be mildly diverting, but solved now,” he answers with indifference.
As they wait for the kettle to boil, she contemplates just walking up to him and dropping to her knees – that is usually a good strategy when trying to speed things up. But after taking a couple of steps forward, he darts to the other side of the room. He grabs a magazine and returns, handing it to her on his way back to the kitchen.
“Though you might find this interesting,” he says.
She frowns, and then glances down at the article he has marked; something about mathematics and music.
“Perhaps I’ll bring it with me later to read in the taxi,” she responds.
“I think you should read it now,” he says, pouring the cups of tea.
“What’s that sound?” She asks now that the kettle has stopped.
“What sound?” Sherlock asks with a knowing smirk, walking toward her with the mugs.
“It’s your metronome,” she observes.
He hands her a mug, letting his fingers touch her hand during the transfer, after which she promptly sets it down on the table by the settee. She is about to reach her arm out to touch his waist when she stops abruptly, squinting her eyes.
“It’s slowing down. I can’t…can you just turn it off or wind it up or…??” She says in frustration.
“I'm sorry. Do you find that distracting? Perhaps you should just drink your tea.” He can’t stop himself from smirking.
“You know I can’t tune that sort of thing out,” she answers in mild annoyance.
At this, he sets his tea down, steps forward and kisses her while reaching his hand up under her dress and between her legs.
She half engages with him, her mind still dwelling on the decreasing periodicity of the metronome.
Then he quickly breaks away from her and walks over to a cupboard, which he opens revealing the offending device. He turns it off, saying,
“No pants tonight – are you in a rush or something?”
Getting it, she says with some surprise, “Are you teasing me?”
He walks back up to her, this time leaning in to kiss her neck and reach his hand into her shirt for a moment. With one of her hands, she starts to unbutton his shirt, relishing in the feel of his skin beneath the fabric, her mind starting to swim again. She hears a click as he pulls away.
He casually picks up his mug of tea and takes a sip.
“Did you just handcuff me to the settee?” She asks in disbelief.
He nods his head to the side and explains, “I still have to take a shower. Don’t want you to get all handsy on me.”
Sherlock sets his tea back down and takes his shirt off dramatically.
Still reeling from the development, “You’re not seriously going to leave me here?”
“Think of it as a mechanism of delay. Just a rather more physical one than you tend to impose,” he says devilishly.
“You naughty boy. One would think a fortnight would be enough,” Sio responds, clearly amused.
“Well, I can only assume that you didn’t start thinking about sex until tonight, so most of that time doesn’t count. Besides, isn’t this more fun?”
“I’m not sure you are ready for what I will plan while you are in the shower. It’s going to be a long night.”
He takes a step forward, but stays just out of reach.
“If you get too wild, I’ll just have to lock you back up,” he answers.
“Promise?” She asks.
“Perhaps. Now drink your tea,” he commands and turns toward the bathroom.
Watching him disappear into the other room, Sio smiles to herself. Though the night isn’t going as she had planned or expected, she finds this new development rather exciting, despite her immediate physical discomfort. She closes her eyes and thinks about him in the shower, the hot water streaming down his body. She wonders how quickly she will come the first time – will she even be able to wait for the tip of his lovely cock to slip past her inner lips. Maybe she’ll suck him off first. Or come in his mouth before riding him hard and fast and coming again. How many times can he come, she wonders. Could they stay connected all night? She resists the desire to touch herself, preferring to wait for the feel of his skin.
When he finally emerges from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, she feels completely helpless to control her desire, nearly paralyzed with want. She is sitting partially on the backside of the settee. He walks up to her holding the key to the handcuffs.
“On or off?” He asks.
“On for now,” she whispers.
He lets the key fall to the floor and then kneels down in front of her. He pushes his head between her legs, lifting her dress up on the way. He hesitates with his mouth about an inch from her lips, letting her feel his breath. She lets her knees fall to the side, opening up for him, the plush, glistening pink skin of her arousal in clear view. He reaches forward, gliding his tongue up and down the sides of her inner lips, then lower to her opening, pushing his tongue in just enough to make her whimper. One more long lick and he pulls away, standing up.
“Please,” she whines.
The towel drops and seeing his readiness, she turns around, presenting her backside to him. He positions himself just at her opening, gently pushing the tip of his cock in and out just enough to tease her into a frenzy. She pushes back as far as the cuffs will allow her, swallowing the length of him before he can pull away.
“Now you are a naughty girl,” he says, still trying to resist.
She turns her head to look at him with an expression of a wild animal. He stands there another moment, drinking in the sight of her desperation. Then quickly, he flips her over, pushes her back over the lip of the settee while grabbing her hips and driving in his erection all the way, watching as it disappears into her body. He starts thrusting madly, holding the bottom half of her body aloft as the rest of her drapes over the back of the couch. The position is not comfortable for her – the ridge of the settee cuts into her back; the arm with the handcuffs pulled in an unnatural direction. But all she can feel is the building pressure between her legs, the intense satisfaction of having his cock insider her, pounding furiously, pulling the taught skin over her clit. Her heart pounds, she starts to sweat, the position they are in pushes the tip of his dick over her g-spot with every stroke, causing her to lose control much more quickly than she is used to. She starts to call out,

“Oh god, Sherlock, make me come. Yes, yes, fuck yes, make me come. Sherlock,” she screeches at the moment she feels her body explode with pleasure.
He continues to thrust madly as she comes, prolonging her internal spasms. She emerges from the fog of pleasure just in time to feel the beginnings of his release; his cock filling her more completely, his thrusts getting more sporadic, his breathing labored. Overwhelmed with a sudden intense desire to see his pleasure, she reaches down and pulls him out of her as he starts to come, continuing the motion with her hands, squeezing him as he spurts onto her belly and chest. He collapses down, his knees giving way and she drops down to the floor with him, only her handcuffed arm lifted unnaturally above her head.
She reaches over to grab the shirt Sherlock had left earlier and uses it to wipe his juice from her skin.
“Can you get the key?” She asks, eyes still hungry.
He glances over to the key on the floor, but then says,
“Not yet.”
He crawls over to her and puts his face between her legs again, this time lapping up the extra juices, taking his time reaching every bit of skin he can reach before focusing in on the spots he knows she likes best. It doesn’t take long at all this time before she is coming around his tongue. So little, in fact, that he is surprised by it and immediately slips his fingers into her hole to see if he might be able to just keep it going. He thrusts his fingers, curling them upwards to stroke her insides as he goes back to teasing her clit with his tongue. She moans and grunts and whimpers, her skin slick and hot as he succeeds in making her come again.
“It’s so easy,” he says in disbelief, leaving his fingers inside. “How many can you have?”
“Best not to ask,” she says, suppressing a giggle. “Please, it’s your turn. The key.”
Sherlock wipes his face with the shirt and reaches over to get the key, reluctantly removing his hand from her cunt. As he reaches up to unlock the cuffs, she sits up and takes his re-emerging erection into her mouth. When both of her hands are free, she uses one to massage the base of his cock while she uses the other to cup his balls gently, letting her fingers apply just a little pressure to the skin to the back. After, she reaches around, gripping his ass and pushing his rod as deeply down her throat as she can. He moans approvingly at this, letting one of his hands rest on the top of her head. She pulls back, tickling the tip with her tongue before sliding her mouth down the side, massaging the other side with her hands.
She looks up at him and says, “I want to make you come so hard, you won’t know who you are.”
She takes him in her mouth again for a few strokes, and then says, “I want to make you come so hard, you won’t trust your eyes.”
Again, she sucks in his cock, bobbing her head a few times, feeling his girth widen. “I want to make you come so hard, you don’t trust your own mind. When that happens, you’ll know what I’ve been talking about this whole time.”
He closes his eyes feeling utterly helpless.
“I want you on top,” Sherlock says, finally pulling her dress over her head. “Should we go to the bedroom?” He asks.
“No time,” Sio answers, leading him onto the floor.
Once he is on his back, she climbs on top, but instead of pushing him straight into her slippery hole, she glides up and down his length, massaging her folds with his taught skin. She reaches down and grabs hold of his erection, guiding the tip back and forth over the very tip of her most sensitive skin. She moves it faster and faster, like she is playing with a dildo, only it's attached to the man below her. Adding just a touch of extra pressure, she starts to come again. He can’t quite describe the feeling – not as intense as her mouth and different from being inside her; but watching her pleasure herself with his cock, along with the light friction at the tip as she flicks it across her folds makes him sweat as the pressure builds again. Just as she is coming, she sinks down on him with force, pushing him deep inside her pussy. She bounces up and down on him frantically as she whimpers her pleasure. Once she is done, she simply slows the rhythm down, keeping him inside, pushing and pulling him in and out of her body with subtle rocking motion, smiling down at him. He reaches up to remove her bra, cupping her freed breasts in his hands. She starts to pick up the pace, watching his face intently and using his reactions to adjust her motion and the amount of pressure of her inner walls as they take hold of him. She leans back slightly, sitting almost upright as she pulls and tugs on his cock from the inside. Feeling his hands tighten their grip on her hips, she starts to circle her pelvis with more force, adding a bouncing motion, causing him to grunt quietly.
“I think you should just let it go if you think you can manage a third,” she says.
Hearing this, he pushes his pelvis upwards and start thrusting, doubling the friction as they grind into each other. Soon after, he tosses his head back and yells out as he lifts her off the ground and he pulses into her. After just a moment, she lifts off him and quickly slides down his body and kisses his still active cock, licking off a droplet of come at the tip.
“Now we can go to the bed,” she says with certainty.
He just whimpers pathetically at the thought of having to stand up.
*
The third time (sixth for her) builds more slowly. They take their time, moving around the bed in various positions, both nearly exhausted but still frenzied at the prospect of one more. With the amount of thrusting they’ve been doing, they will both be sore in the morning and yet the pleasure of the friction is too intensely brilliant now to consider stopping. Both sweaty and dizzy with exertion, they settle back into face-to-face, her legs lifted up to rest on his shoulders. This time, she has no warning at all; suddenly her body just lights on fire and she finds herself digging her fingernails into Sherlock’s back at the surprise intensity of her orgasm, tears forming in her eyes at the magnitude of the release. Sherlock tenses at the pain as her nails scratch his skin, but this extra stimulation initiates his own culmination and with less noise, but more sensation, he empties everything and collapses for a moment into a blissfully white mental blankness.
Neither can remember exactly how they ended up in a loose spoon on the bed, with Sio on the inside, Sherlock’s face resting on her splayed hair. It just seemed to happen at some point after their mutual orgasms and before the current moment when their minds returned to functionality.
He moves his hand gently across her shoulder and down her arm. When he rests the arm around her waist she lightly strokes his forearm, vaguely wondering how long it had been since he had stopped flinching at her initial touch.
“Is it like this for everyone?” Sherlock asks quietly.
“What?” Sio answers.
“People who have sex – is it always like this?” He tries to clarify.
“Depends on what you mean. Do people get this type of pleasure from sex – I hope so. Sometimes, at least. But is it always this good? I very much doubt it.”
“I think maybe I understand more – the lengths people go. But people like…people I know, it seems odd to think they…” he doesn’t finish, but she guesses his meaning.
“You can never tell by meeting someone what sort of sex they have. It’s really strange because you think you should be able to. I mean, you can deduce what kinks people have based on what you can see, but in terms of how much they do it, how much they enjoy it, what sorts of things they like, its really difficult to know. I’ve met very uptight people who were demons in the bedroom and the reverse entirely.”
“Strange,” Sherlock whispers softly before falling asleep. He finds the possibility of this lack of transparency unsettling.
*
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The Thinker Challenge