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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
- 7
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- 9
Easter Monday, and this time the smell of fresh... bread? Elle rose, found her pyjama top, unworn the previous night, and put it and her robe on and headed into the kitchen. Mary was awake and once again in there, squeezing oranges; the bread was actually croissants, being warmed through in the oven. The coffee was reliably filtering away in the corner. It was nearly 10am.
"Morning Mary, sleep well?"
"Yes thank you. How about you?"
"Yes, fine. Thank goodness it is dry today. You have been out already; I smell something delicious."
"Only to the local supermarket for some croissants and provisions. You mentioned a possible picnic if it was nice so I picked up a selection of things we will hopefully all like. It is quite warm. I think it would be good to get out. I found a hamper - Mrs Hudson's I guess - under the stairs."
"Where do you suggest?"
"Let's think about it and compare ideas. I do not know this end of the City well except for the main parks."
"I will go and dress and be back shortly." Elle smiled then turned on her heel.
Mary went upstairs and into their bedroom, reappearing moments later. John was already stirring.
Elle had gone into her bedroom to find it empty. The sound of running water from next door confirmed Sherlock was in the shower. She dressed, brushed her hair through, cleansed and moisturised her face and returned to the kitchen.
The girls were in conversation as Sherlock came in the room and headed straight to the lounge, picked up his mobile and began texting. Once sent, he re-joined the girls in the kitchen, smiled all round and took his place at the table. Coffee and warmed croissants were circulating by the time John joined his friends in buoyant mood.
"Was that Mycroft you were texting? Have you read his dossier?" enquired Elle.
"Yes. I woke in the night, you were fast asleep, so I came in here to finish reading it. People call me a genius. Mycroft is far smarter than I am. Not as logical, analytical or observant maybe, but brains, you will never meet another like him. [The others in the room all thought they had!] He says he does a little job for the Government. He near as dammit is the Government, and treasured by any party in office. I often make the pretence not to be interested in work he offers as he makes me feel something like his lap-dog, but the fact is the majority of my most interesting and exciting cases have been ones Mycroft has involved me on."
"A lot of mutual admiration going on there then. I'm sorry, I didn't realise you could not sleep."
"No matter, I slept well earlier. I have been able to get information off to Mycroft which I hope will be sufficient use to him. He only wanted my opinion."
"Mary says it is warm outside, do you want to go out somewhere?"
"Sounds a good idea" replied the detective.
"What do you think about a day in Richmond Park? It's an area I know reasonably well, we could find a secluded spot to picnic, then go to my home. Both of my house mates are now away with family."
Slightly quietly and away from the others Sherlock said "Did you not wish to be with your family?"
"No Sherlock. I wanted to be here, with you" Elle softly responded.
"But you could have been with family elsewhere?"
"Yes, I could, but my Mum, sister and her husband are together, and they understand my request to miss a family gathering to spend some time with someone else." This whole conversation was taking place in animated whispers, so Mary and John could not hear.
"Why did you want to spend it with me though?"
"You offered!! Anyway, I just... wanted to... What do you expect me to say Sherlock? I wanted to be here with you because I love you?"
"Do you?"
"Damn you, yes, I think I do." Elle's voice slowed now from near frustration at his persistence to a barely audible whisper. "I think I've loved you for a while now, but tried to convince myself it was still only lust. It is so early in this relationship. I didn't want to be in love with you when I couldn't expect you to return that affection."
"But I do return it. I have wanted to and have nearly said it on a number of occasions now, none of which seemed the appropriate time but, Elle, [he paused, swallowing deeply] I love you."
"Any advance on Kew Gardens?" asked John, bringing both the lovers heavily back to Earth.
"I think Kew Gardens - being Easter Monday - will be absolutely rammed" said the local.
"Elle has suggested somewhere on Richmond Park. It is vast so we are guaranteed to find somewhere quiet and reasonably sheltered" added Sherlock, his brain refocussing after a moment of complete delirium and fuzziness.
"Great. Mary and I have prepared the picnic. Anything the matter?"
"No. Elle was just asking whether I'd replied to Mycroft yet. I finished looking at his dossier last night."
A PING on Sherlock's mobile refocused the owner's mind. "Mycroft is grateful but needs the dossier back now. He is sending a car over immediately to collect it. Damn. Means we will be a little later leaving. Sorry. See what I mean by lap-dog?"
"Could we ask Mycroft's driver to drop us off into Richmond Park? We could call for a cab when we are ready to leave?"
"Great idea Elle. I seem to always be doing favours for my elder brother, now he can do one for me, indirectly." Sherlock immediately started texting again.
PING "Yes, no problem, his driver will drop us off wherever we wish, then take the dossier back to him."
The car arrived outside the door of 221B and the driver knocked. Between them the friends carried a picnic hamper, cool box, blanket, the Watsons' luggage, Elle's tote, incorporating Sherlock's wash-bag, and the dossier to the car and clambered in, re-exiting the car along a very secluded part of Richmond Park south west near Ham Gate. There was a soft breeze but the location, scouted and suggested by Elle, was very sheltered and warm. The four friends sat, ate, drank and talked; Elle and Sherlock then lying in the long slightly damp grass kissing. It was a perfectly peaceful way to conclude an extraordinary long weekend.
As 6pm drew close the air around them most definitely chilled and it was getting dark rapidly. The picnic was packed away and Elle phoned a local taxi firm to take them to Kew. She invited them in as she flicked the heating on to ALL DAY, emptied the picnic hamper of rubbish and dirty pots and washed those, stacking them on the draining board. She read a post-it note from Emma, one of her house mates, saying an electrician had been in a couple of days earlier to check on a couple of pieces of equipment in the house that were showing signs of fault on their meter. Elle dismissed the note without thought.
A few minutes later she rejoined the group in the lounge, who were admiring some black and white photographs scattered around the walls, with a filtered jug of coffee, some milk and sugar, and a box of chocolate mints; they had eaten more than ample from the delights in the picnic.
"Wow. I love these photographs Elle" said Mary. "Were they bought from some art gallery? They are really beautiful."
"No. Photography is a hobby of mine. My late father was a professional - architectural mainly. Much preferred film and black and white to digital colour. I got the bug watching him many years ago shading prints in an enlarger using his hands, and when the opportunity arose I set myself up with a small darkroom. It's in the attic here. I will show you after coffee if you like?"
"You mean you have taken these pictures?" asked John, sounding almost astonished.
"Yes. And mounted them. Thankfully the other girls like them too or they would not have made the wall. There are some more all the way up the stairs, and in my bedroom."
"What are the photographs of in her bedroom, Sherlock?" John quizzed the detective, knowing his power of observation is renowned, and fishing for confirmation he had been in there.
"I remember there being three photographs in a row, all the same size. I cannot say I recall the content of any of them." He smiled wryly at his friend, understanding his objective. "I wasn't there to enjoy the scenery John. By then I had something more pressing on my mind." Elle giggled slightly embarrassed at this. How very strange.
Sharing very intimate moments with John and Mary had been one thing, a lovely thing, but discussing a moment, that moment, the time she and Sherlock first made love together, it seemed too personal somehow, at this time. "One is of the London skyline at night, another is the Pagoda in Kew Gardens and, my favourite, is of hump-back whale flukes, descending into the ocean, taken two years ago off the west coast of Canada when my two house mates and I were there together" she explained, deftly segueing the subject as far from that glorious first time as possible.
Coffees drunk and chocolate mint box decimated, all the friends went upstairs, admiring four more of Elle's black and white photographs on the walls as they ascended. Elle invited them into her bedroom and they saw the identically-sized row of photos of nighttime London, pagoda and flukes she had described earlier. These too were dutifully admired. John took a deep breath, knowing he stood in the room where his best friend had rediscovered passion and sex.
Turning the group around she told them to go up the next staircase, where four further pictures were to be seen, opening a door on to a small darkroom. A perfect darkroom: a table with the enlarger on it, plus a long metal table with three currently empty developer trays, all marked and lined up ready to go should she want to; a small sink; chemicals stored safely away and photo-paper, wrapped in black plastic and boxed, of different sizes in a rack; even the 1970s cliche of a fine washing line for negatives to dry was set out. There was a small refrigerator for film. In the furthest corner was a large cabinet. Elle explained most of her camera equipment, other than the oversized enlarger, was stored and locked in there, along with her negatives and proofs. Sherlock was looking intently around the room, as though he was thinking about something.
Another about turn and the friends went back down into the lounge.
Offering drinks both Sherlock and John said they would like something long and cold, and Elle provided a can of lager and glass for each. Mary fancied something stronger than that, eventually settling on a Gin and tonic with ice and lemon. Elle made herself a Pernod with Coke and ice. Again the group sat and talked the time away when Mary commented it was 10:40pm and they - she and John - ought to be making tracks homeward.
Sherlock suggested they could all go back and stay at Baker Street again, Elle that they could stay as there was a spare bedroom next to the darkroom, but the Watsons said they felt they ought to go home to Hampstead and thanked both Sherlock and Elle for the most unexpected and exciting Easter weekend. Elle rang for a taxi. Before they had left Sherlock had invited them both to come 'if they wanted to' back to Baker Street next weekend. Plans were set in place for John and Mary to join them Friday evening. After the other couple left, Elle asked Sherlock whether he wanted to return to Baker Street himself.
"No. I am happy to stay here, if that is all right."
"Of course it is. You are just further away from the action should you be needed in Central London by your friend Lestrade."
"It is not that far by cab and anyway, this is the action I want to be near, with you, here, now. Would you like to show me your bedroom again?"
"Oh, Sherlock" she breathed, "I thought I had a new insatiable appetite for love making since knowing you, but I'm wondering whether you out-strip me." She kissed his mouth feverishly.
"I want you to take full control of me. Do with me as you will. Make love to me Elle. I have always treated my body as though its primary function is transport and protection for my brain, but you have opened my eyes to pleasures I did not understand and I want more."
"I hope your mind is as open as your eyes" Elle whispered, even though they were now the only ones in this Kew town house. Elle removed Sherlock's small wash-bag from her tote, it contained a toothbrush and electric shaver - that would do for now. Elle climbed the stairs ahead of him. She led the way into the wet room, where she gave him some extra towels from the airing cupboard outside the door. Sherlock stripped and got into the shower levelling the water at his shoulders keeping his hair dry. Elle brushed her teeth then her hair whilst he was showering, banding, then coiling and pinning her ponytail out of the way so she could shower too. The lovers swapped places, she in the shower, he cleaned his teeth, then ran the electric shaver over his chiselled features.
By the time she entered the bedroom, wearing a towelling robe of deepest purple Sherlock was already in bed. She pulled the tie cord out through the loops and brought it with her to the bed. Over to the window she collected the two pale green-coloured curtain ties as well.
"I want to tie you up, Sherlock." Her voice cracked as she said it. Looking deep into his grey-green eyes she saw them dilate significantly at these words then he closed them. Turning on a side light and switching off the main, she moved in on her man. Wrapping her towelling robe cord around a bed post, Elle tied Sherlock's feet individually, then together giving him wriggle-room only. A deep intake of breath told her this alone had caused him to be turned on at the idea. He was already struggling against his bindings to see just how trapped he was.
The curtain ties were a little more complicated being a continuous loop. On to each bedpost end she wrapped a tie around pulling it through and then against itself. She then created a loop then a second in one tie, putting the second loop through the first so it was a sliding knot but would lock off. She tightened this around Sherlock's wrist. Repeating these steps she tied his other wrist too. Then, with a large folded dark green silk handkerchief, dampened from the fresh water in the carafe on her bedside table, she blindfolded him laying it across his eyes.
Making sure he was warm and covered she left the room, returning with a pitcher of iced cold water, and a long spoon. She put on a loose button-through bed-shirt, no undies, her hair still pinned so it would not touch him. Throwing the cover back off him, she straddled herself across his legs then fished one ice cube out of the pitcher on the bedside table with the spoon, took it in hand, and glided it gently over his lips.
He had reacted to the noise when she clinked the pitcher with the spoon to capture the ice. There was a soft gasp from him as the first freezing splash touched skin. Running it across his forehead, then down his right cheekbone, over his lips again [another gasp] and up the left cheekbone she held the cube above his face, letting it melt from the heat of her hand, dripping on to his eyelids through the blindfold, the bridge of his nose and again his mouth.
That cube now melted she selected a second and traced the line of his jaw, going down his throat and finding the mole she had fallen in love with over a month or so ago. Once wet from the ice she then licked and kissed his throat, all the time he smiled as he struggled in vain against his bonds. Across his shoulders and along his clavicle bones, delineating his form in water droplets she continued. Surprised to find his breathing long and deep at the moment, another ice cube was removed from the pitcher. Her own breath was shortening by the second.
This time she exercised caution as, for the first time, she touched somewhere really delicate. Circling on the areola she traced one of the cubes around his left nipple, then moved it to the right as she licked the ice water off the first. Finally his breathing was starting to go shallow. His head back on the pillow he lay quite relaxed, thinking. His body was obviously hot because that cube did not last and a further ice crystal was removed from the water this time held high again, to dribble on his chest. His body contorted from the shock of the icy droplets, especially when she went back to his face and let it drip again on to his lips and unseeing eyes.
Another cube, two stuck together in fact, was called for next. These were the lucky ice cubes. Rubbing both her hands (cooled from handling the pitcher) on his body to disorientate him he felt the ice touch his sternum then travel southwards to his navel. How she was doing this was holding the ice between her teeth. His stomach suddenly hollowed. As she had doused his navel with this piece of ice she had breathed out slowly adding extra air to the coldness, chilling him, him sighing.
"You are teasing me Elle."
She took the ice out of her mouth. "You think? You don't need to be a great detective to come to that conclusion."
"Take me."
"I am not done playing with you yet. Don't start without me."
"Start without you? As things stand at the moment I am tachycardic and cold. There is a real good possibility I will have finished before you join this party."
Her eyes glanced down as she returned the quickly melting cubes to her mouth. He was very erect now. Taking hold of his form she rubbed a cube on the end of his cock, never letting it stop. He was shaking and his breaths were now short and insubstantial. As the dual-cube decreased in size she took it, and him, into her mouth, keeping the cubes moving with her tongue until the heat from her mouth and him in it turned them to ice water. She swallowed. Using the numbness from the ice she took more of him, even deeper than she had ever done before, sucking his length as she retracted back to the head, using her teeth gently over his glans to the point of freedom from her lips.
The groan of ecstasy from him spurred her on to take this further. She climbed on him, placing him inside her easing her way down his shaft, her head dropping back, the louder groan now emanating from her. Gently rolling her hips around mid axis she could move him within her. Changing the pattern from clockwise, to anti-clockwise then to a figure of eight, changing the angle of her pelvis to suit her mood and his reaction she eventually found she could hold off no more. Sliding her hands up his chest she pressed her bare breasts against his torso and found his lips with hers, throwing off his blindfold as she began to rise and fall on him fast, clenching her pelvic floor muscles as though her life depended on it.
He was panting now. Her hands were now holding his wrists, she was starting the second or maybe third of what was likely to be a string of orgasms. He balled his fists.
"Re... release me" he panted, barely audibly. "Let my arms go." He was getting close to orgasm and wanted her, using his superior strength to take her.
"No Sherlock. I'm going to do with you as I will. You asked me to take control of you, and that is exactly what I intend to do." Elle's next wave of orgasm rippled over her. She got her arms away from him again, lifted her chest off his and bending from the hips pushing her shoulders back until her arms were almost straight, dropping her head backwards at the neck she let out a dramatic sigh. He was groaning loudly still straining against his bonds. Rolling her head forward again and fixing him with a full-eyed open stare she said "You're mine, Sherlock Holmes" and pumped her hips and thighs up and down over him until his eyes lost focus, closed and he released a deep rumbling sigh from within him as he climaxed, tensing all his musculature against the bindings. She too faltered as she orgasmed again. His phallus pumped all the seed out of itself into her.
She released his wrists immediately. Instead of worrying about releasing his feet he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly, kissing and touching and stroking her. Using her feet adeptly as she had demonstrated before she pulled the duvet back up the bed so far until she could reach with a hand, and covered them both, cuddling into him. 'She has amazing foot control' he thought, smiling, wondering.
"That was phenomenal. My whole body felt enhanced to your touch. Being constrained caused conflicting sensations of both vulnerability and power. The coldness of the ice pinpointed my brain to your location, heightening my longing and desire for you by whichever and every part of my body you were visiting. The depravation of sight hugely concentrated my other senses and I was getting erotically stimulated listening and imagining well before you touched me, predicting what you were going to be doing next."
"Did you get any of it right?"
"No, because just after you had rubbed an ice cube around my nipples I started thinking you would be getting to my cock shortly, and from that moment on I could think of nowhere else. Sorry, men are so boring. I enjoyed every second, especially the confusion with the feel of both hands, then controlled movement of an ice cube. I guessed it was in your mouth from that point on?"
"It was. It is not only me who likes things on ice then?" He kissed her smile.
"Got any left?"
"Yes, but they are melting fast." Sherlock sat up leaning forward.
"Run one down my back." Elle took a couple of shrinking cubes out the pitcher with the spoon again and, palm flat with ice between, ran her hand over his shoulder blades, down his spine, between his hips and back up and around until the whole of his back showed signs of goose pimples. He rolled over to lie flat on his front, his arms bent above the top of his head.
She thought he had fallen asleep but he then turned his head towards her, raising himself slightly with one arm. "I think I need to have some fun with some more ice. You had better relax and, maybe, wear this." He placed the handkerchief over her eyes now. She felt his weight lift from the bed, he must have untied his own feet whilst she iced his back, heard him go down then come back upstairs, dropping a number of ice cubes into the pitcher. He had obviously brought them up inside a glass because his first tease was to place the glass to her lips for a little sip of the ice water.
She heard him drinking water too, lots of it. Her wrists were not tied but she had no intention of removing the blindfold. Noises away from her meant he was up to something but she did not know what. Her breaths were already erratic just imagining what Sherlock could be doing. She understood what he meant. The duvet removed, a spoon again clinked in the pitcher then he dropped a cube into her hand. Surprised she cupped the other to it holding the ice as it melted and dripped on to her breasts.
In that moment Sherlock had used the towelling robe cord he had evidently removed from the bed post and tied her wrists tightly together. Using the top beam of the bedstead as a fulcrum he winched her arms above her head. Lying vulnerable and wanting she moaned with anticipation. Another ice cube was collected from the jug and Sherlock ran it around her left nipple, he then did the same to the right nipple whilst he licked the water off her first dampened breast as she had done to him.
This new ice was serving him better than the cubes had done for her on his preheated torso. These were still a good size and the same found its destiny in her navel where he placed it and let it melt to a pool of ice water. He then plunged his tongue into her navel and lapped up the liquid.
One thing she was unsure of was where Sherlock was. She had not felt his body's weight re-distort the memory foam so she presumed he must be off-bed somehow. As her mind was puzzling she felt him slide an ice cube inside her, incorporating two fingers in the move, making them ensure the cube never rested, spinning her mind out of control. She felt the melted water disperse from inside her. Trembling, desperate for him, she started to whisper his name, though it came away from her lips in broken stabs.
The blindfold was flicked away from her face and he pulled her up by the wrists and set her to kneel on the rug at the side of the bed. Taking the robe cord around the far post of the bed he returned to the same side as her and pulled. It stretched her body and arms across the bed leaving her kneeling against it. With an ice cube now in his teeth Sherlock let the water drip on to her back. It melted fast from the warmth of his mouth and breath and a mini cascade fell on her pearlised skin. Releasing the tension on the cord he helped her lift her shoulders from the bed so the water trickled in a line down her spine and between her bottom cheeks. The gasp from her was deep, inviting and total, her back re-coiling once, then again. Just as it was happening again Sherlock pulled tight on the cord flattening her against the bed again, and entered her from behind.
This was the price for controlling him, she, now totally at his mercy, being stretched across the bed, him behind her, also kneeling, ramming her loins so completely, his hand pressing on her back to keep her flat, his other keeping tension on the cord. Her gasps were getting louder as the croaked word "more" floated from her lips. The intensity for both of the lovers was such this form of love- or more truthfully lust-making was not going to last long. His thrusts became shorter and more shallow as he closed exponentially to his second orgasm of the night. Her body, in total contraction, begging him for more shuddered, encouraging the penetration until neither had breath nor strength. More seed left his body, this time his phallus softening nearly immediately. She closed her eyes.
Sherlock released the cord, slipping away from her and Elle's body dropped so her bottom was on her heels, she grabbed the duvet as she collapsed, exhilarated and exhausted on to the floor.
She turned her head to this naked Adonis of a man collapsed at the side of her, exhausted but smiling, every ounce of energy in his body spent. Ensuring his body was covered by the duvet too, she curled up near him, happy to stay tethered, happy to stay on the floor. "I love you Sherlock" she whispered. No reaction was detected from the detective; he must have fallen asleep.
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