Prompting Part XXXIII
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She had her hand on the skull and called out, "Jane, do hurry." She turned and started for the door, but skidded to a stop when she spotted Sherlock in the chair staring at her. They regarded each other silently for several moments, eyes absorbing each other, and then Sherlock stood and held out a hand.
She took it as he said, "I wasn't expecting you, but I'll be of whatever help I can."
"I'm not sure if I'll need any assistance... So you think that /I'm/ the one who's visiting?"
"Yes, quite certain, I saw you appear from thin air."
"How peculiar." She turned back around and squinted at the mantelpiece, then walked back towards it. Sherlock followed. She placed her hand on the skull. Nothing happened.
"Try the letter opener," Sherlock suggested, and she gave him a small glare before grasping the handle of the knife. Her image wavered slightly and winked out. Moments later, she was back.
"May I?" Sherlock asked her.
"It's only fair," she agreed, and they carefully laid their hands simultaneously on wood and bone. Sherlock could discern no change at first until he heard a feminine squeal of shock from behind him that was quickly stifled.
"Sherlock!" Both turned to look at the source of the exclamation.
It was John. Or rather, it was Jane, Sherlock thought with wonder. She was looking between the two of them in clear confusion and disbelief.
"It's fine, Jane," Other Sherlock said. "Don't let your eyes fall out." Jane gave her a look that Sherlock was all too familiar with and he smiled fondly.
"You look abnormal smiling like that... Sherlock," Jane commented to him as she approached. He gave her a withering look, which she ignored as she took a good look at him. "You know, he's really a stunner, isn't he?" she commented to Other Sherlock, who raised an eyebrow. Both Sherlocks blushed simultaneously.
"Yes, of course he is," Other Sherlock remarked when she'd regained her composure, "and I have to take him back to Baker St., now..."
"The other one, you mean?"
"Obviously," the Sherlocks chorused in unison, then smirked at each other.
Jane rolled her eyes. "Right. Well, I'm glad there won't be two of you; after a day I'd run screaming from the house and have to be carted off. But you're explaining this all to me as soon as you get back," she added pointedly to Other Sherlock.
"Yes, of course," Other Sherlock dismissed with a wave of her hand, and positioned herself to make the transfer, Sherlock following her lead. When Sherlock turned around again, Jane was gone.
He turned back to Other Sherlock and asked her, "What did you want to see?" She wouldn't have returned with him if she hadn't wanted to satisfy her curiosity in some way. She answered by coming close and pulling his jacket from his shoulders.
"You, naturally," she replied.
"Naturally," he agreed and began unbuttoning her shirt.
"When will John be home?" she asked as they continued undressing.
"Possibly twenty or thirty minutes. He went out to fetch some food for us."
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They'd soon helped each other out of their trousers and pants and were standing by the sofa regarding one another with intense interest. He reached out and took one of her arms, checking for a scar he (they?) had obtained in childhood. She knew what he was looking for and angled her arm so he could see it.
"Did Mycroft rescue you as well?" she asked.
"Indeed he did," Sherlock confirmed, reminiscing a little.
"Do you have that freckle on your bum?" she wondered and he grinned. They compared spots, and then Sherlock ran his hands over her strangely unfamiliar body, with its markedly different skeleton beneath, hands pausing on hips that were wider than his own, and on the petite ribcage and the small breasts that overlaid it, as she absorbed the texture of his skin and its lack of fat, the hard muscles standing out noticeably under her fingertips.
She soon crouched down and began exploring his genitalia, hands curiously running over the different sorts of skin and hair to be found in the region. She looked and sniffed and touched until he was quite hard, and then she examined that, too, comparing the erection to the flaccid organ in her mind's eye.
Satisfied, she stood and went to the sofa where she lay down on her back, leaving some space for Sherlock.
"May I?" he asked, approaching.
"By all means," she assured, spreading her legs. He settled down on his belly between them.
"You know, I've never actually gotten a close-up look at one of these that wasn't on a corpse," he mentioned to her.
"Same, in regards to your type of equipment," she replied.
First, he simply looked, for it was a strange sight, if he was honest. It looked complex and a bit like an orchid. Soon he was touching, fingers delicately manipulating the silky skin and venturing into hot, wet darkness as she squirmed slightly and clenched around his fingers.
He pulled his fingers out and sniffed and tasted and he found himself so aroused that he nearly began rutting against the sofa cushion. "This is getting out of hand," he frowned.
"No pun intended," she added wryly. "I do agree, though. Shall we...?"
"Yes," he confirmed and rose to a seated position, leaning against the back of the sofa. He held his erection up for her and she sank down onto it with a groan, leaning on his shoulders as she rode him.
"Do you suppose we'll make a clone?" he panted facetiously, hands stroking her hips and venturing down to caress her clit.
"Shh," she scolded, "you'll ruin the incest."
They both giggled a little and then fell silent but for their laboured breathing, intent on their shared goal. They became entranced by each other's eyes, identical as they were, and were staring green-into-green as they climaxed, their orgasms arriving one after the other.
She dismounted and flopped down next to him, sighing, and commented, "Such a mental fog that brings on."
"Mmm, true," he murmured. "Not good."
They lay together on the sofa like bumps on a log until their mental faculties regained full strength, then continued where they'd left off before they'd gotten distracted. They were comparing the scent of their underarm sweat when John walked in the door. He stood stock still for a good twenty seconds, just staring at the tableau before him as it stared back, then went to the kitchen muttering, "Sherlock's drugged me again. Fantastic."
The End.
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Thank you!
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