No Turning Back {Sherlock/Irene fic}
Title: no turning back
Author: turquoisetumult
Rating: PG-13 (for some cursing)
Word Count: 1642
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/Irene
Genre: Romance/general.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or its characters, in any incarnation.
Prompt: Epsilon set
Summary: No, I didn’t choose…
50 prompts for Sherlock and Irene inside and outside of canon.
Motion - He realizes the dominatrix is using her particular skill set to force him to drop the phone, but damned if he doesn’t admit she makes every flick of the riding crop look like a fine art.
Cool - It’s springtime in the Alps when she shivers a bit and Sherlock drapes his woolen coat around her; she’s not nude this time, but the coat still feels as cozy as it did on the day they first met.
Young - Irene doesn’t typically laugh, but she can’t help letting out a roar once she’s got the image of a fresh-faced Sherlock, running around a breezy beach, with an eyepatch and a plastic sword, playing pirates, in her head.
Last - She asks why Sherlock rescued her; when he doesn’t answer and allows her to have the last word on the matter, Irene idly wonders if this makes her God.
Wrong - In hindsight, it was clearly a mistake in judgment as his music of choice revealed more of himself than he would’ve liked to have shown his estranged and deranged sister.
Gentle - She once told him that she could cut herself slapping his face, so he wonders if that’s the reason she so carefully and tenderly caresses his cheekbone now, finger softly gliding over his skin.
One - Sherlock never imagined that all it would take was one, single text in a (seemingly) abandoned warehouse to undo him completely.
Thousand - There are a thousand things she wishes to tell him; in the end, she decides “Goodbye Mr. Holmes,” is all that needs to be said.
King - Displaying her hand of three kings and a pair of fours, Irene declares, “Full House, Mr. Holmes; now, be a dear and kindly remove your top.”
Learn - How she giggles when she reads on John’s wedding blog post that Sherlock learned how to fold napkins into swans and the Sydney Opera House from Youtube!
Blur - The world is a blur, the chemicals of whatever she injected in him swimming through his veins, but he still sees her face, clear as crystal, her red lips, lulling him to sleep.
Wait - It’s not that he’s waiting for her, per se; it’s that there is no other woman but The Woman for him.
Change - Years have passed, phones updated, but Sherlock doesn’t have it in him to change her ringtone.
Command - Still in the calm of post-coital bliss, she dances her scarlet fingernails along his exposed chest and she purrs, “Play your violin for me, will you, darling?,” while both knowing full well that it is not, by any means, a request.
Hold - Sherlock’s skin is gleaming with perspiration, his body is trembling, running both hot and cold at once, and all Irene can do is resettle his head on her lap, pulling him closer to her, as she cards her fingers through his greasy hair while they wait out this detox.
Need - By necessity, much of Sherlock’s information is transient as to not clog his mind palace, but every memory of her lasts.
Vision - When he immediately notices her squinting at everything because she’s been through her last pair of contacts, Sherlock sighs exasperatedly while digging through her bag, finally setting a pair of glasses over her ears, saying, “Brainy is the new sexy.”
Attention - Mycroft is in the middle of a sip of brandy when he receives a picture text from Sherlock of a monochromatic ultrasound with what appears to be a misshapen jellybean, labeled “Adler, Irene” and promptly spits out his liquid, groaning, ”Bloody hell, Sherlock!”
Soul - Irene doesn’t believe in soulmates, but there must be some reason why she feels so inexplicably connected to him.
Picture - As Sherlock’s work gains more attention and fame, the press posts more photos of him, but Irene’s favorite is still that of the clever detective in the funny hat.
Fool - He really did play straight into her hand when he cracked the Ministry of Defense code, but he’s connecting all the pieces as she confidently rambles on because Sherlock Holmes will not be made a fool, no matter how clever the adversary.
Mad - There’s a rare and genuine anger in Sherlock’s eyes as he digs through days’ old garbage after discovering that Mrs. Hudson, while tidying up, had tossed out a discarded, old, phone that was stashed away in his drawer.
Child - “Ready for a whole new brand of adventure, Mr. Holmes?” she asks him, pressing the positive pregnancy test into his palm.
Now - The timing certainly isn’t ideal, as her automated moans permeate through the room and draw a (surprisingly) intuitive John back into the room, but after the weeks he’s had, he’s certainly glad to hear from her.
Shadow - John honestly can’t process the scene before him of the renowned detective, William Sherlock Holmes, propped up against a couch in the dim living room, making shadow puppets for his one-year-old son.
Goodbye - He departs by stroking his thumb over her eyebrow and studying her (pretend) sleeping form for a moment, just like every time before, but she can’t explain why it’s getting progressively harder to have him go.
Hide - They make their quiet getaway to a dingy motel outside the city limits of Karachi with roaches in the corners and an unbearable stench.
Fortune - Irene’s wealth acquired through her years of bribery affords her the most opulent of clothing, but for Sherlock Holmes, she thinks she’ll wear her basic most outfit of all - her battle armor.
Safe - Hair dyed plum red, dark sunglasses hanging low over her nose, Irene Adler taps her foot anxiously in the Jinnah International Airport, awaiting a flight to America, where, with Sherlock’s intervention, she is to become Ms. Eileen Palmer, proud resident of Racine, Wisconsin.
Ghost - Sometimes he dreams that he never managed to save her and subsequently is haunted by her ghost, tears glistening on her pained, pale visage.
Book - When John finally compiles his blog posts into a published book, Sherlock can’t help but feel that his perspective of The Woman was unjust.
Eye - John often wonders if they’ve developed the ability to hold telepathic communication for all the eye-fucking that they do.
Never - Not once is an “I love you” verbalized; instead, it’s said with a glance of admiration after an astute deduction or fingertips brushing a bare wrist during a playful moment.
Sing - His drug-induced imagination portrays Ms. Irene Alder as an American opera singer of the late nineteenth century and for a split moment upon returning to consciousness, Sherlock nearly texts The Woman to request an audition.
Sudden - Not many people held Sherlock’s interest and so he was taken by surprise when he found himself suddenly infatuated; recognizing The Woman’s cleverness, wit, and smugness was like staring into a mirror.
Stop - Sherlock will ramble excitedly on about a murder through every occasion (a wedding included, as John now unfortunately knows, firsthand), but he stops dead silent when he sees the mere figment of The Woman.
Time - When they next meet, she is the widow of a prominent French vineyard owner, (tanlines from her recently removed wedding ring still stark on her slightly wrinkled finger), and he is a recovering addict for the ninth time in his life, (grays painting the edges of his roots and sideburns); still, their eyes lock and it’s as if no time has passed at all.
Wash - Sherlock injures his shoulder in Karachi, and he secretly relishes in Irene washing the sweat and blood out of his hair, firm fingers tangled in knotted, dark locks.
Torn - She doesn’t quite know why she’s tempted to stay by the roaring fire at 221B Baker Street, with Sherlock’s slender fingers brushing against her forearm, when she’s already taken everything she had needed from Sherlock’s beautiful brain to secure her agenda.
History - Accompanying the single red rose, the card is inscribed with only a bolded and serif-faced W; given their history, she’s assured those are the only clues she need provide.
Power - It didn’t take long for Irene to understand that she could get almost anything she wanted simply by amassing and harnessing shameful, hidden, desires.
Brother - Mycroft follows Sherlock out of the morgue, silently lamenting that his baby brother has discovered love, (or something like it), and its loss.
Good - Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock has had sex a couple of times before Irene, but the act has never felt quite as exhilarating as it does with her.
Wall - She’s never had a lover push her up against the wall, but with him, his height towering over her, his coat warm against her already heated skin, she doesn’t mind.
Naked - “Because I took your pulse,” he whispers seductively in her ear, and suddenly Irene’s never felt so exposed.
Drive - They said few words to each other, but her heart raced in a combination of relief, thrill, and pure excitement during the entire hour-long drive to the secure motel that Sherlock had reserved just outside Karachi.
Harm - Sherlock winces in his sleep, the bullet wound in his abdomen still seeping blood, so Irene amps his morphine levels, gently adjusts his cannula, and places a soft kiss on his slightly-feverish brow before disappearing and reluctantly leaving the rest in the hospital’s hands.
Precious - John isn’t quite sure how to make Sherlock see that having the woman who loves him, alive, somewhere in the world and only a text away, is the luckiest thing of all.
Hunger - “Now that we’ve already had dinner, shall we have breakfast, Mr. Holmes?”
Believe - Despite the media stories, she never stopped believing and is exuberant when she opens the door to her Montenegro home and finds him sitting casually on her lounge chair, leg crossed over the other, unshaven and somewhat tanner, but breathing and smirking and with eyes so full of life that she feels they will bore a hole right through her.
Author: turquoisetumult
Rating: PG-13 (for some cursing)
Word Count: 1642
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/Irene
Genre: Romance/general.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or its characters, in any incarnation.
Prompt: Epsilon set
Summary: No, I didn’t choose…
50 prompts for Sherlock and Irene inside and outside of canon.
Motion - He realizes the dominatrix is using her particular skill set to force him to drop the phone, but damned if he doesn’t admit she makes every flick of the riding crop look like a fine art.
Cool - It’s springtime in the Alps when she shivers a bit and Sherlock drapes his woolen coat around her; she’s not nude this time, but the coat still feels as cozy as it did on the day they first met.
Young - Irene doesn’t typically laugh, but she can’t help letting out a roar once she’s got the image of a fresh-faced Sherlock, running around a breezy beach, with an eyepatch and a plastic sword, playing pirates, in her head.
Last - She asks why Sherlock rescued her; when he doesn’t answer and allows her to have the last word on the matter, Irene idly wonders if this makes her God.
Wrong - In hindsight, it was clearly a mistake in judgment as his music of choice revealed more of himself than he would’ve liked to have shown his estranged and deranged sister.
Gentle - She once told him that she could cut herself slapping his face, so he wonders if that’s the reason she so carefully and tenderly caresses his cheekbone now, finger softly gliding over his skin.
One - Sherlock never imagined that all it would take was one, single text in a (seemingly) abandoned warehouse to undo him completely.
Thousand - There are a thousand things she wishes to tell him; in the end, she decides “Goodbye Mr. Holmes,” is all that needs to be said.
King - Displaying her hand of three kings and a pair of fours, Irene declares, “Full House, Mr. Holmes; now, be a dear and kindly remove your top.”
Learn - How she giggles when she reads on John’s wedding blog post that Sherlock learned how to fold napkins into swans and the Sydney Opera House from Youtube!
Blur - The world is a blur, the chemicals of whatever she injected in him swimming through his veins, but he still sees her face, clear as crystal, her red lips, lulling him to sleep.
Wait - It’s not that he’s waiting for her, per se; it’s that there is no other woman but The Woman for him.
Change - Years have passed, phones updated, but Sherlock doesn’t have it in him to change her ringtone.
Command - Still in the calm of post-coital bliss, she dances her scarlet fingernails along his exposed chest and she purrs, “Play your violin for me, will you, darling?,” while both knowing full well that it is not, by any means, a request.
Hold - Sherlock’s skin is gleaming with perspiration, his body is trembling, running both hot and cold at once, and all Irene can do is resettle his head on her lap, pulling him closer to her, as she cards her fingers through his greasy hair while they wait out this detox.
Need - By necessity, much of Sherlock’s information is transient as to not clog his mind palace, but every memory of her lasts.
Vision - When he immediately notices her squinting at everything because she’s been through her last pair of contacts, Sherlock sighs exasperatedly while digging through her bag, finally setting a pair of glasses over her ears, saying, “Brainy is the new sexy.”
Attention - Mycroft is in the middle of a sip of brandy when he receives a picture text from Sherlock of a monochromatic ultrasound with what appears to be a misshapen jellybean, labeled “Adler, Irene” and promptly spits out his liquid, groaning, ”Bloody hell, Sherlock!”
Soul - Irene doesn’t believe in soulmates, but there must be some reason why she feels so inexplicably connected to him.
Picture - As Sherlock’s work gains more attention and fame, the press posts more photos of him, but Irene’s favorite is still that of the clever detective in the funny hat.
Fool - He really did play straight into her hand when he cracked the Ministry of Defense code, but he’s connecting all the pieces as she confidently rambles on because Sherlock Holmes will not be made a fool, no matter how clever the adversary.
Mad - There’s a rare and genuine anger in Sherlock’s eyes as he digs through days’ old garbage after discovering that Mrs. Hudson, while tidying up, had tossed out a discarded, old, phone that was stashed away in his drawer.
Child - “Ready for a whole new brand of adventure, Mr. Holmes?” she asks him, pressing the positive pregnancy test into his palm.
Now - The timing certainly isn’t ideal, as her automated moans permeate through the room and draw a (surprisingly) intuitive John back into the room, but after the weeks he’s had, he’s certainly glad to hear from her.
Shadow - John honestly can’t process the scene before him of the renowned detective, William Sherlock Holmes, propped up against a couch in the dim living room, making shadow puppets for his one-year-old son.
Goodbye - He departs by stroking his thumb over her eyebrow and studying her (pretend) sleeping form for a moment, just like every time before, but she can’t explain why it’s getting progressively harder to have him go.
Hide - They make their quiet getaway to a dingy motel outside the city limits of Karachi with roaches in the corners and an unbearable stench.
Fortune - Irene’s wealth acquired through her years of bribery affords her the most opulent of clothing, but for Sherlock Holmes, she thinks she’ll wear her basic most outfit of all - her battle armor.
Safe - Hair dyed plum red, dark sunglasses hanging low over her nose, Irene Adler taps her foot anxiously in the Jinnah International Airport, awaiting a flight to America, where, with Sherlock’s intervention, she is to become Ms. Eileen Palmer, proud resident of Racine, Wisconsin.
Ghost - Sometimes he dreams that he never managed to save her and subsequently is haunted by her ghost, tears glistening on her pained, pale visage.
Book - When John finally compiles his blog posts into a published book, Sherlock can’t help but feel that his perspective of The Woman was unjust.
Eye - John often wonders if they’ve developed the ability to hold telepathic communication for all the eye-fucking that they do.
Never - Not once is an “I love you” verbalized; instead, it’s said with a glance of admiration after an astute deduction or fingertips brushing a bare wrist during a playful moment.
Sing - His drug-induced imagination portrays Ms. Irene Alder as an American opera singer of the late nineteenth century and for a split moment upon returning to consciousness, Sherlock nearly texts The Woman to request an audition.
Sudden - Not many people held Sherlock’s interest and so he was taken by surprise when he found himself suddenly infatuated; recognizing The Woman’s cleverness, wit, and smugness was like staring into a mirror.
Stop - Sherlock will ramble excitedly on about a murder through every occasion (a wedding included, as John now unfortunately knows, firsthand), but he stops dead silent when he sees the mere figment of The Woman.
Time - When they next meet, she is the widow of a prominent French vineyard owner, (tanlines from her recently removed wedding ring still stark on her slightly wrinkled finger), and he is a recovering addict for the ninth time in his life, (grays painting the edges of his roots and sideburns); still, their eyes lock and it’s as if no time has passed at all.
Wash - Sherlock injures his shoulder in Karachi, and he secretly relishes in Irene washing the sweat and blood out of his hair, firm fingers tangled in knotted, dark locks.
Torn - She doesn’t quite know why she’s tempted to stay by the roaring fire at 221B Baker Street, with Sherlock’s slender fingers brushing against her forearm, when she’s already taken everything she had needed from Sherlock’s beautiful brain to secure her agenda.
History - Accompanying the single red rose, the card is inscribed with only a bolded and serif-faced W; given their history, she’s assured those are the only clues she need provide.
Power - It didn’t take long for Irene to understand that she could get almost anything she wanted simply by amassing and harnessing shameful, hidden, desires.
Brother - Mycroft follows Sherlock out of the morgue, silently lamenting that his baby brother has discovered love, (or something like it), and its loss.
Good - Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock has had sex a couple of times before Irene, but the act has never felt quite as exhilarating as it does with her.
Wall - She’s never had a lover push her up against the wall, but with him, his height towering over her, his coat warm against her already heated skin, she doesn’t mind.
Naked - “Because I took your pulse,” he whispers seductively in her ear, and suddenly Irene’s never felt so exposed.
Drive - They said few words to each other, but her heart raced in a combination of relief, thrill, and pure excitement during the entire hour-long drive to the secure motel that Sherlock had reserved just outside Karachi.
Harm - Sherlock winces in his sleep, the bullet wound in his abdomen still seeping blood, so Irene amps his morphine levels, gently adjusts his cannula, and places a soft kiss on his slightly-feverish brow before disappearing and reluctantly leaving the rest in the hospital’s hands.
Precious - John isn’t quite sure how to make Sherlock see that having the woman who loves him, alive, somewhere in the world and only a text away, is the luckiest thing of all.
Hunger - “Now that we’ve already had dinner, shall we have breakfast, Mr. Holmes?”
Believe - Despite the media stories, she never stopped believing and is exuberant when she opens the door to her Montenegro home and finds him sitting casually on her lounge chair, leg crossed over the other, unshaven and somewhat tanner, but breathing and smirking and with eyes so full of life that she feels they will bore a hole right through her.