She's A What?! (1/2)
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock BBC or the works of Karen Marie Moning for that matter. Or Florence and the Machine, although their music might own me.
Title: She's A What?!
Author: wenanona
Pairings: Sherlock/girl!John
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Heterosexual sex. Beware!
Summary: Jane Watson never did manage to lose her virginity. Sherlock finds this interesting.
At the ripe old age of thirty-six, Jane Watson had come to the conclusion that she was never going to have sex. She had technically come to this conclusion at the ripe old age of five, thirteen, twenty and thirty as well. She liked to think that the added experience made the conclusion more plausible. Of course 'liked' might have been the wrong word. Resigned was a better fit.
Sex had never worked out for Jane. When she was small (smaller than she was at present, if that were actually possible) she had had an unfortunate incident with one of the neighborhood boys. He'd cornered her in the playground and tried to force her into a game of 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours'. Jane had absolutely no interest in seeing whatever it was he had and she certainly didn't want hers on display. She'd punched and kicked and screamed at the top of her lungs. It was when the boy had been pulling down her tights that Harry finally came to the rescue. Jane's sister hadn't been happy to play hero.
"Why couldn't you just show him? He plays that game with all the girls. It's not as if you're special," Harry complained as she walked her annoying little sister home. Jane stayed silent, biting back the words that wanted to escape. She was special. She knew it like she knew the sky was blue and the dentist was scary. Jane wouldn't share that specialness with someone who didn't deserve it.
It was this kind of thinking that kept her a virgin through school. She knew she wasn't the prettiest girl. Her face was too square, her body too solid with only a hint of curve at her hips. All the same, she wasn't ugly. She had a nice smile and wide, earnest eyes. Jane felt that warranted a little consideration from the male populace. So when the occasional boy asked her out then made it clear with his behavior that she was lucky to be with him, Jane didn't indulge them. It got to the point that when someone asked her out she would simply reply, "I'd love grab a bite as long as you don't try to stick anything of yours in my orifices." Oh, Harry had had a fit over that.
"You are such a freak! What, do you think your twat is golden?"
As a doctor, Jane knew very well that that portion of her anatomy was certainly not golden. That didn't mean she ever got very far romantically in medical school. She had devoted herself to studying. She barely had time for friends much less boyfriends. There were so many interesting things to do and, to be honest, sex had yet to make the list. Whenever she felt what might be labeled 'arousal' Jane would crack open a Harlequin novel and indulge. Her indulgence didn't ever lead to masturbation. Once she finished a steamy romance novel she usually just felt a warm satisfaction. A little voyeuristic pleasure, too, in fact. But somehow that never led to orgasm. Or even that tell-tale dampness that might encourage Jane to try out masturbating. Jane briefly thought she should be worried about that. However there was her future as a doctor to look forward to and then a military career filled with potential. Who had time to worry about something that impacted her life not at all?
Everyone who knew she was a virgin thought there was something wrong with her. Jane had expected Harry's reaction to the news. She'd cursed, told her she was a freak and said she was willing to blackmail one of her gay boy friends into sleeping with her. Jane had politely turned her down. She had thought there might be a bit more yelling than there had been. Harry was such a sexual creature and Jane's frigid reputation at school had always been a thorn in Harry's side. They'd had countless rows over it. Finally confessing just before she was deployed that she hadn't, by the way, ever gotten her cherry popped was bound to make Harry mad. Thankfully, however, she didn't keep on the subject as much as she had when they were younger. Jane supposed that at that point her sister was just tired of raging about it. She'd accepted Jane's refusal with a resigned shrug.
Then she'd been shot in Afghanistan and Harry's efforts to get her laid increased dramatically. Jane didn't blame her. People dealt with emotional stress in different ways. Even Jane, when she'd been flat on her back in the sand in a foreign country, had had the terribly boring final thought: Oh, God, I don't want to die a virgin. Harry must have had a psychic moment when that thought had passed through her head. The second Jane got home Harry was shoving men at her. A few women, too. Those dates had been particularly awkward. Jane loved Harry's wife but lesbianism wasn't the answer for her. Whenever she'd had those rare, low stirrings of interest it had always been provoked by men.
The person she hadn't expected to judge her sexual choices was her bloody therapist. Weren't therapists supposed to be open-minded? For God's sake, she had a psychosomatic limp and a mass of unattractive scar tissue on her shoulder that was wreaking havoc with the little vanity she'd had about her body. Why was the lack of sex so interesting? Her therapist's jaw had actually gone slack when Jane had first mentioned it. Then she became keenly interested in all the forced dates Harry arranged, clearly hoping that Jane would shag at least one of them. Jane was very glad she hadn't mentioned the fact that she hadn't kissed anyone yet either. (She refused to address masturbation. That wasn't anyone's business, therapist or no) She expected the poor woman might have a stroke. Then again, months later when her limp was worse than ever and her left hand wouldn't stop shaking, she thought she might enjoy the sight of the therapist's pain-wracked body when all she could talk about was how her trust issues were stunting her social interactions. She even recommended keeping a sex diary.
It would be a bloody short diary. A blog about her life would at least fill a few pages, although not many. Nothing interesting happened to Jane. At least, not anymore. The bullet might as well have killed her because her life had stopped.
And then... there was Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock was mad. He did things no sane man would like voluntarily playing 'pick your poison' with a serial killer and hoarding body parts in the kitchen. He was shockingly brilliant, too, which just made the madness worse. His brain moved at such an accelerated rate it was painfully easy for him to get bored. And God help the world when Sherlock Holmes was bored.
He was also the most stunningly beautiful man Jane had seen in real life. It was bewildering to live with a creature whose features were so fine they should rightly be immortalized in stone or on a movie screen. Watching Sherlock was akin to watching art. He was fascinating. The impropriety of a single woman living with a single man conveniently slipped her mind when she moved into 221B Baker Street. Jane was far too relieved to have control over her body again to care. No shaking and no limp? Hell, she'd move in with her sister for that sort of payoff and that was saying something. The fact that people were already making assumptions ("If you'll be needing two bedrooms...", "I'll get a candle for the table, more romantic.", "Are we to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?") hadn't really sunk in for Jane. Harry had been quick to point out the implications, of course, in one of their very rare conversations since she'd left Clara to devote more time to being an alcoholic.
"So you two are shagging, right?"
"God, no!" Jane had sputtered, flabbergasted by the very idea. "He's a high-functioning sociopath, Harry. He gets excited about triple homicides and steals my tampons for experiments. I'd be better off sleeping with Hannibal Lecter."
"Don't jump down my throat. I can't be the only one to think you two aren't just flatmates." Harry had a point there. In fact, Jane was having trouble thinking of a person who didn't think she was sleeping with the consulting detective. The way Sherlock acted around her only fanned the flames.
Sherlock hadn't ever learned about personal space. Oh, he was intense about protecting his own but he tended to forget that his beleaguered doctor colleague had some of her own as well. It was as if living with Sherlock made her fair game. He might fall asleep on top of her one day, truly not thinking of her as anything more than a convenient woman-shaped mattress. All illusions of privacy were promptly shot to hell. Jane didn't mind. She really, truly didn't mind that Sherlock could read her thoughts by glancing at the dirt under her fingernails. It was all the casual touching that had Jane gritting her teeth.
When Jane was in Sherlock's way, which happened on more than a few occasions, he would simply put his hands on her waist and physically move her. The first time it happened her heart had nearly stopped. The sensation of those long fingers spread over her body, even through her thick wool jumper, made her head spin. Jane wasn't at all sure what to do with that information so she'd let it drop. She'd just endeavor not to get in Sherlock's path by accident.
Trying to avoid physical contact with her flatmate was more difficult than she'd assumed. Sherlock would grab her arm when he wanted her to follow him, lean over her shoulder and breathe in her ear when he wanted to know what she was up to and, once, he even took her face in his hands when he wanted her to concentrate especially hard. These touches were more or less tolerable. They left her trembling occasionally but she could handle it. It was when he brushed past her, his entire body briefly pressed against her back, that she had a harder time preventing her knees from knocking.
Everyone stared at them when he did these things. They stared with knowing eyes as if they had personally walked inside their Baker Street flat and seen them tangled naked in the bed sheets. They stared and Jane felt exactly the same as she had when she'd refused to show her privates on the playground. In their eyes there wasn't anything special about her. Jane falling into bed with Sherlock was just a foregone conclusion. It burned. Still, she had come to accept the fact that living with Sherlock was going to involve a lot of give and take. Her dignity was just going to be one of the things taken.
---------------------------------
Jane had decided about a month after Moriarty tried to blow her into bite-sized Watson chunks that she was going to take a personal day. It had been a while since she'd spent any time being quiet and really present in her body. In fact, recently she'd taken her poor body for granted. Sherlock was rubbing off on her in that regard. She was determined to give herself a nice day of bubble baths, caramels and romance novels. Maybe she'd even throw a glass of champagne in there. Hell, why stop at a glass? Her body wasn't just transport and when it'd been strapped with explosives she had been very aware of that fact. Jane was going to indulge and to hell with the consequences. (And since her plans were rather tame, the only consequences were likely to be a hangover and a bit of extra padding around her hips)
She woke up at noon, took a very long, very bubbly bath and cracked open her favorite dirty novel. As she rolled a soft caramel around in her mouth, she thanked God for life's little pleasures. Already she felt more in tune with the female side of her nature which so often went unacknowledged or ignored. It was nice to feel girly. She was a doctor and a veteran and Sherlock's friend/assistant. Being a woman just fell by the wayside. These quiet moments to remind herself that she was, in fact, a girl were precious.
Then Sherlock burst in the door and she nearly dropped her favorite book into the thick blanket of bubbles covering her naked body.
"Sherlock!"
"Have you seen my riding crop?" Jane gaped at the man with his impeccable designer suit and black curls falling into his eyes as he hunted around her bathroom for a riding crop that had absolutely no reason to be there.
"No, I haven't and it's not in here! Now would you mind buggering off?" she snapped. He turned his unnaturally pale blue-green eyes on Jane. The way he stared told Jane he was analyzing absolutely every detail of the scene in his head. A flush crept up her cheeks and she bit her tongue. Dammit, why did she have to be naked?
"Oh. This is part of the personal time you were rattling on about yesterday." Sherlock spoke with a thick layer of condescension. As though personal time were a spectacularly boring idea, especially as it did not include him. Jane scowled.
"You prat. Don't tell me you forgot when I spent nearly half an hour explaining in great detail yesterday that I desperately needed alone time."
"All right. I won't tell you." She chucked a caramel at his head.
"Sherlock, get out!" Showing that he actually did have some instinct for self-preservation, Sherlock slipped quickly out the door. It was likely he just didn't want to waste time with Jane when he had a riding crop to find. She glowered at the door for a good five minutes before setting aside her book. The bath wasn't necessarily ruined but the pleasant glow had definitely been shot to hell. Jane held her breath and sank into the water. Under all the bubbles she let forth a stream of frustrated curses. The water swallowed them whole, allowing Jane to empty out the negative in favor of the calm she'd embraced barely five minutes ago.
After that minor hiccup in her day, Jane had a rather pleasant time. When she finally wandered downstairs in nothing but an extra large jumper she was relieved to find Sherlock had gone out. He was probably at Bart's, flustering Molly and violating corpses. This suited Jane right down to the bone. She practically skipped into the kitchen, ordered take away from a little Italian place she'd recently discovered and reached past the severed arm in the fridge for the bottle of champagne. Thank God Sherlock hadn't found any reason to use it for an experiment. She popped the cork and drank until her linguini with white clam sauce arrived.
Her evening was filled with lovely tastes, bubbly nirvana and the crooning of Florence and the Machines. It was dark out by the time she'd settled on top of her bed with her novel, a glass of champagne carefully resting on the bedside table near a handful of caramels and her favorite band on repeat on her iPod. She was also wearing something Harry had gotten for her ages ago that she had sworn would never touch her body. However, it had been such a luxurious day. It seemed only appropriate to let the soft plum satin slip float against her skin. It was trimmed with copper-colored lace and was so unabashedly feminine Jane almost felt embarrassed. Almost.
The heroine in her book was gripping the edge of a desk she had been bent over by the hero and explaining through gritted teeth that the reason she was so tight was because she'd never actually had sex. That was what Jane liked about Karen Marie Moning. A lot of her books featured virgins. Ridiculously attractive virgins in their early twenties, yes, but virgins all the same. It was nice not to feel alone sometimes. Jane eagerly turned the page and almost missed the sound of her door opening under the thrum of her music. Thankfully her army training hadn't been completely buried by all the civilian indulgences of the day and her eyes flicked up to inspect the intruder.
Sherlock. Again. Her forehead creased with all too familiar frown lines. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket and the pristine white of his shirt made his skin look practically translucent. He could look so beautifully fragile when Jane least expected it. She choked back an exasperated sigh before removing one of her earbuds so she could hear whatever the silly man had to say.
"Any caramels left over?" he asked without preamble. Then his quick eyes spotted the few she'd set out and he very nearly smiled. Jane guessed he had some sort of experiment cooking downstairs that required caramel. She briefly considered snapping at him again for interrupting her day but... Well, this was Sherlock. The fact that he'd restrained himself to only violating her privacy twice that day was sort of remarkable.
"Help yourself," Jane said, returning her attention to the book. That didn't last. Instead of walking to her bedside table like any reasonable person, the mad consulting detective jumped onto her bed. "Sherlock, what - ? Oooohhhh." Jane bit down hard on her lip to keep any more sounds from escaping. The man (infuriating fucking bastard) had more or less plastered himself against her body as he reached for the pile of sweets. He had a knee on either side of her body, one pressed tight against her bare thigh. She stared up at the vulnerable smooth skin at the base of his throat where his shirt opened. The scent of him, familiar morgue smells and the richness of his cologne, practically poured into her nose. Her fingers gripped the book with white-knuckled intensity.
Oh God oh God oh God oh oh oh oh oh...
Sherlock moved a bit so that he was leaning more directly above her as opposed to just being splayed over her body. He stared down at Jane and being the focus of those ghostly eyes was really too much at a moment like that. He was too close and too lovely and her skin felt as though it might crawl off her bones if she didn't get some bloody relief. It did not help, at all, that the song currently playing on her iPod was Drumming Song. (Louder than sirens, louder than bells, sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell) God dammit.
"If this was supposed to be a stress free day for you than why would you wear lingerie from a sister you can't stand?" It took an embarrassingly long time for Jane to understand the words Sherlock had just said.
"W-what?"
"Harry clearly bought this for you. Lingerie isn't something you would buy for yourself. Sam would have gotten you something far more revealing than a slip so, obviously, your sister picked it out." Ah, poor Sam. After getting kidnapped on their first date Jane suspected she would never receive indecent lingerie from him. At least they'd stayed friends. Sherlock thought they were still dating, though, which was just fine. He did not need to know about her personal life.
"It feels nice, Sherlock. I didn't really have any motivation to wear it aside from that," she told him, hoping he might finally be satisfied and get off her. He made a low, thoughtful sound deep in his throat before running his fingertips across her satin-covered hip. A line of heat shot through her skin and suddenly Jane felt a telling dampness between her thighs.
"I'll leave you to it," Sherlock said, so abruptly that Jane feared he might suspect what had just happened to her. However when he clambered off her she could see his expression was one of complete self-absorption. His mind was on whatever experiment he had going. It was not, for instance, considering the fact that he'd just left his flatmate with a fever in her skin and a thirst for his mouth. "You shouldn't read those ridiculous books, Jane. They're wildly inaccurate," he chided as he slipped out the door. Jane just stared as tremors passed through her body.
She had just been violently aroused by Sherlock Holmes. And he'd barely had to touch her.
She was in deep trouble.
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A few days later Jane's phone had gone missing. She had searched frantically through her room, knowing that within the hour her mother would be ringing for their monthly conversation. Mrs. Watson was an affectionate sort of person and it pained her to have both her daughters live so far away in the distressingly crowded city of London. She lived on the sound of her children's voices once a month in between the few visits they regularly made during the year. Harry almost always forgot when their mother would call and she rarely bothered to get back to her. Jane had always felt too guilty to blow off her mum, even when she'd been brooding over Afghanistan. Now her stupid phone had pulled a disappearing act. Jane did not want her mother to fret over her not answering... Well, she'd just have to borrow Sherlock's phone. Hopefully if she called her cell the bloody thing would ring within hearing range.
She galloped down the stairs in an absurdly large green jumper that ended just above her knees. Her arms were drowning in the sleeves and the neck of the thing had been stretched out so that it constantly slid down her right shoulder. She would never wear it outside but for kicking around the flat it was perfect.
"Sherlock!" she called out before skidding into the living room. "Would you mind if I borrowed - ? My phone!"
"I hardly see why you would need permission to borrow your own phone," Sherlock replied dryly, deliberately misinterpreting her surprised exclamation from his slumped position on the couch. His ridiculously long legs were stretched across the cushions and his equally lanky arms were bent up to his face as he texted rapidly. On Jane's phone.
"I don't need permission. You, on the other hand..." she trailed off, noticing the blue silk dressing gown draped around Sherlock's frame over his gray pajamas. It was approaching mid-afternoon. Jane bit nervously at the inside of her lip. That wasn't a good sign with Sherlock. In fact, his state of dress was a pretty good indication of whether she should hide her hand gun or not. "Are you, uh, bored today?"
"Jane, I am almost always in a state of perpetual boredom." The flat, deep tones didn't do much for Jane's peace of mind. He hadn't looked away from his texting for even a second so hopefully whatever was occupying him at present would keep him from bouncing off the walls. She should go get his phone and call her mother so he wouldn't be interrupted. Jane had begun to take a few steps back when she remembered a few important facts.
That was her bloody phone and he hadn't even asked to use it!
"Maybe the novelty of using your phone instead of mine will help with that," she quipped, reaching out to reclaim her phone. He jerked it away before sitting up straight and tucking the phone behind his back.
"I'm not through with it," he said imperiously. The dressing gown and disorganized spill of curls around his face should have made the tone of his voice absurd. Instead he looked every inch the spoiled prince of the realm. Jane's eyebrows arched with disbelief.
"Not through with...? Sherlock, that is my phone. I'm expecting a call. Now I'm taking it back and that's all there is to it," she told him in what she thought was a fairly reasonable way. As it turned out there was a lot more to it than she'd thought. As Jane had moved to reach behind Sherlock's back his fingers had locked around her wrist before he somehow spun her about and pulled her backwards onto his lap. Somewhere in all this he'd managed to get both arms around her, restraining her own arms so she could in no way try to reclaim her property. Sherlock perched his chin on her bare shoulder so he could stare down into her lap where her phone now rested and resumed his texting.
"Five minutes," he said and the words brushed along her ear like a caress. Jane was still a bit shocked by how fast the man had reacted but the extreme awkwardness of her position was making itself known to her very quickly. She was perched on the surprisingly muscular thighs of her infuriating flatmate, her sweater was beginning to ride up and the brush of Sherlock's soft throat against her shoulder was making her skin tingle. This was a completely unacceptable state of affairs.
"Sherlock Holmes, you let go of me right now or I swear I'll find a very inventive way to kill you!" She wriggled in a decidedly undignified fashion, wishing that the army had covered this sort of thing in basic training. He just pulled her more firmly against him and the sensation of being so thoroughly surrounded by Sherlock's body made her go still. She could so easily feel him through her jumper. His chest was pressed intimately into her back. His head had moved slightly so that his chin now rested in the crook of her neck and his breath ruffled the few sandy blonde hairs that had escaped from her stumpy ponytail. It was all Jane could do to stop herself from arching back against him for just a little more friction.
"Only four minutes to go," he informed her without the slightest hint of shame about his actions. She let out a strained breath. Four minutes of being melded to Sherlock's body. Four minutes of fighting the urge to grind into his lap until he was just as uncomfortable between the legs as she was getting. Four minutes of pure, unadulterated torture. She wasn't going to make it.
"We need to have a serious talk about boundaries," Jane said slowly and deliberately. It took intense concentration to keep the desire out of her voice.
"Boring." She glared down at his rapidly texting hands. If she had the use of her own hands she would very happily punch him in the face.
"It might be to you but this sort of behavior can't go on." Oh, God, she sounded like a harried mother scolding a small child. Actually, that wasn't too far from the truth. Minus the slow burn of lust, of course. "Sherlock, I'm happy to be your friend and I am glad you feel comfortable with me but... You can't treat me as though I'm not a woman with a sex drive." Was she a woman with a sex drive? It was news to her.
It was news to Sherlock, too, apparently. He had gone rather still. She cleared her throat. Jane needed to fix this and fix it fast. "It's a strictly chemical reaction, all right? It's not personal. I've never had this level of physical contact with a man and I simply don't know how to handle it. So if it's not too much trouble could you stop touching me wherever you like as though I can't feel it?" Sherlock's grip on her body abruptly slackened. She took the opportunity to escape, snatching her phone as she did.
The fact that she'd just confessed that she was a virgin hadn't escaped Jane. On the contrary, she was intensely aware of it. She just wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. There was a tiny glimmer of a chance Sherlock wouldn't be interested in the new information and let it slide. She prayed for that as she turned to face her flatmate. When she saw the focus of his eyes zeroing in on every inch of her body, her hope died. He was clearly not going to let it go.
"You're far too old to be a virgin." It was a matter of fact statement and Jane knew it hadn't been intentionally offensive. She was pissed anyway.
"Thanks for pointing that out."
"You're dating Sam."
"We're just friends, actually. Something about being kidnapped put him off," she said, trying to inject a little humor into the tense quiet. Jane could practically see the thoughts spinning through Sherlock's brain. He was attempting to figure out how he'd missed something this big. He was probably recounting every single reaction she'd ever had to his presence and interpreting them with this new information. She tried not to groan. It was entirely likely that she'd just made herself Sherlock's new science project. Brilliant.
"You had an active romantic life prior to moving in with me," Sherlock said flatly as if he was still struggling to make the pieces fit and it was annoying him.
"A string of blind dates that were all varying degrees of awful. And I don't even want to know how you know about them," Jane added. "Listen, this doesn't change anything. You just can't be quite as hands-on with me as you usually are."
"Because you have never experienced any form of sexual contact."
"Well, there was a bit of hand holding - "
"You're thirty-six and have yet to experience a first kiss."
"Okay, Sherlock, I get it. It's weird. Can we possibly not talk about this anymore?"
"I don't believe you." Jane blinked rapidly. Well, she hadn't expected that. He had been sitting there spouting off facts and now he was saying he didn't believe them. Just... Well, just really unexpected. She thought Sherlock of all people would know the truth when he heard it. Or said it.
"Sorry?"
"You're an attractive woman who has had ample opportunity to explore her sexuality over the years. The chances of you retaining your virginity during the course of your life is exceedingly low." He didn't even mention the chances of her never having been kissed. The fact that he considered that absurd was unspoken. Jane's eyes narrowed.
"What reason would I have to lie to you, Sherlock?"
"It is far more plausible that you're saying this in order to persuade me to respect your personal space. You think of me as a gentleman, ridiculous as that is, and believe I would never handle a virgin the way I would handle you."
"You think I'm manipulating you."
"When you've ruled out the impossible - "
"What remains however implausible must be the truth. Yes, very clever. You're brilliant, Sherlock, you really are." God, it hurt more than she could have imagined. Jane thought he might find it unlikely, perhaps make a study of her and toss out inappropriate comments while they were working with Lestrade. She never considered that he would assume she was lying. That he would find it so impossible for Jane to be different in this way that it seemed more reasonable that for the first time ever she was lying to his face. He thought she was common and predictable. Just like everyone else.
Sherlock abruptly stood and he had the very same bewildered expression on his face that he'd had when Molly stormed out after the revelation of her gay boyfriend. The widening of his eyes, the slight parting of his lips, the overall confusion made him look almost wounded. It also made Jane want to slap him. She was the one holding back tears, not bloody brilliant never wrong Sherlock Holmes!
"You're hurt." His voice went soft and vulnerable on the words. The immediate impulse to soothe him had Jane biting her lip on a frustrated scream. Dammit, couldn't she look after herself for once?
"Well spotted, genius," she bit out harshly. He moved toward her and she retreated several feet back. "Don't. Don't come near me. Oh, but wait, you'll need a reason. Sherlock Holmes always needs a reason since common courtesy doesn't cut it. Apparently some pathetic virgin flutterings won't do it, either. How about this for a reason?" Jane was shaking she was so angry. When she raised her hand to point her finger at him, she could see the tremors. They were embarrassingly obvious. As she thought it, one hot tear streaked down her face.
It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.
"You," she said with real, biting emotion, "Right now, Sherlock, you make my skin crawl."
The conversation came to an abrupt end after she proclaimed that if subjected to his touch Jane might very well be physically ill. After you hit that point there's really no where else to go. She went to her room and lied to her mother when she called to ask if her life was going smoothly. The soothing tones of her mother had nearly made her cry. She had already mortified herself by letting one tear escape in front of Sherlock. She wouldn't be so pathetic as to have a breakdown over the stupid incident. It was far better to pretend it just didn't matter. Or better yet, that Sherlock didn't matter. Jane resolved not to talk to Sherlock Holmes ever again.
"You're going to work early today," he said the next day, probably trying to initiate a conversation. She had done a good job of ignoring him as she made toast and an egg. It helped that she had her iPod in with blaring angry girl band music on shuffle. Of course, she wasn't strong enough not to keep the volume low in order to hear Sherlock talk. Clearly he'd guessed that. She was weak and he knew. Dammit. Jane upped the volume.
For three days Jane managed to avoid Sherlock by leaving for work early and getting home late. The few times their paths crossed she had her iPod set to a deafening level or was just gone too fast for anything to come of the encounter. The fourth day she didn't have work so instead she got up early to annoy Harry at her flat.
"Are you mad? Do you know what time it is?" her sister had groused drowsily when she'd opened the door to her. Jane held up her bags of groceries with a cheerful smile.
"Time for me to make you an amazing breakfast?" Harry grumbled softly but she didn't protest. About an hour later when she'd had hot tea and food, her eyes cleared a bit and she noticed the strain in Jane's face.
"Oh, fuck all, what's he done?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's too early to screw with me, Jane. Just tell me what Sherlock did to you."
Jane let out a quiet sigh before nudging her eggs around with her fork. Then she told her the whole ridiculous story. "I think I'm really upset because I didn't see it coming. Outright denial didn't even occur to me."
"For a genius he's a stupid tosser. Anyone could see you haven't had your cherry popped by the tension in your shoulders," Harry declared through a mouthful of bacon.
"That might be the bullet wound, actually."
"I can imagine how crushed you were. The one guy you thought would get it just calls you a liar and breaks your heart." Jane stared for a moment and a little more life drained out of her.
"Damn. That was it, wasn't it?" she murmured. She thought Sherlock would get it. Of all the people on the planet, Sherlock Holmes was the one who should have immediately understood. Neither of them had fulfilled society's expectations, granted in entirely different ways. But they had bonded through their thrill-seeking and stood together against the rest of the judgmental world. Just as she'd gotten comfortable having an ally he'd stabbed her in the heart. The urge to cry was back and worse than ever.
"Look, I know I shouldn't encourage bad habits but could I please get drunk with my sister today?"
"Yeah." Harry's face had gentled and her voice lost the sharp edge that cut so many. For a moment she was just Harriet, Jane's sister. It was a deeply appreciated moment. "I'll get out the good stuff. You'll be off your face in an hour." The truth was it took the better part of two hours to get Jane gloriously inebriated. It wasn't healthy, of course. Temporary escape, irresponsible. Probably was bad of her to be drunk so early in the afternoon, too. Sadly she couldn't work up the energy to give a damn.
When her phone beeped Jane felt around for it blearily and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on the text waiting on the screen.
Lestrade wants us.
SH
"We've got a case," Jane announced, a definite slur on her words. Harry scoffed. She wasn't nearly as far gone as Jane was but, then again, she'd had a lot of practice.
"No, he's got a case. You couldn't be buggered. Oh, don't look all weepy and pathetic. Just tell him!" Jane did her best to look tough and implacable as she texted back.
Does not. Wants you.
JW
Thank God her phone had automatically corrected her mistakes when she'd been typing. She was far too drunk to be expected to coherently text without assistance. Barely three seconds after she'd sent the thing she got a response.
Could be dangerous.
SH
"Oh, that bastard," Jane whispered before she started to laugh in that ridiculous indulgent way only drunks can manage. She was still shaking with it when she composed her reply.
Nice try. Go deduce shit.
JW
Are you drunk?
SH
"It was probably the 'go deduce shit' that gave it away," Harry said dryly as she looked over Jane's shoulder at the texts. Jane just let out a thoughtful 'hmmm'. "Want me to call and tell him to sod off?"
"I don't want him to sod off. I want to break his nose and tell him he's a bastard and make him apologize and take the severed head out of the fridge because it makes everything we keep in there taste wrong and I taste wrong when we aren't speaking."
"Don't text any of that," Harry said before quickly confiscating the phone.
"Haaaarrrrryyyy!"
"I am an expert about heartbroken drunk texts and I won't let you repeat my mistakes, okay? At least not while I'm in the room." She turned the phone off and Jane just sighed before going slack on the couch, staring solemnly at the floor.
"Why can't I be a virgin, Harry? I just want to be left to not fuck anyone I want in peace. Why is it wrong?" Jane didn't spot the flash of guilt that went over her sister's face. If she had she would probably still be too drunk to understand it.
"Because sex is part of the whole stupid human experience. When people know you haven't done it... It's like you're less human." Jane's eyes closed against the hurt. "I'm sorry, Jane."
"I think I'm a little in love with him," she whispered since it seemed like the only thing to say. Harry wrapped an arm around her sister and pulled her close for a long hug.
"I'd be surprised if you were only a little in love."
Jane fell asleep on Harry's couch. When she woke up with a headache, but thankfully sober, it was midnight and she had sixty messages in her inbox. A quick look told her that every single one was from Sherlock and none of them were actually important. In fact, the majority looked like random notes and questions. If she'd been at the crime scene with him he likely would have said them to her directly. Oh, God, he'd been bouncing ideas off her phone. Mrs. Hudson really needed to give him his skull back.
Harry gave her an Advil and a strangely tight hug as she left. Jane made a note to keep in touch with her sister a bit more. They were family. It mattered. She was still thinking that over as she climbed up the steps to her room in 221B. Her earpods weren't in because of her distraction so she very easily heard Sherlock call out to her.
"Did Harry enjoy the company?" Jane considered ignoring him. She could walk up to bed, lock her door and pretend he didn't exist. Of course, she'd been doing that for the past four days and it had yet to work for her.
"We both did," she responded, slowly walking into the room where their last conversation had ended in disaster. Sherlock was back in his suit thanks to the recent case but apparently it hadn't served to occupy him long since he had his violin resting against his chest. He was perched on the sofa, fingers slowly picking at the strings. He didn't bother looking up which was fine with Jane. She needed a moment to appreciate the way his skin glowed against the dark maroon of his shirt. "I take it you solved the case."
"It was barely worth the trouble of leaving the flat." He looked up at her and his eyes were sharp. They scanned her wrinkled jeans, rumpled jumper and drooping ponytail. Jane stood there patiently, waiting for him to draw his conclusion. "You could have stayed at your sister's the rest of the night. It would have been the logical choice. Since you decided to stumble home with a headache in the dead of night, you must not have felt comfortable enough with Harry to do that or you felt a pressing need to be here. If you felt comfortable enough to get drunk with your sister it is unlikely that you wouldn't feel comfortable sleeping over. You wanted to be here despite the fact that you've been spending as little time here as possible these past few days." Jane rolled her eyes.
"Sherlock, if you want to know something then why not just ask instead of pressing me with data?" He looked insulted by the very thought. She let out a sigh and leaned against the doorframe. "Whether we fight and I pretend you don't exist or not, I live here. It's one of those pesky emotional attachments that annoys you so." Sherlock set his violin aside as though its existence was suddenly inconvenient to him. He rested his elbows on his knees and brought his hands together in the position Jane had come to know as Sherlock's Serious Thinking pose. She couldn't imagine that anything she'd said warranted his scrutiny. "Good night, Sherlock," she murmured, guessing he would probably sit silent like that for the rest of the night. Before she'd even made it to the next flight of stairs she heard him speak.
"I have disappointed you before and you continued to work with me despite it." His voice was thoughtful and quiet. Jane doubted her presence was really necessary or that he was even addressing her. He liked to talk aloud. She wasn't there because he needed her. She was there because she wanted to hear what he had to say. "But you weren't just disappointed. You were angry. You were... hurt. I did not enjoy that."
"You know, that's worryingly close to an apology," Jane pointed out gently. She walked over to the coffee table and sat down on the edge. He stared blankly at her. Meanwhile, she tried to remember when saying you didn't enjoy hurting someone became akin to apologizing in her world.
"It was merely a statement of fact."
"Yeah, well, it was a good one." Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and Jane resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. It was impossible to stay mad when he looked like that. Or at least it was impossible for Jane. "You don't have to believe I'm a virgin if you don't want to, I suppose." Oh, God, what was she doing? Was she seriously making her virginity some kind of optional reality so as to not inconvenience Sherlock? He looked as surprised by it as she was.
"I don't?" he asked skeptically, mind ticking away at a thousand miles per second as always.
"You don't. It's not as if it changes anything. And you were right about it being silly of me to expect you to treat me differently based on sexual status. You can behave however you like. I'm a grown woman. I'm sure I can handle it." A warm glow of satisfaction began to creep up on Jane. This was the conversation she'd wanted to have with Sherlock in the first place. A reasonable discussion between adults about a topic that in the big picture changed nothing at all. She smiled as Sherlock stared at her as though she were in the process of solving a double homicide without his help.
Jane stood up, pleasure at having finally stunned the consulting detective into silence making up for the minor pain in her head. She couldn't remember ever having so much fun with a hangover. "Now I'm going to bed. Try to at least take a nap tonight, will you?" She was about to turn to leave when Sherlock caught her hand. All of his slim six feet were suddenly looming over Jane and her breath got stuck in her throat.
"To make an informed decision I will need more data," he said in a matter of fact tone before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. Jane's mind did not grind to a halt. The world didn't stop. That would have been preferable to the absolute chaos that erupted in her brain. She jerked away from the alien sensation and stared at Sherlock with comically wide eyes.
"Wh-what? I mean, how...? No, no, I don't... Just, just what?" She was completely incoherent. She couldn't make sense of what had just happened. Thirty-six years had gone by and now one of the facts of her life had altered. Jane pressed her hand to her mouth, almost expecting it to feel different. It didn't. She had had her first kiss but nothing had changed. She was still Jane Watson. "Oh, my. That was rather anticlimactic." And a bit sad. She hadn't even taken the time to absorb the fact that she was being kissed before she ended it. That wasn't how she'd pictured her first kiss.
"You weren't lying."
"What?" Her eyes focused on Sherlock who was staring at her like he might a really fascinating mold. Then she realized what he'd said. "Well, of course I wasn't lying. Who lies about never being kissed? It's embarrassing." And this was the first kiss story she would tell her children if she ever had any? Uncle Sherlock kissed her to see if she was lying about being a virgin at the ancient age of thirty-six. Isn't it romantic? Ugh.
But... wait. Did it count if it wasn't consensual? No, she couldn't imagine it did. That would hardly be fair when boys made a habit of stealing kisses without permission. Well, that was a childishly idealistic thought but it was a nice one all the same. If she was going to have a first kiss tonight she would decide what counted and what didn't. "Sherlock, would you mind holding still for a minute?" Jane didn't wait for a response. She reached up to take his face in her hands and drew him down to her mouth.
The first thing that occurred to her when she slowly pressed her lips against those of Sherlock Holmes was that he was remarkably soft. His lips were so smooth against hers and the sensation made her shiver. Kissing had always looked so intimate to her. She hadn't been wrong. There was an odd, tenuous connection between them. It was all mouths brushing and the nerves under skin sparking approval and oh, he was pulling her closer. Sherlock put his hands on her shoulder blades and pressed their bodies together. That was so much better. Jane drew her hands away from his face even though she wanted to spend hours mapping the way his beautifully cut cheekbones merged with the rest of his lovely face. She chose to wrap her arms around his neck instead and they were practically one person at this point. His mouth rocked against hers, kissing and caressing and - OH.
Oh, his tongue was wet, hot velvet along the crease of her lips. Jane parted them and was overwhelmed. It was so strange to have another tongue in her mouth. It should have been wrong or maybe a little disgusting. That was not at all what she felt. Jane flicked her tongue against his and nearly collapsed when he withdrew to suck on her bottom lip. If sin had a taste, she was willing to bet it was just the same as Sherlock's lips. It was too much. Really, just too much. She was shivering and whimpering and unapologetically wet. Fuck, she was on the verge of dripping. Jane did not know how to begin to handle this.
She didn't know where she found the willpower but she managed to pull away from Sherlock. The look of him almost made her knees give out. His mouth was swollen and red. There was a flush over his pale cheeks and his eyes were so dark. They gaped at each other for several long seconds. Jane swallowed hard and pulled herself together as best she could. "It's late. I'm going to bed." She retained her dignity as she slipped out of his arms.
Then she threw it to the wind as she sprinted out of the room.
--------------------------
Jane Watson had kissed Sherlock Holmes. He had technically kissed her first but that was an experiment so technically it didn't count. No, she was the instigator here. That kiss with all the panting and tongues had been her first. Bloody marvelous for a first, too. It made her smile a bit before she mentally reminded herself that this was a problem. She was supposed to be Sherlock's friend, not some silly bint who threw herself in his arms at the slightest provocation. Although, really, he did owe her a proper first kiss. If he was going to do it he should have done it well or not at all. She couldn't be blamed for taking matters into her own hands. It was her first kiss!
Oh, God, she was going to brood about this for weeks. Jane was flat on her stomach in bed with the pillow close to smothering her as the last few minutes of morning ticked away into early afternoon. She was dreading going downstairs and seeing Sherlock as composed as he ever was while she was experiencing a nervous breakdown. It wasn't that she hadn't been attracted to him in a sort of objective way. He was beautiful and she wasn't blind. The touching had been awkward and provocative but, again, just a part of Sherlock. Now she'd gone and flipped the sex switch on their relationship. Jane was going to be constantly aware of him as a sexual being in relation to her. There was nothing to be done about it. They would be at a crime scene together and he would spout off all sorts of obscure facts while all she'd be able to do was focus on his mouth, imagining how nice it might be if he would just wrap those lips around her nipple and suck.
Fuck all, she was already doing it! Bastard wasn't even in the room and she was fantasizing. This would all be far less frustrating if she'd ever learned how to successfully masturbate. She was pressing her thighs together as a determined itch worked its way under her skin but she knew her own touch would just irritate the desire. Jane's body didn't want her touch. It wanted Sherlock. God dammit.
As if her thoughts summoned him, Sherlock came bounding into her room. He was wearing the same suit and shirt from last night so it was a good bet he hadn't actually slept. She let out a resigned sigh and rolled over so she could look at him properly. His hair was wilder than normal as though he'd repeatedly run his hands through it. She wouldn't mind doing that herself considering how those curls had fascinated her since she first clapped eyes on them. Why hadn't she tried to slip that in when she'd kissed him? And why did she think it was a good idea to think about this right now?
"May I borrow you for a moment, Jane?" he asked. His body was close to vibrating with enthusiastic energy. Jane narrowed her eyes at him.
"I suppose so. Why?" Sherlock jumped on her bed and she bit back a complaint. It would go faster if she just let him get comfortable.
"It occurred to me that a woman of your age and experience would make an invaluable test subject. For instance, how does a virgin so close to forty react to the introduction of oral sex?"
Part Two: wenanona.livejournal.com/5205.html
Title: She's A What?!
Author: wenanona
Pairings: Sherlock/girl!John
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Heterosexual sex. Beware!
Summary: Jane Watson never did manage to lose her virginity. Sherlock finds this interesting.
At the ripe old age of thirty-six, Jane Watson had come to the conclusion that she was never going to have sex. She had technically come to this conclusion at the ripe old age of five, thirteen, twenty and thirty as well. She liked to think that the added experience made the conclusion more plausible. Of course 'liked' might have been the wrong word. Resigned was a better fit.
Sex had never worked out for Jane. When she was small (smaller than she was at present, if that were actually possible) she had had an unfortunate incident with one of the neighborhood boys. He'd cornered her in the playground and tried to force her into a game of 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours'. Jane had absolutely no interest in seeing whatever it was he had and she certainly didn't want hers on display. She'd punched and kicked and screamed at the top of her lungs. It was when the boy had been pulling down her tights that Harry finally came to the rescue. Jane's sister hadn't been happy to play hero.
"Why couldn't you just show him? He plays that game with all the girls. It's not as if you're special," Harry complained as she walked her annoying little sister home. Jane stayed silent, biting back the words that wanted to escape. She was special. She knew it like she knew the sky was blue and the dentist was scary. Jane wouldn't share that specialness with someone who didn't deserve it.
It was this kind of thinking that kept her a virgin through school. She knew she wasn't the prettiest girl. Her face was too square, her body too solid with only a hint of curve at her hips. All the same, she wasn't ugly. She had a nice smile and wide, earnest eyes. Jane felt that warranted a little consideration from the male populace. So when the occasional boy asked her out then made it clear with his behavior that she was lucky to be with him, Jane didn't indulge them. It got to the point that when someone asked her out she would simply reply, "I'd love grab a bite as long as you don't try to stick anything of yours in my orifices." Oh, Harry had had a fit over that.
"You are such a freak! What, do you think your twat is golden?"
As a doctor, Jane knew very well that that portion of her anatomy was certainly not golden. That didn't mean she ever got very far romantically in medical school. She had devoted herself to studying. She barely had time for friends much less boyfriends. There were so many interesting things to do and, to be honest, sex had yet to make the list. Whenever she felt what might be labeled 'arousal' Jane would crack open a Harlequin novel and indulge. Her indulgence didn't ever lead to masturbation. Once she finished a steamy romance novel she usually just felt a warm satisfaction. A little voyeuristic pleasure, too, in fact. But somehow that never led to orgasm. Or even that tell-tale dampness that might encourage Jane to try out masturbating. Jane briefly thought she should be worried about that. However there was her future as a doctor to look forward to and then a military career filled with potential. Who had time to worry about something that impacted her life not at all?
Everyone who knew she was a virgin thought there was something wrong with her. Jane had expected Harry's reaction to the news. She'd cursed, told her she was a freak and said she was willing to blackmail one of her gay boy friends into sleeping with her. Jane had politely turned her down. She had thought there might be a bit more yelling than there had been. Harry was such a sexual creature and Jane's frigid reputation at school had always been a thorn in Harry's side. They'd had countless rows over it. Finally confessing just before she was deployed that she hadn't, by the way, ever gotten her cherry popped was bound to make Harry mad. Thankfully, however, she didn't keep on the subject as much as she had when they were younger. Jane supposed that at that point her sister was just tired of raging about it. She'd accepted Jane's refusal with a resigned shrug.
Then she'd been shot in Afghanistan and Harry's efforts to get her laid increased dramatically. Jane didn't blame her. People dealt with emotional stress in different ways. Even Jane, when she'd been flat on her back in the sand in a foreign country, had had the terribly boring final thought: Oh, God, I don't want to die a virgin. Harry must have had a psychic moment when that thought had passed through her head. The second Jane got home Harry was shoving men at her. A few women, too. Those dates had been particularly awkward. Jane loved Harry's wife but lesbianism wasn't the answer for her. Whenever she'd had those rare, low stirrings of interest it had always been provoked by men.
The person she hadn't expected to judge her sexual choices was her bloody therapist. Weren't therapists supposed to be open-minded? For God's sake, she had a psychosomatic limp and a mass of unattractive scar tissue on her shoulder that was wreaking havoc with the little vanity she'd had about her body. Why was the lack of sex so interesting? Her therapist's jaw had actually gone slack when Jane had first mentioned it. Then she became keenly interested in all the forced dates Harry arranged, clearly hoping that Jane would shag at least one of them. Jane was very glad she hadn't mentioned the fact that she hadn't kissed anyone yet either. (She refused to address masturbation. That wasn't anyone's business, therapist or no) She expected the poor woman might have a stroke. Then again, months later when her limp was worse than ever and her left hand wouldn't stop shaking, she thought she might enjoy the sight of the therapist's pain-wracked body when all she could talk about was how her trust issues were stunting her social interactions. She even recommended keeping a sex diary.
It would be a bloody short diary. A blog about her life would at least fill a few pages, although not many. Nothing interesting happened to Jane. At least, not anymore. The bullet might as well have killed her because her life had stopped.
And then... there was Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock was mad. He did things no sane man would like voluntarily playing 'pick your poison' with a serial killer and hoarding body parts in the kitchen. He was shockingly brilliant, too, which just made the madness worse. His brain moved at such an accelerated rate it was painfully easy for him to get bored. And God help the world when Sherlock Holmes was bored.
He was also the most stunningly beautiful man Jane had seen in real life. It was bewildering to live with a creature whose features were so fine they should rightly be immortalized in stone or on a movie screen. Watching Sherlock was akin to watching art. He was fascinating. The impropriety of a single woman living with a single man conveniently slipped her mind when she moved into 221B Baker Street. Jane was far too relieved to have control over her body again to care. No shaking and no limp? Hell, she'd move in with her sister for that sort of payoff and that was saying something. The fact that people were already making assumptions ("If you'll be needing two bedrooms...", "I'll get a candle for the table, more romantic.", "Are we to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?") hadn't really sunk in for Jane. Harry had been quick to point out the implications, of course, in one of their very rare conversations since she'd left Clara to devote more time to being an alcoholic.
"So you two are shagging, right?"
"God, no!" Jane had sputtered, flabbergasted by the very idea. "He's a high-functioning sociopath, Harry. He gets excited about triple homicides and steals my tampons for experiments. I'd be better off sleeping with Hannibal Lecter."
"Don't jump down my throat. I can't be the only one to think you two aren't just flatmates." Harry had a point there. In fact, Jane was having trouble thinking of a person who didn't think she was sleeping with the consulting detective. The way Sherlock acted around her only fanned the flames.
Sherlock hadn't ever learned about personal space. Oh, he was intense about protecting his own but he tended to forget that his beleaguered doctor colleague had some of her own as well. It was as if living with Sherlock made her fair game. He might fall asleep on top of her one day, truly not thinking of her as anything more than a convenient woman-shaped mattress. All illusions of privacy were promptly shot to hell. Jane didn't mind. She really, truly didn't mind that Sherlock could read her thoughts by glancing at the dirt under her fingernails. It was all the casual touching that had Jane gritting her teeth.
When Jane was in Sherlock's way, which happened on more than a few occasions, he would simply put his hands on her waist and physically move her. The first time it happened her heart had nearly stopped. The sensation of those long fingers spread over her body, even through her thick wool jumper, made her head spin. Jane wasn't at all sure what to do with that information so she'd let it drop. She'd just endeavor not to get in Sherlock's path by accident.
Trying to avoid physical contact with her flatmate was more difficult than she'd assumed. Sherlock would grab her arm when he wanted her to follow him, lean over her shoulder and breathe in her ear when he wanted to know what she was up to and, once, he even took her face in his hands when he wanted her to concentrate especially hard. These touches were more or less tolerable. They left her trembling occasionally but she could handle it. It was when he brushed past her, his entire body briefly pressed against her back, that she had a harder time preventing her knees from knocking.
Everyone stared at them when he did these things. They stared with knowing eyes as if they had personally walked inside their Baker Street flat and seen them tangled naked in the bed sheets. They stared and Jane felt exactly the same as she had when she'd refused to show her privates on the playground. In their eyes there wasn't anything special about her. Jane falling into bed with Sherlock was just a foregone conclusion. It burned. Still, she had come to accept the fact that living with Sherlock was going to involve a lot of give and take. Her dignity was just going to be one of the things taken.
---------------------------------
Jane had decided about a month after Moriarty tried to blow her into bite-sized Watson chunks that she was going to take a personal day. It had been a while since she'd spent any time being quiet and really present in her body. In fact, recently she'd taken her poor body for granted. Sherlock was rubbing off on her in that regard. She was determined to give herself a nice day of bubble baths, caramels and romance novels. Maybe she'd even throw a glass of champagne in there. Hell, why stop at a glass? Her body wasn't just transport and when it'd been strapped with explosives she had been very aware of that fact. Jane was going to indulge and to hell with the consequences. (And since her plans were rather tame, the only consequences were likely to be a hangover and a bit of extra padding around her hips)
She woke up at noon, took a very long, very bubbly bath and cracked open her favorite dirty novel. As she rolled a soft caramel around in her mouth, she thanked God for life's little pleasures. Already she felt more in tune with the female side of her nature which so often went unacknowledged or ignored. It was nice to feel girly. She was a doctor and a veteran and Sherlock's friend/assistant. Being a woman just fell by the wayside. These quiet moments to remind herself that she was, in fact, a girl were precious.
Then Sherlock burst in the door and she nearly dropped her favorite book into the thick blanket of bubbles covering her naked body.
"Sherlock!"
"Have you seen my riding crop?" Jane gaped at the man with his impeccable designer suit and black curls falling into his eyes as he hunted around her bathroom for a riding crop that had absolutely no reason to be there.
"No, I haven't and it's not in here! Now would you mind buggering off?" she snapped. He turned his unnaturally pale blue-green eyes on Jane. The way he stared told Jane he was analyzing absolutely every detail of the scene in his head. A flush crept up her cheeks and she bit her tongue. Dammit, why did she have to be naked?
"Oh. This is part of the personal time you were rattling on about yesterday." Sherlock spoke with a thick layer of condescension. As though personal time were a spectacularly boring idea, especially as it did not include him. Jane scowled.
"You prat. Don't tell me you forgot when I spent nearly half an hour explaining in great detail yesterday that I desperately needed alone time."
"All right. I won't tell you." She chucked a caramel at his head.
"Sherlock, get out!" Showing that he actually did have some instinct for self-preservation, Sherlock slipped quickly out the door. It was likely he just didn't want to waste time with Jane when he had a riding crop to find. She glowered at the door for a good five minutes before setting aside her book. The bath wasn't necessarily ruined but the pleasant glow had definitely been shot to hell. Jane held her breath and sank into the water. Under all the bubbles she let forth a stream of frustrated curses. The water swallowed them whole, allowing Jane to empty out the negative in favor of the calm she'd embraced barely five minutes ago.
After that minor hiccup in her day, Jane had a rather pleasant time. When she finally wandered downstairs in nothing but an extra large jumper she was relieved to find Sherlock had gone out. He was probably at Bart's, flustering Molly and violating corpses. This suited Jane right down to the bone. She practically skipped into the kitchen, ordered take away from a little Italian place she'd recently discovered and reached past the severed arm in the fridge for the bottle of champagne. Thank God Sherlock hadn't found any reason to use it for an experiment. She popped the cork and drank until her linguini with white clam sauce arrived.
Her evening was filled with lovely tastes, bubbly nirvana and the crooning of Florence and the Machines. It was dark out by the time she'd settled on top of her bed with her novel, a glass of champagne carefully resting on the bedside table near a handful of caramels and her favorite band on repeat on her iPod. She was also wearing something Harry had gotten for her ages ago that she had sworn would never touch her body. However, it had been such a luxurious day. It seemed only appropriate to let the soft plum satin slip float against her skin. It was trimmed with copper-colored lace and was so unabashedly feminine Jane almost felt embarrassed. Almost.
The heroine in her book was gripping the edge of a desk she had been bent over by the hero and explaining through gritted teeth that the reason she was so tight was because she'd never actually had sex. That was what Jane liked about Karen Marie Moning. A lot of her books featured virgins. Ridiculously attractive virgins in their early twenties, yes, but virgins all the same. It was nice not to feel alone sometimes. Jane eagerly turned the page and almost missed the sound of her door opening under the thrum of her music. Thankfully her army training hadn't been completely buried by all the civilian indulgences of the day and her eyes flicked up to inspect the intruder.
Sherlock. Again. Her forehead creased with all too familiar frown lines. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket and the pristine white of his shirt made his skin look practically translucent. He could look so beautifully fragile when Jane least expected it. She choked back an exasperated sigh before removing one of her earbuds so she could hear whatever the silly man had to say.
"Any caramels left over?" he asked without preamble. Then his quick eyes spotted the few she'd set out and he very nearly smiled. Jane guessed he had some sort of experiment cooking downstairs that required caramel. She briefly considered snapping at him again for interrupting her day but... Well, this was Sherlock. The fact that he'd restrained himself to only violating her privacy twice that day was sort of remarkable.
"Help yourself," Jane said, returning her attention to the book. That didn't last. Instead of walking to her bedside table like any reasonable person, the mad consulting detective jumped onto her bed. "Sherlock, what - ? Oooohhhh." Jane bit down hard on her lip to keep any more sounds from escaping. The man (infuriating fucking bastard) had more or less plastered himself against her body as he reached for the pile of sweets. He had a knee on either side of her body, one pressed tight against her bare thigh. She stared up at the vulnerable smooth skin at the base of his throat where his shirt opened. The scent of him, familiar morgue smells and the richness of his cologne, practically poured into her nose. Her fingers gripped the book with white-knuckled intensity.
Oh God oh God oh God oh oh oh oh oh...
Sherlock moved a bit so that he was leaning more directly above her as opposed to just being splayed over her body. He stared down at Jane and being the focus of those ghostly eyes was really too much at a moment like that. He was too close and too lovely and her skin felt as though it might crawl off her bones if she didn't get some bloody relief. It did not help, at all, that the song currently playing on her iPod was Drumming Song. (Louder than sirens, louder than bells, sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell) God dammit.
"If this was supposed to be a stress free day for you than why would you wear lingerie from a sister you can't stand?" It took an embarrassingly long time for Jane to understand the words Sherlock had just said.
"W-what?"
"Harry clearly bought this for you. Lingerie isn't something you would buy for yourself. Sam would have gotten you something far more revealing than a slip so, obviously, your sister picked it out." Ah, poor Sam. After getting kidnapped on their first date Jane suspected she would never receive indecent lingerie from him. At least they'd stayed friends. Sherlock thought they were still dating, though, which was just fine. He did not need to know about her personal life.
"It feels nice, Sherlock. I didn't really have any motivation to wear it aside from that," she told him, hoping he might finally be satisfied and get off her. He made a low, thoughtful sound deep in his throat before running his fingertips across her satin-covered hip. A line of heat shot through her skin and suddenly Jane felt a telling dampness between her thighs.
"I'll leave you to it," Sherlock said, so abruptly that Jane feared he might suspect what had just happened to her. However when he clambered off her she could see his expression was one of complete self-absorption. His mind was on whatever experiment he had going. It was not, for instance, considering the fact that he'd just left his flatmate with a fever in her skin and a thirst for his mouth. "You shouldn't read those ridiculous books, Jane. They're wildly inaccurate," he chided as he slipped out the door. Jane just stared as tremors passed through her body.
She had just been violently aroused by Sherlock Holmes. And he'd barely had to touch her.
She was in deep trouble.
----------------------------------
A few days later Jane's phone had gone missing. She had searched frantically through her room, knowing that within the hour her mother would be ringing for their monthly conversation. Mrs. Watson was an affectionate sort of person and it pained her to have both her daughters live so far away in the distressingly crowded city of London. She lived on the sound of her children's voices once a month in between the few visits they regularly made during the year. Harry almost always forgot when their mother would call and she rarely bothered to get back to her. Jane had always felt too guilty to blow off her mum, even when she'd been brooding over Afghanistan. Now her stupid phone had pulled a disappearing act. Jane did not want her mother to fret over her not answering... Well, she'd just have to borrow Sherlock's phone. Hopefully if she called her cell the bloody thing would ring within hearing range.
She galloped down the stairs in an absurdly large green jumper that ended just above her knees. Her arms were drowning in the sleeves and the neck of the thing had been stretched out so that it constantly slid down her right shoulder. She would never wear it outside but for kicking around the flat it was perfect.
"Sherlock!" she called out before skidding into the living room. "Would you mind if I borrowed - ? My phone!"
"I hardly see why you would need permission to borrow your own phone," Sherlock replied dryly, deliberately misinterpreting her surprised exclamation from his slumped position on the couch. His ridiculously long legs were stretched across the cushions and his equally lanky arms were bent up to his face as he texted rapidly. On Jane's phone.
"I don't need permission. You, on the other hand..." she trailed off, noticing the blue silk dressing gown draped around Sherlock's frame over his gray pajamas. It was approaching mid-afternoon. Jane bit nervously at the inside of her lip. That wasn't a good sign with Sherlock. In fact, his state of dress was a pretty good indication of whether she should hide her hand gun or not. "Are you, uh, bored today?"
"Jane, I am almost always in a state of perpetual boredom." The flat, deep tones didn't do much for Jane's peace of mind. He hadn't looked away from his texting for even a second so hopefully whatever was occupying him at present would keep him from bouncing off the walls. She should go get his phone and call her mother so he wouldn't be interrupted. Jane had begun to take a few steps back when she remembered a few important facts.
That was her bloody phone and he hadn't even asked to use it!
"Maybe the novelty of using your phone instead of mine will help with that," she quipped, reaching out to reclaim her phone. He jerked it away before sitting up straight and tucking the phone behind his back.
"I'm not through with it," he said imperiously. The dressing gown and disorganized spill of curls around his face should have made the tone of his voice absurd. Instead he looked every inch the spoiled prince of the realm. Jane's eyebrows arched with disbelief.
"Not through with...? Sherlock, that is my phone. I'm expecting a call. Now I'm taking it back and that's all there is to it," she told him in what she thought was a fairly reasonable way. As it turned out there was a lot more to it than she'd thought. As Jane had moved to reach behind Sherlock's back his fingers had locked around her wrist before he somehow spun her about and pulled her backwards onto his lap. Somewhere in all this he'd managed to get both arms around her, restraining her own arms so she could in no way try to reclaim her property. Sherlock perched his chin on her bare shoulder so he could stare down into her lap where her phone now rested and resumed his texting.
"Five minutes," he said and the words brushed along her ear like a caress. Jane was still a bit shocked by how fast the man had reacted but the extreme awkwardness of her position was making itself known to her very quickly. She was perched on the surprisingly muscular thighs of her infuriating flatmate, her sweater was beginning to ride up and the brush of Sherlock's soft throat against her shoulder was making her skin tingle. This was a completely unacceptable state of affairs.
"Sherlock Holmes, you let go of me right now or I swear I'll find a very inventive way to kill you!" She wriggled in a decidedly undignified fashion, wishing that the army had covered this sort of thing in basic training. He just pulled her more firmly against him and the sensation of being so thoroughly surrounded by Sherlock's body made her go still. She could so easily feel him through her jumper. His chest was pressed intimately into her back. His head had moved slightly so that his chin now rested in the crook of her neck and his breath ruffled the few sandy blonde hairs that had escaped from her stumpy ponytail. It was all Jane could do to stop herself from arching back against him for just a little more friction.
"Only four minutes to go," he informed her without the slightest hint of shame about his actions. She let out a strained breath. Four minutes of being melded to Sherlock's body. Four minutes of fighting the urge to grind into his lap until he was just as uncomfortable between the legs as she was getting. Four minutes of pure, unadulterated torture. She wasn't going to make it.
"We need to have a serious talk about boundaries," Jane said slowly and deliberately. It took intense concentration to keep the desire out of her voice.
"Boring." She glared down at his rapidly texting hands. If she had the use of her own hands she would very happily punch him in the face.
"It might be to you but this sort of behavior can't go on." Oh, God, she sounded like a harried mother scolding a small child. Actually, that wasn't too far from the truth. Minus the slow burn of lust, of course. "Sherlock, I'm happy to be your friend and I am glad you feel comfortable with me but... You can't treat me as though I'm not a woman with a sex drive." Was she a woman with a sex drive? It was news to her.
It was news to Sherlock, too, apparently. He had gone rather still. She cleared her throat. Jane needed to fix this and fix it fast. "It's a strictly chemical reaction, all right? It's not personal. I've never had this level of physical contact with a man and I simply don't know how to handle it. So if it's not too much trouble could you stop touching me wherever you like as though I can't feel it?" Sherlock's grip on her body abruptly slackened. She took the opportunity to escape, snatching her phone as she did.
The fact that she'd just confessed that she was a virgin hadn't escaped Jane. On the contrary, she was intensely aware of it. She just wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. There was a tiny glimmer of a chance Sherlock wouldn't be interested in the new information and let it slide. She prayed for that as she turned to face her flatmate. When she saw the focus of his eyes zeroing in on every inch of her body, her hope died. He was clearly not going to let it go.
"You're far too old to be a virgin." It was a matter of fact statement and Jane knew it hadn't been intentionally offensive. She was pissed anyway.
"Thanks for pointing that out."
"You're dating Sam."
"We're just friends, actually. Something about being kidnapped put him off," she said, trying to inject a little humor into the tense quiet. Jane could practically see the thoughts spinning through Sherlock's brain. He was attempting to figure out how he'd missed something this big. He was probably recounting every single reaction she'd ever had to his presence and interpreting them with this new information. She tried not to groan. It was entirely likely that she'd just made herself Sherlock's new science project. Brilliant.
"You had an active romantic life prior to moving in with me," Sherlock said flatly as if he was still struggling to make the pieces fit and it was annoying him.
"A string of blind dates that were all varying degrees of awful. And I don't even want to know how you know about them," Jane added. "Listen, this doesn't change anything. You just can't be quite as hands-on with me as you usually are."
"Because you have never experienced any form of sexual contact."
"Well, there was a bit of hand holding - "
"You're thirty-six and have yet to experience a first kiss."
"Okay, Sherlock, I get it. It's weird. Can we possibly not talk about this anymore?"
"I don't believe you." Jane blinked rapidly. Well, she hadn't expected that. He had been sitting there spouting off facts and now he was saying he didn't believe them. Just... Well, just really unexpected. She thought Sherlock of all people would know the truth when he heard it. Or said it.
"Sorry?"
"You're an attractive woman who has had ample opportunity to explore her sexuality over the years. The chances of you retaining your virginity during the course of your life is exceedingly low." He didn't even mention the chances of her never having been kissed. The fact that he considered that absurd was unspoken. Jane's eyes narrowed.
"What reason would I have to lie to you, Sherlock?"
"It is far more plausible that you're saying this in order to persuade me to respect your personal space. You think of me as a gentleman, ridiculous as that is, and believe I would never handle a virgin the way I would handle you."
"You think I'm manipulating you."
"When you've ruled out the impossible - "
"What remains however implausible must be the truth. Yes, very clever. You're brilliant, Sherlock, you really are." God, it hurt more than she could have imagined. Jane thought he might find it unlikely, perhaps make a study of her and toss out inappropriate comments while they were working with Lestrade. She never considered that he would assume she was lying. That he would find it so impossible for Jane to be different in this way that it seemed more reasonable that for the first time ever she was lying to his face. He thought she was common and predictable. Just like everyone else.
Sherlock abruptly stood and he had the very same bewildered expression on his face that he'd had when Molly stormed out after the revelation of her gay boyfriend. The widening of his eyes, the slight parting of his lips, the overall confusion made him look almost wounded. It also made Jane want to slap him. She was the one holding back tears, not bloody brilliant never wrong Sherlock Holmes!
"You're hurt." His voice went soft and vulnerable on the words. The immediate impulse to soothe him had Jane biting her lip on a frustrated scream. Dammit, couldn't she look after herself for once?
"Well spotted, genius," she bit out harshly. He moved toward her and she retreated several feet back. "Don't. Don't come near me. Oh, but wait, you'll need a reason. Sherlock Holmes always needs a reason since common courtesy doesn't cut it. Apparently some pathetic virgin flutterings won't do it, either. How about this for a reason?" Jane was shaking she was so angry. When she raised her hand to point her finger at him, she could see the tremors. They were embarrassingly obvious. As she thought it, one hot tear streaked down her face.
It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.
"You," she said with real, biting emotion, "Right now, Sherlock, you make my skin crawl."
The conversation came to an abrupt end after she proclaimed that if subjected to his touch Jane might very well be physically ill. After you hit that point there's really no where else to go. She went to her room and lied to her mother when she called to ask if her life was going smoothly. The soothing tones of her mother had nearly made her cry. She had already mortified herself by letting one tear escape in front of Sherlock. She wouldn't be so pathetic as to have a breakdown over the stupid incident. It was far better to pretend it just didn't matter. Or better yet, that Sherlock didn't matter. Jane resolved not to talk to Sherlock Holmes ever again.
"You're going to work early today," he said the next day, probably trying to initiate a conversation. She had done a good job of ignoring him as she made toast and an egg. It helped that she had her iPod in with blaring angry girl band music on shuffle. Of course, she wasn't strong enough not to keep the volume low in order to hear Sherlock talk. Clearly he'd guessed that. She was weak and he knew. Dammit. Jane upped the volume.
For three days Jane managed to avoid Sherlock by leaving for work early and getting home late. The few times their paths crossed she had her iPod set to a deafening level or was just gone too fast for anything to come of the encounter. The fourth day she didn't have work so instead she got up early to annoy Harry at her flat.
"Are you mad? Do you know what time it is?" her sister had groused drowsily when she'd opened the door to her. Jane held up her bags of groceries with a cheerful smile.
"Time for me to make you an amazing breakfast?" Harry grumbled softly but she didn't protest. About an hour later when she'd had hot tea and food, her eyes cleared a bit and she noticed the strain in Jane's face.
"Oh, fuck all, what's he done?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's too early to screw with me, Jane. Just tell me what Sherlock did to you."
Jane let out a quiet sigh before nudging her eggs around with her fork. Then she told her the whole ridiculous story. "I think I'm really upset because I didn't see it coming. Outright denial didn't even occur to me."
"For a genius he's a stupid tosser. Anyone could see you haven't had your cherry popped by the tension in your shoulders," Harry declared through a mouthful of bacon.
"That might be the bullet wound, actually."
"I can imagine how crushed you were. The one guy you thought would get it just calls you a liar and breaks your heart." Jane stared for a moment and a little more life drained out of her.
"Damn. That was it, wasn't it?" she murmured. She thought Sherlock would get it. Of all the people on the planet, Sherlock Holmes was the one who should have immediately understood. Neither of them had fulfilled society's expectations, granted in entirely different ways. But they had bonded through their thrill-seeking and stood together against the rest of the judgmental world. Just as she'd gotten comfortable having an ally he'd stabbed her in the heart. The urge to cry was back and worse than ever.
"Look, I know I shouldn't encourage bad habits but could I please get drunk with my sister today?"
"Yeah." Harry's face had gentled and her voice lost the sharp edge that cut so many. For a moment she was just Harriet, Jane's sister. It was a deeply appreciated moment. "I'll get out the good stuff. You'll be off your face in an hour." The truth was it took the better part of two hours to get Jane gloriously inebriated. It wasn't healthy, of course. Temporary escape, irresponsible. Probably was bad of her to be drunk so early in the afternoon, too. Sadly she couldn't work up the energy to give a damn.
When her phone beeped Jane felt around for it blearily and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on the text waiting on the screen.
Lestrade wants us.
SH
"We've got a case," Jane announced, a definite slur on her words. Harry scoffed. She wasn't nearly as far gone as Jane was but, then again, she'd had a lot of practice.
"No, he's got a case. You couldn't be buggered. Oh, don't look all weepy and pathetic. Just tell him!" Jane did her best to look tough and implacable as she texted back.
Does not. Wants you.
JW
Thank God her phone had automatically corrected her mistakes when she'd been typing. She was far too drunk to be expected to coherently text without assistance. Barely three seconds after she'd sent the thing she got a response.
Could be dangerous.
SH
"Oh, that bastard," Jane whispered before she started to laugh in that ridiculous indulgent way only drunks can manage. She was still shaking with it when she composed her reply.
Nice try. Go deduce shit.
JW
Are you drunk?
SH
"It was probably the 'go deduce shit' that gave it away," Harry said dryly as she looked over Jane's shoulder at the texts. Jane just let out a thoughtful 'hmmm'. "Want me to call and tell him to sod off?"
"I don't want him to sod off. I want to break his nose and tell him he's a bastard and make him apologize and take the severed head out of the fridge because it makes everything we keep in there taste wrong and I taste wrong when we aren't speaking."
"Don't text any of that," Harry said before quickly confiscating the phone.
"Haaaarrrrryyyy!"
"I am an expert about heartbroken drunk texts and I won't let you repeat my mistakes, okay? At least not while I'm in the room." She turned the phone off and Jane just sighed before going slack on the couch, staring solemnly at the floor.
"Why can't I be a virgin, Harry? I just want to be left to not fuck anyone I want in peace. Why is it wrong?" Jane didn't spot the flash of guilt that went over her sister's face. If she had she would probably still be too drunk to understand it.
"Because sex is part of the whole stupid human experience. When people know you haven't done it... It's like you're less human." Jane's eyes closed against the hurt. "I'm sorry, Jane."
"I think I'm a little in love with him," she whispered since it seemed like the only thing to say. Harry wrapped an arm around her sister and pulled her close for a long hug.
"I'd be surprised if you were only a little in love."
Jane fell asleep on Harry's couch. When she woke up with a headache, but thankfully sober, it was midnight and she had sixty messages in her inbox. A quick look told her that every single one was from Sherlock and none of them were actually important. In fact, the majority looked like random notes and questions. If she'd been at the crime scene with him he likely would have said them to her directly. Oh, God, he'd been bouncing ideas off her phone. Mrs. Hudson really needed to give him his skull back.
Harry gave her an Advil and a strangely tight hug as she left. Jane made a note to keep in touch with her sister a bit more. They were family. It mattered. She was still thinking that over as she climbed up the steps to her room in 221B. Her earpods weren't in because of her distraction so she very easily heard Sherlock call out to her.
"Did Harry enjoy the company?" Jane considered ignoring him. She could walk up to bed, lock her door and pretend he didn't exist. Of course, she'd been doing that for the past four days and it had yet to work for her.
"We both did," she responded, slowly walking into the room where their last conversation had ended in disaster. Sherlock was back in his suit thanks to the recent case but apparently it hadn't served to occupy him long since he had his violin resting against his chest. He was perched on the sofa, fingers slowly picking at the strings. He didn't bother looking up which was fine with Jane. She needed a moment to appreciate the way his skin glowed against the dark maroon of his shirt. "I take it you solved the case."
"It was barely worth the trouble of leaving the flat." He looked up at her and his eyes were sharp. They scanned her wrinkled jeans, rumpled jumper and drooping ponytail. Jane stood there patiently, waiting for him to draw his conclusion. "You could have stayed at your sister's the rest of the night. It would have been the logical choice. Since you decided to stumble home with a headache in the dead of night, you must not have felt comfortable enough with Harry to do that or you felt a pressing need to be here. If you felt comfortable enough to get drunk with your sister it is unlikely that you wouldn't feel comfortable sleeping over. You wanted to be here despite the fact that you've been spending as little time here as possible these past few days." Jane rolled her eyes.
"Sherlock, if you want to know something then why not just ask instead of pressing me with data?" He looked insulted by the very thought. She let out a sigh and leaned against the doorframe. "Whether we fight and I pretend you don't exist or not, I live here. It's one of those pesky emotional attachments that annoys you so." Sherlock set his violin aside as though its existence was suddenly inconvenient to him. He rested his elbows on his knees and brought his hands together in the position Jane had come to know as Sherlock's Serious Thinking pose. She couldn't imagine that anything she'd said warranted his scrutiny. "Good night, Sherlock," she murmured, guessing he would probably sit silent like that for the rest of the night. Before she'd even made it to the next flight of stairs she heard him speak.
"I have disappointed you before and you continued to work with me despite it." His voice was thoughtful and quiet. Jane doubted her presence was really necessary or that he was even addressing her. He liked to talk aloud. She wasn't there because he needed her. She was there because she wanted to hear what he had to say. "But you weren't just disappointed. You were angry. You were... hurt. I did not enjoy that."
"You know, that's worryingly close to an apology," Jane pointed out gently. She walked over to the coffee table and sat down on the edge. He stared blankly at her. Meanwhile, she tried to remember when saying you didn't enjoy hurting someone became akin to apologizing in her world.
"It was merely a statement of fact."
"Yeah, well, it was a good one." Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and Jane resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. It was impossible to stay mad when he looked like that. Or at least it was impossible for Jane. "You don't have to believe I'm a virgin if you don't want to, I suppose." Oh, God, what was she doing? Was she seriously making her virginity some kind of optional reality so as to not inconvenience Sherlock? He looked as surprised by it as she was.
"I don't?" he asked skeptically, mind ticking away at a thousand miles per second as always.
"You don't. It's not as if it changes anything. And you were right about it being silly of me to expect you to treat me differently based on sexual status. You can behave however you like. I'm a grown woman. I'm sure I can handle it." A warm glow of satisfaction began to creep up on Jane. This was the conversation she'd wanted to have with Sherlock in the first place. A reasonable discussion between adults about a topic that in the big picture changed nothing at all. She smiled as Sherlock stared at her as though she were in the process of solving a double homicide without his help.
Jane stood up, pleasure at having finally stunned the consulting detective into silence making up for the minor pain in her head. She couldn't remember ever having so much fun with a hangover. "Now I'm going to bed. Try to at least take a nap tonight, will you?" She was about to turn to leave when Sherlock caught her hand. All of his slim six feet were suddenly looming over Jane and her breath got stuck in her throat.
"To make an informed decision I will need more data," he said in a matter of fact tone before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. Jane's mind did not grind to a halt. The world didn't stop. That would have been preferable to the absolute chaos that erupted in her brain. She jerked away from the alien sensation and stared at Sherlock with comically wide eyes.
"Wh-what? I mean, how...? No, no, I don't... Just, just what?" She was completely incoherent. She couldn't make sense of what had just happened. Thirty-six years had gone by and now one of the facts of her life had altered. Jane pressed her hand to her mouth, almost expecting it to feel different. It didn't. She had had her first kiss but nothing had changed. She was still Jane Watson. "Oh, my. That was rather anticlimactic." And a bit sad. She hadn't even taken the time to absorb the fact that she was being kissed before she ended it. That wasn't how she'd pictured her first kiss.
"You weren't lying."
"What?" Her eyes focused on Sherlock who was staring at her like he might a really fascinating mold. Then she realized what he'd said. "Well, of course I wasn't lying. Who lies about never being kissed? It's embarrassing." And this was the first kiss story she would tell her children if she ever had any? Uncle Sherlock kissed her to see if she was lying about being a virgin at the ancient age of thirty-six. Isn't it romantic? Ugh.
But... wait. Did it count if it wasn't consensual? No, she couldn't imagine it did. That would hardly be fair when boys made a habit of stealing kisses without permission. Well, that was a childishly idealistic thought but it was a nice one all the same. If she was going to have a first kiss tonight she would decide what counted and what didn't. "Sherlock, would you mind holding still for a minute?" Jane didn't wait for a response. She reached up to take his face in her hands and drew him down to her mouth.
The first thing that occurred to her when she slowly pressed her lips against those of Sherlock Holmes was that he was remarkably soft. His lips were so smooth against hers and the sensation made her shiver. Kissing had always looked so intimate to her. She hadn't been wrong. There was an odd, tenuous connection between them. It was all mouths brushing and the nerves under skin sparking approval and oh, he was pulling her closer. Sherlock put his hands on her shoulder blades and pressed their bodies together. That was so much better. Jane drew her hands away from his face even though she wanted to spend hours mapping the way his beautifully cut cheekbones merged with the rest of his lovely face. She chose to wrap her arms around his neck instead and they were practically one person at this point. His mouth rocked against hers, kissing and caressing and - OH.
Oh, his tongue was wet, hot velvet along the crease of her lips. Jane parted them and was overwhelmed. It was so strange to have another tongue in her mouth. It should have been wrong or maybe a little disgusting. That was not at all what she felt. Jane flicked her tongue against his and nearly collapsed when he withdrew to suck on her bottom lip. If sin had a taste, she was willing to bet it was just the same as Sherlock's lips. It was too much. Really, just too much. She was shivering and whimpering and unapologetically wet. Fuck, she was on the verge of dripping. Jane did not know how to begin to handle this.
She didn't know where she found the willpower but she managed to pull away from Sherlock. The look of him almost made her knees give out. His mouth was swollen and red. There was a flush over his pale cheeks and his eyes were so dark. They gaped at each other for several long seconds. Jane swallowed hard and pulled herself together as best she could. "It's late. I'm going to bed." She retained her dignity as she slipped out of his arms.
Then she threw it to the wind as she sprinted out of the room.
--------------------------
Jane Watson had kissed Sherlock Holmes. He had technically kissed her first but that was an experiment so technically it didn't count. No, she was the instigator here. That kiss with all the panting and tongues had been her first. Bloody marvelous for a first, too. It made her smile a bit before she mentally reminded herself that this was a problem. She was supposed to be Sherlock's friend, not some silly bint who threw herself in his arms at the slightest provocation. Although, really, he did owe her a proper first kiss. If he was going to do it he should have done it well or not at all. She couldn't be blamed for taking matters into her own hands. It was her first kiss!
Oh, God, she was going to brood about this for weeks. Jane was flat on her stomach in bed with the pillow close to smothering her as the last few minutes of morning ticked away into early afternoon. She was dreading going downstairs and seeing Sherlock as composed as he ever was while she was experiencing a nervous breakdown. It wasn't that she hadn't been attracted to him in a sort of objective way. He was beautiful and she wasn't blind. The touching had been awkward and provocative but, again, just a part of Sherlock. Now she'd gone and flipped the sex switch on their relationship. Jane was going to be constantly aware of him as a sexual being in relation to her. There was nothing to be done about it. They would be at a crime scene together and he would spout off all sorts of obscure facts while all she'd be able to do was focus on his mouth, imagining how nice it might be if he would just wrap those lips around her nipple and suck.
Fuck all, she was already doing it! Bastard wasn't even in the room and she was fantasizing. This would all be far less frustrating if she'd ever learned how to successfully masturbate. She was pressing her thighs together as a determined itch worked its way under her skin but she knew her own touch would just irritate the desire. Jane's body didn't want her touch. It wanted Sherlock. God dammit.
As if her thoughts summoned him, Sherlock came bounding into her room. He was wearing the same suit and shirt from last night so it was a good bet he hadn't actually slept. She let out a resigned sigh and rolled over so she could look at him properly. His hair was wilder than normal as though he'd repeatedly run his hands through it. She wouldn't mind doing that herself considering how those curls had fascinated her since she first clapped eyes on them. Why hadn't she tried to slip that in when she'd kissed him? And why did she think it was a good idea to think about this right now?
"May I borrow you for a moment, Jane?" he asked. His body was close to vibrating with enthusiastic energy. Jane narrowed her eyes at him.
"I suppose so. Why?" Sherlock jumped on her bed and she bit back a complaint. It would go faster if she just let him get comfortable.
"It occurred to me that a woman of your age and experience would make an invaluable test subject. For instance, how does a virgin so close to forty react to the introduction of oral sex?"
Part Two: wenanona.livejournal.com/5205.html