Honey on Her Tongue

69shadesofyou:

Your nails rake across my stomach and chest. One hand curls around the back of my head to pull me to your lips.

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benedictcumberbatchruinedme:

I need so much sleep. Just having Benedict in my country has fucked up my sleep schedule something awful.

UK fans you have my respect. I don’t know how you live everyday with him sooooo close.

I had to reblog because I identify with this so much. Last night up to 12:30. Tonight, up till 1:30. 

69shadesofyou:

“Thank you so much, Lucy,” John sits on the Chesterfield. 

“I know that’s probably more than Sherlock can handle. How was your stag night?” I ask as I put the kettle on.

“We, um, poured over case files in Greg’s office,” he says.

“You cannot be serious. I told him to take you to a dinner or something festive,” I cluck.

“He did get takeaway and provide a six pack of lager with it. To be honest, it was more than I thought I would get from him,” he shakes his head.

“When he came home late, I thought maybe he did something…..normal,” I shrug.

John chuckles. “Sherlock will never be normal.”

I nod thoughtfully. “Yes, I know.”

It’s true - I’ll never worry about you going to a nudie bar to ogle at bare breasts. I have a dominatrix to worry about instead. How many other women have this problem?

“Everything all right?” he asks.

“Between Sherlock and me, you mean?” 

“Or just in general. I know you’ve been looking for a job. How’s that going?” John removes his coat.

“I have a few leads. I might be going on a third interview for one soon.” I can’t tell John that job leads me to America. I know he’ll tell you right away. What if you don’t talk me out of it? 

“That’s great. I know what it is like to not find work. It’s frustrating,” he nods. 

“And boring. I can only help Sherlock with his work for so long.” I smile. “And he keeps telling me I’m not as good as you.”

“You are prettier to look at,” John teases. 

The kettle whistles from the kitchen. 

“He does demand a lot of time,” I hear him call as I pour the hot water into two mugs. “I don’t think I’d be getting married if he didn’t disappear.”

“I admit that I don’t know much about that other than Moriarty was involved. He won’t discuss it. And that’s fine, I understand that was a tough time for everyone involved. I am afraid it will happen again.” I sit beside John.

His hand covers my knee. “I would never let him do that to you.”

“That’s nothing we can control,” I say. I take a deep breath. “Irene has been contacting him quite a bit.”

His back straightens. “Is she now?”

“Mostly through text. She was here a few days ago. I can’t shake the feeling that she’s up to no good,” I sigh.

“When it comes to her, you never know her true motive.” His face darkens. 

“Do you anything that happened between them? I’m afraid to ask. He assured me that he doesn’t trust her.” 

I feel silly asking John about this. I can’t get a reading from you when it comes to Irene. You seem unimpressed, but you answer her calls and allow her into our house. 

“You know he’s not one to share feelings. He was shaken when he thought she was killed. Even more so after he found out she was alive. I don’t know what it was about her that had him captivated. I think it was the mystery, the power play,” he shrugs. “Battle of wits.”

“I don’t have any of that,” I say sullenly. 

Compared to Irene, I’m ordinary and boring. I don’t look fetching in a fitted dress. My hair won’t look like 1940’s starlet. I don’t keep my mouth shut and I’m not not enigmatic. 

“No, you are nothing like her, and that’s why he loves you,” John says.

“Has he said that to you?” I’m surprised that John said the L word before you.

“He hasn’t had to. I saw him after the shooting sitting by your hospital bed. He cried. He prayed. I never saw him like that - ever.” John’s voice is serious and sad. “But I knew the night Greg proposed.”

“You knew then?” I try to recall if you acted oddly that night. No more than any other night.

“I thought he would crawl out of his skin. He cares for you, Lucy. I know it is easy to doubt, and he may never say it….but he loves you in his own special Sherlock way,” he smiles. 

Special-Sherlock-way that will never be like a normal relationship. You thrust yourself in danger, consult with a famed dominatrix, and are entirely unpredictable. Yet I cannot resist that bloody smile and those full lips. Your eyes are my Achilles heel. Once you fix me in your gaze, I melt. How can we be so right and so opposite at the same time?

“It is a special position I find myself in.” I sip my tea.

“I knew from the beginning.” John smiles.

“When I moved in?” I raise my eyebrows.

Our first days were not smooth to say the least. I do not recall either of us giving off a vibe of unresolved sexual tension.

“There was something about the way you interacted -like you had your own unspoken language.” John is beaming like a successful Cupid. I reckon that he takes some credit in us. 

If he starts talking about soulmates, I might be ill. I never believed in the concept. I gather you feel the same. Perhaps that is how we work well together.

“Try not to worry about Irene. He’s a genius and would never do anything that would jeopardize what he has with you. I honestly cannot see him with anyone else,” John says. 

I hear you bustle up the stairs like you are taking them two at a time. The door swings open to reveal your unusually flushed pallor.

“Lucy,” you say with relief. Then you see my tea partner and frown. “John, were we supposed to meet?”

“No, I came to see Lucy,” he smiles.

Your frown deepens. “Lucy? Why?”

“Is my company that perplexing? You seem to enjoy it,” I tease.

You remove your coat. “Judging by tea, I’d say we enjoy your company differently.”

Your sex drive is insatiable.

“I came to give her these.” John produces a small velvet box from the pocket of his trousers.

“What’s that?” You ask.

“The wedding rings,” he announces proudly before handing the box to me.

“May I see?” I ask.

“Of course.”

Nestled in cranberry velvet are matching gold bands each with a delicate ribbon etched around the ring.

“A bit feminine,” you peer over my shoulder.

“Stop,” I scold. “They are lovely.”

He nods. “They are a little feminine but Mary wanted something unique.”

You hold out your hand. “I’ll take them.”

“He is giving them to me,” I say.

“But I’m the best man, it’s my job,” you protest.

“We, Mary and I, feel that Lucy should be in charge of them.” He speaks like a cautious father.

“You don’t trust me?” You laugh.

“Not trust is a strong statement. I just know that you have a lot on your mind with this case and it’s something that cannot be forgotten,” he says carefully.

You don’t believe him. “Fine. One less thing to take up valuable space,” you shrug. 

Your hand drops to rest on the back of my neck as you sit on the arm of the Chesterfield. It’s such a rare act of affection that it catches me off guard. You do it with such ease and no hint of irony that my earlier fears subside. I see the glint of pride in Cupid’s eye as he sips his tea - happy to be updated on the latest on the case. 

When John leaves, you pin me to the door to give me a kiss so deep I feel it in my toes - among other places. Tonight, you can’t wait for the bedroom and we collapse to the very spot where John drank his tea. 

Oh. Hello new followers. I almost forget about my ‘mother account’ since I usually post from 69 Shades. 

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