The Case of the Season

Chapter Fourteen

Sherlock and Robin were walking in the park, arms intertwined. She was leaning her head contentedly on his shoulder, and both of them were smiling.

Then Sherlock interrupted their serene stroll by abruptly asking, "Will you seek physical pleasure from me once we're married?"

Robin stopped in her tracks, blinking rapidly and staring up at him. "What?"

"Will you want us to, um..."

"Stop, stop," she laughed, shaking her head. "I know what you're referring to, Sherlock. I'm just surprised you want to discuss it."

"Oh." His brow furrowed. "Why surprised?"

"Well, I assumed we wouldn't be, ah, consummating our marriage unless you were eventually required to produce an heir. In that case, some pleasure would be nice, but I won't request it of you otherwise."

She was not as ignorant as she knew most women were about sex, pregnancy, and childbirth. She frequently visited her estate's tenants, including the midwife, and had seen much more than most ladies of her stature were ever supposed to. She had even assisted with a birth once because the midwife had needed someone with delicate hands.

"You sound very certain," he observed. "Why?"

She glanced at where their arms were touching. "Well, my guess is that most physical contact actually makes you uncomfortable. If what we've already done is questionable at best, that seems entirely out of reach."

He chuckled. "Sometimes I forget how well you know me," he admitted.

"You're not hard to read, though I hate to inform you," she teased.

"You're the only one who thinks that," he teased back.

"Well, it's not my fault no one else is paying attention to the signs," she retorted.

"That is very true, Robin," he agreed. "Very true indeed."

They soon parted, both seemingly satisfied with how the conversation had ended. But later that night, Sherlock was alone in his flat, attempting to enjoy a book and having hardly read a page of it.

He was supremely distracted. Robin's insistence that she would never require physical pleasure from him had been so immediate, and that should have relieved him.

But it didn't. Ever since, he had been consumed by thoughts of what it would be like to touch her that way. To feel all of her smooth skin against his. To have her full curves pressed into him. To taste her. To make her feel... however that sort of contact was supposed to make you feel. To have her look up at him in satisfaction precisely because he had made her feel that way.

Just the thoughts made him experience the strange feelings in his belly that he'd been having ever since he met her. Only now he found them traveling lower, making him react in ways he never had before.

He groaned, tossing his book aside and shifting uncomfortably. He'd taken off his boots, jacket, vest, and cravat a long time ago, but now he undid his breeches and tugged his shirt loose, desiring the relief of freeing his body further.

Every time he thought he'd finally gotten himself under control, something else occurred to him. It ranged from as simple as wondering what sounds she would make if he touched her in certain ways to as complicated as having the exquisite pleasure of unlacing all of the ridiculous undergarments she was required to wear until he could finally release her breasts and hold them in his hands.

He covered his face with those hands now. She did not want that from him. She'd made it very clear today.

And he wasn't entirely sure he wanted it from her either. He'd never had the smallest inkling of desire before meeting her. Never thought about touching someone else in that manner. Never thought about someone touching him in that manner.