Failing Upward

Chapter 11 (part 2): Knock, Knock

Then we heard a tap, tap, tap at the door followed by the pop of a gunshot through the window, leaving a second hole in the wall behind Sherlock.

I swore, throwing the light switch off in the living room. "Turn off all the lights— I don't want him to see where we are."

I ran into Sherlock's room to make certain his windows were latched.

"But...th-then it'd be dark," Sherlock stuttered.

"Duh, yeah. I don't want him to see us, and I don't want you to become a walking target through the windows, okay? You almost got shot, and you're bitching about the dark?!"

"But then we can't see either." Sherlock hesitated, fumbling with the dining room dimmer switch.

I grabbed Sherlock's hand with a reassuring squeeze. Sherlock was afraid of the Boogie Man when he was a kid. Had nightmares for years. His fear of the dark was over long ago.

This was no time for Sherlock to regress.

"No shit," I said, turning off the last lamp in the living room.

"I don't like it all dark." Sherlock stumbled into me. "Well, I didn't used to...you remember."

We both tensed as we heard another tap, tap, tap.

Sherlock texted Mrs. H again.

"Let's go to bed. He can't see in there— the shades are drawn. And I don't care if it's dark in the bedroom— it's supposed to be." Sherlock whispered, stumbling with me back into the bedroom.

I walked us to the nightstand and let go of his hand. Both of us stripped off our clothes in silence, getting ready for bed as quietly as possible. My nerves rattled and my thoughts clattered.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Shit, this was the first time since all this started that I wasn't lusting after Sherlock as he stripped down near me. It was dark, but I could make out his silhouette stiffening from Moriarty's constant knocking. Sherlock was more uptight than me, if that was possible.

I slipped into bed, and Sherlock slipped in behind, spooning himself against me. He kissed the fine baby hairs on the back of my neck and squirmed his hips closer. I couldn't hear Moriarty's minion tapping anymore. I let Sherlock's heat obliterate everything screwed up and wrong in my world. I just wanted him beside me. He sensed my need, moving his hand around my waist. I liked to think he needed me just as much.

I closed my eyes and kept myself quiet, balling my hands into fists to keep from moaning. Then I rolled around, facing him.

The electric charge sent me searching for Sherlock's mouth. The second jolt of his hand made me clank my teeth into his. Sherlock pushed me over onto my back, his soft bottom lip brushing my earlobe while he whispered, "I almost like this better— God, that's it."

I couldn't speak. His little confessional, sent my heart skipping and my stomach flipping.

Fuck. I desperately groped his curls. I don't think at that point I would have heard Moriarty if he was smashing down the door, the blood pounded so hard in my ears. Sherlock's incredible stomach muscles tensed against me and his sweet sighs swelled my chest. I kept willing myself to keep from crying out, burying my mouth against Sherlock's neck to muffle the sounds I was making. I loved the taste of his salty sweat and the smell of our sex. I moaned all the more.

God.

He was forced to take my mouth just to silence me, flicking his tongue around in every space in my mouth. His soft lashes flitted gently against my eyelids as his teeth nipped my lower lip. We were slowly building a heat and friction that sparked deep inside our souls. Equals. I shook, and Sherlock trembled. As I felt myself falling close to the edge, coming, my heart locked with his.