The Intervention of Sherlock Holmes

Episode 3

The next morning Sherlock decided to forget about his dream and his determination of finding the woman and having sex. Not because sex alarmed him, not at all. But because love was chemical defect always found on the losing side. And Sherlock Holmes was never on the losing side, according to him at least. So, he carried on with the usual, reading the paper, being giddy reading about deaths and abductions, you know all the happy stuff.

Similarly, miles apart in a different country the woman was also carrying about her usual morning routine. Sexting a few high officials, dominating the president in one of her rooms and whipping his wife in the next room, you know the casual things. When her assistant knocked and entered her room.

'He broke in last night', said her assistant.
Now, the woman knew exactly who 'he' was in this situation. To say she was not happy would be a lie. Because it is not every day that you beat the Sherlock Holmes, and leave him heartbroken and then hear about his lovemaking to your bed. If I am being really honest, the woman felt like it was Christmas.

'Really?' But that does not mean she would let everyone see how giddy she was. Inside, she felt like laughing but from outside you would feel that she was just hearing a news. She had the same expression as when her assistant, Radha, told her about the president begging her to fuck him. The expression where she showed that she felt accomplished but not happy.
Little did anyone know, that every time Irene Adler saw a man begging her to take him she imagined Sherlock Holmes in his place. That every time she whipped someone, she imagined what it would feel like to whip him and his bloody beautiful cheekbones and that delicious bottom.
That every time she actually fucked someone, which might be shocking to know was very very rare, she imagined what it would feel like to have him under her, moaning her name and withering in pleasure. Oh! What she would do to him, only if he surrenders.

And that was why she had left him because she felt so satisfied while bringing him down. And she knew she would only feel really accomplished the day, Sherlock Holmes would beg her to have him. This was a game, a power play and she would win it, even if it meant not to see and touch him for the rest of her fucking life. She would win this time.

'Don't worry about him, let's see how our president is doing.' Irene smirked and went to check on the whinny stupid man. It was going to be a long day.

Back in 21st Baker Street, John Watson was still mad but more confused than ever. The videos Sherlock had sent him were a clear indication of his love for the woman which was twisted as fuck. I mean, to think that he, a virgin or a... god only knows what he is really, is in love with that woman, who is a walking sex goddess, is odd, to say the least.

'I am going to pick Mary. I will be late.' John said to Sherlock who was lying on the sofa and was oddly very quiet today.

'Give Mycroft my greetings', replied the odd man.
'I am not meeting Mycroft' stammered John. Fuck him for being too genius.

'Stop lying John, especially when you are too poor at it. You are wearing your dad pants and shoes. Your expression is the same when you come here to complain about Mary's obsession with pasta. So, of course, you are meeting Mycroft. So, do give him my greetings.'

'Okay.' John sighed and left.

Later with Mycroft, yes, of course, he was meeting him. Our John is soft, ladies and gentlemen, he cares and he acts. Let's just understand that. John told him about the lovemaking with the bed, the drugs, and also the messages.

'Should we send him to therapy?' he asked Mycroft concerned.

'John, who do you think will give therapy to whom?' Mycroft asked with his sweet and sarcastic smile.