"It was Mycroft's idea." Sherlock sounded as if a bad taste was in his mouth before bowing his head to kiss your cheek. John raised an eyebrow and watched the both of you text behind your backs. He then genuinely smiled. You two were more alike than what he first thought.
"Oh, Mycroft wanted you to become human?" Sherlock ignored John's teasing jab but couldn't give any show of hateful emotions as his arm wrapped around your waist. His arm was strong and supportive, but you still didn't lean on it.
"My boss," you let the word roll off your tongue briefly to remind both men that Mycroft was not to be spoken of lightly, "Has allowed Mr. Holmes-"
"Now, darling, why the formalities?" Sherlock cocked his head the slightest bit, voice becoming lighter and with larger spaces between each word. John knew it was the voice he used when trying to fool people while investigating. Sherlock Holmes could be quite the actor when he wanted to be.
You continued where you left off without a break in rhythm. "My assistance to cause him to appear more 'human'" you used hand motions to show the word, "until a group of trained killers stop spying on him. He is to do no deductions, no investigations, and no case work until they move on. If they even think that he is who they believe him to be, he will be shot. Sniper two roofs down, lovely shot of-" You paused talking and looked sideways at Sherlock. He gave a half-smile, amused that you finally figured it out. His arm leading you places, making sure you couldn't move. Keeping himself out of direct target of the sniper. You didn't finish the sentence.
"Though I must say, Dr. Watson, nothing can make Sherlock human. He's still an arrogant, heartless, calculating... robot, with a lack of emotions. He's the energetic and rebellious version of my employer."
Sherlock placed his gloved fingers beneath your chin and made you tilt your head back slightly. He then kissed you soundly, lips pressing against yours and catching your lower lip. He could feel your hands tense in mild discomfort, but also knew you couldn't push him away. You were the one so keen to remind him of Mycroft's plans.
You eventually pulled away though, eyes looking at his slate-coloured orbs to see them focused on somebody two rooftops away. They had a scope, they would surely notice him staring. And yet, you wanted to look.
You slunk behind him and let your hands grip the front of his jacket. You pressed yourself against his back, your gaze going over his scarf and letting your first idea fly away. You pressed a kiss to the back of his head, stretching some to do so. You moved your mouth to his ear, pressing a soft kiss behind the shell before lazing your lips beneath it.
"Face me or get rid of the scarf," Sherlock's expression probably didn't look pleased, but he tugged off his scarf. You trailed your lips slowly down his neck, kissing the flesh lightly. The first time down his skin you forgot completely about the sniper. You nicked his skin above the collar of his coat with your teeth before smoothing the collar down. As you did so, you saw a gleam of light from the sniper's gun, most likely.
You then bite his neck a few inches away. His body tensed and head lean back. You could see his eyelids almost closing fully and you placed a hand over his mouth. His skin lingered with the smell of rain and Earl Grey tea. Beneath that was gun powder and smoke, Mycroft must have given him a cigarette for him to agree to this entire plan.
"Come on, darling, we shouldn't keep John waiting."
You threaded your fingers through Sherlock's and pulled him along before he really had any time to adapt. He almost stumbled before John broke out laughing. He put a hand over his mouth and soon fell quiet with the help of Sherlock's blank, almost strict glare.
"Let's go downtown, shall we? Away from the people here."
Both men immediately knew what you were hinting about and Sherlock quickly dropped your hand to wave a cab over. He opened the door and was about to step in before feeling John yank the back of his coat. He looked back with enough time for you to get in. He followed and John came in last. Sherlock gave a street name and then pulled his scarf back on. He fixed his collar in a hurry before letting a finger linger on your final bite. He covered your light marks up and then leaned back on his seat.
"How is my brother doing? You keep texting him. The way your fingers only shake while doing so indicates you're nervous. They never shook before so something changed your relationship with him. You keep looking at me to make sure I can't see what your typing. So I'm the reason you are afraid of disappointing Mycroft. When you're with Mycroft you wear makeup, but now you don't. Your clothes have become more casual in an attempt to blend in, but you still have on the shoes you had with Mycroft. Clearly, he rushed you into this decision and you had no time to refuse."
You clicked your phone and the screen went dark, hiding the half-completed message you were going to send Mycroft. You looked at Sherlock then gave him a teasing smile.
"Happy to get that out of your system? Because you got it wrong. I still have the shoes because you like them and I wanted to see you as soon as possible. Someone wanted to kill you, Mr. Holmes, and Mycroft would have my head if something happened to you."
Sherlock took the phone from your hands and read the messages you sent Mycroft. So his brother wanted personal reports on his wellbeing. And you knew a lot about Sherlock already. What was in habit or out of it, his weak spot on his neck or the fact he needed to rant his deductions out for someone to hear them.
"What's your job under Mycroft?"
You took Sherlock's hand in yours again, playfully measuring how much longer his fingers were then yours.
"I make sure people stay a secret and safe. I make sure nobody knows what car the Prime Minister has, who Mycroft's parents are, or that nobody attempts to kill you without you noticing. I make sure certain criminals get executed without trial or whisper of news. My job, Sherlock, is to keep the secret service a secret and to keep the underworld in the shadows."
Sherlock brought his hands up to his chin, fingertips touching, before a final thought crossed his mind.
"Why would you assume I'd like your shoes?"
You placed your feet on Sherlock's lap, letting him see the black heels. He looked over them and up your ankles and legs before lowering a hand to trace over the length of the heel.
"These look new but have been walked in for awhile. The soles are clean except for dust, so they're meant for the indoors. There is a bit of blood on the top, and one of your nails is broken. I noticed each time you took my hand. You wear them to work with Mycroft, usually in an office but sometimes danger follows you around."
"If you're so brilliant, deduce why you like them so much."
Sherlock rotated one foot around, bowing his head until his breath ghosted up your ankle. His firm hands were steady as they clamped down on your lower leg. He then raised his head and purposely ignored John's look.
"Because I can't find out why." He said the words in a rush and you knew he would never repeat them. You let Sherlock's hands remain on you as you rolled your eyes.
"It's because you, Sherlock, are a man. And these shoes are sexy and dominating and powerful. If I do this, for example..." You pressed a heel against Sherlock's throat, causing his breathing to pause and him to see exactly where the blood came from. No wonder Mycroft was so fond of you and never sent you on errands like Anthea. Sherlock now realized he absolutely adored those shoes.
"Are you Mycroft's lover?"
His question caught you by surprise. It was direct, allowing Sherlock to put your foot down on his lap again. You lowered your gaze slightly as the taxi pulled over next to a sidewalk.
"You'll have to figure that out for yourself, Sherlock. But until then, you're paying for my expenses and being a good boyfriend."
Sherlock saw what was meant as both you and John went out of the cab without paying. Sherlock paid over the amount due then stepped out. It wasn't exactly the downtown you'd go for shopping. It was dreary looking, some homeless people littered around and groups of people who very well could be in gangs. Let's just say, it was not an area you or John have visited before or will again (unless being dragged along by Sherlock, of course).
"These shoes, Sherlock, aren't meant to be used for this type of activity."
Sherlock paid you no mind as he ducked into an alleyway full of puddles. John shrugged at you before following. You then tried a little trick.
"Darling, don't leave me alone."
His voice echoed back and you groaned to yourself before following him. You ran for a few strides, splashing into puddles and making cold and dirty water go over your shoes and ankles. This was not in your job application. Though then again, what job application? Everything you did was off the records. Mycroft could have you assassinated and nobody would dare so question it or even realize. There was a lovely thought for you as you followed Sherlock around.
You reached out and grabbed his lower arm, walking beside him. He repeated the same line about there being no snippers but you didn't listen. He looked down at you but didn't need to. You were somewhat scared, and actually wanted to hold on to him, and not just because of a job.
John wasn't afraid, still loyally carrying on. You remembered that he used to be in the army, and you put on a neutral face. The one you wore when Mycroft sat down with some minister or head of some agency or something vaguely familiar. But you didn't let go of Sherlock. Your other hand left until it was only one, and you slid it down into his hand. He held yours back while looking opposite from you, studying another alleyway which connected to the one you three stood in.
What happened next took you by surprise. Sherlock grabbed onto your hand tightly and pulled you closer to him. His voice was deep and almost purring as he spoke to you. "I really do love those shoes. You were right. They're sexy and powerful and dominating and make you look amazing." You never said the final part but decided it was best not to interrupt now. Sherlock quickly pushed you into a wall, his mouth giving you a quick but deep kiss. His heat was already pressing into you and the thrill of excitement littered inside of you. A thrill you thought you outgrew years ago on your job. Your fingers reached for the back of his jacket but before you could get a good grip, he pulled away. That warm, hypnotizing kiss ended to give you a slight pout. His saliva coated your lips and you slowly licked it off. Sherlock then yanked John closer and made him lean against the wall. With precision, Sherlock pushed you against the doctor and then trapped you and John with his arms. He pushed harshly with his hips, making John bite back a groan. You felt Sherlock's hands raise your shirt over your head and hold it bunched up in one hand. The cold air made you tense though your felt rather hot between both bodies. John's hands didn't touch you until Sherlock lead them to your stomach. Sherlock's fingertips lingered over your body, spreading a path of fire you began to writhe in. You could feel John become hard as his hands stroked up your stomach. Sherlock meanwhile kept rocking his hips into you, his mouth on your neck in a subconscious act of revenge. He laid perfect bites up your neck, all the same size and using the same amount of force. It wasn't real passion. It was an act.
Sherlock's hands rubbed your thighs and you arched backwards slightly, away from John's travelling hands. Above you, standing next to the sun, was someone with a camera and gun. They left when you looked up, worried you may have spotted them. Instantly Sherlock stepped away from you, almost making you fall. His arm was there though to catch you though. You felt weak and flustered, snatching your shirt away from the consulting detective to pull it on. John seemed the most confused.
"What was that about, Sherlock?"
Sherlock motioned towards the rooftop before looking around to make sure nobody saw them.
"They saw us head down an alleyway. We had to give them a convincing reason why."
"So why are we here." You asked the question in general but your gaze was on Sherlock. On how easily he seemed to act calm after an ordeal which made you and John flustered. Perhaps the most annoying detail was that he had been okay, good even, at what he did. And now, not a strand of emotion.
"Why don't you work for your brother, Sherlock?"
"Too many reasons. He's my arch nemesis." You actually had to laugh over that one, giving the first genuine smile on your part. Sherlock watched carefully, the way your eyes creased slightly now as an act of truthful joy. He then grabbed your hand and continued to lead you away. He went down the stairs to an old subway station and then looked around the abandoned station.
"We'll travel this way. We'll take two tunnels and end up at Scotland Yard-"
"No. No, no, no and no. Come on, Sherlock, we're going elsewhere. And dropping John off at work. In case anybody forgot, his shift at the hospital starts in an hour."
You pulled Sherlock back up the stairs, making very slowly follow you. He knew what power you had in the cellphone you waved around. And he knew Mycroft would do anything for his safety. He'd have to investigate behind your back, or else Mycroft would put him in a safe house and not allow him to leave.
"I see why your Mycroft's secretary-"
You swung a leg around and Sherlock dropped to his knees to dodge it. Sadly, as he was on the stairs, he stumbled down a few before catching his balance. He walked towards you, eyes on your feet. He didn't notice when you slapped him sharply on his cheek. His mouth fell open slightly and you grabbed a handful of his hair to make him face you as you wished.
"I am not his secretary, there is no proof that I work /for/ him. I would suggest you stop assuming I am his lover and so forth. Or else, it's not the snipers you should he worried about."
You took the lead this time, Sherlock saying something or another to John to soft for you to hear. You hailed a taxi then pushed John towards it. Before you did so, your hands made quick work of his clothing, smoothing out wrinkles and fixing the collar until he looked presentable.
"Off you go, John."
John gave a small wave to the both of you before stepping into the taxi. There was so much you wanted to say to Sherlock as you two were alone. You wanted to scold him for trying to investigate, for kissing you in that alleyway. You wanted to ask him if he did think you looked amazing in those shoes. Those shoes... The wet, drenched shoes, now ruined.
"Want to come to my apartment with me, Sherlock?"
You supposed Sherlock hailing a cab and already knowing your address was a 'yes'. It was a silent drive, at least for you. Sherlock deduced the taxi driver, you again, how he knew where you lived. He was like an energetic child, needing to say the entire truth in all its harshness before the most lethargic look imaginable fell onto his features.
You never actually went into your apartment before. Mycroft got it for you, a cover-up place to make the story believable to the people spying on Sherlock. They would also spy on you for awhile after proving to themselves Sherlock was just an ordinary person.
You unlocked the door and pulled off your shoes before stepping inside. You put them in a side closet before walking barefooted into the living room. Sherlock followed without his shoes, jacket, or scarf, having the faint feeling he'd stay awhile. And what if cameras were in the inside of your apartment?
The first thing you noticed about your apartment was Mycroft sitting in a chair.