What is she doing? The question finds its way into Irene Adler's ear, echoing over and over again and insistent on a response. It's not that she doesn't have a response, rather that several present themselves immediately and in a great, warm rush. Oh, Mister Holmes, you're the detective, think. What I should have done in London, in front of your fireplace. I'm not hungry, let's have dinner. These and a half dozen more tumble over one another, but none make it past her lips. They all seem inaccurate, and possibly inadequate, when it comes to articulating the reasons behind what she is doing - what she is about to do.
For another moment she remains silent, the pad of her thumb stroking his cheek with the barest touch. Irene feels rather than sees the touch of his hand against her arm, and the rush of warmth it brings registers in her eyes. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely a whisper.
"I think you already know."
Her toes curl into the carpet as she raises slightly on the balls of her feet, slowly bringing herself nearer to his height. His breath is a warm wave across her nose and cheek. The path of her fingers moves backwards, allowing the palm of her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Irene Adler tilts her head ever so slightly and closes the slight distance between them, kissing Sherlock Holmes for the first time.
Her lips are slightly parted, allowing the barest pass of her tongue against his lower lip. For a long moment she holds the kiss then draws back slightly. Her eyes open to find his again, searching that impossible gaze. Another flash of lightning illuminates his face, a crash of thunder directly behind it.
no subject
What is she doing? The question finds its way into Irene Adler's ear, echoing over and over again and insistent on a response. It's not that she doesn't have a response, rather that several present themselves immediately and in a great, warm rush. Oh, Mister Holmes, you're the detective, think. What I should have done in London, in front of your fireplace. I'm not hungry, let's have dinner. These and a half dozen more tumble over one another, but none make it past her lips. They all seem inaccurate, and possibly inadequate, when it comes to articulating the reasons behind what she is doing - what she is about to do.
For another moment she remains silent, the pad of her thumb stroking his cheek with the barest touch. Irene feels rather than sees the touch of his hand against her arm, and the rush of warmth it brings registers in her eyes. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely a whisper.
"I think you already know."
Her toes curl into the carpet as she raises slightly on the balls of her feet, slowly bringing herself nearer to his height. His breath is a warm wave across her nose and cheek. The path of her fingers moves backwards, allowing the palm of her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Irene Adler tilts her head ever so slightly and closes the slight distance between them, kissing Sherlock Holmes for the first time.
Her lips are slightly parted, allowing the barest pass of her tongue against his lower lip. For a long moment she holds the kiss then draws back slightly. Her eyes open to find his again, searching that impossible gaze. Another flash of lightning illuminates his face, a crash of thunder directly behind it.