Under the Midnight Sun

“It smells delicious!” John exclaims as he enters the flat and comes into the kitchen, putting his hand on my hip. He looks over my shoulder at the turkey in front of me.

“Why, thank you!” I say as I baste the perfectly golden bird in front of me. Since I was busy dancing over Christmas, the three of us have decided to celebrate Christmas a bit late.

“I can’t tell you the last time I had a good, home-cooked meal for Christmas,” says John. “How about you, Sherlock?” He calls to his friend, trying to cheer him up.

“Nah,” the tall, dark-haired man answers as he continues to scan his newspaper. He has been quite depressed lately—well more so than usual. I can see through his façade. He is secretly a very unhappy person. I think it has to do with his current case. Poor Irene Adler was very near and dear to him.

The past couple weeks have been insane; from the insane dominatrix stalking Sherlock to the Americans coming into the flat and attacking Mrs. Hudson. Even though Sherlock was able to take care of everything, it was still all a shock to John and me.

“Oh, shoot!” I exclaim, checking the fridge. “I forgot to get some heavy cream for the mashed potatoes!”

“I can go get you some,” John suggests.

“Thanks.” I kiss John’s cheek.

“Ugh, must you do that while I’m here?” Sherlock complains.

I walk over to Sherlock. “I have an idea. Why don’t you go with John? You spend all day and all night in this flat. It would be good for you to get out and get some air!”

“No, I’m quite alright—“

“—Go. Now.” I demand in a stern tone.

Sherlock abruptly shuts his paper and stands, buttoning his jacket as he does so. He waltzes over to the coat rack, grabs his peacoat and leads John down the stairs. I get back to the kitchen, stirring the potatoes and basting the turkey once more.

Suddenly, I hear a noise come from Sherlock’s bedroom. I jump at the sound and quickly grab a sharp chef’s knife from the counter. I slowly make my way toward the room. I gently turn the doorknob and step into the room. I drop the knife, staring at Irene Adler in Sherlock’s bed.

Irene opens her eyes and looks up at me. “Ah, you must be Virginia Sullivan, Dr.
Watson’s girlfriend.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, angrily. I was furious at her due to what she did to Sherlock. She was not welcome in my book.

“I need help—Sherlock’s help,” she answers simply. She stands, stretching, and walks past me to the living room, and I follow her. The Woman sits down in Sherlock’s chair and crosses her legs while I sit down in John’s chair; we wait for the men to return.

Once I here commotion at the door, I jump up and wait at the top of the staircase. “You’ve got a client,” I say, annoyed and with arms crossed.

“What? Who?” John questions as he climbs the stairs. He reaches the top and stops in his tracks. “Oh…”

“Who is this time, John?” Sherlock asks, following his companion. Sherlock is left seemingly speechless when he sees Irene Adler sitting in his chair. He then moves over to chair at the table where John’s laptop is and sits down.

I return to the kitchen, not wanting to be that close to this heartless wench, while John sits at his laptop, ready for the interview.

“Who’s after you?” Sherlock asks bluntly.

“People trying to kill me,” Irene answers in that low voice of hers.

“Who?”

Irene shrugs. “Killers?”

“So you faked your own death to try to dissuade them, but now they have found out you are actually, in fact, still alive.”

“Precisely. Now, where’s my camera phone? I need it.”

“It’s not here,” John comments. Sherlock then reaches in his pocket, pulling out the phone, causing Irene to wiggle in her seat the tiniest bit. “Oh…” John murmurs.

“What do you keep on here?”

“…Pictures, information, things to protect me; now hand it over.”

Sherlock gives her the phone. She types in the password, and an error message pops up. “It’s not working.” Sherlock then pulls out the real camera phone, types in the password that Irene just put in and error message pops up on that one. “I told you that camera phone is my life. I know when I’m holding it.”

Irene then goes on to show the coding on the phone of one her clients. Sherlock goes on to do his little Sherlock deduction thing and he figures out that they are seats on an airplane. John checks it and it is flight 007.

John and I decide to go back to my apartment, leaving Irene and Sherlock to their meager conversations. We hold hands as we make our way down the street, walking close together against the cold winter air.

“I’m really worried about Sherlock. Maybe we shouldn’t have left him alone with that woman,” I say as John takes my coat and hangs it in the closet near my door.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s a big boy and I highly doubt Irene Adler is that dangerous when she’s by herself,” John comforts.

“Very well, then,” I sigh.

John steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Stop worrying about them and start worrying about us…” he murmurs seductively in my ear.

“John Watson, you sly dog,” I chuckle. I turn around in his embrace to face him. I grapple my arms around his shoulders and neck, leaving soft, quick kisses on his lips.

With me walking backwards, John guides me to my bedroom. I break away from our kiss to take off my sweater and immediately, my lips are glued to his once more. I start unbuttoning his shirt, rubbing his chest up and down with my hands. I then move to his belt and pants. He takes the initiative to go for my pants, fumbling with the multiple buttons.

“Are you sure about this? It’s our first time together…” John asks.

I cup his cheek in my hand, biting my lips as I stare into his eyes. “I’m sure,” I nod. I then kick off my shoes and pull down my pants, sliding onto the bed. “C’mon, you know you want to!”

“Well there’s no doubt about that!” John chuckles. He takes off his undershirt and climbs in between my legs, bending over to kiss me. He then smooches my neck, sending goose bumps down my spine.

A warm, tingling sensation spreads through my body. I run my fingers through John’s hair as he continues to suck on my neck. Light moans release from my lips and I feel a bulge grow between John’s legs, turning me on even more.

“Oh, John,” I whisper as my brows arch.

John stands up straight, pulling down his pants and boxers. I sit up and unclasp my bra and throwing it across the room. John steps forward and I hold his face in my hands, kissing him passionately. As our tongues play back and forth, his hands start at my waist and then make their way to my breasts; massaging them.

I lie back on the bed as John slips his fingers into the edges of my underwear, slithering them down my thighs and to the floor. John kisses below my navel, causing me to grab the comforter below me.

John brings his lips close to mine and whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”

“And you’re so handsome,” I respond, grazing my fingertips across his forehead.

Suddenly, John is inside me. My back arches as a sharp pain rattles through my body but quickly subsides as pleasure takes over. John starts out slow, seemingly timing each thrust carefully. But then he rapidly speeds up each push into me. He bites his lips, seemingly pushing his teeth deeper in his lip with each pump.

John cranes his neck down and begins to knead into my breasts with his mouth. He sucks on my left nipple, nipping at it with his teeth and sending more heat through my veins. I stroke the back of John’s head as I do so, digging my fingers into his neck as desire rakes through my body.

John continues to thrust, going faster and faster; my hips roll hastily, in more concise movements as I begin to reach orgasm. He grabs hold of my hips for more leverage. An intense pressure forms behind my forehead and the warmth throughout my body grows to an extent. I feel light-headed and weightless. I start shouting obscenities and digging my nails into John’s shoulders.

Tears form in my eyes; I have just been so sexual confused and frustrated for the past year. I have not had many relationships and the ones I have had were not all that healthy. But John treats me right and I have no idea how to thank him. Even in this moment right here, right now, I feel so close to him. It’s a right fit—literally.

With a few more thrusts, we are both finished. Panting, John falls onto the bed next to me. A few moments pass and I curl up next to him, picking up and kissing his hand. He squeezes mine and continues to hold it. We sit in silence as John catches his breath.

“That was great,” I finally say.

“Really?” John asks, surprised. “Not bad for an old man?”

“Don’t say that; you’re not old.”

“It’s okay, I am. You don’t have to pretend.”

I roll onto my side, putting my hand on John’s chest and kissing him gingerly. “I’m not pretending. I just don’t see you as old. You’re so… great.” I move some sweaty hair off his forehead. “And I care about you… so much.” I kiss him once more.