𝔡𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢

     It is a capital MISTAKE to theorize before one has data.      Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories,      instead of theories to suit FACTS;;

For a moment she’s mortified, feeling utterly ridiculous that she’d given a serious answer to something he’d meant as tease, but then the follow up message comes and tension bleeds from her shoulders. He’d understood then, why she’d given the answer that she had, lips pull over teeth as she smiles wide in the empty kitchen of her apartment. 

“Oh, no fair Sherlock.” she mutters to herself, putting down her mug of steaming coffee in favor of typing out rapid fire texts. 

[sms: Sherlock]: You’re smiling.

[sms: Sherlock]: I did it, I made the great Sherlock Holmes smile.

Making no comment about the delicious expanse of bare chest, or the hint of stomach she catches in the picture, she chooses to focus on the fond smile gracing his face. 

[sms: Sherlock]: Is John home?

Glancing over at the digital clock of the microwave, she notes that with the time and the usual London traffic as she’d come to learn it, she could be at Baker St via cab in about twenty minutes give or take.

[ T: CHRISTINE ] He’s not.

commenting on a BEAM of smile is irrelevant for a beat of time. clear as the morning the detective knew without observation the intent of the woman he spoke to. five minutes of leeway, twenty minutes would be the maximum time Christine would require. 

moods such as these were SPARSE in retrospect. the doctor must utilize it, grasp it, in every frame roll with the tide. heart, in his heart. it beat with a tremendous realization. 

sexual desires are bare, based in pure animalistic behaviors. image sent to him studied again; smile remaining, body rested. Christine was a pure TRUTH of exquisiteness. could a man deny his want of her, how could they be led so astray? 

[ T: CHRISTINE ] Do come over. I’ve got tea. Perhaps biscuits,                              if Mrs. Hudson decided to pop in.

feather soft; sheet teases ‘tween fingers, anticipation wound just the same as seconds pass.logical sides of him WEIGH in. john knows these impulses, the majority of MALES do. could it be from proximity of relation, or finding another who SOOTHED him in the intimacy? oh it must be Christine, almond shape of eyes to stare into a part of a man, ( to stare at HIM ) and break a wall long since built. 

from the muddled mind he brings forth a quip of flirt;

Edwards, house steward to the Palmer Estate since her teenage years, cleared his throat at the threshold of her study to garner her attention, announcing with poorly hidden displeasure that Mr. Holmes was come calling. Ink stained fingers, she’d been balancing the stock ledger to hand over to Edward so that he could make the chances he saw fit in his experience and give to her for final review. With an indulgent look to her servant, more friend then employee, she asks that tea be set in the blue room and that she’d be over shortly.  A basin of water and a bit of scrubbing later, she arrives in the blue room with newly cleaned hands, and greets her guest with a soft smile. 

“Mr. Holmes, I hadn’t expected to see you so soon,” one of the house maids,  young girl, a relation of the cooks she thinks, gives the tall man a clear appraising eye as she sets down the tea tray. And for a moment she tries to see Sherlock through a young girls eyes, he cut a fine figure in his suit, with sharp eyes and contoured features. Yet, she knew the man’s temperament and personality too well to be taken blindly by his fine looks. 

And because of that very knowledge, she wasn’t looking forward to informing him that their partnership might have to come to an end. As a female practicing the medical arts, she was already seen as a source of rumors, but the majority of her practice was based around wealthy ladies who paid well enough for perceived ails that she could run a Clinic for the needy and impoverished. That being so, despite her status as both spinster and heiress, she needed to maintain some sort of standing among the London ton, and running around with an unmarried man solving crimes had set many tongues wagging that she couldn’t afford to ignore any longer. 

“Milk or sugar, Mr. Holmes?” she questions, pouring out a cup of tea for them both. 

{ @consultndeduce gets a victorian smol }

it was not the first time at the estate nor does Sherlock assume the LAST. much of their ventures had lead them to a place of such magnitude, sharing tools of the trade over tea and light meals. VISIONS come now and again, flashbacks akin to leaves blocking the sun during his short trip. they come and go expeditiously. the way he takes no credit when his credit is not due, for the astute genius of the lady is true in measures of his acknowledgement. many of his cases which had been brought to end were ONLY done so by the guidance of Ms Christine Palmer. Watson would have word to day about that, if he could ever CRACK the mindset of the detective. 

he waits for her in the room designated, offering only the faintest nods to those who came to be employed there. they were kind, and yet. the steward have such APPARENT distaste Sherlock is left wondering if he has spoken OPENLY to his employer. it was the reason he came; these RUMORS festering and meddling with their work. companionship was far more than marriage. a man and woman, ahead of their times, he would dare commit. 

“ Milk, if you would. “  he stands not far from where the lady of the house pours, arms LOCKED behind back. hardly could he dismiss the offer, tea was a welcome hospitality in an otherwise DISTASTEFUL world. “ I hope I am not interrupting your time for the business of your house. “  residue, however brushed away, still lingers. 

Coffee pot beeps to signal that it’s done brewing, pouring herself a cup of java, strong and black the way she always preferred it when she’s at home and drinking the good quality beans, she takes a sip. Warmth spreads over her limbs, though she doubts that’s entirely the coffee’s doing, and more likely it’s the compliment paid to her by Sherlock. He’s not a man of empty words or flattery, so she knows that he means what he says. 

[sms: Sherlock]: Maybe.

She responds to his statement about her blush, which was true but she didn’t have to confirm it outright. 

[sms: Sherlock]: Favorite part? I only get the one huh?

Fingers are poised to write something dirty, maybe to compliment the sharp cut of his clavicle that she loves to see peeking from under his collar, or the cupids bow of his mouth. And while those are sincere sentiments, they didn’t fit with the question. 

[sms: Sherlock]: Your heart…you don’t show it often, but when you do, it’s my favorite part of you. CORNY, I know, but you asked.

and how he is taken aback by such a SINCERE gift. hearts are organs, a part of his body which he often overlooked in the past of his lifetime. the drugs, his INSISTENCE of what he could do without. when did the sentiment of such things MOVE him to another pause? it was her, the SPARK when approached, the same involvement which gave way to something so... intimate. 

compliments besides his brilliance lead him to be SHOOK in various ways.

[ T: CHRISTINE ] I can’t very well take a picture of my heart, can I?

sheet NOW covers him, the detective forgotten of all duties save for responding to the woman on his phone. Christine, the dear. what has she DONE to him? 

[ T: CHRISTINE ] Corny as it is - it is something that means more than you know.  [ T: CHRISTINE ] So make due with this.

research of THIS type of behavior was never on his list. so he takes the road of impulse. camera is readied and there is a click, showcasing a bare chest against white sheets; hint of face in view and a charmed smile clear. hardly a CHANGE of what he has given her in private, perhaps special as he has never once in his life taken what others refer as ‘sensual’. if it was acceptable, Sherlock does not know. but it is what he can OFFER.

Snorting softly at his phrasing, so formal, she can’t help the flash of adoration she feels at the silly man. Clearly he was out of his depth here, which was fine, these weren’t water that she treated often either. But that didn’t mean she was going to miss out on this opportunity when he’d clearly gotten in the spirit of things and this was the kind of behavior and response she wanted to encourage from him, for her own selfish gain. 

And it never ceases to amaze her, how he managed to know things he simply shouldn’t, so turning on the camera function of her phone, she lifts the hem of his white shirt over the hem of her panties, showing just a sliver of soft, pale underbelly. The underwear isn’t anywhere near lingerie, they are soft, blue and cotton and practical, but she was that kind of woman, a gentle flush comes over her face as she readies to send the picture. 

[sms: Sherlock]: image sent

[sms: Sherlock]: Well done Detective. 

Covering her face with her hands, sighing out and giving a little moan of embarassment, she’s quick to type out another text before she loses her nerve. 

[sms: Sherlock]: What would I have to do to get a pic of my own?

there is that primal instinct which overcomes him, the type he NEVER understood to be so tractable. hint of skin bare. the trace of cotton inline with hip. women FASCINATE him in more desirable ways - or he ponders, it is THIS woman who has changed an idea of one Sherlock Holmes. the picture is saved in a private file, something to savor when these LIMITED seconds came to be.

he is wandering back towards his bedroom, the flat empty and alarmingly WARM. but he knew, that had little to do with a FAULT of central heating.

[ T: CHRISTINE ] Beautiful. You are stunning. And I am positive you are blushing.

truly she was and that inclination of a male is rushing to his HEART. beats skip, fingers idly tap against surface of phone, writing a reply GENTLY and assuredly. 

{ @consultndeduce​ cont from here } 

It had been meant as a joke, more to entertain herself then actual want of the usual outcome when one texts that particular line. Only, she gets a rather intriguing reply, and for a moment she wonders if someone else has his phone. Biting her lip she stares at the blinking cursor for a few moments before typing out her reply.

[sms: Sherlock]: That shirt I stole off of you.

[sms: Sherlock]: And if you can deduce what color panties I’ll send you a pic ;)

[sms: Sherlock]: You wearing those sheets in bed or…?

Leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for her coffee to percolate, she eagerly awaits the reply. As he’s so fond of saying, the game was on.

try as he can there is no escaping just HOW this would make him feel. human reactions were often troublesome for the detective, ALAS, he falls into them too often since the realization of how WELL they could assist in... other means.

tongue dampens lips as he thinks back to what shirt she refers to. color would make a mild chance to what her challenge would be - but he takes a STAND. 

[ T: CHRISTINE ] Kitchen. Had to make tea, didn’t feel like getting dressed. [ T: CHRISTINE ] I could easily find myself back in bed at any moment.

only does he pause to REFLECT. oh he can’t help the grin that surfaces.