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Jane walked slowly into the room, eyes reflecting the flickering of the fire like black diamonds. She took slow strides over to where Sherlock was sitting. Her patent black heels clacked against the dark wood, beating out a steady rhythm, resonating like a war drum. She threw back the double vodka and lay the crystal glass on the side table, marking her territory. The leather of the chair felt supple and buttery as her shins slid against it while she climbed onto Sherlock's lap, hitching up her black velvet dress to straddle her. "So, what will it be tonight?"