Sherlock had no issue with YN assisting him and John at crime scenes. He couldn’t help but smirk proudly when she sassed Anderson or stumped Garreth, he adored her quick thinking and eye for detail, and the fact that she took pictures for John’s blog (he refused to admit it but sometimes he would survey the pictures in case he hadn’t quite memorised the teensiest exact detail).
Sherlock had a massive issue, however, with seeing his girl be leered at and slobbered over. He hated that certain inspectors couldn’t keep their eyes from roaming. He hated the casual-but-obviously-provacative glances and touches she received. She was exceptionally beautiful, even an idiot or a goldfish could see that. But that gave nobody the right to feel her up and flirt with her.
“Shut up,” he said sharply, looking up from the frozen body with fury burning in his eyes. Several inspectors jumped, John glanced at him oddly- normally there was a quip or an insult to go with the command for quiet, but Sherlock didn’t say anymore. He instead shot a glare towards his girlfriend, who was trying to look something up on her phone, whilst an officer was trying to convince her to join him down the pub later on. She looked up at Sherlock and cocked her head to the side.
“You alright, darling?” She asked carefully, taking a step towards him.
He cleared his throat roughly and nodded. “Um... yes. Just needed some quiet, I could hear shuffling and.... murmuring,” he sent another glare to the officer’s back.
“Right,” he said, suddenly louder. “Graham I’ve seen enough. You heard me before, no wounds, no evidence of chemicals. If you must, send a sample of her stomach acid to Bart’s but I doubt there’s poisoning. Must be off.”
He turned on his heel and strode off. It took you a moment to process this, and you hurriedly followed, stuffing your camera and phone into your satchel.
“Sherlock, love are you sure you’re-”
The journey back to Baker Street was a tense and slightly uncomfortable one. Sherlock shut his eyes and sat bolt upright, and you assumed he was in his Mind Palace going over the case. You paid the cabbie and the pair of you got out, entering the building. You called out to Mrs Hudson to let her know it was her tenants and not a hooligan breaking in, before walking up to the flat. You pottered about, slipping off your coat and heels, humming to yourself as you hung your coat up.
“Sherlock, fancy a cup- oh!” You gasped, your back slamming against the wall, your body pressed between it and sherlock’s looming figure. You gulped and looked up to him. Eyes blown dark, nostrils flaring, teeth gritted, breathing harder than normal and- a familiar hardness pressing against your tummy. You bit your lip and shivered slightly.
“You,” he grumbled lowly, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest, “are mine. Mine alone,”
“Sherlock of course I am, you idiot-” you squeaked as he pressed you harder against the wall. “What’s brought this on, Eh?”
“I made several more deductions than usual today,” he murmured. “Would you like me to divulge?” He did not wait for your answer. “Jones, Muller, and Trent. Jones: serial adulterer, different woman in his bed every weekend while his wife works night shifts... seemed particularly interested in your breasts. And I deduce that you’re wearing your purple bra, the one that fastens at the front and pushes them together so beautifully... but that is for my eyes, not Jones’s. No... he has it in his head that you’ll be in his bed by Saturday. What do you think?”
You whimpered softly and shook your head. “No sherlock... i think he’s wrong and a twat and I wouldn’t ever fancy him,”
“Good girl. Now, Muller, he’s an interesting one. Recently divorced, spends an awful amount of time watching indecent videos on his phone... i noticed him eyeing up your delicious arse no less than eight times in an hour... I deduce that he rather enjoyed watching you bent over the victim, and I can only imagine the type of videos he will be watching tonight... and Trent... well, well, well, he got rather... hands on don’t you think? Very keen to make sure you kept your balance... very keen to guide you through every corridor... and you seemed rather keen to let him...” he arched a brow expectantly. You flushed angrily and bit your lip hard.
“No, Sherlock. Only keen to have some physical contact with another human being. Let’s face it you’re not the most intimate of-ah!” You regretted the poorly thought out words the moment they left your lips and you cried out at the feeling of Sherlock pressing his hardness against your tummy, almost as if to prove a point.
“Tut tut,” he murmured lowly, leaning to take your earlobe between his teeth. “You don’t think I’m intimate enough, darling?” He nibbled slowly on it, flicking his tongue slightly. “I think I ought to amend that, don’t you? I think I ought to mark you, claim you,”
You whimpered and opened your mouth to protest. He bit down on your earlobe sharply,so that a bittersweet rush of pleasure-pain shot through you nerves.
“Hush darling,” he murmured. “I can tell that any form of protest would be out of stubbornness. The state of you right this instant screams to me that you’re dripping wet and quivering for me, aren’t you?” You whimpered again, nodding, and he smirked triumphantly as you tapped ‘go’ in morse code on his thigh.
Your little code for ‘ravish me please’.
He grunted and picked you up, wrapping your thighs around his waist. He groaned lowly at the feeling of your heat burning through his trousers already. He deposited you onto his bed, smirking at the sight of his rather dishevelled girlfriend gazing up at him. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips quickly and he grinned. He leans down and captured your lips in a frantic, burning kiss, his deft fingers scrabbling at your clothes. You groaned against his mouth and untucked his shirt, practically tearing the buttons off to run your hands over his smooth, firm chest. You felt his heart racing and smirked. You did that. You made Sherlock Holmes’ heart race. You whined as he nibbled on your pulse point and scratched your nails down his back in retaliation, a low growl rumbling from your throat as he shoved you dress down over your hips. You wriggled out of the offending garment, leaving you in your underwear, already soaked through, and Sherlock was only adding to that as he scraped his tongue over your nipples roughly, grasping and grabbing, suckling like a man starved. Fuck knows where your bra went.
You hooked your legs around his broad thigh, bucking your hips slightly, rutting your core against the rough fabric of his trousers, groaning at the delicious friction as you grasped at his untameable curls.
“Enough,” he grunted, ridding himself of his belt and shucking his trousers down just enough to release his weeping length. He shoved your knickers to the side and groaned lowly. “Mine. All mine,” he growled, and you nodded eagerly, spreading your legs so he could settle between them. He grunted and pushed inside you, his eyes locked on yours as he began at a merciless pace. The headboard banged hard against the wall as he pistoned his hips, each thrust punctuated by a sharp groan. You arched your back up to him, chanting his name like an ancient prayer, scratching down his back, whining as he littered your flesh with dark lovebites. “Mine. Mine!” He grunted, pinching your nipple. “Whose?” He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Yours, Sherlock, yours! Fuck! Fuck! Sherlock!” You cried out for him as your heat fluttered and clenched around him, and he spilled his seed deep inside you, claiming you as his. You jolted and shuddered as he collapsed beside you, and he instantly pulled you to his chest, kissing the lovebites gently, before kissing your forehead.
“Sherlock...” you mumbled, panting, voice a little higher and shakier than normal. “I love you, you know that. And I’m your girl, always will be and-,”
“Hush, love,” he murmured, voice husky. “I know. And I trust you completely. And I am yours as much as you’re mine. And I love you,”