Requested by anon: Can you make a heated sherlock imagine where he hasn’t had a case in a while but hasn’t been able to go to the drug dens or smoke because of Y/N so he takes out his frustration on her ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) (doesn’t have to be smut but it could be real HEATED)
Summary: Sherlock has no cases and John forbid him to smoke. (Y/N) continues to mock him about it, without telling him where his cigarettes are, which leads Sherlock to find other ways to take out his frustration and, at the same time, showing her what it’s like to be on edge.
Pairing: Sherlock x reader
Warnings: Smut - edging, fingering, teasing -, dominant!Sherlock
A/N: This is the longest piece of smut I’ve written and it’s not even smut like so, wow. I hope you like this!
Sherlock stomped from one side to the other of the flat. He was frantically looking for that tiny carton box, hidden somewhere inside that messy labyrinth he had unconsciously created. She was sitting on the sofa, knowing exactly what he was doing but pretending to ignore it, although Sherlock had noticed that sly smirk formed on her red lips.
Not a case, not a single one, and that was his curse. He had saved everyone and gotten to be a big and famous detective, but what was the price of fame? Boredom, that was.
“I need them.” Sherlock begged. His back was turned to her, but he knew exactly how big and curved that mischievous grin on her face was.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Sherlock finally turned to see her.
Her legs were crossed, one over the other, and her feet were pointing at him. The black high heels matched the black pencil skirt that failed to hide the soft skin from her thighs. Her hands were holding one of his old books, and her arms rested lazily over one of the arm-holders. A messy strand of hair had fell over her face, framing it so delicately it made Sherlock get distracted for a few milliseconds.
“John told me you were annoying when you were bored.” She said, “But I have to say it: You are fascinating.”
“I’m even better when I’m smoking.” Sherlock snapped. He lifted his chin, trying to look like the intimidating man from the newspapers rather than an anxious boy.
“Those things will kill you one day.” She leaned back on the couch, allowing her head to fall back on the pillow. Sherlock observed said movement as if it had been performed in slow motion.
How the lose strand bounced over her nose before falling back to the side. The way her eyes shut after her head touched the soft fabric, and that slight breeze of air her lips expelled. The way her chest rose up a bit after, inhaling once more. And her feet, one of them – the one from the leg crossed on top – still pointing at him. How her delicate hands left the book over her lap, calling his attention to focus yet again on her skin.
He was driving him insane.
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