#shertasha

[holmes-romanoff]

[holmes-romanoff]

The game is on.

[holmes-romanoff]

“We’re married now.”

Natasha glanced up from her book, where she was sat in her chair next to the fireplace. 221B Baker Street had been home for a long while now, the only one she’d known, but they’d only recently exchanged rings and public vows. Her smile grew intrigued. “Excellent observation,” she deadpanned. “You should look into detective work.”

“Don’t make jokes.” Sherlock sat across from her, hands steepled, legs crossed, gaze intensely focused on hers. “I was going somewhere with this, where was it, oh, yes. We’re married.”

“Go on, I like where this is going already,” Natasha replied. She closed her book and set it aside, fingers going to play with the ruby and silver bee necklace that graced her clavicle.

“All the clues point in that direction, moving on. Since we’re married now, I suppose that means I can kiss you anytime I want…. It was on a film.”

Natasha hesitated for a moment and then laughed quietly. “I want to know what film eventually. But yes, that’s the general idea. You’ve know me a long time, Sherlock, I rarely turn down a kiss from you.”

“With a consensual agreement and mutual understanding that our physical relationship is enjoyable, yet secondary if lives are in danger due to its distracting nature.”

“Or a puzzle needs to be solved, yes, I understand that,” she answered. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward. “What’s this about?”

“I’m only checking, I want to ensure I get this right. Statistically speaking, forty-two percent of marriages end in divorce, and that’s very bad odds in general. No fool in his right mind would do something like that, but that’s just it. When you’re in love no one is in their right mind. Not to mention my interpersonal skills and general understanding, ‘way of being’ perhaps, is not normal and could seriously skew those statistics.”

“If you were married to someone else, maybe,” Natasha said. “I need to stop leaving you home with daytime television.” She slipped off of the chair and was perched on his lap a graceful second later. Never once taking her eyes off of him. She cupped his cheek. “I married you because I love you, and I love you for who you are. All of you. Curves, edges, messy bits included. We work well together, we always have, because there’s an understanding here.”

Sherlock smiled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and yet his entire expression made to look much younger. Childlike innocence. “You’re right, of course. I missed it. I should be taking notes.”

“There’s no need, I’ll always be around when you need a reminder.”

She leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to his lips, like a breath of air shared between them. Or a promise. She felt him sigh as she pulled away, his body caving in that way that reminded her of a wolf curling around his mate.

His eyes blinked open. “What was that for?”

She smiled a bit, caressing the recently shaved skin of his cheek. “You married me, that means I can kiss you whenever I want.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Natasha didn’t reply, grabbing his neck and locked their lips together in a devouring kiss. Hungry and needy, their bodies moved against each other in the deep kiss. One that would lead them back to the bedroom within a few minutes. They only decided to go to the room because the week earlier, Mrs Hudson had caught them naked and completely spent in the chair after a rather vigorous round post-case. 

Married life was going to be great fun.

[holmes-romanoff]

“She is a beautiful madness, that I hardly understand. That’s how I know, it’s her. Why choose someone else if she exists?” 

(x)

[wekillthemessenger]

Natlock #117 — “Can I do your hair?” @bakerstreetviolin

Natasha sat on the bed wearing a black silk dress and black peep-toed heels, massaging her shoulder with her eyes closed. She was tired and sore and according to John there would be permanent damage if she didn't give her shoulder a rest, but it was date night. She'd be damned if she was going to let a work injury keep her from having a wonderful night with her beautiful, clever husband when he'd gone through the trouble of planning a whole evening for them.

They didn't celebrate anniversaries or milestones or bother with the all the cliched trappings of romance, but Sherlock was fresh off a case he'd deemed a solid ten and Natasha had just wrapped up a one-week mission abroad. There was more than enough reason to celebrate with a night to themselves, and she hated that it was taking her so long to get ready. She should be able to push through the pain.

There was a brush and a pretty gold pin beside her on the bed, and she opened her eyes to try and reach for it again. And again her arm wouldn't lift more than a quarter of the way up. She hissed a breath and let it drop on her lap.

"Can I do your hair?" Sherlock stood in the doorway, fiddling with the cuffs of his gray shirt. He was handsome even in his ratty pajama pants and worn cotton t-shirts, but she hadn't seen him in a week, and just the sight of him tonight sent a tingle of anticipation down her spine. His blue eyes were soft as their gazes met. "You're taking ages, and I'm fairly competent with a brush," he added. "It'll speed things along. We do have reservations."

"My prince charming," Natasha teased, scooting over so he could sit beside her on the bed. "You'll take any excuse to play with my hair, is what I think."

"Maybe, you do have exceedingly healthy hair follicles." Sherlock walked over and settled in, gesturing for her to turn as he took up the brush. "The texture is also quite... smooth, and you do enjoy it." She all but purred when he raked his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp with the pads of his fingers. He huffed a quiet laugh. "Like a cat, you are."

"You're one to talk," she said, closing her eyes again with a shameless smile. "All you're missing is pointy ears and a tail."

He hummed in agreement. "And the whiskers, I imagine."

"You get whiskery on occasion, too."

She mewled in appreciation when he finally ran the brush through her waves, ever so slowly. Indulging her every bit as much as speeding things along. "Can I get you to do my hair for the remainder of my recovery?"

"If it is absolutely necessary, I suppose I could make the time," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "We did make vows, in sickness and in health and some such other nonsense. I'm confident a lead pipe to the shoulder counts as the former." She let out a soft laugh, and he brushed her hair until her waves were smooth and shiny, and then twisted the length of it into a low bun at the nape of her neck. He slid pins into place to hold it up and placed the gold, decorative one at an angle.

Natasha rose to look at herself in the wardrobe mirror, smiling when she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Her hand smoothed down the front of her dress. "Where'd you learn to do this?"

"Youtube," Sherlock answered informatively. He came up behind her to smooth a hand along the curve of her waist, press the softest kiss to her neck. "For a case," he further explained. "You'd be surprised what people let slip to their hairdressers."

"And what did they let slip in your case?"

"A sibling rivalry with a lethal end," he whispered in a dramatic rumble, smiling against the skin of her neck when she shivered against his chest.

"Lucky me, then," she breathed out. She turned in his arms to steal a lingering kiss, reaching up with only one hand to cup his cheek. She was smiling too when she pulled away. "Thank you."

"I've got you, princess," he said quietly, trailing a hand down her injured arm to thread their fingers together. "Always."

[wekillthemessenger]

[holmes-romanoff]

“Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself, but talent instantly recognizes genius.” 

[holmes-romanoff]

'Cause all of me Loves all of you Love your curves and all your edges All your perfect imperfections Give your all to me I'll give my all to you

(x)