first undercover

mystic agents, commissioned by lanie

read the fic HERE!!!

Summary: The unlikely trio of breakthrough actor Zen, chairman-to-be Jumin Han, and 707 the Defender of Justice embark on their first mission as undercover secret agents for V: sneak into Glam Choi’s party of the year and steal Top Secret documents. But most importantly, Seven and Jumin crossdress and Zen is confused why he likes it so much.

Undercover 15: First Christmas

Her father loved Christmas. When he was home, he woke them up with Christmas music played at full volume, singing booming carols as he cooked breakfast, decorated the house, put up lights outside. He may have been stern the rest of the year but throw a little holiday cheer his way and he was yours for the duration.

Every year, he bought each of his children an ornament for Christmas. He would have them on the tree, there name painstakingly written on the bottom and the year, for them to find Christmas morning. Once they’d moved out and taken their collections with them, he continued his practice, either mailing the decorations or, in Scully’s case, he’d slip it on her small, artificial tree wherever he visited wherever she was living at the time, be it a dorm, with a roommate or on her own.

Sitting on her couch, lights dim, television off, radio silent, she debated with herself whether to put up a tree at all this year. She’d managed to wrestle the tree box from the hall closet and now it sat mocking her in the middle of the living room, ornament container beside it, filled with memories she wasn’t sure she could deal with this year.

After 20 minutes of painful debate, her depression won out and standing to shove the boxes back in the closet, she stopped when she heard a rapping on her door, two knocks then one.

Only Mulder would have a special knock, like she was the clubhouse and he was the newest member.

“Hey.”

As he pushed past her, she followed him with her eyes as she shut the door, confusion pushing one eyebrow skyward, “What’s up?”

“I am locked out of my apartment. I thought I grabbed my house key when I left for my run but I didn’t.”

Thinking about the whistling winds blowing past her window, she looked at him, studying him unconsciously for signs of frost-bite, “did you run over here? In this cold?”

Pulling his stocking cap off and stuffing it into his pocket, “Naw. Used my Hide-a-Key to get my car key and drove over here to get my house key.”

Now she smiled, “why don’t you have a Hide-a-Housekey thing, too.”

“I have you instead.” Giving her his best, tooth-glinting grin, “so, what are you up to this fine, frigid evening?” She was going to claim laundry but his sharp eyes caught the tree box, “oooh, Christmas decorating. Need any help?” Shifting from one foot to the other, she hesitated a moment too long with her answer and Mulder’s face fell, “or not. I don’t mean to intrude.” Pulling his hat back out, he gave her a smile that told her he wasn’t annoyed, “my mother never let us help with the tree. She always said it was her thing to do alone.”

He looked so genuinely pitiful that she heard herself telling him, “no, it’s okay. I just …well, actually, I was debating putting it up at all. With dad gone …”

Mulder cut her off, hand going automatically to her arm, lightly gripping her elbow, “oh, crap. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.”

Reaching, she took his hat and stuffed it back in his pocket, “but I changed my mind. Stay and help me figure out where to put it. What do you think, by the window there or over by the fireplace, closer to the door?”

They had only been together for a little over a year but he knew her well enough to know she was full of crap, however, given he wasn’t a soulless bastard, he let it go, “I like it by the window, myself. Then the lights reflect of the glass and it looks pretty cool.”

“Then by the window it goes. If you want to start getting the tree pieces out, I’ll move things around.”

Doing the tiniest of step hops at he turned towards the box, he rubbed his hands together, “Christmas!”

&&&&&&&&&&

After the third time Mulder poked himself in the eye and Scully couldn’t see straight from laughing so hard, he declared it break time. The tree, now assembled, was still naked, the lights in a giant wad of twisted insanity that Mulder took one look at and tossed at her, “you have the patience for this nonsense.”

“Then I elect you to go make the hot chocolate.”

“Anything’s better than that nightmare.” Heading into the kitchen, he yelled to her, “you got any Christmas music?”

“You don’t know me at all, do you?”

Head buried deep in the fridge, “then play me some. It’s too quiet in here.”

“You are very bossy for somebody who doesn’t have a house key right now.”

His smiling face popped up over the open door, “pretty please?”

Hauling herself from the couch where she’d just settled down, “I’m doing this for me, not you.” Soon, low holiday music filled the apartment and the pair of them were drinking cocoa, Scully also de-tangling lights while Mulder burned his tongue. “There’s steam for a reason, Mulder. It lets you know you’re going to scald your mouth.”

“One can only wait so long though, Scully.” Taking another sip, he winced, “damn it. Still too hot.”

“It’s been 8 seconds!”

“That is at least three seconds longer than I’d normally wait.” Taking the string she’d already straightened, he began hanging them, “you should be proud.”

Eventually, the tree had lights and Mulder flipped open the ornament box, staring in slight awe, “dang. This is not your run-of-the-mill, bulbs only Christmas tree, is it?” When she didn’t answer, he looked up, catching her just as she attempted to stealthily swipe off the tears that suddenly poured down her cheeks. Not sure what to do, he met her eyes briefly, then, of their own volition, his arms raised, aiming towards her with the full intention of giving her hug.

When she went from sad face to panicked face, he realized what he was doing and stopped, politely excused himself to the bathroom instead.

He wanted to hug her.

He wished he could hug her.

But what kind of line would that be crossing? And was he supposed to cross that line? Who actually decided where the line was? Did there even have to be a line?

By the time he decided it would be safe to return to the living room, not having answered any of his bathroom-concocted questions, she seemed calmer. Her face was dry, her eyes were clear and the only hint of anything wrong was her red nose, the product of swift nose-blowing with off-brand tissue resembling sand paper.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked on his stockinged heels, “I should probably head home. Let you decorate in peace.”

She genuinely didn’t want him to go though, “wait. Please, stay. I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable. It’s just … I mean, dad loved Christmas and he gave me a lot of these ornaments and …”

Screw the line. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he turned her into him briefly, “I’d like to stay but it’s up to you.”

For an overwhelming moment, she was surrounded by that smell of his. She still hadn’t been able to figure out if it was aftershave or deodorant or soap but whatever it was, it consumed her senses and she found herself hugging him tightly around the waist while he buried her head in his shoulder, fingers at the edge of her hairline, palm cupping her skull.

Long before either one wanted to stop, they stepped back in perfect unison, both sheepishly smiling, eyes darting anywhere but at each other until Mulder chuckled, “apparently 1.5 years of partnership equals an 18-second holiday hug.”

Honestly, she wasn’t sure if he was serious and giving him what he already lovingly thought of as her inquisitive, ‘are you full of shit’ eyebrow, “were you counting?”

“There’s a good chance that being the psychologist I am, I did analyze the length of that hug but the sugar addict in me decided I needed to try my hot chocolate again so I broke it off.” Picking it up, he burned his lip, “dang it. Still hot.”

Laughing at him, she took his mug and began blowing on it, “you are hopeless.”

And it hit him like a fucking lightning bolt, rattling his brain and thumping his heart.

She was blowing on his hot chocolate.

She was freaking invading his hot chocolate with her peppermint breathe.

He was totally screwed.

He never thought he’d be so completely aware of the moment he fell in love with somebody.

Nearly giggling at the sudden rush of understanding but managing to remain simply smiling, “we should probably get to that tree, shouldn’t we?”

Scully tilted her head, a confused half-curving mouth showing over the edge of the mug before she handed it back to him, wondering if she should ask why he looked suddenly like the Cheshire Cat with a major secret, “here you go.”

“Thanks.”

&&&&&&&&&

Each ornament had a story and she told him a handful as they hung them up. He never asked, leaving it up to her to share or stay silent, taking the ornaments as she handed them to him, being much more careful than he ever thought he could be.

He imagined if he broke one, she’d never speak to him again and his world couldn’t handle that.

Once everything was up, Mulder slid by her and turned the living room lights off, leaving only the glow of the tree to illuminate the room. It cast a myriad of colors across her face and he couldn’t help but gaze openly, his cheeks pulling back for a smile but never quite making it, too engrossed in the vision before him to finish the expression. She noticed because, really, how couldn’t she notice him blatantly staring at her. Finally, “why do you keep looking at me like that? Blink or something so I know you’re still alive.”

He blinked slowly in her direction, then, not dissuaded by her attempt at breaking the spell, “you’re beautiful.”

It was a three second incredulous expression followed by a half-second of something more before she shook her head, blush spreading fast up her face and down her neck, “that hot chocolate went straight to your head, didn’t it?”

Reverie done for the moment, he chuckled, “yup. Happens every time.”

When he let a yawn slip a few minutes later, she touched his arm, then slid her hand up to his shoulder, patting him lightly on the back, gently turning his towards the door, “’m going to kick you out now. It’s late and we need to work in the morning.”

Without voicing any of the ten arguments for staying he had racing through his mind, he turned, pulled his coat on and said goodbye, debating another hug but not wanting to be slugged for it. After slipping out the door, she locked it behind him and was just about to turn the tree off and head to bed when he knocked.

Remembering suddenly, she glanced through the spyhole just to make sure, then pulled the door open, placing her copy of his house key in his hand, “I’ll be expecting that back tomorrow morning.”

“G’night, Scully.”

“G’night, Mulder.”

&&&&&&&&&&

The next morning, as she puttered around the living room gathering her shoes, current book, dirty hot cocoa mugs, something caught her eye. Turning towards the tree, it only took a moment to realize, an instant to smile, a second to wipe the sudden, stray tear dropping from her eye, then half-a-blink to break into a grin.

Hanging on her tree was a Santa hat wearing Alien Head ornament.

Upon examination, she found the year written on the bottom in Sharpie, Mulder’s hand unmistakable, even in four simple numbers.

She might have to yell at him for breaking into her house.

But maybe not.

First Christmas (1995):

a/n: this was first posted for the Undercover challenge about a month back but since it’s the start of a new set of stories for me, I’m re-posting  :)

________________________________

Her father loved Christmas. When he was home, he woke them up with Christmas music played at full volume, singing booming carols as he cooked breakfast, decorated the house, put up lights outside. He may have been stern the rest of the year but throw a little holiday cheer his way and he was yours for the duration.

Every year, he bought each of his children an ornament for Christmas. He would have them on the tree, there name painstakingly written on the bottom and the year, for them to find Christmas morning. Once they’d moved out and taken their collections with them, he continued his practice, either mailing the decorations or, in Scully’s case, he’d slip it on her small, artificial tree wherever he visited wherever she was living at the time, be it a dorm, with a roommate or on her own.

Sitting on her couch, lights dim, television off, radio silent, she debated with herself whether to put up a tree at all this year. She’d managed to wrestle the tree box from the hall closet and now it sat mocking her in the middle of the living room, ornament container beside it, filled with memories she wasn’t sure she could deal with this year.

After 20 minutes of painful debate, her depression won out and standing to shove the boxes back in the closet, she stopped when she heard a rapping on her door, two knocks then one.

Only Mulder would have a special knock, like she was the clubhouse and he was the newest member.

“Hey.”

As he pushed past her, she followed him with her eyes as she shut the door, confusion pushing one eyebrow skyward, “What’s up?”

“I am locked out of my apartment. I thought I grabbed my house key when I left for my run but I didn’t.”

Thinking about the whistling winds blowing past her window, she looked at him, studying him unconsciously for signs of frost-bite, “did you run over here? In this cold?”

Pulling his stocking cap off and stuffing it into his pocket, “Naw. Used my Hide-a-Key to get my car key and drove over here to get my house key.”

Now she smiled, “why don’t you have a Hide-a-Housekey thing, too.”

“I have you instead.” Giving her his best, tooth-glinting grin, “so, what are you up to this fine, frigid evening?” She was going to claim laundry but his sharp eyes caught the tree box, “oooh, Christmas decorating. Need any help?” Shifting from one foot to the other, she hesitated a moment too long with her answer and Mulder’s face fell, “or not. I don’t mean to intrude.” Pulling his hat back out, he gave her a smile that told her he wasn’t annoyed, “my mother never let us help with the tree. She always said it was her thing to do alone.”

He looked so genuinely pitiful that she heard herself telling him, “no, it’s okay. I just …well, actually, I was debating putting it up at all. With dad gone …”

Mulder cut her off, hand going automatically to her arm, lightly gripping her elbow, “oh, crap. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.”

Reaching, she took his hat and stuffed it back in his pocket, “but I changed my mind. Stay and help me figure out where to put it. What do you think, by the window there or over by the fireplace, closer to the door?”

They had only been together for a little over a year but he knew her well enough to know she was full of crap, however, given he wasn’t a soulless bastard, he let it go, “I like it by the window, myself. Then the lights reflect of the glass and it looks pretty cool.”

“Then by the window it goes. If you want to start getting the tree pieces out, I’ll move things around.”

Doing the tiniest of step hops at he turned towards the box, he rubbed his hands together, “Christmas!”

&&&&&&&&&&

After the third time Mulder poked himself in the eye and Scully couldn’t see straight from laughing so hard, he declared it break time. The tree, now assembled, was still naked, the lights in a giant wad of twisted insanity that Mulder took one look at and tossed at her, “you have the patience for this nonsense.”

“Then I elect you to go make the hot chocolate.”

“Anything’s better than that nightmare.” Heading into the kitchen, he yelled to her, “you got any Christmas music?”

“You don’t know me at all, do you?”

Head buried deep in the fridge, “then play me some. It’s too quiet in here.”

“You are very bossy for somebody who doesn’t have a house key right now.”

His smiling face popped up over the open door, “pretty please?”

Hauling herself from the couch where she’d just settled down, “I’m doing this for me, not you.” Soon, low holiday music filled the apartment and the pair of them were drinking cocoa, Scully also de-tangling lights while Mulder burned his tongue. “There’s steam for a reason, Mulder. It lets you know you’re going to scald your mouth.”

“One can only wait so long though, Scully.” Taking another sip, he winced, “damn it. Still too hot.”

“It’s been 8 seconds!”

“That is at least three seconds longer than I’d normally wait.” Taking the string she’d already straightened, he began hanging them, “you should be proud.”

Eventually, the tree had lights and Mulder flipped open the ornament box, staring in slight awe, “dang. This is not your run-of-the-mill, bulbs only Christmas tree, is it?” When she didn’t answer, he looked up, catching her just as she attempted to stealthily swipe off the tears that suddenly poured down her cheeks. Not sure what to do, he met her eyes briefly, then, of their own volition, his arms raised, aiming towards her with the full intention of giving her hug.

When she went from sad face to panicked face, he realized what he was doing and stopped, politely excused himself to the bathroom instead.

He wanted to hug her.

He wished he could hug her.

But what kind of line would that be crossing? And was he supposed to cross that line? Who actually decided where the line was? Did there even have to be a line?

By the time he decided it would be safe to return to the living room, not having answered any of his bathroom-concocted questions, she seemed calmer. Her face was dry, her eyes were clear and the only hint of anything wrong was her red nose, the product of swift nose-blowing with off-brand tissue resembling sand paper.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked on his stockinged heels, “I should probably head home. Let you decorate in peace.”

She genuinely didn’t want him to go though, “wait. Please, stay. I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable. It’s just … I mean, dad loved Christmas and he gave me a lot of these ornaments and …”

Screw the line. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he turned her into him briefly, “I’d like to stay but it’s up to you.”

For an overwhelming moment, she was surrounded by that smell of his. She still hadn’t been able to figure out if it was aftershave or deodorant or soap but whatever it was, it consumed her senses and she found herself hugging him tightly around the waist while he buried her head in his shoulder, fingers at the edge of her hairline, palm cupping her skull.

Long before either one wanted to stop, they stepped back in perfect unison, both sheepishly smiling, eyes darting anywhere but at each other until Mulder chuckled, “apparently 1.5 years of partnership equals an 18-second holiday hug.”

Honestly, she wasn’t sure if he was serious and giving him what he already lovingly thought of as her inquisitive, ‘are you full of shit’ eyebrow, “were you counting?”

“There’s a good chance that being the psychologist I am, I did analyze the length of that hug but the sugar addict in me decided I needed to try my hot chocolate again so I broke it off.” Picking it up, he burned his lip, “dang it. Still hot.”

Laughing at him, she took his mug and began blowing on it, “you are hopeless.”

And it hit him like a fucking lightning bolt, rattling his brain and thumping his heart.

She was blowing on his hot chocolate.

She was freaking invading his hot chocolate with her peppermint breathe.

He was totally screwed.

He never thought he’d be so completely aware of the moment he fell in love with somebody.

Nearly giggling at the sudden rush of understanding but managing to remain simply smiling, “we should probably get to that tree, shouldn’t we?”

Scully tilted her head, a confused half-curving mouth showing over the edge of the mug before she handed it back to him, wondering if she should ask why he looked suddenly like the Cheshire Cat with a major secret, “here you go.”

“Thanks.”

&&&&&&&&&

Each ornament had a story and she told him a handful as they hung them up. He never asked, leaving it up to her to share or stay silent, taking the ornaments as she handed them to him, being much more careful than he ever thought he could be.

He imagined if he broke one, she’d never speak to him again and his world couldn’t handle that.

Once everything was up, Mulder slid by her and turned the living room lights off, leaving only the glow of the tree to illuminate the room. It cast a myriad of colors across her face and he couldn’t help but gaze openly, his cheeks pulling back for a smile but never quite making it, too engrossed in the vision before him to finish the expression. She noticed because, really, how couldn’t she notice him blatantly staring at her. Finally, “why do you keep looking at me like that? Blink or something so I know you’re still alive.”

He blinked slowly in her direction, then, not dissuaded by her attempt at breaking the spell, “you’re beautiful.”

It was a three second incredulous expression followed by a half-second of something more before she shook her head, blush spreading fast up her face and down her neck, “that hot chocolate went straight to your head, didn’t it?”

Reverie done for the moment, he chuckled, “yup. Happens every time.”

When he let a yawn slip a few minutes later, she touched his arm, then slid her hand up to his shoulder, patting him lightly on the back, gently turning his towards the door, “’m going to kick you out now. It’s late and we need to work in the morning.”

Without voicing any of the ten arguments for staying he had racing through his mind, he turned, pulled his coat on and said goodbye, debating another hug but not wanting to be slugged for it. After slipping out the door, she locked it behind him and was just about to turn the tree off and head to bed when he knocked.

Remembering suddenly, she glanced through the spyhole just to make sure, then pulled the door open, placing her copy of his house key in his hand, “I’ll be expecting that back tomorrow morning.”

“G’night, Scully.”

“G’night, Mulder.”

&&&&&&&&&&

The next morning, as she puttered around the living room gathering her shoes, current book, dirty hot cocoa mugs, something caught her eye. Turning towards the tree, it only took a moment to realize, an instant to smile, a second to wipe the sudden, stray tear dropping from her eye, then half-a-blink to break into a grin.

Hanging on her tree was a Santa hat wearing Alien Head ornament.

Upon examination, she found the year written on the bottom in Sharpie, Mulder’s hand unmistakable, even in four simple numbers.

She might have to yell at him for breaking into her house.

But maybe not.

the first episode of undercover boss that i ever saw was the checkers episode and i loved it because he’s like “alright let’s see how great my restaurants are” and he’s immediately met with the shittiest technology of all time a god awful manager who wasn’t trained to manage and gross buttonless fryers and actual input from employees about how shittily they’re paid and he’s just like “WHAT THE FUCK”

Dear Gravity, You Held Me Down in this Starless City || Solo

Hyunwoo was not cleared for fieldwork.

That was a fact.

A fact that uncomfortably tugged at the still raw edges of a wound that would never fully heal but remained fact nonetheless.

Which is why Hyunwoo had no real business going down to Naksan Park even if he was a member of the task force.  There was nothing that he could there. Just like there was nothing he could’ve done at any of the other crime scenes.

Hyunwoo wasn’t a forensic tech or even a criminal profiler to try and explain away his presence.  But even that didn’t stop him - not as he flashed his badge at the officer standing guard by the entrance of the park, waving off his questions as he hobbled past him.

At this point, that perpetually gnawing fact seemed pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

The case was over.  

The Valentine Killer had been caught. 

Keep reading

“You never listen do you?” Hissed Sherlock as he strode to Irene, furious, “I told you to stay put, and of course you chose to run after him! You could’ve –”

“I could’ve what!” She interjected, looking up at him in defiance, arms crossed and impatient.

“You could –”

“What, Sherlock! What is it that you’re insisting I could’ve done, because I honestly don’t think there was a single alternative that would’ve stopped him from getting away! ”

“You could’ve got yourself killed!” He yelled. Realising that he was now gripping her shoulders, their proximity alarming, he dropped his hands and turned around abruptly, striding out of the alley.


Another day, another trope in the FBI partners (formerly thief vs. agent) AU. Several days after the the undercover first kiss. Warning: rating at the end will be between Teen+ and Mature.

>>>>

A few hours later, they were back at the headquarters, separately being angry at each other. Sherlock was in his office on the 19th floor whereas Irene ended up in a lift with John, who was carrying a box of files and clearly heading to the lower levels (i.e. opportunity for Irene to see the FBI archives and assess the security).

John cleared his throat and went, “So I heard about what happened today.” Irene gave him a quirked-eyebrow look. John chuckled, “I take it you two are always at each other’s throats?” “It’s not uncommon, no.” Then silence for a few minutes.

“He seems to like you, you know. Sherlock. That outburst today wasn’t because you didn’t follow orders. It was because he was scared. Of losing you.”

That evening Sherlock arrived at his flat and found Irene leaning against his door, waiting.

“I suppose I should be grateful that you didn’t just break in. If you could please move, I’d like to get inside.” Irene stepped aside and watched him turn his key, his brow was constricted and his jaw was set. He pushed the door open and stepped through. Irene swiftly slipped in behind him.

“Is there a reason you’re following me?” He asked, slight hint of bitterness in his tone.

“I thought we could talk about what happened today, as you obviously think I did something wrong.” Irene crossed her arms.

“You did. You completely ignored my order. Your job is to provide insight into the criminal mind, it is mine to chase them down and arrest them.”

“What difference does it make whether it is you or I who catches them, if it leads to the same result?”

“The difference, is that I am armed and trained to take them down, whereas you, run after them without thinking.” He clenched his teeth. (Sherlock was not being very reasonable here. Irene’s far from careless in her actions. The incident earlier that day just was a dangerous situation and he was worried.)

Their argument continued and was becoming increasingly heated when she snapped, “Well I don’t need a badge and a weapon to be able to do what I know is right. And I can take care of myself as I make my way in the world, Sherlock. I’ve been doing it for a long time.” She headed towards the door, her hand inches away from the handle.

“How would you know anything about what is right or wrong? You are a criminal. Your parents would’ve been proud if they were alive. Knowing that the daughter they raised is a professional thief and is taking foolish risks so that she can get herself killed just like they probably were.” (I should mention that no one knew Irene’s backstory or her real purpose for cooperating with the FBI. Not even Sherlock, despite having his suspicions.)

Everything in her halted, body and mind. She felt as if she had been slapped. She turned back to him, flames in her eyes.

“Wait, I.. I am sorry. Irene. I didn’t mean that.” He suddenly looked uncertain, all traces of anger leaving his eyes.

Irene: (Screw calm.)

“Irene.. I’m sorry. Please, could we –”

She swiftly closed the distance between them, her fist already swinging towards him. It made contact with his cheekbone and she ignored the pain spreading through her hand. She allowed the anger and hate and pain that she was feeling to drive her as she continued to throw punches at him.

Sherlock grabbed one of her wrists trying to stop her. Irene drove the elbow of her other arm into his stomach. Air was driven from his lungs as he groaned. She freed her wrist and continued her assault.

He blocked her right fist. But when her left followed up, not only did he misguide it past his torso, his own hand also made an instinctual offensive move, swinging towards her.

He realised what he was doing and opened his fist, the instant before contact, a last-second attempt at lessening the blow. But she stumbled back a step, pain spreading over her cheek.

“It was an accident!” He held up his palms, his expression genuinely apologetic.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Irene.” He warned.

She went at him again in fury. He was focused on stopping her throws, not noticing her leg sweeping under him. He did, however, manage to grip one of her wrists, pulling her down with him.

They hit the floor, and before Irene could react, Sherlock rolled and pinned her beneath him with his body weight, gripping her wrists above her head.

Both were breathing heavily as he looked straight at her while she struggled, his face inches from hers. “I am sorry.” He said firmly. She could see the sincerity in his eyes.. Along with something else.

After a few moments she could feel the hatred flowing away, with each passing second. Her brow relaxed and she stopped struggling to free her hands. She saw his eyes briefly glance down at her lips before returning to hers. She watched as his face slowly became closer, his eyes never leaving hers.

And then he was kissing her. Her hands slid out of his grip and trailed down until they were wrapped around his neck, holding him to her.

Sherlock pulled away first, heart rate accelerated, a growing panic in his eyes as they searched hers. He started to shift his weight off of her. Irene’s lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. Immediately she took hold of his shirt and brought him back, connecting their lips once again.

Emotions he could not identify were rushing to the surface of his mind, controlling his actions. Everything that he had previously ignored and pushed aside because he did not know how to deal with, was being unleashed. All he wanted to feel and could feel was her. Something inside him, something that had perhaps been there all along, was taking over.

She gripped tightly to him and rolled them so that she was straddling his waist.

Whatever was happening, it was electric and magnetic. Compulsive. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to stop it. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He couldn’t recollect how, but at some point they managed to migrate from the floor, when soon what they were doing wasn’t enough. Far from enough. An ensuing frenzy led to buttons skittering across the floor, along with irritating pieces of clothing that formed the only remaining obstacles between them.

Her back hit a wall as he continued his assault on her neck, his hand gripping her waist, driven by an indescribable force.

It was as if an imaginary steel cord within him, one that had resisted and resisted against gradated tension, had finally snapped, and there was no hope of returning.

She pushed him back and they stumbled into the next room, twisting and turning, without breaking contact. She felt the back of her knees hit something and fell backwards onto soft duvet. He fell with her, the vertigo sweeping them up once more.


Thank you to everyone who read, liked, and/or offered support for (via comments/tags) this universe :D Special thanks to @elinorx and her message box for welcoming the atom-by-atom construction and adding to the fun!

Seems my weak spot for crime/action (gunfire involved) Adlock is shared amongst fellow crew to a much greater extent than I’d thought. Cool.

Imagine if you will:

The LSPD is just so sick of the Fake AH Crew just rubbing their faces in how close they can come to catching them without catching them. They know their names, their faces, and where they live but they can’t do anything about it, and Gavin broke into the office last week and covered half the officers computers with post its with little notes on them

So they set up a sting to get whatever they can from off of their computers. So the next time they stop one of the crew members, it happens to be Gavin because he got caught shitfaced coming out of one of the bars to get some fresh air while the rest of the crew was inside, so they stop and frisk him and replace his phone with one that is supposed to be identical in every way but once it’s in the penthouse it puts a virus on their computers. 

They already have Officer Luna trained with what to do when he goes in as their undercover IT guy, and he’s so excited for his first undercover mission. Gavin of course realizes the second he pulls his phone out again that it’s wrong, and even if he didn’t Ryan is still totally sober and noticed that Gavin’s phone is running slower than usual. It takes the crew like six seconds to figure out what happened, and then another six to figure out what they’re going to do about it.

It takes Gavin and Ryan almost no time at all to take apart the virus and reverse engineer it, because the people who are actually good with computers go into crime they don’t work with the cops. They call for IT anyway, and Detective Luna shows up so quickly they are almost certain he drove over with his siren on. They let him take some things, plans they’d decided months ago they didn’t have the attention span to make work out and heists that they realized would cost more than they would actually make in return, and in return they slip an infected phone onto the detective for him to take back to the station.

The crew’s most tech oriented members wreak havoc on the unsuspecting LSPD, they get every file they have on their computer beamed back to them and manage to shut down every piece of tech in the building. The city spends the week it takes for the LSPD to outsource someone who can undo what the crew did to their systems in flames and they learned that it it’s smarter not to try and outsmart the Fake AH Crew.