He didn’t want to give her more incentive to play with him like a cat batting around a mouse and he didn’t want to suffer any further indignities at her hands. It was already uncomfortable enough to admit that he didn’t have control of the room at this point. She did. She had the whole time. Why? he thought furiously as if banging his head against a wall. Why her? Why this? Why? Why not him? Why couldn’t he do anything about this, why wasn’t his cleverness enough? Why weren’t things working out the way they usually did?
“I see you have no further comment on your physical abilities. So you won’t admit or deny it? You know the difference between self-defense and possessing the strength to lift me from the ground without resorting to using pressure points or being in a proper stance. Perhaps you could’ve thrown me over your shoulder with enough practice and inertia on my part but you rose from the couch, it wasn’t a counter-point to an attack it was… an unprecedented feat of strength.” It came out quickly, Sherlock wasn’t good at displaying nervousness and perhaps had lost the ability to convey it but he blurted it out at top speed as she moved towards him, as if saying that would somehow stop her in her tracks or distract her.
Sadji’s body was fluid like water flowing or perhaps better described as a dancing flame licking at the air. Water didn’t suit her somehow. She was approaching him and he had unknowingly plastered his back up against the couch he sat on, digging his heels into the floor his expression turning from observant, careful to unguarded anxiety - perhaps even fear.
As she slipped into his lap a noise, a gasp, a protest almost escaped him but it was caught in his throat as soon as it had started. His lips parted to take a deep breath in and his usually feline eyes were now wide as she led him into territory that he never gave consideration to and had distinctly avoided his entire life. Even in his teenage years when most boys could hardly help themselves. Sexuality was foreign to him and he almost felt seared by the intentional, pointed sensuality she exuded… from her place in his lap. His hands went to his sides, long fingers flat on the couch, his shoulders shrugging slightly, his eyes darting from one eye to her other, searching for intent. There was always intent to sexuality, wasn’t there? Mycroft was. wrong. Sex didn’t frighten him. No. Something so simple could never actually frighten him.
His eyes unintentionally met her lips, so close to his own and he could feel his own pulse thudding at his throat, the sound filling his head. He couldn’t answer her at first and just gaped. No one touched him like this. Took liberties with his body like this, became so familiar because he was off-putting and he intended to be. She didn’t radiate warmth. It was like an animate dead person was moving, shifting in his lap and he willed the blood in his body not to flow where it threatened to, purely out of a physical response to being handled in places, in ways he wasn’t used to. He tried to think of home, think of John, of Irene but he was pulled back to this exact time and place. Sherlock was timid about looking into her eyes and felt a bit of color rise in his face, unbidden. “St-stop this. Stop toying with me,” he said under his breath, shutting his eyes for a moment, taking a couple quick breaths like that.
“Pointless. Completely.” Those were the only words he could lob back at her right now as he tried not to focus on the weight of her on him. Knowing she could probably feel the lean muscles of his stomach twitch away from her in protest.
“Why should I give you my hand?” he asked breathlessly but a hint of bitter bemusement to it. “You could easily break it. Is that the truth you want me to learn?”
A part of him wanted to push her off but he stayed stock still, like a rabbit listening for approaching footsteps, gazing into the headlights, stunned. “… will you stop this if I give you my hand?” His voice was strained and he realized he was trying to bargain with Sadji, his fingers already loosening from the strangling grip he had on the couch half-consciously.