*disclaimer* I don't own any of these characters (sadly).

He'd gotten into the habit of receiving texts from Irene, and dismissing them as nonsense, but this one he just couldn't ignore.

I know what Moriarty likes. Maybe I'll show you.

He'd seen the invitation as what it was, and he hadn't been able to resist. Her assistant had smirked when she saw him on the doorstep.

"She's with a client, but I don't think she'd mind if you joined," she nodded towards her bedroom, and Sherlock loosened his scarf as he went. He didn't bother knocking, just pushed open the door. And his mouth dried.

Irene was reclining in a seat, dressed in a skin-tight black dress, but it was the man on the bed who caught his attention. Moriarty was naked, facing the door, his eyes closed.

"I've told him to prepare himself," Irene explained, and Sherlock moved to stand beside her. "I had the feeling you might arrive soon."

"You expect me to obey you like he is?" Sherlock sounded amused. Her eyes narrowed.

"Yes, and I expect you to be happy about it. Otherwise I might not let you fuck him," a low whimper drew their attention back to the bed. Jim's eyes were wide, fixed on Sherlock.

"I knew you couldn't resist it," his voice was rough.

"He thought you might enjoy ignoring people's expectations for your own benefit," Irene explained, lips twitching. "After all, how many times does the great Sherlock Holmes break the rules?"

"More than he'd admit, I bet," Moriarty was smirking now, even while he stretched himself. He was lying on his front, eyes fixed on the pair of them.

"Undress for us, Mr Holmes," Irene commanded, and the detective didn't hesitate. To do so was to invite punishment, and he'd known what he was signing up for when he'd made his decision to come here. He left them on the floor at the end of the bed, facing Irene because he knew it was her inspection he was facing.

"Mmm. For now, I'll let you have your fun. Distract Jim while he stretches himself for you," Irene's smile was entirely self-satisfied when Sherlock leaned over the consulting criminal who'd moved so he was lying on his back. He pressed him into the mattress, pulling him in for a rough, biting kiss that made Moriarty gasp against his mouth.

Sherlock's nails dug into his hips, dragging him closer to him, and the other man groaned, lowering his head when the kiss broke to suck bruises along the taller man's jaw line, giving him marks he wouldn't be able to hide.

"I want you to fuck him," Irene stated. She'd discarded her dress, reclining there as naked as the day Sherlock had first met her. She was licking her lips, and both men knew this was as much for her pleasure as theirs. The Woman would never have it any other way.

Sherlock reached for a condom on the side, but a riding crop slapped his hand away, and he recoiled, waiting for instruction.

"Wouldn't you like to know he can feel you even after you're done?" Irene arched an eyebrow. Moriarty licked his lips, his eyes dark. Sherlock knew that she wouldn't have done this if she didn't know it was safe for both, so he slicked himself up with the lube she handed him, and he pushed into Jim, who had pulled himself up to his knees, his head resting on his arms.

A low groan worked its way out of the criminal, and a strike on his back from the riding crop made him jerk.

"Be quiet," Irene ordered. Sherlock was determined to see if Moriarty enjoyed the pain Irene had dealt out as much as he thought, so he fucked into him harder, his hips snapping and driving him deeper.

Jim gasped, and the riding crop lashed his back again, marking his skin. This time he couldn't suppress a moan, and Sherlock and Irene glanced up at each other, surprised and pleased.

"Who knew you were such a masochist?" Sherlock's voice was like velvet when he looped his arm around the criminal's stomach, pulling him up so his back was pressed against the detective's front and he was fucking up into him, his lips brushing the other's ear.

Moriarty was chewing on his lips, trying to keep himself quiet, as Irene had commanded.

"Let me hear you," she commanded. She was touching herself now as she watched, her eyes fixed on the pair of them as her lips parted on a soft sigh of pleasure and satisfaction.

Jim hissed out Sherlock's name, his hands reaching behind him to twist into his dark curls, tugging when the detective began to suck and bite at his neck.

Sherlock, curious and eager to see what his nemesis would do, raked his nails down his front, leaving welts, and Moriarty shouted out his name, his grip tightening in his hair.

"Fuck, Sherlock," he whimpered. This wasn't the same confident criminal he'd met before. He was completely undone, desperate and wanting. Sherlock revelled in the power he had over the man, even if he knew it would only last while they were in here.

Sherlock could feel his orgasm coiling, a liquid heat, and he glanced over at Irene.

"No need to touch him," he knew what she meant, so he refrained from touching the other's cock as she got up, moving to sit before them. Sherlock's next snap of his hips drove the criminal's dick past her parted lips, and Moriarty's moan didn't even sound human any more. Then Sherlock dragged his nails down his chest again, but it was the rough bite he placed on his neck and the Woman's clever tongue that had him coming, nearly screaming his pleasure.

Sherlock wasn't far behind, biting down again to muffle his shout into the other's neck. Jim slumped to the bed, his skin mottled red and glistening with sweat.

"I might have to pay you a visit some time," Moriarty's smirk was back in place when he glanced at the man who was sat beside him. Irene was grinning lazily, back in her seat opposite the bed.

"Maybe without the audience," Sherlock's lips twitched when he glanced over at their hostess. Moriarty laughed, and Irene was apparently content to let them remain here for a while. Sherlock let himself relax beside his arch-nemesis, knowing this was probably the only respite he was going to get from the man.