marysutherland: (Anthea)
BBC Sherlock

Rating: 12 (non-explicit femslash)

Summary: The opera's over, but that's not the last of Renée Adler

Many thanks to Kalypso for betaing

Part 1

Anthea wakes in the middle of the night, because there‚Äôs someone in her room, standing right next to the bed. )
marysutherland: (Tanya Moodie)

BBC Sherlock

Rating: 18 (explicit femslash)

Summary: Anthea and Ella really shouldn't be so unprofessional.

Originally written for a Five Acts meme asking for quiet, voyeurism and semi-public sex.

This isn't just unprofessional, it's insane. And they are both normally very, very professional. But this Monday morning Anthea is skiving off a briefing at the MoD, and Ella is fingering a client in her consulting room. Well, it's Anthea pretending to be a client, but if they're discovered, that's not going to help.

Anthea has to leave in ten minutes and plans to claim she's late because she got stuck in a jam. When she purrs "stuck in a jam" at Ella, she manages to make it sound like the kinkiest thing ever.

"More," Anthea gasps now, her breasts wriggling under the fabric of her smart blouse.

"Someone will hear," Ella protests, looking up.

"Don't your clients ever start screaming?"

"Not normally 'Do that again'. You're so loud sometimes." Ella secretly loves her ability to shatter Anthea's cool facade. But it's too dangerous here.

"Well, if you don't want to be involved, you can just watch." Anthea's fingers reach down into herself. It's a beautiful sight, Ella thinks, but Anthea's soon complaining the angle's wrong. "And I need my hands free," she says, "to muffle the sounds."

But when Ella's renewed stroking gets her close, Anthea's hand instead hits a button on her Blackberry. And suddenly her lustful cries are hidden by a sound outside, as a car alarm blares.

marysutherland: (Tanya Moodie)

BBC Sherlock

Rating 15 (non-explicit femslash, nudity)

Written for a Sherlock rare pair prompt by Blooms84 for Ella/Anthea:

Anthea's not allowed to/doesn't choose to talk much in her day-to-day life as assistant to the British government. Nice to go home to someone who wants to listen. Nice to get out of those uncomfortable suits and heels too.

Betaed by the wonderful fengirl whose fic Sleeping Beauty first got me thinking about this pairing.

Last client of the week finished with, and Ella could finally switch on her mobile.  )

marysutherland: (Default)

Happy Christmas to fengirl88.

BBC Sherlock

Rating: 15 (femslash)

Prompt: Sally/Ella

Notes: Sequels to PC World and Straight, Scholar, Smooth


Ella was a careful woman, especially when her straight friends were concerned. There was a fine line between appreciation and causing alarm. Though less so with Sally Donovan. Sally was breathtakingly sexy sometimes, almost demanding that everyone in the room should desire her. Ella had grown used to letting her eyes linger unashamedly on Sally's breasts, or the strip of pale brown skin between crop top and jeans.

“What do lesbians do in bed?” Sally asked her out of the blue one day.

“Whatever they find erotic,” Ella replied calmly.

“Wanna show me?”

Sally was adventurous; it was doubtless the taboo-breaking that was driving her interest more than Ella. But she was also gorgeous.

“If you like,” she replied, and let her hand reach out to brush Sally’s cheek.


As she’d expected, Sally was impatient, almost aggressive in bed. Used to men with inadequate foreplay, Ella deduced. Let’s try and change the tempo a bit.

“Lie still,” she murmured, “I’ve been longing to get my hands on you.” Her skilful fingers started a slow, thorough exploration of Sally’s body, from the dense spring of her hair to her pale insteps. Only then did they reach into the warm heat inside Sally, slowly increase the intensity till she had her panting, desperate. Afterwards, Sally didn't speak, just lay there, gasping for breath.


Ella had dignity, that was the word, Sally decided. The calm, ageless beauty of a bronze statue. Not like her, always losing her rag, letting the bastards get to her. Ella had poise and Sally admired, envied that. But sometimes she found Ella’s self-control unnerving. Every action, every word carefully considered, as if she had forgotten the rawness, the passion that she must once have had.

Even in the bedroom, Ella found it hard to lose control: a slow simmer rather than boiling lust. But Sally was a detective: it wasn’t long before she found the parcel hidden away at the back of Ella’s wardrobe.

“You into handcuffs, then?” she asked, dragging them out.

“Not really,” Ella replied smoothly. “I bought them ages ago, but my partner then didn’t like the idea.”

“What you need a copper for,” Sally said smiling. “Teach you to use them properly.”

“I don’t need you to-,” Ella began, and Sally knew she was blushing now, even if she couldn’t see it.

“You didn’t return them or dump them.” Sally let her voice grow husky.  “You still wonder, even though it feels wrong. Maybe specially 'coz it feels wrong. Tonight, Ella, we’re gonna do dirty things together, all the things you've never dared to want. And I’m gonna make you come till I melt your bones."

marysutherland: (Tanya Moodie)
BBC Sherlock

Rating 12 (violence)

Summary: A therapy session brings a shock for Ella. Set after A Study in Pink and spoilers for that.

Originally inspired by the therapy session in Fengirl's fic Sleeping Beauty and betaed by the wonderful Blooms84

John had spent most of the last three therapy sessions raving about Sherlock Holmes and his abilities )
marysutherland: (Default)
BBC Sherlock

Rating: PG (pre-slash, femslash)

Sequels to PC world


Sally Donovan was straight, always had been. Straight talking, calling a spade a spade, a freak a freak. A straight copper, no dodgy business. Playing it by the rules, no-one loved mavericks, well, not black, female mavericks.

Though she wasn't all straight, of course. She'd never straightened her hair, that would be running away from herself. And not exactly strait-laced anymore, not like when she and her mother went along to the Church of God of Prophecy every Sunday and Wednesday. Good job her mother never heard about Anderson. In the police, it was hard to get to know anyone but colleagues and lowlife, but combining the two had been a serious mistake.

It had been about an hour into their first interview, conversation, that Ella had said she was a lesbian. Sally had made some stupid joke about whether she was disabled as well, tick off all the quotas in one person. Ella said nothing for a while, she was good at that. And then she said that maintaining boundaries was important, and she was always careful not to let her sexuality make her straight friends feel uncomfortable.

Ella did straighten her hair sometimes, but she wasn't running away from herself. An impressive woman, Ella. Sally wondered for the first time whether it might be good to be slightly bent.


Ella always studied her clients’ service records carefully, almost memorised them, so she knew about the three years of her life Sally didn’t mention. But Sally wasn’t a client anymore, but a friend, maybe something more. Ella didn’t ask and Sally didn’t tell, till the day when Ella mentioned Mozart, and Sally said:

“Miss Thorpe tried to get me into him.”

“Miss Thorpe?”

“My geography teacher.”

Ella said nothing.

“It was all part of teaching me about culture. Seeking out the best, she said, nothing should be off limits.”

Keep quiet a little longer, thought Ella.

“You know where I went to uni, don’t you?”

“It’s very impressive,“ Ella replied, “Not many black women get to Cambridge.”

“Down to Miss Thorpe. I was drifting, Mum talked about sending me ‘back home’ to school, as if Jamaica was my home. Then Miss Thorpe made me her project. She told me what to read and to do, there was a mentoring scheme. And I got lucky at the interview.”

“And you hated it?”

“Yes, no. A bit. Made some friends, did some fun stuff. But the posh white boys were wearing. Three years were enough, it wasn’t really me.”

The psychologist in Ella that never quite shut down, even with a friend, made a mental note: Sally is ambivalent about her own brilliance.


There were voices that automatically got Sally’s hackles up: smooth, confident voices, that told you their owner was in charge, and you weren't. She wished Ella’s voice wasn’t like that.

“My accent distracted my clients,” Ella replied. Smoothly, of course. “I’m there to be a mirror for them as much as anything, if they’re too conscious of me as a person, it can be unhelpful.”

“What’s wrong with a West Indian accent?”

“Nothing. I didn’t have one. I had a Brummie accent, pure Berming-gum. People used to ask me if I was related to Lenny Henry. If I wanted to get somewhere, I had to change it. Now it seems faked if I talk in my old voice.”

Ella’s smoothness was hard won, of course, that was the difference between her and the posh boys. The accent, the clothes, the education that marked her out as a professional appeared natural now. You’d never guess that she’d had to fight to get herself qualified, not drop out of college, make a success of her life. Unless you knew that Ella was 37 and had a grown-up son.

There were some lines now on Ella's smooth, almost polished skin, but she still looked gorgeous. Sally found herself wondering, more and more, if Ella would still be quite so smooth, so polished, in bed.


marysutherland: (Default)

February 2017

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