A Blue Dream & A Blue Drink (part 3)

                                    

                                          
The road and the night are black and straight and infinite, so Y/N only needs one hand on the steering wheel as she guides the car lazily through a light mist. The other sits on her thigh, and Sherlock glances at it.
He'd like to take it. To slip his fingers into the spaces between hers, maybe.
There's something on the radio but the words aren't making any sense. 
The night isn't just black, Sherlock is realising; it's a patchwork of fields, blobs of old, leaning oaks, and clumps of hawthorn---they've made this drive before. 
Yes, he thinks; when they'd visited his parents living in the Cotswolds. The drive wasn't long, but they'd left after lunch and it was dark by the time they reached the final stretch of winding country roads.
Y/N drove, because they'd rented a Land Rover---just in case there were leaves on the road, Sherlock had joked---and she wanted to 'have a go at it'. 
He let her, watching with an amused smile as she clambered up the little steps and made herself comfortable. 
She looked comically small behind the wheel, and he remembers thinking she looked cute in her winter jumper. 
She's not wearing a winter jumper now, though.
Sherlock thought it was a dress but, when he turns back to her, it's changed into a deep red top. 
Her concentration on the windscreen, she leans over to open the glove compartment. Her neckline is low, and Sherlock's cheeks redden. 
He could look away.
Her skin looks so soft---
He knows he should. 
And the dainty white lace of her bra---
But he doesn't. 
She notices, and he quickly turns back to the road, his hands embarrassedly clutching his jeans. 
"You okay?" she asks. 
If he looked at her face, he'd find a concerned frown.
"You've gone all red."
"No I haven't," he insists---too quickly. 
"Yes, you have." She's rummaging about in the glove box and seems to realise something. "Oh. Could you see down my top?" 
Sherlock is suddenly overcome with the strong, intense need to clear his throat. "What?" He tries to chuckle, but it comes out strange, and he reddens even more. "No."
There's a rustling of plastic as Y/N pops a Jelly Baby into her mouth.
On any other occasion, he would hope she hadn't taken one of the green ones. She knows he likes the green ones---
But he's not thinking about that now. He's got his head turned towards the night, so far his neck twinges, the back of his neck stiflingly hot. Could he wind the window down and stick his face out like a dog? Y/N is used to his nonsense, but---
Something warm slides onto his leg. 
His breath catches in his throat.
It's gentle, yet almost...possessive. A slight grip between his knee and his thigh. 
He shifts uncomfortably.
Well, comfortably. But the tips of his ears are burning, and he hasn't blinked in a while.
"You know...it's okay if you did, Sherlock."
He moistens his lips. "What?"
"I said it's okay. I don't mind that you saw."