Her hand has slowed considerably on his cock and he doesn't care. Because Sherlock can tell from the unsteadiness in her voice and the way she kisses him hungrily that he's just done something very right, and when he's on the right track with anything and he knows it, he has to lean into it.

He settles into a slow rhythm, controlled at first, fingers curling slightly when they reach as deep as he can manage. (Technically he knows that the jury is still out on the existence of the G-spot, but every part of his brain that handles technical knowledge is dark right now, so the hell with it.) Her kiss is as hot and wet as her body is around his fingers, and he lets out a low, thoughtless groan as he squirms closer to get more of both.