emmagrant01 | Series: Missing/Alternate Scenes from "A Cure for Boredom" (6/?)

Series: Missing and Alternate Scenes for A Cure for Boredom
Author: Emma Grant
Fandom/Pairing: Sherlock BBC, John/Sherlock, John/others
Index of all missing and alternate scenes

Alternate/Missing scene 2.2
Rating: NC-17
Length: 6000 words
Summary: Set during chapter 2. By request, Sherlock's POV of the sex scene with the woman in red.
Alternate link: On AO3

The sound of his mobile vibrating on the desk was unbelievably annoying. It was the fifth call in as many minutes, which was the reason Sherlock finally pushed himself to sitting and stood, crossing from the sofa to retrieve it. He knew who was on the other end without having to glance at the display.

"What do you want? I'm busy."

"You picked up on the fourth ring of the fifth call attempt; you can't be terribly busy."

Sherlock's eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "I'm hanging up in one minute."

"I was simply calling to ask how the two of you are getting on at the club."

"As if you don't know?"

"Considering that it's my membership you're using, I've a vested interest."

"We're getting on fine, Mycroft. Your generosity is most definitely appreciated."

"Jenna is a lovely girl, isn't she?" Mycroft's tone remained light despite Sherlock's heavy sarcasm. "She's hardly John's type, though."

Apparently Mycroft had simply wanted to remind him that he knew everything that went on in the club. As if Sherlock wasn't completely aware of that fact already.

"John's type is female and willing."

"Don't pretend to be thick, Sherlock. It's quite unsettling."

"If there's a point, you've twenty seconds to make it."

"Do you think John is enjoying this little experiment of yours?"

"You have his number. Ask him yourself."

"Considering that you appear to be the one in charge, in a manner of speaking, I believe the proper etiquette is to ask you."

"Ten seconds, Mycroft."

There was an exasperated sigh on the other end of the call, and it almost made Sherlock smile.

"I'm concerned that you're getting him into something neither of you fully understands."

"Yes, well, thank you for your concern. Will that be all?"

"Sherlock, you have to--"

He ended the call and tossed the phone aside with a snarl. Mycroft's meddling truly knew no bounds.

He spent much of the afternoon lurking on the club's online message board, studying the various ways people communicated what they were looking for. A stunning array of acronyms were used for sex acts, some of which he'd finally had to google. It was odd how randomly some were named. He couldn't for the life of him work out what pegging meant until he read the Wiki, which led him to spending three hours on Dan Savage's website, two of those spent simultaneously listening to episodes of his podcast, and then adding a considerable number of films to his Pornflix queue.

By mid-afternoon he'd created a profile and posted on two of the active partner-sharing threads, and within two hours he'd received several promising responses. He finally narrowed it down to two: a woman who described herself as a femmedomme who preferred playing with couples and a married heterosexual couple looking for a threesome with a bisexual man. He was leaning slightly toward the first; as much as he wanted to see John interact with a man, it might be a bit soon for that. On the other hand, the couple had indicated in their message that they could only arrange a sitter for tonight, so it might be a limited opportunity.

He was still considering both when John finally returned to the flat at dusk. Sherlock didn't have to look up to work out that he'd spent much of the afternoon in that café three streets over, the one John adored despite its tremendously gauche décor and overpriced menu. He smelled of their cheap coffee even from across the room.

"Are we going out?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. Both of the encounters he was considering had stated their availability as around eleven. "At ten."

"Should I… I mean, is there anything you want me to… wear or…?"

Sherlock let his eyes flick to John briefly before looking at the screen of his laptop once again. "Whatever you like is fine tonight. You'll be taking it all off as soon as we arrive, so it won't matter."

John was silent for a full second, but at last he nodded. "All right then."

Sherlock bit his lower lip. John had barely flinched at that, had accepted it completely with only a moment's hesitation. It was more than a bit thrilling.

John stood there a moment more before heading to the kitchen to rummage around in the cupboards. He returned several minutes later with a drink in hand, clearly something he'd thrown together out of desperation. Beer was his usual beverage of choice, so the fact that he'd concocted something significantly more alcoholic was telling. He'd been nervous the night before, though he'd clearly enjoyed himself. Perhaps the element of surprise was difficult for him to tolerate. Or perhaps he'd discovered that mild inebriation had a positive effect on these sexual encounters and beer wasn't quite strong enough to produce the desired effect. Sherlock briefly considered asking him about it. Probably not a good idea -- not yet. It had only been a few days, after all; he should wait and see if the pattern continued.

John settled in front of the television and turned it on, flipping through channels until he found one of his ridiculous reality shows to watch. Sherlock watched him watch people bicker onscreen and considered the evening's two possibilities once again. If John could choose, Sherlock had little doubt he'd pick the woman -- which was partly why Sherlock was inclined to choose the couple. The theme of this experiment was to see how John reacted when his sexual boundaries were pushed; a threesome involving a man would definitely accomplish that. On the other hand, it was early yet and Sherlock didn't want to run the risk of pushing John too far too quickly. And considering that this particular woman advertised herself as something of a dominatrix, boundaries would likely be pushed no matter what.

He sent another message to the couple, asking for more details of what they were looking for. John carried his drink to the kitchen and returned a minute later with a bottle of beer, apparently having found his concoction unpalatable. (Little surprise there; it had smelled fairly revolting.)

Two minutes later he received a reply from the couple. They wanted a third for double penetration of the woman, it seemed. They both identified as bisexual and preferred to find someone who'd be comfortable with both of them, though there was no indication that they would want John to do anything other than provide a second penis to the arrangement.

Sherlock leaned back against the sofa and looked at John again. In this instance, it didn't seem that John would have to have any sexual contact with the man if he didn't want it. John liked to tell everyone who would listen that he wasn't gay, but he'd never exactly said he was straight either. Sherlock had observed evidence to the contrary on many occasions, though he'd never seen John do more than flirt with men. In fact, it wasn't completely clear John would consider his behavior in those instances to be flirtatious, though it appeared that way to Sherlock and to at least two of the men John had sort-of-flirted with, one of whom had actually been quite interested, to John's naïve bewilderment. Furthermore, he knew for a fact that John found him attractive. It had been clear from the first night they'd spent on a case together, and from a hundred other instances in which Sherlock observed the way John looked at him. Still, none of that clearly indicated John would act on an opportunity to engage in a sex act with another man, even if he found him attractive. This could be an interesting test case of his comfort level with men, if nothing else.

His eyes flicked back to the computer screen. Perhaps he didn't have to choose. Why not agree to meet both? John was certainly capable of two orgasms in one night; it had occurred on at least three occasions that Sherlock could recall. If they met with the woman first and John later declined to meet with the couple, he'd still have usable data; if John was willing to meet with both, he'd have twice as much. Considering that the club would be closed the next few nights anyway, that would be quite helpful indeed. He typed out responses to each party and then settled in to wait.

*****

"So this club we've been going to -- it's a private club, isn't it?" John's nervousness was almost endearing.

"It is."

"Pricey, I imagine?"

"Absolutely."

There was a pause. "You didn't actually buy a membership to this club, did you?"

"Of course not. I borrowed one."

"Who did you--" His expression turned to one of mild horror. He'd worked it out even faster than Sherlock had expected. "Oh, don't tell me."

"My brother's interests are rather diverse." He allowed himself a small smile; the shock factor had worn off long ago, but he still understood the impact of the idea of Mycroft as a sexual being.

"God, I wish I hadn't asked." John said with a groan. After a moment he turned back to Sherlock with an expression akin to horror on his face. "When you say borrow, you mean you nicked it, right? Just like that all-access pass?"

Sherlock grimaced. "No. He hasn't forgiven me for that just yet. This time it was honestly borrowed."

"And you told him… what, exactly?"

Sherlock's phone buzzed and he pulled it from the pocket of his coat to glance at the screen. 11:30 is fine. We've got room 4. He stifled a smile and typed Perfect. See you then. "The truth, naturally."

"Which is?"

Sherlock sighed. Didn't John know by now that lying to Mycroft was completely futile? "That I am conducting a series of experiments about human sexuality, with your assistance."

"Fantastic." The expression on John's face was utterly incongruent with the word.

"I'd expected him to refuse but he seemed rather pleased about it, actually. No idea why."

John's expression contorted into something very similar to pain. "Do you think he's spying on us?"

"Of course he is." Their brief conversation from that morning flittered across his thoughts. "Does that bother you?"

John snorted. "Oh no, not a bit. The idea of your brother knowing exactly how much sex I'm having and with whom is a bit of a turn-on, actually. Should we cut out the middle-man and invite him to join us?"

Sarcasm: John's favorite course of defense when exasperated. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but then paused. Sometimes with John, sarcasm provided a window to something close to truth. Was this one of those times? Was he suggesting that he might be open to the idea of being watched by someone other than Sherlock? If so, it opened up a whole new set of possible sexual scenarios. "There is a more public space on a different level of the club. We could--"

"No," John spat.

Sherlock frowned. Perhaps he'd crossed some undefined line at last.

John sighed and looked away. "Not yet, anyway."

Not completely off the table, then. Interesting. John turned to look out the window of the taxi, and Sherlock smiled.

*****

He sent John down to room seven immediately and was pleased with the quick way he complied with a single nod of his head. Once again, John hadn't asked any questions about what would happen tonight. Was he enjoying the element of surprise? Sherlock certainly enjoyed watching his response to being surprised.

Their first meeting would be with the femmedomme called Lana. Her last message had simply said, Stand under the arch by the bar at exactly 10:30. I'll find you. He'd been relieved that John hadn't wanted to order a drink at the bar tonight; he only had a few minutes to spare as it was.

He found the arch and stood under it, pretending to send a text. No doubt she'd spotted him by now and was watching him, assessing. He was rather looking forward to meeting her. Irene Adler had been his only previous contact with this sort of thing, and that had been… well. Best not to dwell on the past.

At 10:32 Lana finally joined him under the arch. She smiled slyly at him as his eyes raked over her -- her appearance was so striking he hardly had to feign surprise or interest. Her body was squeezed into a band of red latex that might loosely be described as a dress, and the shiny black thigh-high boots she wore had dangerous-looking heels. Her eyes were large and green and gave her a cat-like appearance. She was overtly sexual in almost every way, and now she was observing him in a manner that was almost predatory. It was unnerving, but also exciting.

He smiled. "Lana, I presume?"

"And you're Sherlock. Where's your boyfriend?"

"Downstairs, waiting." He pocketed his phone and leaned back against the arch. "You're fucking gorgeous, even more than I expected. He's going to love you."

She raised an elegant, perfect eyebrow, triggering a flurry of calculations in his mind: the placement, arch, and length of her eyebrows were all in perfect alignment with the standards of western beauty defined by the Golden Ratio. Was that intentional? Did women like her approach beauty mathematically? Did--

"I have to say I'm pleasantly surprised as well. Will you be joining us?"

He forced everything else in his mind aside and grinned somewhat sheepishly. "Ah, no… No offense, of course. Women are not my… area."

She stepped forward and stroked his cheek with one hand. "Are you certain about that?"

"Yes. I'm gay." He'd made that clear in his messages to her. Had she misunderstood?

"Labels can be so limiting." She made a sound not unlike a purr and leaned even closer. Her lips were blood red, the same shade as her dress. "I could suck your prick while he buggers you. If you close your eyes, you'll never know the difference."

He didn't have to fake the blush that rose to his cheeks. "I… I don't--"

She brushed a thumb across his lower lip and he felt an odd compulsion to suck it into his mouth. "Oh, I see. You don't bottom. No one fucks you, not even him, but when you come here you let him fuck other people. Is that it?"

He's spent some time working out a reasonable-sounding cover story for them, but at the moment it would probably be simplest to go with her idea. At the very least, she would be pleased that she'd worked it out so quickly, and that could only work to his advantage. He nodded and let himself melt back against the wall behind him to let her think she was having an effect on him.

She moved even closer, nearly pressing him back against the wall of the arch now. "Do you like to watch, Sherlock?"

"Yes." He sounded a bit more breathless than he'd intended. "John, that is. I like to watch John."

She dropped her hand to his chest. "You should introduce us before I decide I'd rather have you, right here against this wall." She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his ear as the hand on his chest shifted, her fingernails pressing into his skin. It was an odd combination of sensations. "Or maybe I'll take you downstairs and make you fuck him over one of those sofas while I watch. I'll bet he's gorgeous with your cock up his arse. Does he love a good pounding, or does he prefer it nice and slow?"

He closed his eyes, startled at the effect her words were having on him. It wasn't as if the image hadn't appeared in his mind before; it had definitely made frequent appearances in his dreams. But he hadn't thought about it consciously like this -- at least, he hadn't thought about him and John… like that. He'd certainly imagined John engaged in a great variety of sex acts with other people while he watched, but that one… that particular image was now shockingly, firmly planted in his mind.

"Downstairs," he managed to say after a moment. "Right. Yes. We should… go."

She took a step backward and he made a show of straightening his clothes as he pushed off the wall, not letting himself meet her eyes. If she wanted him unsettled, it was best to let her think she'd done it. The fact that she actually had done it a fair bit was inconsequential.

She looped her arm through his as they headed towards the door that led to the lower levels. "Any rules I should know about?"

"He's not allowed to touch."

"So I have to do all the work then? Pity." She grinned at him. "If he tries to touch me, what happens?"

Sherlock blinked at her. John knew the rules. Why shouldn't he follow them? "He won't."

She laughed. "Oh, come now. I could punish him for you. Or is that off-limits as well?"

It hadn't occurred to him that John might intentionally not comply in order to provoke a response. The idea wasn't unappealing. How would he respond to John if he did? A few tantalizing images spun in his mind and pushed them away -- that would require a great deal more thought and planning than he had time for at the moment.

"I don't think he will. He hasn't before."

She smirked in response, clearly taking it as a challenge. He smiled and looked away, and hoped John wouldn't choose tonight to push back.

"I haven't been down in the private rooms in weeks," she said as he opened the door at the bottom of the stairs.

She walked through and then turned back to him, sliding an arm around him when he drew near her. He wound an arm around her waist as well, marveling at the texture of the latex dress. It was fascinating; he couldn't resist stroking it a bit as they walked towards room seven.

"In fact, the last time I was down here I was with a straight couple who wanted me to dominate both of them. It was an odd sort of scene, I must admit, but we had a lot of fun. I had brought along a collection of butt plugs and I told the man to pick one. He chose the largest one I had." She grinned up at him conspiratorially. "I'm not sure he knew what it was, honestly, and I think he expected me to tell him to use it on his partner. So he was rather surprised when I told him to lube it up and stick up his own arse." She burst into laughter at the memory. "Oh, God, the look on his face!"

Sherlock laughed with her as they stopped before the door marked with a large brass 7. "Did he do it?"

"He just stared at me and turned white as a sheet, and then he said, 'You want me to put it where?' and I--" She stopped speaking abruptly as the door swung open. "Well, now. Hello."

Her razor-sharp focus was on John now and it was breathtaking to see the way John responded. His eyes went dark with astonishing speed and Sherlock could tick off the list of signs of his arousal one by one. He seemed to hold his breath as she crossed the room to stand before him.

Lana reached out and stroked one finger down John's cheek, then grasped his chin with her hand. "He's explained everything. Too bad about the no touching rule. I'd have loved to know what your tongue can do." She pressed her thumb between his lips and he didn't hesitate to suck it into his mouth, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Let's get started, shall we?" She took a few steps backward. "Unzip me, will you, Sherlock?"

He hesitated a moment -- was she going to draw him into this after all? If she did, what would he do? What would John do? His hands shook slightly as he fumbled with the zipper at the nape of her neck, drawing it down slowly to give himself space to think. John had a safeword, but he didn't. He could use John's, and John would likely understand. He swallowed hard as the zipper reached the bottom of its track. What was John's safeword, again?

Lana peeled the dress off slowly, her eyes apparently still fixed on John. John was gaping at her like he'd never seen a woman like this in his life. He had, of course, just not one that was attainable. The dress hit the floor with an oddly wet sound, and Sherlock half-expected Lana to turn back to him and grab a handful of his shirt, but she didn't. Instead she crossed back to John and pressed one finger to his sternum, pushing him backward into one of the chairs. She then sprawled into the other, hooking her knees over the chair's arms and spreading her thighs wide.

"Are you allowed to speak?" she asked.

John turned to look at Sherlock automatically, asking for permission. Sherlock had already had a taste of what this woman's words could do; the possibility of what she might say to John was quite interesting indeed. It was probably best if he wasn't allowed to respond. He shook his head and John seemed to accept it without hesitation.

Lana laughed. "He keeps a tight leash on you, doesn't he? I can't say I blame him."

They were sitting facing each other; he could see both of them perfectly in profile. Lana's fingers moved between her thighs and John's gaze focused on them, his hands clenching the sides of his chair.

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine," she said. John gaped at her for a moment, almost as if he hadn't understood, and she smirked at him. "Strip, John. Right now."

The tone of her voice was sharp and John obeyed instantly. He sat forward in the chair and stripped off his jumper and button-down with surprising efficiency, and stood to shed his trousers. There was an awkward moment when he realized he should have removed his shoes first, but once he'd dispatched with those he stood before her clad in nothing but a pair of tented boxers.

"Those too," she said.

John hesitated, and it was clear he was fighting the urge to look over at Sherlock. He looked uncomfortable. Sherlock frowned at that; it wasn't as if he hadn't seen John naked before.

"From what I can see you've nothing to be embarrassed about. I'll even give you a sneak peek, if you like." Her hands moved between her thighs again, and whatever she was doing had the desired effect; John dropped his pants immediately.

Oh. Sherlock had to press his lips together to keep himself from making a sound. He'd never before seen John like this, he realized: completely bare and aroused, skin flushed, cock jutting straight out from his body with the foreskin tugging back over the glans. He was beautiful in a way Sherlock hadn't anticipated.

He was going to have to reopen that spreadsheet detailing his own reactions.

"Good boy," Lana said. "Sit now. And no touching yourself either." John sat while she wriggled out of her knickers, his eyes firmly fixed on her. She hooked her knees over the arms of her chair and began to touch herself again. "Oh, if only you were allowed to speak. You could tell me exactly what you want to see me do."

John glanced over at Sherlock with a pleading expression on his face and Sherlock rolled his eyes in response. He had an idea of what was coming and he wanted to be able to isolate John's responses as much as possible. If John were allowed to participate more than minimally the results would be far more muddled. There would be plenty of time for that later.

If there was a later -- and Sherlock assumed there would be, though many things hinged on the events of tonight.

"No matter," Lana said, and there was humor in her tone. "I think we'll have fun anyway."

She stood and crossed to the small supply table. She pulled a condom from the drawer and knelt between John's thighs as she tore it open. She gave his erection a few strokes and John closed his eyes. He looked as if he could melt into the chair.

Lana turned to grin at Sherlock. "Mmm, so eager. Is he always this sensitive, Sherlock?"

He shrugged and she smiled at him before turning back to John. She rolled the condom onto him and rose to straddle his thighs. She'd conveniently placed him in the armless chair.

"Have you ever fucked a woman before, John?" He nodded far too enthusiastically and she laughed. "Of course. I see. He's gay and you're bi, so he brings you here to let you fuck women, but only the women he chooses for you. And then he dictates exactly what they can do to you, and you're not allowed to touch them back. In that way, it's really like he's the one fucking you, isn't it?"

Sherlock swallowed hard. That wasn't true, but the way she'd said it was… Did John think that was what Sherlock wanted? He didn't want to have sex with John. Well, mostly not. Perhaps a bit, but only because she'd suggested it and now he was curious. But no, actually, he didn't want to have sex with anyone -- not anymore, anyway. It was too much trouble and there were too many complicated emotions, and he was getting by just fine with masturbation, thank you very much.

And besides, John was straight (as he loved to tell anyone who suggested otherwise) and he probably (no, definitely) wouldn't want to have sex with Sherlock even if he wasn't. Sherlock clenched his jaw and forced himself to focus. He couldn't let his thoughts go down this path. Nothing but the ruin of the best friendship he'd ever had -- the only friendship he'd ever had -- lay at the end.

Halfway across the room Lana had lowered herself onto John's cock and started moving against him. John's hands flew to her hips, guiding her movements, and Sherlock sat forward in his chair.

"John."

John dropped his hands and Lana leaned closer, dipping her mouth to his ear on the side opposite Sherlock. He could tell by the way the muscles in her throat moved that she was whispering, but he could hear nothing. John turned his head slightly and looked at Sherlock, his eyes narrowed. He was wondering if Sherlock had heard what she'd said, obviously. Sherlock considered pretending he had and scowling or something similar, but that could backfire on him rather quickly. A moment later John turned away, grinning as Lana whispered something more to him. He grasped her hips again and pulled her hard against him.

Ah, so that was it. She was making good on her threat to encourage him to misbehave.

"John," he said again, injecting as much authority into his tone as he could manage. John's response was immediate: he dropped his hands and clenched the sides of the chair instead, and even though he was smiling it didn't seem as if he would do it again.

Lana smirked at Sherlock. "I don't know if he'll be able to resist. You might have to tie his hands to the chair."

John gasped and she turned back to him with a laugh. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Sherlock nearly groaned. He'd thought about that quite a bit in the last few days, and had even tossed off once to the idea of John naked and bound while a faceless man striped his body with welts and--

He had no idea if John would agree to something like that, and even if he did, it was probably a long way away. At the moment, it was only distracting him from the actual sex occurring in front of him. Lana was fucking John in earnest now, her hips rising and falling and twisting in a way that was quite fascinating to watch. But even more interesting was John's face -- his eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open, and there was a strange expression there, something between pleasure and shock, as if he wasn't quite sure he wanted what was happening to him.

Sherlock felt a twinge of apprehension at that thought, but then he saw Lana's face as she drew back and looked down at John, studying him for a moment. She leaned forward again and Sherlock realized that she was still whispering to him.

Ah. Of course. And from the expression on John's face, he could guess what sorts of things she was saying, probably a variation on what she'd said to him upstairs. John looked as if he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to hear it. He was responding, though, whether to her words or to the sexual stimulation or some combination of both. Sherlock searched his face, trying to work out what he was hearing from the hints of expression he saw there. Lana had been clever enough to hide behind John so Sherlock couldn't read her lips, and he had no chance of hearing her over the obscene way John was moaning now.

She said something then that must have been particularly shocking: John's eyes flew open and the combination of horror and arousal on his face was far more intriguing than it should have been.

"Come on, John, fuck me. Come for me." Lana thrust her hips against him wildly, gripping the back of the chair, and a few moments later it was clear she was having an orgasm. John's hands clenched her hips again, apparently trying to keep them going long enough for him to climax as well.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," he said through gritted teeth, his face contorting as he came. It was the first time he'd spoken in half an hour and the sound sent a twinge of arousal through Sherlock, enough that he squirmed in his chair.

A moment later they were both still at last, panting against each other. Sherlock exhaled and tried to ignore the tightness of his own trousers. That had been intense to watch. He hadn't expected to respond, but then, he was bound to do eventually, wasn't he? He couldn't completely divorce his own responses from these experiments. He'd learned that the first night on the sofa.

Lana kissed John once more, apparently signaling the end of this encounter. Sherlock could see John's prick pull out her body as she stood.

"Thanks for the party, boys. It was lovely."

John smiled up at her, looking almost dazed.

They both watched as she dressed quickly, a fascinating contrast to the languid way she'd taken her clothes off not fifteen minutes before. When she was finished she crossed to stand before Sherlock once again. She glanced down at his groin and raised an eyebrow before turning her back to him. He stared at the curve of her arse for a moment before realizing she wanted him to rezip the latex dress. It wasn't an easy task and he could have used another pair of hands, but John appeared to be in no condition to help. He finally managed to work the zipper up without catching any of her skin in the process.

She kissed him on the cheek before leaving, and flashed a secretive grin at John before closing the door behind her.

He turned back to see John sinking into the chair, still grinning. "I need a few minutes. God, I can't feel my arms."

"Really?" Was that normal?

John smirked and looked away. "Do you have a column on that spreadsheet for dirty talk?"

"No."

"Add one." He closed his eyes.

She'd said things that both unsettled and aroused him, obviously. He wouldn't have reacted so strongly to mere suggestions of his sexual prowess. She'd believed they were a couple and had expressed a desire to watch the two of them having sex, and so it was likely that she'd told John exactly that. Perhaps she'd described what she wanted to see in great detail, and John had been forced to listen because Sherlock had refused to let him speak. He could have used the safeword if he were truly disturbed -- but no, it wasn't as if he was disgusted by what he'd heard. In fact, it had seemed quite the opposite, that he'd never considered the idea before and had been intrigued, even aroused by it.

Sherlock clenched his jaw. No, that couldn't be it. He was letting his imagination run wild when he should be limiting himself to observable data from which he could deduce conclusions. He needed to catalog and organize all of it while the details were fresh in his mind. He didn't know what she'd said, so he could only hypothesize whether or not John would find the idea of sex with him repulsive or intriguing. Well, obviously not repulsive -- bad choice of word. Intriguing yes, but what did that mean?

Nothing. It meant nothing. He was not going to think about that, absolutely not. This -- this was perfectly fine, and the fact that he'd tossed off quite a lot lately while fantasizing about John having sex with other people did not mean that he wanted to have sex with John himself. It just meant he liked to watch. And since John didn't mind -- John even seemed to enjoy being watched -- it was rather a good arrangement.

He could simply ask John what she'd said. John would either tell him, or tell him to bugger off, or lie. In any of those three cases, the truth would be apparent. He took a deep breath. "What did she say?"

"Ah… well." John paused, biting his lip. "Just… things."

"What things?"

"Dirty things."

"You'll need to be a bit more specific."

John groaned. "Oh, for fuck's sake, can't something in all of this be private?"

So he was going for the bugger off option then. Interesting. Sherlock sighed heavily, injecting some frustration into it. Sometimes John would give in to placate him or to ward off what he saw as an impending tantrum.

John gave in surprisingly quickly. "It was just, you know, fuck me just like that and your cock feels so good. That kind of thing. I barely remember the exact words."

And now he'd moved on to the lying option, despite the fact that he was one of the worst liars Sherlock had ever met. So it had likely been exactly what he'd suspected. If she'd said anything else, even fairly explicit suggestions about John with men in general, John would have said. He would have been embarrassed, but at that point he would have injected even a small amount of truth into his lies, perhaps twisting her words so that he wasn't directly involved in the sex acts she was describing. But no, the fact that he'd said something so obviously, ridiculously false meant that she'd said things about John and Sherlock. And from John's expression, it was clear he was trying very hard not to think about any of it.

Which was probably for the best.

"I'll make a note of it."

"Great. Thanks." John seemed relieved that he'd dropped it.

"Are you ready yet?"

John opened his eyes and glanced over at him. His gaze was intense, almost searching, and Sherlock looked away. They had another appointment soon and he should focus on that. He had to sort through all of the information from the encounter with Lana quickly and clear these distractions from his mind.

"Ready," John said, and Sherlock looked up to see he'd finished dressing. He nodded and opened the door, and John followed two steps behind as they ascended the stairs.

*****

Note: So I seem to be rewriting this fic from Sherlock's point of view. That wasn't my original intention, but I'm having a lot of fun doing it, so if y'all don't mind, I think I'll continue. :-)

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