John limps into the lab generously favoring his right leg. Test tubes, beakers, and late night coffee breaks flow through his memory as he scans his current surroundings, "Bit different from my day." He says recalling years of practicing at St. Bart's Hospital. "Oh, you have no idea." Mike responds.
"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." A mysterious voice hums from the shadows of the lab. A slender man with soft white skin grabs John's attention. He stares intently trying to take in this unexpected beauty. The man's pale white face contrasts magnificently against his thick black curls. He's wearing a sophisticated black suit that hugs every muscle of his toned physique. His shirt's top two buttons are teasingly exposing his milky white collar bone. John fantasies of how he must taste.
"What's wrong with the landline?" Mike asks the majestic man. John quickly snaps back to reality and tries to focus on his friend. Such a simple man, Mike Stamford. Brown suede jacket with a funny little tie, a bit round around the edges but a nice and collected man. How could he possibly be acquainted with this angel hunched over a microscope?
"I prefer to text." The man says melodically. The word 'text' swells in John's brain. Text – Sext – Sex. John imagines this man begging him for sex. He is overcome with the thought of this stranger strewn across his bed with his naked white skin glistening in the soft moonlight. John soon begins to feel a warm sensation in his lower abdomen.
"Sorry, it's in my coat." Mike says pointing toward the door. John sees his chance to engage with the stranger in the suit. Clearing his throat he says, "Uh… here," he grabs for his pocket, "use mine." As he holds up his phone he finally makes eye contact. The man's eyes are emerald diamonds with blue flames bursting around his irises. John is frozen with lust. He wants to see this man's eyes glow with anticipation and pain. He wants to see tears stream down his chiseled cheekbones. He wants to take this man and make him his.
"Oh," The creature nods, "Thank you." He strides toward John, whose mind is teaming with fantasies of ripping this man's clothes off. "That's an old friend of mine." Mike explains to the man, "John Watson." John waits for a 'My name is…' or a simple 'Hello' from the man, but nothing comes out of his rosy pink lips. The man takes the phone from John's hand and starts typing. John takes a deep breath and the smell of lilacs flood into him. The want to take this man by force grows in John's belly, whether the man consented or not.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" The question from the man catches John by surprise. A sly smile sweeps across Mike's face, the smile Mike would get every time he knew something, or had a secret. John questions the man with a simple, "Sorry?"
Looking up from John's mobile phone he asks again, "Which was it; Afghanistan or Iraq?" John had never met this man before in his life how could he possibly know about his military history, unless Mike had mentioned him before, but surely John isn't worth mentioning in normal conversation, and he had only explained to Sherlock who John was a moment ago. "Afghanistan, sorry how did you-"
Before John can finish his sentence a women trudges into the room, "Ahh Molly, thank you." With his skeleton fingers he hands the mobile phone back to John, and grabs a cup of coffee from her. "What happened to the lipstick?" He asks. John takes a quick glance at the women; she's a simple girl with a simple ponytail, nothing to be concerned about. "It wasn't working for me." She says with a shy smile. "Really?" The man says judgingly, "I thought it was a huge improvement… you're mouths too small now." As she exits the lab, he walks over to his laptop, takes a sip of his coffee, and quickly sets it down was a look of disgust.
Meanwhile John is still trying to connect all the pieces of the past few minutes. 'How could this man be so rude to her? How does Mike know this man? I could please him so much better than her. God, he's so gorgeous. How did he know about Afghanistan? He deserves to be punished. I could take him right here, right now, until he begged for mercy.'
Realizing that the man and Mike are waiting for an answer to a question he clearly didn't hear, John mutters, "Sorry, what?"
"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." He says with a quick and somewhat awkward smile toward John. The idea overwhelms John, how could this man know I was looking for a flat mate as well?
"You- you told him about me?" John asks Mike embarrassingly.
"Not a word." Mike utters while examining a vile of blood.
"Then who said anything about flat mates?" John asks with a hint of frustration.
"I did." The man says proudly putting on his coat and scarf, "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for, now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Not a difficult leap."
The sultry voice of the stranger vibrates through John's ears. He wants to hear his voice, he wants him to keep talking, and he wants to shut him up. A warm sensation in his lower abdomen begins to swell once more.
"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John tries to ask calmly as his erection stiffens and aches against his pants.
"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London," He says checking his phone, "Together we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening at 7 o'clock. Sorry got to dash; I left my riding crop in the mortuary."
'Riding crop, did he just say riding crop?' Imagines of handcuffs, nipple clips, butt plugs, gags, and even a spiked whip cross John's mind, he can't help but wonder; what other toys does this man have?
"Is that it?" He wonders.
"Is that what?" The slender man asks sternly. Realizing his question of whether the man had other sex toys was said aloud, he tries to recover his dignity, "We've only just met, and we're going to go look at a flat."
"Problem?" The man says with more than a hint of sarcasm.
John smiles at Mike looking for reassurance that this man is truly mad. He responds with only a smile. With the pain of his cock pushing against his pants, and the frustration of this man growing, John wants this conversation to be over. He wants to punish this man for making him feel so inferior.
John responds, "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name." although John was perfectly fine not knowing these facts. He wanted to test this man. To see how far he could push him, to see when he would break, to show him he is dominant.
The slender man in a suit stares John down, and lists the reasons why he is superior. "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been relieved home from Afghanistan. I know you have a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, most likely because he recently walked out on his wife, and I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic. Quite correctly I'm afraid. Enough to be going on with don't you think?"
John stands humiliated and embarrassed by this stranger. Although his erection still pushes against his pants, he can't help but wonder why. John only gets off on feeling superior, when he is in control. So why is he so consumed with lust towards this cocky, egotistic man who is trying to test him as well? Perhaps it's the challenge, the need to correct him and force him to be submissive.
The man walks halfway through the door and leans back, "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He exists with a wink towards John. "Afternoon."
John looks towards Mike for an answer to Sherlock's actions.
"Yeah, he's always like that." He says with a smile.
And with that John's cock pushes harder than ever. He shifts anxiously on his crutch trying to reposition his erection. He wouldn't miss tomorrow for the world.
He was going to break Sherlock Holmes.