Author Notes:
I don't own anyone but the OFC to come.
Many thanks to Mrs. M Crieff for her use of L'amour Noir and our fun PM's!
Many thanks to Lilsherlockian for her beta skills and for listening to my raving before I almost threw my phone across the room!
Enjoy and review!
Ps. Long or short ones accepted to feed my Muses!
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John was tired. A full day of working at the clinic and then he came home to Rosie... She wasn't a stress really. She helped him to unwind. However, he'd spent the day with sick and screaming children; cold and flu season was alive and well. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a good conversation and a tickle between the sheets... BAM! He was reminded that his last time had been over a year ago with Mary; after he emotionally cheated with texts from Sherlock's sister! How time had flown... He sighed.
Rosie picked up on his sadness and crawled up into his lap from her spot on the couch next to him with her favorite picture book. She wrapped her arms around his chest as best she could in a hug. John wrapped an arm around his little girl and sighed again. He had to do something to get out of the rut he was in. Molly... Molly had a finger on the pulse of all the Bart's single ladies, didn't she? Or maybe it was just the hospital's rumor mill at work... Maybe he could subtly talk to her about finding someone to hook up with. He didn't want to offend his friend; she was a good fill-in nanny. Talking to Sherlock about the subject was out of the question.
After feeding Rosie and putting her to bed with a kiss to her temple, John made himself a drink and settled down with a paper he grabbed off the tube. There was another story how the idiot Yank President was trying to start World War III. The former soldier wondered if he would be called to serve again. He couldn't really, not with Rosie and all. He supposed Sherlock would get Mycroft to excuse him after what happened at Sherrinford. He recalled how Sherlock considered him family now...
John flipped onto page five and his eye caught two adverts. One was obviously for women... The other was for men. Both were for a private club called L'amour Noir.
The first advert spoke to women...Are you tired of men that have no sense of imagination or romance? Tired of men that don't care for your fantasies and only want you to fill their's... Tired of men who don't know what foreplay is? Come to the most elite club in England. At L'amour Noir we offer adventures... Packages of ALL sizes available. We have rules, however, anything that teases and pleasures your senses is allowed.
The other spoke to men... Are you bored with your significant other? Want a beer and something naked? Your old lady not putting out for you? Come, have an affair! Come, get laid! Come, get your rocks off! L'amour Noir is calling for you! We have plenty of women to satisfy any need... Fill out an application, once approved, let your fun begin!
The advert directed towards women appealed to John more than the other. A sexual adventure sounded good... He definitely knew what foreplay was and he knew the female body. For Rosie's sake, he couldn't allow strings to tie him down. John had been thinking of waiting until his daughter was around three or so before he chose a new significant other. Rosie might just fall into place with a new lady in his life... But it was too soon to consider a new mummy. A child started to remember around that age and maybe he wouldn't have to bring up painful memories of Mary at all. However, his well-meaning friends and family wouldn't allow him to get away with it for long. The more he realized that he couldn't do that to Rosie either. John needed to tell his little girl about how her mummy loved her and how she sacrificed herself to save him, and Unca Sher-ley.
John finished the paper and put himself to bed. Any more thoughts on L'amour Noir were put away in a file cabinet in his mind; like the one in his office. The next day was going to be another long one. He'd be lucky if he made it through the week without catching something.
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Sometime in the middle of the night, John's house phone went off. He wanted to ignore it because he was so tired. If it was Sherlock, he knew how to text; why would he call the home line? He checked his mobile on the charge pad by his bed... No texts from Sherlock or anyone. The phone rang five times before the machine clicked on. No message was given but the phone began to ring again. John got up that time to stop the ringing before it woke up Rosie.
He answered with a sleepy, "Hello?"
"Brother Little Joooohn! It's your siiister! Cooould you come and get me prrretty pweeze?"
So, Harry was calling because she couldn't get home. Cabbies wouldn't take drunk people home because of the clean up. Some charged extra instead. He did have a sofa pull out she could use and another stern talking to apparently. Maybe he'd sic Rosie on her aunt. Give her one hell of a ringing hangover headache before handing her two aspirin and some water.
"You bloody owe me, Harry! Now, where are you?"
John heard Harry ask someone in the room where she was. Then he heard several people yell back at her the location.
"Got that Little John? Are you gonna come?"
"Yes, Harriet. I will come get you."
The poor tired GP was so sleepy. He stopped by the kitchen and grabbed a cup of cold tea. A few minutes in the microwave and a warm load of caffeine was on its way to his fog-addled brain. Shite! Rosie... So off he went packing up an angry baby, crying because she'd been woken abruptly to go pick up her aunt. A few meters in, while in her car seat, she went back to sleep. Harry really, really owed him...
