More Unfortunate Adventures of A Straight Man
John walked beside Sherlock with a slight skip in his steps which he hid in his hurried strides as he tried to matched the looping steps of his flatmate. It has been a long time since Sherlock offered to pay for dinner and John was happy enough to skip the normal frozen taters and canned beans for a night out at Angelo's, damned romantic candle light and all.
He was busy going through the menu in his mind on what he would like to order as soon as they got to the restaurant when suddenly Sherlock made a swift left turn away from their pre-destined route.
"Uh... Sherlock? Aren't you going the wrong way?" John called out, jogging towards the consulting detective whose footsteps didn't even falter the slightest.
"We need to stop by someplace first," Sherlock said, not slowing down, "A favour for a friend. After we're done, then we'll eat."
"O-kay," John huffed.
It was less than a minute later that Sherlock stopped walking and when John looked up, they were in front of a townhouse, the heavy door adorned with an antique brass knocker which the brunette was now using to rap a series of sounds that made the doctor think of morse code.
Sherlock suddenly turned to John. "Oh yes, just to be clear, I'm Joseph Adell and you are Michael Henry."
"W-Who? What do you-"
Before John was able to finish his query, the door opened and there stood a stocky, middle-aged man who seemed to have stepped out of the 1800's, wearing a waiscoat over a crisp white shirt, dark throusers, a bowtie under a stiff collar and a sleeve band at both arms.
"Joseph Adell and Michael Henry, reserved under Jameson James," Sherlock said to the man.
"Yes, sir," the man said, opening the door wider and motioning them inside before closing and bolting the door closed again.
After the two gave their coats to the man, John followed Sherlock past the elegantly decorated foyer and into the living room where there were men in small groups or pairs, either sitting in leather armchairs and sofas or standing in various spots of the room, enjoying the warmth of the fire from the fireplace. Just beside the foyer was a winding staircase and over it hung a quaint crystal chandelier which bathed the area a golden colour of light.
John followed Sherlock inside, automatically thinking that they have just entered a gentleman's club until he saw a pair snogging passionately at the corner. A few seconds later, he saw one young man leading an older man up the stairs, their fingers entwined with the other's.
Instantly, John snatched Sherlock's arm and pulled him back. "Sherlock. Where the hell are we?" he whispered in restrained panic.
"Hmmm... a bordello of sorts?" Sherlock said, sounding too calm and amused for John's taste.
"You brought me to a-a gay whore-house?"
Sherlock made an annoyed sound. "If you must be crass, then, yes. Yes, I did bring you to a gay whore-house. I don't know what James would say if he heard you, though. He's quite vain about his profession."
John blinked. "We're meeting James here? He-He works here?"
"On occasion," a voice sounded close to his ear which startled John into turning around swiftly to come face-to-face with the said rent-boy, "We prefer to call it the Club."
"Err... I-I see," John said, stepping back when he realised James wasn't making a move to give John some space, "Hullo, there."
"Hullo, Mr Henry," James replied with a wink before turning to Sherlock, "Good evening, Mr Adell."
"Good evening, Mr James," said Sherlock, taking a look around the living room with piercing eyes before facing the young man, "I trust you've made preparations as I've instructed."
James lips quirked. "You will be pleased to know that everything is ready and I trust you and Mr Henry will be fully satisfied this evening."
"Hm. We'll see." Sherlock drawled and motioned for James to lead the way. John followed them up the stairs with trepidation and as soon as the three of them were inside a bedroom with the door safely locked behind them, he finally spoke out, "Stop over, my foot. You're working on a case aren't you?"
"We're working on a case," Sherlock amended, accepting a piece of paper from James.
"News to me," the doctor mumbled as his flatmate inspected the paper before turning towards the rent-boy to ask, "This is an exact copy from the man's journal?"
"Pretty much," James replied with a nod, "I went through the book for odd repititive alphabets, numbers or patterns as you told me to and found this at the side of today's entry. Do you know what it is?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes before giving the piece of paper to John, "Child's play. These are a series of numbers, each digit joined with the mirror image of itself. The design of the numbers he uses can confuse the simple minded into thinking these are just sketches from an idle hand."
With Sherlocks' explanation, John perused the patterns and found out that it was indeed a series of numbers before giving them back to James. "He's right. It's 345487. But what is it for?"
"The numbers to a safe I presume. Or a password for a protected file. Young James here has enlisted us to find out whether the owner's son is keeping any pictorial evidence of clients to this establishment. The real owner of the Club has entrusted his son, a Mr Charles Brunswick, to take care of the townhouse while he is out of the country and James fears the younger Brunswick is taking advantage of the high-class clientelle for blackmail money to feed his gambling addiction."
"I thought I saw a picture of one of our clients on his desk before he snatched it up and sent me away," James explained to John, frowning in consternation, "It just isn't right. We always do right by our clients. If what I suspect is true, that he's using the Club for blackmailing people, Mr Brunswick needs to know."
"Right, so we just pop in his office and get the pictures do we?" John said, crossing his arms. He was already vibrating with energy. "I prefer that we get this done and over with quickly before we miss dinner."
Sherlock smiled at John, knowing and sensing the doctor's excitement under the grumpy facade. "Yes, we shall. The location of the office, James?"
"At the next corner at the farthest end of the corridor, there's a room. The staff & security does rounds here often but around this time they'll change shifts and there's a few seconds lapse where we can sneak in," James replied. If the staff & security was anything built like the man at the door, John gathered they would need as much subterfuge as they can get to pull this off quietly.
"I'll be the one to sneak into the room," Sherlock told James, "I will text either of you as soon as I get the pictures and you and John will make a distraction so I can slip out without being noticed."
James pursed his lips and nodded. "Got it"
John nodded as well when Sherlock turned to him and quietly, the tall brunette slipped out of the room, leaving John and James alone in the simple yet tastefully fashioned bedroom.
John licked his lips as he surveyed his surroundings. "So... you said you worked here ocassionally?"
"M-hmm..." James replied, sitting on the bed. "I mostly free-lance though. Only when its quiet that I come around or when Mr Brunswick asks me to."
"I honestly thought your first name is James, not Jameson," John said, leaning against the wall.
"That's just my business name," James told him, pressing a finger against his smiling mouth, "Shall I tell you my real name? Mind you, if I do tell you, it's the same as giving you my whole identity. You may even have to become my boyfriend."
John rolled his eyes. "I bet Sherlock already knew without you having to tell him."
James grumbled. "He said he knew by where I made my suit and the colour of my eyes. I suspect he saw me when I was being dropped off by our family chauffer but he denied it."
"Family chauffer?" John gave a surprised laugh. "Oh don't tell me... you're some rich man's son rebelling against his family values, aren't you?"
James lifted his nose disdainfully. "Not rebelling. Merely praciticing my right in being myself."
"By selling your body?" John said in disbelief, "Come on James. There must be something else."
"The money is just chump-change," James told him, waving his hand in a lazy motion, "I can live comfortably without having to work. But I like sex and I like giving people pleasure. And I take clients who I trust and never anyone without a referral. Yes, it's not 100% foolproof but you can't say you're not the same as I am or you wouldn't have stayed with Sherlock as long as you did. You and I, we crave the dark and dangerous more than we yearn the monotony of normal life."
John looked away from James' challenging gaze, embarassment tinting his cheeks at the sudden feeling of kinship with the young man. He wished he could say something proper or a denial of some sorts but before he could even construct a proper sentence his phone beeped and he quickly read the text before turning to James to announce triumphantly, "It's Sherlock. He found the pictures."
"Huh... that was quick," James commented.
"It's Sherlock," John said, giving James a one sided smile as he put his phone away, "Okay. I'll be going out and pretend that I got lost and make whoever's around Brunswick's office, to bring me back here. Make sure you come out before he gets into the room or he'd notice we're missing one person."
"Okay, yeah," James said taking off his coat.
John stared at James. "What are you doing?" he demanded lowly when James began taking off his sure-to-be expensive cufflinks.
The rent-boy smiled cheekily, giving John a smouldering look as he affected a lazy sprawl while pulling the tail of his shirt out of his throusers. "Playing the part. You are the customer after all."
"Right. I see... well, I'll be going now," John said, getting out of the room in a hurry before James could even touch his belt buckle.
As soon as John found himself back in the corridor, the doctor took a deep breath and began walking quietly towards the direction where the office was supposed to be. He felt he was getting close until he heard someone coming around the corner, too far from his destination and upon realising that if he get caught now, he probably won't get another chance to get to the office where Sherlock was waiting for him to distract the guard.
Quickly, he looked around but all he could see were doors similiar to the one he just left behind. There wasn't even the convenient table or a darkened corner he can hide with. In a hurry he went to the door closest to him and turned the knob but as soon as he heard some dubious sounds he rather not hear two grown men make, he quickly shut it closed again, shivering in disgust before he made a second attempt on another door.
This time there was just silence and quickly he slipped inside and closed the door quietly, putting his ear against the door in an attempt to listen to the movement on the other side. There were muffled footsteps getting closer and slowly John walked backwards until his hip bumped into a side desk and in his haste, his hands scrambled for the furniture to prevent it from rattling too much when suddenly his fingers encounted something slim and smooth. Holding it up he realised that it was a riding crop and before he could think to put it back down onto the table, a voice came from behind him, "Who are you?"
Startled, John turned around, holding the riding crop up like a weapon to see a man of his age but with a bigger physique than he has. The doctor gulped.
"I asked who you are," the man demanded walking up to John who, upon remembering instances of close combat in Afghanistan, had to resist the urge to lunge at the man to incapacitate him.
However, as soon as the stranger managed to catch a hold of John's hand holding the crop, John automatically twisted his arm and in the process, gripped the man's arm with his other hand, twisting his to-be-attacker around by a firm and high hold by his elbow before kicking the back of the man's legs, making the man fall onto his knees.
When the stranger tried to get up, John pushed him down by a foot on the back until the man lay prone, face down. As soon as the adrenaline winded down a little, John was filled with amazement at how easily he managed to bring down a man nearly twice his muscle mass. When the man started to shift, John bore his feet down harder with a warning, "Stay down."
The man groaned. "Oh God. You're good."
"Shut up!" John hissed.
The man gasped. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say." Then he started to squirm and moan.
It was then that the metaphorical light-bulb began to flicker. Being around James a few times and recently being around too much in places of a homosexual-friendly nature, made John quickly realise that the man was not merely being subdued by him but enjoying it too much that he wanted to get off on it.
"Oh fuck," John swore, taking his feet off of the stranger and stepping back quickly to put as much distance as he can from the bordello's customer.
The man lifted himself up on his elbows and slowly turned to face John, who upon seeing the man's flushed face, made the doctor's own face turn fiery red in mortification.
"Please, please," the man panted, "Do anything you want of me."
"Shit!"
"Please!"
"Okay, okay! Shut up!" John hissed again, this time his voice trembling with hysteria, afraid of what the man expected him to do as well as half expecting that someone would come barging in and he would be found out before Sherlock was able to escape with the pictures.
Thankfully the man stayed quiet but the way the man looked, red-faced and seemingly drugged with desire, while waiting for further instructions from John made the doctor become more of a wreck. Finally, again taking in all his experience in the battle-field, he gathered up his nerves as he ran his palm across his face and when he felt himself a little bit calm he commanded in his best no-nonsense military voice, "Right. On your hands and knees."
The customer scrambled into position, and John could only close his eyes in despair at the man's eagerness at what he was about to do. "I... ah... I will punish you now... so err... I don't want to hear a single sound from you, even if I suddenly stop. Especially when. If you say anything, I swear, I'll leave you hanging till your balls turn permanently blue."
The man nodded frantically and even as John was taking a deep breath and gripping his fingers firmly against the riding crop before bringing it sharply down on the man's thank-God-for-small-mercies clothed buttocks, the doctor was already imagining various ways in which Sherlock would pay for this latest traumatic incident.
"I texted you more than half an hour ago," sniped Sherlock as soon as he closed the door behind him. He was a few seconds away from making himself a different form of distraction involving a hacked satellite and a program to gain illegal access to the guard's phone, before he heard John at the other side of the door talking with the man who was doing rounds at the section of the main office. As soon as the coast was clear, Sherlock slipped out and quickly made his way back to the room James have put them in.
"I'm sorry but I got delayed," John said through gritted teeth, his arms crossed tightly into each other that he looked like he was hugging himself instead.
Sherlock looked at John and when no further explanation was forthcoming, he looked at James who shrugged.
"You call tell me some other time. Now, James, shall we?" the consulting detective asked.
"Yes, just about time too," James said, glancing down his watch. Looking at the two, James walked up to Sherlock and started mussing his hair and deliberately tugging at the taller man's collar askew. Then he went to John, doing to same but also planting a kiss on the doctor's lips and delighting on the sputtering and blushing coming from the man.
"There," James said in satisfaction as he straightened his own clothing that he just put on after they were done with their charade, "Now you two looked properly debauched."
Sherlock grinned and opened the door, letting the rent-boy and John walked past him out the door. As soon as they signed out and James telling the man at the foyer that he was taking the rest of the night off, John was more than ready to leave all the bad memories behind.
However, as soon as their foot stepped off the steps of the townhouse and onto the pavement, he heard a commotion coming from inside the townhouse and suddenly, two burly men appeared from behind the closed door and in front of them was a thin man with a pencil moustache who glared at the three when he set his eyes on them.
"Oi! You three! Hold it right there!" the man demanded.
"Hm?" Sherlock affected an puzzled expression on his face, "Us?"
"Is anything the matter, Mr Brunswick?" James said stepping forward.
"Yes, something's the matter," Brunswick snapped, "Someone broke into the office, stole my files and deleted everything from my hard drive!"
"Really? How horrendous!" Sherlock exclaimed.
The thin man growled. "I think it was you. Other than the regulars you two are new to the Club."
John stance automatically went on a defensive while Sherlock stood up straighter and placed his hand on his chest in an impression of affront. "I beg your pardon?"
"Bring them in!" Brunswick ordered his men, "We'll search them inside."
The two men began to advance on John and Sherlock while Brunswick made a grab for James. There was a sudden scuffle where neither party would surrender without a fight and soon it was evident that the resistance snapped Brunswick patience when he suddenly pulled out a gun and trained it against James' temple.
"Now, you three-!"
Before he could finish his sentence, someone came barelling into Brunswick and the thin man was pushed to the ground, his face hitting concrete, his gun hand restrained at the back and devoid of the weapon.
John has already pulled James away from the danger and after he safely tucked the younger man behind him, did the doctor take a look at their saviour.
"Lestrade!" John exclaimed, "What-?"
"I was on my way to a date when I heard the commotion," the inspector said, pushing Brunswick down with a grunt when the man tried to break free, "You two are going explain yourself but for now, you sir, are under arrest for possession of an illegal firearm. And the rest of you, freeze!"
John felt his body melt in relief. A few seconds later, he tensed again when he felt something poke at his back.
"Dammit! James!" John hissed, scandalised.
"I think I'm in love," James breathed, his eyes suddenly seeming to become dewy as he stared at Lestrade manhandling Brunswick into a pair of handcuffs before dumping the man on the steps of the townhouse with a warning to stay still.
"That's not love," Sherlock scoffed, "That's lust."
"I'd follow that man to the end of the world," James vowed.
"Oh good God, he's in love." Sherlock sighed.
John blinked. "What makes you say that?"
"He's starting to wax declarations of love instead of sexual innuendos," Sherlock sighed, "Poor, poor Lestrade."
It took 15 minutes before Lestrade managed to get his sergeant onto the scene and by that time, James have managed to call Brunswick senior who was on his way back to London. Charles Brunswick was keeping mum on what was happening, knowing that if he spilled the beans to the police, he would be charged with blackmail and prostitution other than his other accounts of firearm possession and violence but John was sure the man would still get his just deserts as soon at his father got a hold of him. The pictures copied onto Sherlock's pendrive and tucked safely inside James' pocket were to be handed over to the Brunswick senior when he arrives.
Also while on the search for the pictures, it was on a stroke of luck that Sherlock chanced upon an e-mail sent to two of the Club's customers from Charles Brunswick, demanding for a sum of money to be sent to his account with compromising pictures as attachments. The e-mails saved by Sherlock onto the drive would be additional evidence that there was no doubt as to who took those pictures and for what purpose. John figured it was a job well done for James' sake and he wondered if it was in bad taste if he asked Sherlock if they were getting paid for the task.
As John waited for Sherlock to finish giving his statement to one of Lestrade's sergeants, the doctor saw the patrons and workers of the bordello being questioned by the police in a group and each of them claimed to either be a member or the staff of a gentleman's club and not having a clue as to why the club owner's son was picking a fight with three men, one whom they know as a good-natured person. John could see how frustrated Lestrade was feeling, knowing that the DI knew something was up but was unable to find anything especially with Sherlock being uselessly opinionated about everything and nothing which Lestrade finds vexing since Sherlock only ever does that when he wants to shake Lestrade off and annoy him at the same time.
James was still giving Lestrade mooney eyes and when he could, he trailed after Lestrade so closely he was in danger of becoming afoot. John knew that if James had his way, the rent-boy would be draped over the DI like a mink coat over a rich man's wife.
The doctor shook his head in amusement. Poor Lestrade, indeed.
"Excuse me."
John whirled around at the sound of the voice to come face-to-face with the man with whom he experienced thirty minutes of horrific flashbacks of S&M sexual simulation.
"Hello," the man said with a shy smile, showing a row of white teeth and for the first time, John spied a dimple on the man's cheeks.
"Errr... ah.. h-hello..." John replied uncertainly.
"Some rucus, huh?"
John nodded. "Yeah. Uh... yeah, it is..."
"So..." the man said, stuffing his hands in his pocket, "The boys said you're not part of the ... uh... staff..."
"Ummm... no... just... just in the wrong place at the wrong time..." John laughed in embarassment.
"Well," the man said, taking out his hand to give to John, "I figured we should be properly introduced giving the circumstances. My name is Nathan. Nathan Banks."
"Ah, John Watson," John replied just before he felt the need to kick himself for giving the man his real name.
"Look, if you.. errr... have the time... maybe we could get a drink or a meal or-"
As soon as John realised that the man was asking him out, he started shaking his head. "Oh sorry.. it's just that... you see... that time, I wasn't-"
"Ah, John!" Sherlock exclaimed, suddenly appearing beside the doctor, boisterously slinging an arm around his shoulder and giving John a squeeze, "Shall we go home, dear? This excitement is putting a tax on my nerves and your heavenly massages would set me straight. Oh, hello," the consulting detective said politely, smiling at Banks. "I'm Joseph Adell. And you are?"
Hesitantly, the man shook Sherlock's hand and replied, "Nathan Banks. A pleasure to meet you. You are... John's friend?"
"Civil partner. Five years and counting," Sherlock replied sweetly, kissing John wetly on the cheek who was standing frozen in his arms. "We need to go John. Poppy's probably waiting for you to tuck her in. She's our baby maltese," Sherlock said, the last sentence directed to Banks, "John spoils her so."
"Ah," the man said, finally stepping away, "Well, I guess... you two need to go off then. See you John, Mr Adell,"
John only managed to nod dumbly. "Yeah."
"Toodles!" Sherlock said, wiggling his fingers.
As soon as the man was far away at a safe distance, John shrugged Sherlock's arm off of him. "If the yarders aren't already thinking that we're a couple and that- that guy wasn't coming onto me I would've decked you."
Sherlock arched an eyebrow that John managed to interpret as a 'but?'
"Instead I'm going to say 'thank you'," John said gratefully, "So thank you."
"You're welcome. Seeing how averse you were on telling us what happened ealier on, I deduced that the man was the reason seeing how uncomfortable you began acting with him so I thought it better to snip it at the bud especially when you gave the man your real name," Sherlock said, tutting when John gave a quiet groan of "Oh my God, why did I do that?"
"Unless of course you welcome his advances?" the brunette asked after a moment.
"Oh God no!" John protested.
Sherlock smiled. "Good. Come, if we hurry we can make it for the last call at Angelo's."
John smiled back and together they walked side-by-side in companionable silence towards the restaurant.
A few minutes later, John spoke, "Poppy?"
-the end
A/N: Thank you for everyone who reviewed and a smack on the hand for strausmouse (-winks-) who sent me a prompt which tickled my muse bunny into creating this fic which has been quite an ordeal to finish. And yes, I did leave it so that John will not be the only one getting unwanted attention coz Lestrade is just so fine to leave alone :D
But this is the last, truly, because I learn that as soon as it gets more difficult to write a story, you should stop coz it'll only end up looking as if you tried too hard and not enough :) Again, thank you for reading!