Title: Prostitute
Characters: (in this chapter) S. Holmes, J. Watson
Summary: Only Holmes would think Watson could pass as a prostitute...
Warnings: Could be mistaken for slash; Nonsexual References to Bondage in Sexual Situations; If you're uncomfortable saying the proper names of human reproductive organs, you probably shouldn't be reading this story
Author's Notes: I just love this one to bits.

Watson felt a chill run up his spine as Holmes gave him a calculating look, as he entered their shared sitting room after a long day treating sniffles, broken bones, and other mundane ailments. That look always boded ill for its unfortunate subject--a fact engrained in Watson's memory by the many times the detective had given the doctor that look over the years.
"Whatever you're thinking of asking me to do, the answer is no, Holmes," he growled, futily hoping to avoid having to do anything embarrassing yet again in one of Holmes' cases.
"You don't even know what it is I'm thinking of asking you to do," Holmes pointed out in amusement.
"You've got that look," Watson shot back. "I don't even need to know the details to know it's something embarrassing."
"You may want to think about changing your mind, Watson, after you hear what I have in mind," his friend remarked, giving him a sharp look as he spoke.
Knowing he would fully regret it later, Watson asked him what he had in mind.
"I need your help in interviewing a potential witness to the Coldwell Murder, Watson," he replied. "But I don't want him knowing that he's being interviewed."
"I am a doctor, Holmes, not a prostitute," Watson said warningly, remembering the last time Holmes had asked him for assistance in interviewing a witness without the witness knowing that they were being interviewed.
"I've heard that derbies are becoming quite popular in the brothels since you used mine to restrain--"Holmes began, but Watson quickly interupted him, his cheeks burning in embarrassment at the reminder of that particular incident.
"What did you want my help for, Holmes?" he demanded icily.
Holmes smirked at Watson.
"I need you to watch my back while I solicit some information from regulars at that brothel near your practice," he replied. "I think you will have to pose as my owner."
"Your what?!" he exclaimed in shock, doubting what he had just heard.
"I'm going to pose as a sex slave, and you are going to sell me to the owner of that brothel," Holmes clarified.
"What?!"
"Are you going to faint, Watson?"
THUD!
"I guess that's a yes..."