No Choice Is A Good Choice

By Rose O' Sharon

Rating: M as in 'M' for MATURE

Style: Slash

Disclaimer: None of the members of Sherlock belongs to me (Blastitalltoheck). Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss own them, but I'm borrowing them for now. I will return them when I'm done . . . not that they'd want them back after I get done with them (ha ha).

Warnings: Major male/male sex (Johnlock my new OTP - though I do lean toward Johncroft, but this isn't that story - and if anyone has any story recs in either, please PM me and let me know)

Summary: What can happen when Sherlock and John are on the run and duck for cover into the 'wrong' kind of hotel?

Comments: Yes to all comments, as long as they're nicely phrased and if they have nothing to do with the warning. You no likey, you no reedy, 'K? S'just a form o' common sense. :D

A/N: I really, really hate it when authors say, "I'm not sure . . ." or "This really sucks . . ." and if I see those, then I usually refuse to read the story based on that comment alone. However, that said, I'm afraid I am rather finding myself in that predicament, because I have struggled with this story for weeks now, and have seriously tried to beat these guys into staying into some kind of character, particularly toward the latter half of the story, once the 'action'. as it were, really commences.

Also, I have written, re-written, re-written again, added parts, took away parts, changed participants, edited, and tweaked this story until, quite honestly am sick unto death of it, so have decided to post it anyway. So, with that said, unless there are such major gaffes in it that a semi as big as Optimus Prime could drive through with Bumblebee by his side, please be informed that it probably won't be fixed right away if at all. I also have acted as my own Beta, and this is not Brit-picked

Thank you, RoseO'Sharon

S/W/S/W

"Sherlock," John's voice was low. "I think we may have ducked into the wrong kind of place."

Sherlock looked around and was forced to concur with John's assessment, but it had been the first place they'd seen that had been open on the whole seedy block, and they'd needed to get away from the people who had been chasing them with extreme prejudice and intent to kill, so the two could report back to Mycroft.

However, as they looked around what was obviously a lobby of some sort at the mostly men who kissed and groped at various other body parts on each other, Sherlock had to wonder if it had, indeed, been a smart move on their part.

He looked around for exits, but there didn't seem to be any, other than the front door, and both he and John knew that was out due to the gang of men that had pursued them there in the first place.

"We'd better do something," Sherlock frowned even more deeply than he was already. "We're starting to draw attention."

Putting his actions to words, he drew John into a short line of people that waited in front of a very dark and deeply tinted glass window. John squinted but couldn't see who sat behind the glass as the people, once they had handed money through the ridiculously small hole at the bottom of the window, were buzzed through a side door.

Sherlock, who had already deduced how much they'd need by how much those in front had paid, pulled out his wallet, and John looked around. "I don't think this is such a good idea, Sherlock. We don't know what goes on back . . . there," he protested as he nervously eyed the others as they passed through the door into who knew what . . . or where. "And I'm not sure I want to know."

"Of course it's not a good idea," Sherlock snapped. "But if you have a better one, now would certainly be the time to come up with it," he waited for a moment and all but huffed when John just sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I didn't think so. However, I do know what's out that way," he waved his hand at the front door. "And sooner or later those men searching for us are going to figure out where we went and come after us. We need to get back to Mycroft with the report, and we can't do that if we're caught. Besides if you can get past your 'I'm not gay, but there are a lot of people here who are and it's making me nervous' block right now, I'm sure even you'll be able to figure out that most places like this generally have a back door of some kind, or at the very least, a set of windows available to escape through."

John's eyes narrowed as they moved up in line and closer to the window. "Did you just imply that I was 'homophobic'? Me? The one who has a lesbian for a sister?" He scowled at Sherlock's back, but the taller man didn't answer as he stepped up to the window. For a moment, the person whom they assumed was a man and who could doubtlessly see them far better than they could see him, cackled loudly as Sherlock clenched John's arm tightly and shushed him, though very sweetly, and John realized that Sherlock had slipped effortlessly into 'actor' mode.

"Oh, aren't you two adorable," the old man giggled and Sherlock smiled, though John could almost hear his teeth as they ground together. "What a pretty couple you make. And newlyweds too, from the looks o' ya'," he chuckled, and even the ever-unflappable Sherlock had to clear his throat before he spoke, though he flashed an almost-smile.

"Yes, of course," He answered, and John blinked.

"You wouldn't believe how new," he said, then grimaced as Sherlock stepped on his foot.

"Well, for you then, we have a special," the assumed man chuckled. "You can have the Hawaii Honeymoon for three hours and only a hundred pounds. You'll find everything you need in the nightstand, and don't worry, it's all cleaned, sterilized, new, and unused," they could hear his grin as it widened even if they couldn't see it. "We like to pride ourselves on being a full service hotel for the Alternative Lifestyle, despite the rather . . . dreary . . . location."

"I see. Good," Sherlock answered, unsure of exactly what else he was supposed to say. He handed the money over to the old man through the small hole at the bottom of the window, and a moment later, the door was buzzed open just as the main door of the 'hotel' opened. Two very large, very angry men entered the hotel and Sherlock and John casually passed through the buzzed-open door. It closed behind them as the old man welcomed the new comers and told them to get in line.

Sherlock and John glanced at one another as male sounds of sexual and carnal exultation sounded around them from behind closed doors on both sides of the hallway, and Sherlock cursed quietly as there was obviously no other exit in the place readily available. The only one there was, in fact, a fire door attached to an alarm that Sherlock knew he didn't have time to disarm before the gang that was after them found out where he and John had gone.

"Uh . . . maybe there's a window we can go out of in the room," John suggested as he looked at the tacky, palm-tree themed key in Sherlock's hand, and the detective nodded. Quickly, they moved down the seemingly extremely long corridor and read the signs on the doors until they found 'Hawaii Honeymoon' and Sherlock unlocked the door as John pushed it open.

"Oh. Dear. Gods," was all John could think of to say and it was with disgust that they gazed at the loud, floral-patterned curtains and matching bedspread, the plastic grass skirts that surrounded the doorjambs and nightstand, and the equally plastic half coconuts that had been used to decorate the walls and that ringed the edge of the nightstand and the bathroom door.

They heard the outer door as it was opened, and both men rushed to the window of the room. They pushed the curtain aside, but found that the window under it was small. Sherlock might have been able to squeeze through, if he left his coat and jacket behind, but there was no way John would fit, and when they looked in the bathroom, that had no window at all.