SO THIS IS MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT SMUT. (Smut is trickier to write than I thought...)

I'm...I'm jus' gonna leave this here and run away now.

NOTE-The guys name in this is Dean...I...didn't know that there was a guy in Supernatural called Dean. COMPLETELY SEPARATE! This isn't a cross-over, he just so happens to be called Dean XD

His name is Sherlock Holmes. And the clock is ticking.

He looked up at the clock which hung on the wall from his chair. He exhaled the smoke from his cigarette, tilting his head to the side. Five minutes till opening time. Five minutes seems like an awfully long time. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. Waiting wasn't exactly in his repertoire of expertise. Deductions? Yes. Smoking? Yes. Insulting? Yes.

Sex? Oh, Hell yes.

Two minutes to go. He fidgeted with the loose thread on his sleeve and took in another long drag of nicotine. One minute to go. He drummed his fingers, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He'd been waiting all week for this; he wasn't fond of visiting every day-he wanted to wait and let the excitement of what was to come drag and prosper for as long as he could bare before finally giving in and succumbing to his desires. He gave the clock one final glance and smiled at the time. 9:00pm. Finally. He rose from his seat and grabbed his coat and scarf, throwing them on quickly. Before he left, he looked back at his beloved riding-crop which rested on the side-table. He smirked and plucked it from its resting place, concealing it in the inside of his coat.

Jodie Buck stared at herself in the mirror, scrutinizing every undesired detail on her face. First day on the job, stay calm. Stay calm...yeah right, easier said than done. Especially if said job is never spoken about in proper society. She wasn't prepared to tell her mother than she'd become a prostitute/stripper/dancer/whatever they're paying for-her mother was precisely the kind of woman who would faint at the thought of her all-loving daughter stooping so low in the world. Jodie shrugged at her reflection-if it pays the bills then it's good enough for me. The other girls, and the few boys, she was working alongside seemed rather pleasant around her. Granted, there were some real bitches, but that comes with every job. She flopped down in a surprisingly comfortable chair, breathing in and out deeply to calm her nerves.

'You alright love?'

She jumped out of her new sense of calm, eyes snapping up to the door-way. A young man with dark floppy hair and soft eyes smiled at her. She'd seen him arrive at the same time as her to work. He sat down next to her, securing his robe. 'You're new here, yeah?'

'I arrived this morning.' She mumbled.

'Ah! You nervous?'

'Slightly.'

'Don't worry, I've worked here for a while. It's great, once you get over the terror of selling yourself.'

Jodie's shoulders sagged. 'Thanks.'

'I'm Dean, by the way.'

'Jodie.'

Dean gave her a smile. 'Hey, Jodie. What got you here?'

Jodie sighed inwardly. 'I need to pay the bills somehow. I'm thick but I'm pretty, so I'm using this in my benefit.'

Dean nudged her. 'You're not thick!'

'You don't even know me.'

'But I'm good at guessing. You don't sound thick, and I know thick when I hear it.'

'Cheers.'

Dean tilted his head. 'What you into?'

Jodie blinked. 'I'm sorry?'

'You know, boys? Girls? Both? Threesomes?'

'Oh. Anything.'

'Same, but mainly boys myself. I can stand girl's chests, but downstairs...' He pulled a face. 'Ugh. Not my cup of tea. No offence.'

'Not at all.' She relaxed a little. 'So, who visits this place?'

'Oh, all sorts. Straights, gays, lesbians, bi, everything. There's the lesbian with the obsession with feet. And the gay couple who always demand a third person for whatever reason. And then there's the regular guy...' He smiled to himself.

Jodie frowned. 'Who? Who's the regular guy?'

Dean leaned back on his chair. 'Oh, he is god-damn amazing! I've never seen someone so gorgeous!'

'What's his name?'

'Sherlock Holmes.'

'Funny name.'

'I know, but...' Dean exhaled dramatically. 'He's famous around here.'

'Why?'

'Well, according to legend of this place, past down from one hooker to the next, he is the best shagger in the universe.'

Jodie narrowed her eyes. 'Come on.'

'It's true! Well, I don't know, I haven't had him yet. But there was one rumour that he can make you come in ten seconds, and, the orgasm he could give you could last for twenty minutes.'

Jodie raised her eyebrows. 'What's he into?'

'Everything. Girls, boys, threesomes, orgies, you name it...and...'

'What?'

Deans eyelids fluttered. 'He carries a black riding-crop whenever he's here. He must use it on people.' He sighed dreamily. 'I wish I could be on the receiving end of that.'

'Who's he had?'

'Almost everyone.'

'And he's never asked for you?'

'Nah. It makes me feel quite unloved to be honest.'

'Good tipper?'

'Actually, half the time he gets it for free.'

'What? Why?!'

'Because he's a fucking sex-god! Everyone's begging to be shagged by him, he's hardly ever charged.'

'Ah, I see. What's he...you know?'

Dean shrugged. 'I don't know do I? I've heard he loves giving rather than receiving. I've seen the love-bites he's given people-they look painful.'

Jodie felt light-headed. 'Is he gonna be here tonight?'

'Maybe, maybe not. He's a creature of whim.'

'Right.' The ruckus outside of the door stopped suddenly. '...Why has the music stopped?'

Deans eyes widened. 'Oh my God. He's here.' He bolted towards the door and peaked through the crack in the hinge. Jodie hesitantly stooped down and looked as well. She saw the dancers continue to dance without music, with one eye on the new-comer. Jodie caught a look at him. She'd seen more handsome people, but Dean was right-there was something about him. He had cold, foggy eyes and dark brown curly hair which was swept to one side on his forehead. He was tall and skinny, his cheekbones protruding. He wore a long navy coat with the collar turned up, and a natty blue scarf around his neck. Underneath his coat, Jodie saw his blood red shirt, black jacket and slacks. He glanced at them for a millisecond and Dean squeaked. 'He looked at me! Did you see that?'

'Mm.' The music started up again as Mr Holmes slowly started walking across the room. 'What's he doing now?'

'Scanning.'

'Scanning?'

'Deducing. He's a detective, a really good one as well. He's deducing the dancers to see if they're any good at shagging.'

'How can he know?!'

'I told you-he's really good. After he's had a bit of a show he chooses one, or many, and then they come into this room and have the time of their life.'

'In here?'

'Yup.'

'We should leave.'

'Good idea.' They both left the safety of the private room and entered the club floor. The other visitors stepped away into the shadows as Sherlock stopped walking and looked at the row of dancers. One of them quickly stepped off her podium and grabbed a chair, placing it in front of the stage. Sherlock nodded at her and sat down, catching the bar-man's eyes. Within seconds, he came over with a whiskey and a cigarette lighter. Sherlock muttered a thanks and took the items of him. Placing the whiskey to one side, he lit up a cigarette and breathed in its poison deeply. After a while of staring at the unexciting dancers, he stood up and left his empty glass. He glanced around and slowly approached Jodie. Dean shuffled away as Sherlock walked up to her.

'Good evening.' Jodie said quietly.

'Good evening. How are you finding your new job?' Sherlock replied.

Jodie paused. 'Two things; number one, your voice is gorgeous-'

'Thank-you.'

'You're welcome. Number two, how did you know that? I know you're a detective, and a good one, but...'

'There you go, then. You answered it yourself.' He leaned against the wall next to her. 'What are you into?'

'I don't know.'

'What have you done before?'

'Not a huge amount.'

'Hmm. Thought so. Are you more into girls or boys?'

'...I'm not sure.'

'Well,' he gestured to himself. 'What do you think of me?'

Jodie looked at him up and down. 'You're alright.'

'Alright?'

'Good alright, you know.'

'Ah.' He stepped closer towards her. 'I'm slightly insulted.'

'Don't be.'

Sherlock smirked and dipped his head towards her ear. 'So. What do you say? You up for it?'

Jodie raised one finger. 'Can I just stop you there?' Sherlock stopped moving. 'If I were you, I wouldn't bother with me.' She nodded towards Dean. 'He's the one you want.'

Sherlock looked up at Dean. 'Him?'

'You're into boys as well, right?'

'Mm.'

'He's good. Really fancies you as well.'

'...Really?'

'Oh, yeah.'

'What's his name?'

'Dean. Go to him.'

Sherlock paused. 'See you round, Jodie.' He strolled towards Dean, who was leaning against a wall. He stood in front of him and placed one hand against the wall, slightly above Deans shoulder. Sherlock smiled from the corner of his mouth and nibbled at his ear. Dean sighed with complete and utter joy. Sherlock led Dean by the hand, guiding him towards the back room. As Dean walked past Jodie, he squealed and waved at her with his free hand.

'Thank-you!' He mouthed.

Dean stood awkwardly in the centre of the room as Sherlock locked the door. The detective looked at him up and down as he circled him slowly. 'What's your full name?'

'Dean Redd.'

'Is that your real name?'

'Dean is. Redd isn't.'

'Thought so. Take your robe off.'

Dean quickly disguarded the said item, standing just in his boxers. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him for a millisecond. 'Very nice. Into boys?'

'Yes.'

'Good. What's your age?'

'Twenty-six.'

'Hm. Ten years younger than me.'

'I don't mind.' Dean said quickly.

Sherlock smirked. 'I hear that you have a bit of a thing for me.'

'Who told you that?'

'It doesn't matter. Is this true?'

'...Well, yeah. Everyone here fancies you.'

'Do they?'

'Duh. I thought you were meant to be intelligent.'

Sherlock frowned. 'Don't push it.'

'Sorry sir.'

'Sir? I like that. You can call me that from now on.'

'Yes sir.'

'So, why do you fancy me?'

Dean shuffled from foot to foot. 'I don't know. You're really fit, sir.'

'Flattered, I'm sure.' He tilted his head. 'Take my coat and scarf off please.' Dean immediately stood behind Sherlock, pulling the long coat off the detectives shoulders and hanging it up on a scrawny-looking hanger. He stood back in front of him and slipped off that blue scarf, hanging it over the coat. Sherlock nodded at him. 'Most people just throw those on the floor. Thank-you for your consideration.'

'You're welcome.'

Sherlock pulled on one of Deans shoulders and kissed him. Dean practically melted, hesitantly resting a hand on the side of Sherlocks neck. Sherlock parted. 'Not bad at all. I'm rather impressed.'

Deans eyes shone with pride. 'Really!?' He cleared his throat. 'Of course you're impressed, that is.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Don't get flustered.'

'Of course...sorry sir.'

Sherlock looked down at the space between them. 'I detect a lack of excitement, though.'

Dean frowned. 'Give me a chance. We haven't exactly got started.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Most of the people who I have are already begging for it at this point.'

'I know. I've heard all the rumours about you.'

Sherlock grunted and dipped his head, 'do tell me.' He murmured, nuzzling at Deans neck.

'Well, there's the one where you shagged someone so hard that they passed out. Then there's the girl who couldn't walk for a week after you had her...and...Um...' Sherlock bit down gently into Deans neck, kissing each bit of now reddened skin. 'Ah...there's the one about your stamin..stamina...shit.' Sherlock trailed butterfly kisses across Deans shoulder, over his side, the plains of his chest whilst, God, how did he get that out of his coat...stroking that riding crop up and down Deans thigh.

'Continue.'

'Right, yeah. I, um...there's the rumour that...that...oh, fuck.' Dean's voice shook as Sherlock ran his tongue over his chest-starting from his waistband and ending up on his collar-bone. 'Sherlock...'

'Finally, the response.'

Dean groaned and threw himself on Sherlocks mouth, suddenly desperate to taste him again. Sherlock responded by pulling him onto the rickety bed behind them, falling on top of Dean. 'Eager, aren't we?' He grazed his teeth over Deans inner thigh, pausing, and then licking his length.

Dean bucked unconsciously. 'Good God...'

'God's not here.' Sherlock cracked the riding-crop against the bed-frame, making Dean whimper.

'I should be doing the work, not you. You're...you're a client.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'I prefer to take control. I like doing things my way.' He paused, mouth against Deans neck again. 'May I?'

'May you what?'

'I'll take that as a yes.' Sherlocks teeth surrounded a part of Deans throat, biting down incredibly hard, his tongue flicking out every so often.

Dean writhed beneath him. 'Oh my God!' He let out a cry of pain. Sherlock finally let him go. 'You're vicious!'

'Indeed. And you're now mine.'

'...Is that good?'

'You tell me.'

'I don't know, do I? I don't...' Dean paused. 'What are you like? In bed, I mean?'

'What do you think? What have the rumours told you?'

'Rumours are rumours. What are you really like?'

Sherlock smirked and brushed his mouth against Dean's ear. His voice dropped to a whisper. 'I'm going to take you, Dean. Right here, right now.'

'I gathered that.'

Sherlock pinned Deans hands above his head. 'I hope you realize how lucky you are. I'm going to fuck you, and you're going to have the time of your life.'

Dean swallowed visibly. 'I'm convinced.'

'Good.' Sherlock toed off his shoes and socks.

'Now you've just gotta deliver.'

'I will.' Sherlock sat up and unbuttoned his jacket, letting it fall behind him. Dean got the jist and sat forward, unbuttoning his clients red shirt. Once he'd finished, he'd stared down at his chest. Unconsciously, he licked one of Sherlocks nipples, running his thumb over the other. Sherlock chewed on his lip with satisfaction. 'Good boy.'

'Thank-you, sir.'

Sherlock pulled Dean in for a sloppy, messy kiss as he fumbled around the detectives belt. After a few seconds, Sherlock disguarded his trousers and had removed Dean's last shred of dignity, not caring where it landed. He parted from him.

'What are you into?'

'Now you ask?!'

Sherlock laughed breathlessly. 'Answer.'

'I dunno. Anything really.'

'Are you into...' Sherlock dragged his riding-crop over Dean's chest. Dean's tongue shot out and licked the length of the riding-crop. Sherlock smiled. 'I see.'

'I'll do whatever you want me to.'

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 'Really?'

'Well, within reason.'

Sherlock grinned. He stood up beside the bed. 'On all fours.'

'...What-'

'Now.'

'Yes, yes sir.' Dean did as he was told. There was a beat of painful silence, before Sherlock sent the riding-crop cracking down on Dean's bare arse. Dean let out a half-yelp, half-moan. 'Oh, God! Do that again!'

Sherlock tipped his head back, pride surging through his body. Dean looked back at him. 'Please, sir. I need more.'

'Be quiet.' Sherlock turned the riding crop over in his hands, and then struck Dean again, receiving another groan as a reward.

This went on until Dean was almost screaming for mercy, his erection aching to have attention. Sherlock dropped his weapon of choice and collapsed on top of him, spreading Deans legs and disguarding his own boxers. Dean rolled over so he was lying on his back again, using his pre-come as a lubricant. Sherlock sat over his pelvis and slowly, slowly, lowered himself onto him. Both men groaned loudly at the sensation; Sherlock closed his eyes and slowly tilted his head back.

Dean shakily tapped him on his side. 'Sherlock, please...I need you...please move...'

Sherlock looked down at him, tilting his head. 'As you wish.' He started grinding up and down, refusing to break eye-contact. It took only a few moments before Sherlock ended up panting, attacking Dean with untidy kisses. Dean was now dizzy with lust, leaving long scratches across the clients back. The detective let out a strangled moan as Dean hit his...spot. 'Fuck, yes...'

Dean growled a only slightly coherent 'faster,' and Sherlock did as he was told, speeding up and letting a strangled groan as Dean hit his prostate over and over again. He tangled his fingers into Deans spiked-up hair, tugging it in time with his rhythm.

Dean arched his back, balling up the bed-sheets beneath him. He wanted, no, needed more. He dug his nails into Sherlocks shoulders. 'H...harder.'

'What?'

'Sher...hard..'

Sherlock smirked. 'Sorry? I didn't catch that.' He stopped moving completely, making Deans eyes widen.

'Please! Harder!' He yelled, not caring if the others heard him from the other side of the door.

Sherlock smiled, 'very well, since you asked so nicely...' He started up again, fulfilling Deans request.

Deans sighed heavily, 'I can't...last...'

'Mm.' Sherlock replied, brushing one of his curls which had stuck to his forehead with sweat away.

'I need to...'

'No.'

Dean stared up at him. 'W...what?'

'Hold it.'

Dean bit down on his lower-lip. He felt like he was going to explode. 'I can't.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, tightening around Deans length and making him groan. 'You wait; you wait like a good boy.'

Dean, despite himself, nodded. He could do this, he's not fourteen anymore. Why did Sherlock then choose this moment to go faster, moaning to himself? Shit, too close, too attractive, too much, too much, too much. He felt his abdomen ache, and then the rest of his body tense up. 'Sherlock, I can't...'

Sherlock looked down at him. 'Neither can I.'

'Please...Oh God, please!'

'Can't you...?'

'No!'

'Then don't.'

'SHERLOCK!' Deans whole body arched upwards, seeing stars surround his vision. He couldn't hear, feel anything, but he was pretty sure that he was shouting out something. His eyes adjusted for a second, seeing Sherlock tense up and scream out something. For a long time, all he could hear was white noise as his client fell onto his chest. Then he felt the bed creak and Sherlock stand up, grabbing his clothes.

'How much?'

Dean stared up at the ceiling as he raised one finger. 'One minute.'

Sherlock nodded to himself and threw on his underwear and trousers. He frowned slightly, looking for his shirt, before finding it crumpled under the bed. He slipped it on and buttoned it up. '...Can I ask now?'

'Yeah, just...' Dean shuddered. 'No, wait.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes and nodded again. He found his shoes and socks on the other side of the room; he picked them up and sat on one of the seats, pulling on the said items of clothing.

Dean eventually sat up. 'What was the question?'

Sherlock looked up at him, smoothing out his hair. 'How much do I owe you?'

'Oh, um...you're leaving already?'

Sherlock blinked at him and said a slow, 'yes.'

'I thought you would stay for a while.' Dean looked at him up and down. 'You can get dressed quickly.'

'Practise. Where's my jacket?'

'On the floor by your feet.'

'Ah.' Sherlock shrugged it on. 'Answer the question quickly.'

'I, er...'

'Fifty, sixty?'

'Sure, why not. Sherlock?'

'What?'

'...Will this happen again?'

Sherlock sighed and looked at the poor boy. 'Are you really saying that you want to be in a relationship with me?'

'No, no, no. Course not, I'm just saying, would you pick me again?'

'Maybe. We'll see.' Sherlock slipped into his coat and wound the scarf around his neck. He left a wad of notes on the side table. 'I don't do relationships.'

'Yeah you do.'

Sherlock stopped mid-walk and spun round to look at him again. 'Excuse me?'

'There's a rumour that you go around, shagging everyone and anyone, but there's one person that you never have.' Sherlock chewed on the inside of his lip as Dean went on, 'he lives with you, am I right? You really, proper fancy him but-'

'Just a rumour. Nothing more.' Sherlock opened the door, paused, and then smiled. 'Nice meeting you, Dean Redd.' He left, shutting the door behind him. Dean flopped back down again, breathing in and out deeply. He turned looked absent-mindedly around the room and saw the riding-crop resting on the side-table. He jumped to his feet, shoved himself into his boxers and robe, grabbing it. He dashed out into the main club-floor, looking around for the owner of the riding-crop.

'Sherlock?' He saw the end of Sherlock's coat disappear out of the front door. He ran after him into the night air. 'Sherlock!'

Sherlock stopped and spun round to look at him. 'What?'

Dean wrapped his robe around him in a vague attempt to stop him getting cold. He held out the riding-crop. 'You forgot this.'

Sherlock smiled at it. He took it from him. 'Ah. Thank-you.'

'You're welcome.' They both looked at each other. Eventually, Sherlock spoke.

'Earlier on, you said that everyone...liked me.'

'That they fancied you.'

'Yeah...' Sherlock pursed his lips. 'Follow me.' He walked back into the club with Dean following like a dog.

Everyone looked up at Sherlock. It was unheard of him to enter a club twice in one week, let alone in one night. The detective told Dean to wait near the bar whilst he stood up on one of the podiums. He smiled a one-sided smile as he looked at the gaping eyes staring up at him. 'Right, you lot.' He extended his arms and raised both eyebrows. 'Up for it?'

Every single employee ran at him screaming, knocking him back against the wall of mirrors.