A/N – More gratitude to dearest ScopesMonkey! And this is the beginning of, and probably mildest of, the dirty bits. So it's M from here on out boys and girls!
Day 2
1
At around three am I discover John Wayne. I've heard of him, of course, but am certain that I've never seen one of his movies before. I don't believe that I am lacking for this - the cinematic quality of the picture is far from stellar. In fact, the plot is so tiresome that I have stopped following it. The speech patterns are fascinating, however. He emphasises the incorrect syllables in each word and the incorrect words in each sentence. He gestures out of time with his words. It is fascinating to watch. Alarming, but fascinating.
So fascinating in fact, that when my phone rings I let it go to voicemail twice before I finally answer it.
It is Lestrade.
"I've got a case that I think will interest you." I doubt that, but continue to listen. I glance at the clock and see that it is now approaching four in the morning. Odd that Lestrade has a case at this hour.
The victim was found in his safe room, shot in the head but with no evidence of a weapon and with the room locked from the inside.
"Windows," I say even though I know that Lestrade would have thought of that. He isn't as stupid as I like to think he is.
"No windows," Lestrade says. "The door is the only exit." I grab the remote and turn the television off. I make a note to further investigate John Wayne at a later date.
"Address," I demand as I stand. I head towards the bedroom to change.
2.
I'm standing in Lestrade's office when my phone rings again. I pull it out of my pocket and see John's name and note the time.
It's five minutes before noon, that means that it is five minutes before four in the morning in Las Vegas. John is almost never up at four am. And if he is it is never for a good reason. Well, almost never.
I hold up a finger to silence Lestrade and then exit his office; I don't want my conversation with John to be overheard.
"What's wrong?" I ask instead of the typical pleasantry. I'm alarmed to hear my husband start to giggle on the other end of the line.
"Nothing," he says. His voice is slightly slurred and he's unable to stop laughing. He's drunk. I don't like that. The only time I've ever seen John intoxicated was after we had a serious argument during a disturbing case. John's behaviour during that case had terrified me. I don't like to be reminded of it.
"John?" I ask. I enter the stairwell door next to the lifts; this should at least grant me a modicum of privacy. I sit on the step and listen as he laughs some more, gasping for air. I have no idea what he finds so hilarious. I listen to the laughter a few more minutes before it finally starts to taper off.
"I miss you, Sherlock. Do you miss me?" I roll my eyes. Alcohol induced sentimentality is tedious.
"Of course I miss you." I reply, but am surprised that it isn't as pronounced as it was earlier. I still feel vacant inside, but the case has helped distract me. "Are you in your room, John? I think you need to sleep."
"Yep," he says. "I thinks I'm drunk." I roll my eyes again. Thinks?
"Why don't you get some sleep? You'll feel better. Have some water first. You need some water."
"I was trying to…"he says. I can picture his brow furrowing. He's thinking about something. "Wait? Where - no that's wrong. Were. Were you sleeping?"
"No," I answer. "It's afternoon here."
He starts to laugh again, and after a second he's laughing so hard that he's wheezing. I can picture him bent over, one hand covering his face. Seeing John laugh like that is one of my favourite sights. I wish I could see it now.
"I forgotted about the time change," he chuckles.
"Yes, I figured that out. I'm going to have to go, John, I'm wrapping up a case."
The giggling stops immediately, his voice is alarmed and serious as he speaks. "A case? Are you okay? Get my gun, it's… I don't know where it is but get it. Be careful, promise me you'll be… what's that noise?"
I run my hand over my face. This conversation is tiresome. "What noise?"
He's quiet for a moment. "Oh," his voice is different again, drunkenly curious maybe. "I don't know, nevers mind. Promise me you'll be safe."
"I've already solved the case, I'm suffering through the paper work with Lestrade."
"Tell him I said Hi. Hi Lestrade! How's his wife, she had the flu?"
I roll my eyes again. "I'm alone right now, John, but I will pass your rather inebriated greeting and your enquiry on when I go back to Lestrade's office."
"You're alone?" he asks. I sigh. I did just say that.
"Yes, I'm in the stairwell."
"Good," he says and this voice is different yet again. Drunkenness and the distance is making it difficult for me to keep up with my husband. I dislike that. "I have an erection, Sherlock."
I straighten. "What?" I ask, certain that I have heard wrong.
"Will you talk to me, Sherlock?"
"What?" I repeat, mentally chastising myself for it. I hate repeating myself.
"I'm touching myself, Sherlock, talk to me. Please." I hear the slight alteration in John's voice. It is too familiar and I feel my muscles wanting to react to it. Reacting to John is a fundamental part of my nature. Not now though, not here.
"This is ridiculous," I say. It is. I can't do this. Phone sex, how absurd. Phone sex while I sit in a stairwell at Scotland Yard, horrifying.
"Please?" The request shoots right though my body. It is warm and it makes me ache. He's so far away. "Talk, please."
"What do you want me to say?" I've apparently lost my mind. I glance up at the picture hanging on the wall in front of me. It's an anti-drugs poster with a hideous looking woman on it. She's missing most of her teeth. Clearly this is anti-methamphetamine.
I listen to John's breathing, it's faster, harder. He's masturbating. I'm sitting in a stairwell at Scotland Yard and listening to my husband masturbate. I can see it clearly, I've watched John get himself off too many times to count. I know every move, every touch.
I resist the urge to close my eyes, I focus on the poster instead.
This is ridiculous.
"Are you close John?" I ask, knowing that he must be. "Tell me, are you close?"
"Yessss," he hisses out. His breath is barely above a whisper. "Please?"
I understand he's asking me to keep talking. I have no idea what to say, I have no idea what he needs to hear. "Come on, John."
I take the phone away from my ear. The stairwell is quiet. I can't hear the noise outside of the door, so it stands to reason they can't hear me. I will hear any door open or close around me. I'm safe, for now.
"Come on, John. Use your thumb." He grunts and I know that he has dragged his thumb over the head. John is very sensitive to touch just before and just after.
"Oh God," John says and I know he's frantic now, so close. He takes a deep breath and holds it, I can see his face taking on the slight red tint.
"Breathe," I say and the air gasps out of him. He takes another deep one and holds it.
I focus on the anti-drugs poster again. The woman in the poster is missing a large percentage of her teeth. Her eyes are not symmetrical with the left one several millimetres lower than the right. Her nose has an awkward bend to the left, clearly it has been broken, probably more than once. Her hair looks like the hair of someone who is seriously malnourished. She is in no way aesthetically pleasing.
"Oh God," John says and follows it with a drawn out "yesssss." He lets out another quiet gasp and he's coming. I can picture him, feet planted on the mattress, head and shoulders off the bed as his body folds in on itself. He's just stroking the shaft now, the head too sensitive to touch directly. He'll do this until his last stroke where he'll drive his thumb under the head, shivering as his body protests.
"Ungh," comes out of him and I know that he's let go. He's collapsed back onto the bed and I can hear him gasping for breath. I try and keep my attention on the poster and not on the glorious post-coital noises that my husband makes. The blood flow to my groin has increased, but I do not have a full erection. I'm thankful for that because I left my coat in Lestrade's office. It would be a very awkward walk back.
"Are you all right?" I ask him, knowing that he is fine. He's intoxicated though, so I wish to be certain.
He chuckles, straightening out even further. "Brilliant," he says and I can hear the huge grin on his face. I smile despite myself and my general embarrassment.
"Get some sleep, John." I pause before adding: "I love you."
"I love you, too," he replies. The words always come out of him so easily and so sincerely. They make me warm inside every time. I suddenly miss him so much that I ache again.
John rings off and I stand. I look down my body and determine that partial erection isn't noticeable. It will subside. I take a deep breath and head out of the door and back to my paperwork.