When I wake up it is dark. I am wondering why I woke, but then I realise that John is shouting at Sherlock.
"Sherlock, she could have got killed. You've got to stop this."
I prick up my ears.
"John, she volunteered. She knew full well what she was in for, I was honest with her. She did a good job," Sherlock replies, sounding completely calm.
They are arguing about me. I'm not sure what to do, whether to stay here and eavesdrop, or whether to butt in.
"She didn't volunteer, Sherlock, and you know it. She was volunteered. You set her up. And I noticed you chose not to tell her that we lost the GPS signal and ended up driving aimlessly around Norfolk for forty minutes," John says, "so much for honesty."
Sherlock sighs, and says, "Listen, she was in hysterics. Even you didn't think it was medically prudent to tell her that at the time. I note you sidetracked the conversation."
"You've had plenty of chances since," John says. He's not backing down. I decide to stay in the room and listen, rather than be caught in the crossfire. However, it seems it is not my decision to make – the door opens and Sherlock appears.
"Care to join the discussion, I'm sure we'd appreciate your point of view?" he says, sounding only slightly sarcastic.
I'm not sure I want to, I'm half asleep and I haven't even got to grips with what I've just heard. I'm embarrassed at being found listening in, not sure how Sherlock knew I was awake in the first place, and all in all I feel completely caught on the back foot. Sherlock disappears but leaves the door open, leaving me little choice but to get up and join them.
John is standing in the middle of the room. He looks concerned when I come in and says, "You heard that, yeah?"
I nod. I'm not sure what to say.
"We lost the signal of the van about three quarters of the way into the journey into Norfolk," Sherlock says. He's sitting in his chair, looking calm, and straight at me. "I worked out from the map the route the van was taking and its most likely destination, which was coastal. Then we did a search on abandoned properties and isolated farmsteads in the area. There weren't that many to check out. We found you in less than half an hour from when we started looking. There was no driving around aimlessly," he sounds terse, "I knew what I was doing."
I can manage an "Oh".
Sherlock is still looking at me when he continues, "John seems to think that it was too close to call and that I should refrain from enlisting your services in the future."
It takes me a moment to untangle the beautiful words into their harsh meaning. What he's saying is he's going to send me away and I will not hear from him again. I very much doubt I'd be invited back just for tea and biscuits. I don't want to think about this just yet.
"How did you know I was awake?" I ask.
"With the level of noise that John was producing? Of course you were awake," Sherlock says.
John looks away and says, "sorry, Adri."
The room goes quiet. John is looking at the floor, and Sherlock is staring at the wall. I try to get my thoughts in order. "Can I say something?" I ask.
Sherlock just raises an eyebrow. I look at John, and say, "I knew I was being set up. I'm not stupid."
I notice Sherlock smiling briefly to himself. John says, "That's not really the point, Adri. You should have never got into that situation in the first place."
I am thinking very hard. There is no way I am just letting this go. "You put yourself in danger all the time," I say to John.
He gives me a hard stare, and says, "That's different. I was trained by the military. You're a chemist, for Christ's sake." I am wondering if he is trying to get me angry.
"Can't you just think of me as learning on the job?" I say.
Another brief smile from Sherlock. He's not looking at either of us, just listening. He seems to be enjoying himself. "I am a consenting adult when it gets down to it," I say to John, "I'd like to think I can make my own decisions".
John is still looking at me. "I am just worried that you consent a little too easily," he says. That hurts, and he knows it. Great, I think, he thinks I'm a walkover. Now I do feel angry.
"That's my decision, John. And if you ask anyone that knows me you'll find I don't generally let people walk all over me. I make that choice. Submissive never meant weak."
He gives me a curious look, then shakes his head. "Fine," he says with a sigh. "Suit yourself. But I'm not the only one who's thinking it. Lestrade said exactly the same."
At this, Sherlock looks across to me. "And I take it that Sally Donovan had a quiet word with you?" he asks.
"It wasn't exactly quiet," I say. It's the right thing to say. Even John smiles.
Sherlock gets up and says, "Thank you John, that was most elucidating." John looks confused, but Sherlock just says, "Good night," and walks to the bedroom.
John says, "Sherlock, where are you going?"
Sherlock stops. "To bed."
I can see John's face, he is trying to stay calm, but he knows that Sherlock is trying to wind him up.
"But Sherlock, I thought you were on the sofa."
"You're sitting on it."
John looks to me for some help but I'm still recovering from the last argument and I'm completely at a loss. I'm not even sure what the point is he's trying to make. I get the impression he's just getting his own back for everyone being on his case all afternoon.
"We can get off if you want," John says.
"It's my bed," Sherlock holds out. "The sofa is not comfortable."
"Oh but come on, Sherlock, where's Adri going to sleep?" John is losing patience now.
Sherlock just gives him the calm stare and says "it's a double bed."
John looks at me again, as if looking for some guidance whether to carry on this argument. I don't think it's worth it, so shake my head, imperceptibly I hope.
"Thank you, Adriane," Sherlock says as he disappears into the bedroom.
John sighs and passes me a beer.
We drink in silence for a while, until John says, "I can sleep on the sofa if you want. You can have my bed."
I think about it, then say, "He wins whatever we do, John. Either you spend an uncomfortable night on the sofa, or I do." John cuts in, "oh no, that wouldn't do," and I continue, "Or I give in and join him and that way at least everyone sleeps in a bed. It's not like he's likely to jump on me, he's just proving a point."
John snorts, then says, "He's a spectacular arse sometimes. I'm sorry, Adri."
I look at him. "We're not so very different, you and I," I say. "You don't just put up with him, you'd do anything for him. You risk your life for him on a regular basis."
He thinks about it for a moment. "I owe him a lot," he finally says.
"And that doesn't make you a walkover," I say. "Or weak. It makes you stronger. And it makes me stronger."
He just looks at me thoughtfully for a while, then finishes his beer. "Come on, I'll do your back," he says.
I'm not sure what to expect when I get to bed. I'm hoping Sherlock will be asleep, which would be the best way to avoid an awkward situation. There's not a lot of light in the room so I feel my way to the bed and lie down.
Sherlock rolls over to look at me and says, "So you are happy for me to walk all over you then."
I'm trying not to let it get to me. "Oh, you picked up on that," I say. "That came out wrong."
He rolls back, and says, "No, it didn't."
He's right, I think, it didn't, and he's just proved it. There are a hundred things I wish I could say to get some kind of dignity back. I'm beginning to believe he probably has an answer to all of them. In the end, I say nothing, roll over and try to get some sleep.
To my surprise he rolls back towards me and puts his arm over me. It hurts a little on my back but I am too grateful for a bit of comfort to care. "Adriane," he says, "you're going to have to learn to say no to me. They're right, you know. I'll end up getting you killed. You'd be better off out of this."
I take his hand. "I trust you," I say in the end, "John does, too. That's enough for me."
I fall asleep like that, but when I wake up I am alone. It's only barely getting light but the sound of Sherlock playing the violin is filling the house. I just lie there listening to the music, wondering what the day will bring. I feel emotionally drained and consider just staying in bed, hiding until my back has healed up. I'm not sure I can cope with Sherlock in whatever mood he will be in. My back is sore and my head is a blurry confused mess. I roll over and pull the covers over my head.
"Are you getting up? I've got bacon," John says from the doorway. He's holding a plate. It smells delicious.
"Sorry," I say, "what time is it?"
"Eleven o'clock," he grins.
I sit bolt upright. I didn't realise I'd fallen asleep again. I probably needed it. After breakfast John does my back again and I get dressed. Sherlock is in the kitchen doing an experiment, and I watch him for a while.
"Can I look at your books?" I ask when he stops for a moment.
"Not the ones on the top two shelves," he says.
I wonder what's in those, but I don't pry. His book collection is large and varied and I spend the afternoon reading, while Sherlock works and John writes his blog. In the evening John orders a takeaway and we play Cluedo, but Sherlock works out who did it within the first two rounds, so instead he and John settle on a game of chess and I watch. Sherlock maintains the bizarre sleeping arrangements, but this night John doesn't argue and I don't mind.
Friday passes in a similar fashion, quietly. Sherlock spends some of the day at Bart's and I carry on reading. When he gets back he ropes me into one of his chemistry experiments. It's nice to be able to do something I'm good at. I offer to cook to have something to do, and John gets the shopping.
"Don't use anything in the fridge please," he says, "you never know what you will find in there."
I decide to leave the fridge alone. I do pasta because it's something I know how to do, and most people like it. After dinner John checks my back again. "That's it I think," he says when he finishes, "everything is covered up as long as you don't scratch it. You are medically discharged."
I thank him for all his good cares.
John goes out for the evening to have drinks with a friend. Sherlock is absorbed in something on his laptop and hasn't said a word since dinner, and I try to read but find it hard to keep my eyes open. In the end I take the easy option and just go to bed. It's a bit strange to think that tomorrow I will be home again, sleeping in my own bed, and not knowing whether I'll ever come back here. I can't let the thought go, which means I can't settle to sleep.
After about an hour the door opens and Sherlock comes in. I'm still wide awake, so I watch him as he gets undressed and gets into bed. As usual he is down to his underwear, and I can see his muscular body and can't help think how physically attractive he is, and how much I want him. I have to calm my thoughts as he lies down.
"I thought you were tired," he says, looking at me, leaning on one elbow.
"Can't sleep," I just say. I can feel his body warmth, and it is doing nothing to calm me down. I decide to go for it. I've got nothing to lose, after all. I run my hand down his chest, gently, and say, "Sherlock, would you…" I can't quite find the right words.
"I'm going home tomorrow," I start again. "I may not see you again."
He's just looking at me now, making this very hard. His eyes are slightly narrowed when he says, "I believe what you are asking for is called a sympathy fuck."
I wince at the word, I wouldn't have called it that, but he's basically right. He's also waiting for an answer, so I look away and say, "Yes."
He has a way of making this stuff very embarrassing.
Instead of saying anything, he reaches out and pulls the straps of my nightshirt down my arms. Then he takes hold of both my wrists and puts my arms over my head, pinning me down with one hand. With the other hand he expertly pulls down my nightshirt, taking the pants down at the same time. Then he takes off his own shorts with equal ease. I am taken aback, I was expecting him to be as awkward as the last time. He is watching me, and I know the thought must be written all over my face.
"Don't assume anything, Adriane," he says quietly.
I realise I have misjudged him completely, but I have no time to think - the next moment he is over me and inside me and it is like I am being taken over by some great tidal wave. There is no coming up for air, no space for rational thought as he is moving on me, still holding my arms over my head, his other hand having free reign over my body, touching me, owning me. His mouth is on my neck and throat, and I am losing all sense of place and time as I get swept away in this and the rhythm takes over my body until that is all there is.
I surface when he suddenly stops and holds still. I'm confused, barely catching my breath, my head a garbled mess. I realise I am swearing. He puts his hand over my mouth until I can only breathe through my nose, his face very close to mine, looking into my eyes. He is only looking slightly flustered.
Very quietly, he says, "I am going to let you come, but you are going to be quiet about it."
I am at a point where the only things left in my brain are lust and obscenities, but he is waiting for me to respond so I acknowledge as well as I can. He runs his hand from my mouth over my throat to my nipple, watching me all the time, and I gasp and writhe with the sensation and the need for him to move inside me, but he is staying still, just playing with my nipple until all I want to do is scream. Then, just as I think I can't stand any more, he begins to move again, slowly, deliberately.
I can feel everything, every part of my body sensitised, my skin burning as if it is electrified. The world dissolves into pure feeling as I reach orgasm and I feel him come too, adding to the waves and transporting me to a different place entirely. Through it all runs the vague notion of trying to be quiet, and I honestly don't know whether I manage or not.
It takes me a while to come down enough to form a coherent thought. The first thing that comes out is, "Jesus Christ, Sherlock."
He is still holding me down, but now he lets go of my arms and slides off. He looks at me, face emotionless, and says quietly, "Don't underestimate me, Adriane. Just because I don't, doesn't mean I can't. And that is my choice." He considers me a moment longer and adds, "You have all the self-control of a child. Work on it." Then he rolls over and falls asleep almost instantly.
The next morning I am alone again when I wake up. I get dressed and get my things together, head still in a muddle. I just want make my way to the lounge, not sure what to expect and not sure whether I want to face either Sherlock or John. But Sherlock is in the kitchen, experimenting, and John is with him. I make my way past them, keeping my head down, and sit down on the sofa.
After a minute John puts his head around the corner and says good morning, and do I want a cup of tea. I say yes please, but I don't make my way back to the kitchen. I really can't face up to Sherlock's smugness so I sit on the sofa and end up just staring into space. He looks across to me for a moment and smiles to himself, then carries on with his work. Not what I needed, I think, good morning would have been better.
John comes over with my tea, and asks, "Are you OK?"
I nod, and say yes, I'm fine. He doesn't look like he believes me very much.
"Are you sure?" he gives me a searching look.
I still can't focus very well. "Yeah, I'm fine," I say, trying to sound convincing.
He raises an eyebrow at me but doesn't say anything else. Instead, he goes back into the kitchen. He is talking quietly, but I can hear him say, "Sherlock, what have you done with Adri? She looks completely spaced out."
Sherlock ignores him but I can seem him smirk. John must have seen it too, because he says, "Sherlock, I am asking you as her doctor. Have you drugged her or something?"
Now Sherlock looks up. "The thought hadn't occurred," he says.
John is giving him the hard stare, he doesn't want to let this go. Sherlock seems to weigh it up for a moment, then he says, "I gave her something to think about. In the most positive sense of the word. I can assure you she didn't get hurt, doctor," and carries on with his work.
"Oh," John says, and then "Oh." I head to the bathroom.
When I come out, John is waiting for me.
"Adri, are you sure you're all right?" I can see he is worried, and a little embarrassed. I take a deep breath, and say, "Yes, it's fine. I'll be fine. I need to go home."
He is still looking worried. I shake my head to clear it, and say, "Look, John, I'm fine. I got exactly what I asked for. I just didn't see it coming. I need to go and sort my head out."
He gives me one last look, then nods.
Breakfast is a quiet affair. I have nothing to say, Sherlock is stuck behind his microscope and John doesn't try to make polite conversation. Afterwards I get all my things together and John calls a taxi. As I am about to leave, Sherlock looks up from his work.
"I'll be in touch, Adriane," he says, then returns to his studies once more.
I remember Sally Donovan's words, get out while you still can. I realise it's too late for that, it was too late for that even before I walked out of UCL and knocked on the door of 221B Baker street, and it's certainly too late for that now. Sherlock doesn't even look up when I go, but then I didn't expect him to, he has me exactly where he wants me. John takes me downstairs. To my surprise, he gives me a big bear hug before I get in the taxi. He looks at me, still a little worried.
"Look after yourself, Adri," he says. "Don't let him mess with your head."
I give him a little smile, and say , "It's a bit late for that, John."
He returns the smile, "in that case, just make sure you look after yourself," he says, and gives me another hug.
"That's what I do."