"I want to have sex." Sherlock blurted one week later over breakfast. John glanced up from where he was reading the newspaper and blinked in surprise.
"Really? I mean, so soon?"
"It's been two weeks!" Sherlock decided not to tell John about his masturbation failure a few days prior. Since Sherlock rarely masturbated, it made sense that his body wasn't reacting properly without John's presence. His body associated John with sex, so therefore, if he was going to have a successful sexual reaction he needed John to be there. Simple.
John closed the paper in a rustle of pages. He was pretty sure, no, certain, that Sherlock wasn't even remotely healed enough—physically or mentally— to try sex again, and frankly, neither was he.
"You're not ready, love." John said gently. "Your body is still recovering and I don't want you to force yourself into anything."
Sherlock frowned. "Am I correct in assuming that you would like our previous sexual routine to continue?"
"Well…yeah, but—"
"—then I'm ready."
"Well I'm not." John huffed.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not ready for our 'previous sexual routine to continue,' as you put it."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes in confusion, regarding John. "I'm lost."
"Flip the sentiment switch. My partner was raped. The man I love. That's…difficult for me."
Sherlock was quiet, thinking. "So…my getting raped is causing you distress to the degree that you do not want to have relations." He clarified.
"Good job." John said.
Sherlock looked deep in thought.
"We don't need to rush anything." John said. "There's no time limit on when we can have sex again. I'll still be here, no matter how long it takes." John opened up the paper again and continued reading. Sherlock stood up and went around John to get his violin case, which was leaning on the armchair. He kissed John on the top of his head, smirking at the warm smile that flicked across his face.
They had a relaxed day at the flat. John had wanted to take a few days off work to be with Sherlock, and when he told Sarah what had happened, she gave him a month of paid leave. Sherlock didn't want to leave the flat all day, and when John said he was going to watch a movie that night, Sherlock actually came to the sofa and snuggled up against his chest, falling asleep on his shoulder. That was some progress, John supposed, that Sherlock was initiating touch again.
John watched over the next few days as Sherlock continued to not leave the flat. John went to Tesco's on their weekly food run, and Sherlock insisted on coming with. John would occasionally go to down to Speedy's in the evening to get a coffee or something sweet, and inevitably as soon as he left he would hear the sound of Sherlock's feet thumping down behind him on the steps. It was strange seeing Sherlock so willing to stay cooped up and so attached to him.
"Sherlock," John said to the figure seated at the microscope, "how come you're not leaving the flat?"
Sherlock went very still, then looked up. "I told Lestrade not to give me any cases for a couple weeks. I imagine he'll be calling soon though…it's been seventeen days since I was attacked."
John winced and nodded. Fair enough. Sherlock didn't want to come near any sort of situation like the one where he got raped.
"...and the webpage has been slow."
"Ah. Normally you'd be crazy with boredom, that's all." John said.
"Yes, well." Sherlock went back to the microscope. "I look forward to a case as much as always, however, nothing is quite normal now. I'm still cleaning house." He gestured vaguely to his head and then steadied his fingers on the microscope knobs, twisting gently.
"Do you want to go to dinner?" John asked. He was feeling bored. And hungry.
"Not hungry."
"When are you ever hungry?"
Sherlock didn't answer for a few moments, then he flipped off the microscope and stood, putting the slide in the fridge. "Sushi?"
"Sure." John happily grabbed his coat, surprised Sherlock wanted to go. He thought for a moment, then went to the bedroom. He reached under Sherlock's perfectly indexed socks and grabbed his Sig, double-checking to make sure it was loaded before hiding it in the inside pocket of his jacket. If they ran into trouble, John wanted to be prepared. No one was going to hurt Sherlock again. They'd have to kill John first.
Out on the street, Sherlock stayed very close to John. He placed himself furthest away from the street and walked right beside his partner, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his Belstaff coat and his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck even though it wasn't all that cold out. Sherlock brushed against John as they walked and felt the hard metal of the gun in the coat.
"The Sig?" Sherlock murmured as they approached Kyoto Sushi.
"Doesn't hurt to be too careful." John murmured back.
The restaurant wasn't crowded and Sherlock led the way, sitting at a booth in the corner with his back to the wall and a gigantic aqua fish tank at his right. John didn't miss how Sherlock placed himself. He could survey the whole room and he had a clear view of the front door.
"Do you know what you're getting?" John asked, looking at the menu.
"Not hungry."
"I thought wanted sushi—and you have to eat something."
"Don't want to."
John sighed and ordered maki and edamame for both of them. If Sherlock didn't eat now, they could take it home and he'd eat it later.
The door jingled and Sherlock's eyes darted to the figure that walked in. Stocky build, sallow skin. Sherlock stiffened, his brain frantically throwing an image of his attacker up in his mind's eye to compare it with this look-alike. The man was about the same height as his attacker, but Sherlock noticed instantly that his gait was different. His hair was different too and this guy was actually a little less brawny than his rapist. Despite noticing these differences, his brain was already going into a small panic and Sherlock had to restrain his fight-or-flight reflex. Sherlock focused on him as the man walked up to the counter at the front of the restaurant to pay for his take-away order.
"Not your wallet I want…"
The scent of cigarette smoke filled his nose and Sherlock winced, closing his eyes.
"Sherlock?" John's voice broke through the unpleasant thoughts.
The bruises on Sherlock's belly twinged and he rested his hand over them. John reached across the table, laying his hand beside Sherlock's, blocking his view of the man and breaking his concentration.
"What?" Sherlock blinked and focused on John. The door dinged again as the customer left with his food.
"You okay? You've gone all white." John sounded concerned. He slid his hand into Sherlock's, touching fingers to fingers.
"Fine." Sherlock said. His hand twitched, vaguely returning John's gesture, before he pulled back. He cleared his throat and looked away, ashamed now that the man was gone. It wasn't his attacker. But for a moment it had really looked like him…
"Are you in pain?"
"No." Sherlock grabbed his menu and held it up as if reading it, blocking his face from John's.
"Sherlock…c'mon, don't shut me out." John said quietly. "Please?"
Sherlock sighed. He opened his mouth to speak, and the waitress came by with the food, putting it down on the table and wishing them a pleasant meal. It didn't look like it was going to be very pleasant, though Sherlock noticed John had ordered his favorite spicy tuna and avocado roll. Sherlock was horrified to feel a tightness in his throat and eyes. Seriously? He chided himself. Falling apart at the sight of a bloody sushi roll just because John ordered it for me because John is perfect that way?
"He looked like my attacker." Sherlock murmured, staring at a glob of wasabi. His stomach rumbled hopefully and he looked away.
"Someone who came in here?" John asked carefully.
"Yeah."
John turned around in his seat and eyed the front door. He subconsciously put his hand on his Sig and Sherlock smirked. The thought of John killing a man for him made him calmer.
"That bastard better not dare show his face in this city ever again." John murmured, his deep blue eyes darting around the room, systematically scanning it. Sherlock marveled silently at the change that had taken place before him. When John had sat down, he was calm and content, if not hungry. Now though, he was alert in his seat, his spine straight and his jaw tense as he looked for the thing threatening his mate. Civilian to soldier in the blink of an eye.
John ate a little, Sherlock ate even less and John requested a take-home container.
The first thing Sherlock did when they got back to the flat, after bolting the door firmly shut, was take a shower. The images from the attack were fresh and steady again, and bathing had taken on an ablutionary significance. Something about the hot clean water made the rape mildly easier to bear and somehow seemed to even shift the ooze dirtying his palace, draining a small amount of it away. Sherlock stepped into the sitting room afterwards, pajamas on and a towel around his shoulders to catch water from his wet head. The sheer curtains were pulled across the dark windows. He could see the yellow smiley face in the mirror above the skull. A small fire was crackling and the room smelled of wood smoke and fresh tea. John was sitting at the desk, his laptop open and a steaming mug in front of him. Sherlock watched the white glow on John's face as he read the screen, oblivious to Sherlock's presence, and he felt something deep inside him that had been disrupted become slightly more peaceful at the familiar scene. Dull, yes, but homey. Familiar. Everything here was in its proper place, now if only he could get his palace organized.
"There's hot water." John said, glancing up at him.
Sherlock fixed himself a mug of tea and sat across from John, flipping open his laptop and perusing his website. He hummed happily in his throat after a moment and started typing.
"What?" John asked absently.
"A case on my site." Sherlock said.
"Oh? Interesting?"
"Not really." Sherlock clicked a few more times. "Hacking." He sent a note of acceptance to the victim.
"How well can you hack?"
"Well enough to handle this. I've hacked into your computer."
"Yeah." John muttered, "I remember."
"I've hacked into phones. It's not difficult when you know the process. Machines are wonderfully logical and simple."
"Mm. Suppose not." John's answers were vague. He was typing at his blog, Sherlock could tell.
"What are you telling everyone?" Sherlock asked.
"Just saying that I don't know how many cases we'll be getting in the foreseeable future." John said.
"Are you telling them why you're not going to be reporting new cases?" Sherlock said. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He tried to cover it by drinking his tea.
"No." John paused his typing and slid his eyes to Sherlock. "It's none of anyone's fucking business."
Sherlock grinned and slouched down, propping his foot up on John's leg under the table.
tbc...