Aaaand the chapter you have all been waiting for—John's solo striptease act!
Another Obligatory Disclaimer—I don't own Ke$ha's song Take It Off either. The lyrics are simply there as a point of reference so that you know what he's doing during each stanza…
I hope it did this scene justice! Enjoy!
It was a while later before John's solo number was performed. Sherlock felt his whole body thrumming with barely restrained excitement.
"So ladies—and gents," CJ acknowledged, "have I got a special treat for you tonight! Joining us this evening for a special performance, recently returned on leave from her majesty's service, is the very salaciously sexy Captain Johnny!"
Sherlock leaned forward, intrigued. He was unaware of John's musical selection, and of course his flat mate had refused to practice in front of him.
"But if we do not practice how you'll approach me, how will I know how to react?" Sherlock questioned.
John's answering smirk was not reassuring. "I don't want you to 'rehearse' your reaction, Sherlock. I want you in the heat of the moment right then. I want you to respond spontaneously."
The crowd roared and clapped as the lights were lowered. The dark outline of John's muscular form appeared in the center of the stage as the first bars of the music started.
When the dark of the night comes around.
That's the time that the animal comes alive
Looking for something wild.
John marched out onto the small stage dressed to the nines in the tear-away army fatigues. From his position near the back of the club, Sherlock thought the 'uniform' looked convincing authentic. This was sure to be interesting... Perhaps this was the most interesting case they'd done so far—of course that thought had absolutely nothing to do with the idea of John parading around half naked—stripping. Nope. Not in the least... Sherlock shifted in his seat, uncomfortable suddenly.
And now we lookin' like pimps in my gold Trans-Am.
Got a water bottle full of whiskey in my handbag.
Got my drunk text on, I'll regret it in the mornin'
But tonight I don't give a I don't give a, I don't give a
There was that look on the doctor's face again—the one that the consulting detective could only label as being self-satisfied. John Watson was indeed a sexy man in uniform, and he knew it. The women in the club also seemed to know this, too. They cat-called to him as he teasingly worked the zipper of his jacket further and further down as he tantalizingly swayed on the runway.
There's a place downtown where the freaks all come around.
It's a hole in the wall. It's a dirty free for all.
And they turn me on when they Take It Off.
When they Take It Off. Everybody Take It Off.
All the female patrons shouted 'take it off' along with the song as it blared over the speakers. With what could only be described as an evil grin, John spun and presented the audience with a view of his derrière. And suddenly the jacket was off, revealing that toned and tanned expanse of back. Sherlock's fingers itched to learn and map out that wonderfully smooth looking dermis…
John took off his beret and tossed it haphazardly out into the crowd. The women seated in that general area squealed in delight and scrambled to grab it up for themselves. And, God! Look at that chest! Pecs and shoulders so chiseled that even his bullet scar looked hot—it only served to add to the whole presentation, like it was there on purpose just for the show.
That led one to next contemplate the six-pack the good doctor sported. Sherlock slowly exhaled as he eyes trailed down those washboard abs…he might actually be convinced to do laundry if he could scrub the linens on John's stomach. Naturally, that led the consulting detective to allow his gaze to drop lower still. He had to bite his lip to keep from moaning, those fatigue trousers were hanging dangerously low on a pair of well defined hips—hips that were gyrating in the most sinful way possible as John skillfully danced in hip-hop style.
There's a place I know if you're looking for a show.
Where they go hardcore and there's glitter on the floor.
And they turn me on when they Take It Off.
When they Take It Off. Everybody Take It Off.
Once again the ladies chanted in rhythm with the song for John to remove more of his clothing. The doctor dipped his hands into the waistband of his trousers and teased the crowd, revealing a tiny glimpse of what was below, but not fully removing them. Not enough. Not nearly enough…
Then, without further adieu, John reached down and ripped the pants off amidst the screams of delight and wolf-whistles sounding throughout the club as that sequined g-string finally made an appearance.
Lose your mind. Lose it now.
Lose your clothes in the crowd.
We're delirious. Tear it down
'Til the sun comes back around.
Greg glanced over at Mycroft. The elder Holmes cleared his throat as he loosened the knot of his tie. "I can certainly see the..ah…appeal…the good doctor has…"
"Yes," the DI responded dryly. "And how very patriotic, too."
Sherlock remained uncharacteristically silent. He shouldn't have been this affected. He had seen this before, after all, when they had bought the costume. This added a whole new element to the visual. His blogger glistened ever so slightly under the lights here. He felt a slow burn start in the pit of his stomach.
N-now we're getting so smashed. Knocking over trash cans.
Eurbody breakin' bottles it's a filthy hot mess.
Gonna get faded. I'm not the designated driver so
I don't give a, I don't give a, I don't give a
John made sure to give the audience a good long view of that perfectly round, tight arse of his. The women went wild as he flexed and jived for them.
When he was positive that the ladies had been worked into a sufficient frenzy, John slid—yes, slid (in the most sexual way possible) off the stage and onto the main floor of the club. He danced over to the lady who was still in possession of his previously discarded beret. She was awarded an impromptu (or not) lap dance for her trouble.
Sherlock was definitely not jealous when that charlatan's hand groped his John's backside. He grit his teeth in barely contained fury. He was so absorbed in the show that he failed to notice Lestrade and his brother eyeing him curiously. But they didn't matter. Nothing mattered except for the doctor and his flawlessly fit body. He vaguely recalled that they were all here for another purpose, but his brain had decided that it was on hiatus at the moment.
There's a place downtown, where the freaks all come around.
It's a hole in the wall. It's a dirty free for all.
And they turn me on, when they Take It Off.
When they Take It Off. Everybody Take It Off.
The ladies properly seduced, John swiveled his hips as he made his way over to the table where his mates were sitting. Time for the real show, he thought with an impish grin.
Sherlock's eyes widened comically as John climbed into his lap. Instinctively, the detective reached out and grabbed a hold of those hips. The doctor rocked his groin against his best friend's as the cheering and the wolf-whistles increased tenfold.
There's a place I know if you're looking for a show.
Where they go hardcore and there's glitter on the floor.
And they turn me on, when they Take It Off.
When they Take It Off. Everybody Take It Off.
With a saucy wink, John made a move that looked like he was dropping to his knees between Sherlock's legs. The next thing the genius knew, he was being hoisted into the air, chair and all. There were shouts of approval from all around as John tipped Sherlock forward, grabbed the detectives arse, and dropped the chair—all within a matter of seconds.
The genius slid his arms around John's neck, holding on for dear life as he was transported across the club floor. Without warning, he suddenly on his back, laying on the runway with John's body hovering over his. Oh, God! Sherlock groaned internally. This was so not fair! This whole masculine display of strength had turned him on horribly.
Oh, oh, oh! EVERYBODY TAKE IT OFF!
Oh, Oh, Oh! EVERYBODY TAKE IT OFF!
Right now! TAKE IT OFF! Right now! TAKE IT OFF! Right now! TAKE IT OFF!
John writhed above him in what must have looked extremely lewd to the audience. He dipped his head down and nipped at Sherlock's earlobe, giving the crowd a show.
The detective turned his face away from the club floor, his cheeks flushed. "What are you doing, John?"
"I thought it was obvious," the doctor whispered into his ear huskily.
There's a place downtown, where the freaks all come around.
It's a hole in the wall. It's a dirty free for all.
And they turn me on when they Take It Off.
When they Take It Off. Everybody Take It Off.
John chuckled and continued, "I thought we were catching a killer…"
The doctor yet again surprised Sherlock when he sat back on his haunches and pulled the detective up into his lap. Then the captain was on his feet, holding his flat mate to him.
"By seducing me?" Sherlock demanded in a hiss, his face only centimeters away from his blogger's.
"It's only seduction if it's working," John whispered back. "Besides, I'm proving a point."
Before the genius could reply, the doctor crushed their lips together.
There's a place I know if you're looking for a show.
Where they go hardcore and there's glitter on the floor.
And they turn me on, when they Take It Off.
When they Take It Off. Everybody Take It Off.
The house went wild. Kissing a client was considered taboo in the stripping world, but then this wasn't necessarily an ordinary situation. It never was when Sherlock was involved.
When they finally broke a part, the detective grasped for anything he could to understand his best friend's actions. "What point are you trying to prove?"
John gave him that adorable lop-sided smile he reserved only for Sherlock. "It's not all 'just transport'. You have feelings, Sherlock."
With that, the doctor set Sherlock back down on his feet and gave a proper flourished bow to his fans before he swept off through the curtain at the back of the stage.
Mind reeling, the consulting detective crept back to his seat, trying to ignore the cat calls he was receiving from the other patrons.
As he slid back into his chair, he purposely avoided meeting his brother's or the DI's eyes, aware that both men were observing him with keen interest.
Greg had a positively evil grin on his face. "Not planned then?" he questioned.
Sherlock blush deepened as he scanned the crowd from their vantage point. "Ah, no. Said—John said that he wanted my reaction to be spontaneous…"
Mycroft chuckled at his brother's discomfort, declaring, "Well, I commend the good doctor because it appears he has succeeded in his endeavors."
"Yes, well," Sherlock stammered and cleared his throat, determined to ignore his companions' taunting.
His eyes swept the audience again. There! Oh, how could I have missed this?! Near the left of the stage, a tall red-headed woman rose from her table and slipped off towards the hallway that led to the backstage dressing room.
"Lestrade! There!" Sherlock hissed and motioned towards the direction the woman had gone.
"Shit!" the DI exclaimed as he jumped up and followed the consulting detective across the club floor. The manager noticed their movement and was hot on their heels as they ran down the short corridor.
The sound of a struggle and shouting met their ears as they flung open the dressing room door. John was trying unsuccessfully to throw off the ginger, whom had a bright yellow g-string wrapped around his neck, strangling him from behind just like her other victims.
When Sherlock and Lestrade burst into the room, she looked up at them with a panicked expression on her face. She brought her foot up to the small of John's back and gave one mighty kick and shoved him directly into their advancing path. She spun around and knocked over a clothing rack to further thwart their progression before she dashed out the back door. Greg and the consulting detective followed in hot pursuit.
Mycroft, during this whole ordeal, remained sitting calmly at the table. He did however phone in for his DI's team to provide backup. He was pleased when they responded so quickly to his summons.
Mike had made sure that John was okay before he entrusted the doctor's care to another dancer. He made a reappearance on the stage and informed the audience that there was a situation that the was being handled and apologized for the interruption of the performance. A murmur of excitement ran through the crowd as they speculated what was happening behind the scenes.
"Which way did she go?" Lestrade asked, slightly out of breath.
Sherlock pointed off to the right in response and continued the chase. It seemed the suspect was leading them around in circles, as they had just doubled back and ran up an alley they had already been down.
"Wha-?! Is she really heading back to the club?!" huffed Greg.
"Looks that way," the genius answered as they hopped over the chain linked fence where their second victim had been discovered.
The DI made to go back through the back entrance they had used upon leaving.
"No!" Sherlock shouted. "Side door! Won't expect it!"
Lestrade took his suggestion and they burst back into the side corridor. They ripped off the curtain as they stumbled out onto the club floor. There was another ripple of excitement through the audience when they reentered.
Greg heaved an internal sigh of relief when he noticed Donovan near the right hand side of the stage. There were other plain-clothed officers stationed around the building now as well. The killer would not escape this time. They had her.
There was a great deal of commotion from backstage and then John suddenly re-emerged onto the dais, followed closely by the ginger murderer. Just as Sherlock vaulted onto the runway, the doctor grabbed a hold of the left side pole and twirled around it, executing a spectacular spin kick which landed squarely in the center of the woman's chest, knocking her to ground.
Sally, who was closer, restrained the suspect as another officer hopped up onto the stage and handcuffed the woman.
The crowd was wild as they watched the spectacle.
Sherlock met John's gaze with wide eyes. "Brilliant, as usual, John!" he gasped, trying to catch his breath.
The doctor just shrugged in a self-depreciating manner and grinned. All in a day's work, really.
It was some time late and John and the other dancers had long since redressed in proper attire. The club had been shut down, patron statements taken, and murderer handcuffed and questioned. In all, it had been a productive day, the doctor thought.
Lestrade saved John's statement for last. When he was done with the official line of inquiry, he cleared his throat and cut right to the chase. John was his mate, after all, and they knew and respected each other well enough to just tell one another how things were without worrying about being offensive.
"You have a certain…appeal…John. And apparently it's not limited to one Holmes," Greg told him.
John stared dumbly at the DI, a look of horror on his face when the meaning of Lestrade's words finally sank in.
"But don't worry," Greg added hastily, waving both hands in front of him as if to clear the air. "Mycroft was just surprised by how…umm…fit…you are."
Lestrade trailed off and glanced away, his face burning a bright red. The doctor couldn't help but laugh. He knew he was 'mildly attractive', as Sherlock had been so kind to point out earlier in the case. It was flattering that his friends thought so. It was a little unnerving as well, though.
"Its okay, Greg. I'm sorry if this whole thing has made you uncomfortable," John apologized.
"No—there's no need for you to feel sorry, John. It's all thanks to you that we've finally caught the murderer. Besides, it's not the first time one or both of you have had to go undercover and do something a little more unconventional for a case," the DI replied. "I want you to know that I really appreciate your hard work and dedication—you really go above and beyond, so thanks."
John offered his friend a smile. "Any time."
Then, with a cheeky smirk, Lestrade commented, "With moves like that, it's no wonder your army mates called you 'Three Continents Watson'!"
The doctor turned a lovely shade of pink and groaned in response. The DI was probably right, though John was sincerely regretting sharing that story with him. Alcohol in copious amounts tended to leave him rather loose-lipped. He knew that the night he had divulged that information to Greg, he had been rather inebriated. That was something he would have to keep an eye on in the future, lest more embarrassing army stories were told.
Greg watched something over his friend's shoulder and suddenly his posture changed. "Well, then. I'll be off. Try to enjoy the rest of your night there, mate." With an odd grin on his face, Lestrade sauntered off. Probably to find Mycroft, John thought.
"We have to stop getting ourselves into these situations, John. People will talk," Sherlock declared with a hint of amusement laced through his voice.
The doctor turned to regard his flat mate. He shook his head and laughed. "They do little else, Sherlock, as I seem to recall you telling me once."
"Quite correct, John," the genius acknowledged with a nod. He stepped impossibly close to his blogger and whispered, "Let's give them something to talk about."
With that, he leaned down and captured John's lips with this own.
The yarders still in attendance all cheered wildly.
"Cheers!"
"Oh thank God! Finally!"
"It's about fucking time, mates!"
Greg crossed his arms and leaned further back against the plush leather seat, absolutely not pissed that his—whatever they were to each other—found his friend attractive.
Mycroft sensed the waves of hostility rolling off the other man. He fiddled nervously with his recently reacquired brolly. "Gregory…I just…ah…" he glanced out the window and cleared his throat, before trying again.
"Greg—I hope you know that while the good doctor has a certain…appeal…I have absolutely no interest in him that way. Now you—on the other hand, I do have that kind of interest in. You know that I adore you. And while that was entertaining, it would have been more so if it were you—I wouldn't mind if you…ah…wanted to…try…that. In private, that is."
Lestrade whipped his head around to stare at the elder Holmes. "Are you saying that you want me to strip for you, Myc?"
Mycroft blushed a bright shade of pink as he answered, "I wouldn't be opposed to the idea…"
Greg grinned from ear to ear. "And here I thought you were about to jump ship and hop on the John Watson bandwagon."
The elder Holmes rolled his eyes and then reached out to take his companion's hand. "Hardly. While I find short army doctors quite amusing at times, I prefer the rugged DI type myself."
"I was hoping you'd say that," Greg admitted and slid closer to his lover.
Mycroft's answering smile reached his eyes. "You needn't worry, Gregory. I came to the conclusion long ago that you were the only man for me."
The DI laughed as he placed his hand on the back of the politician's neck, pulling him closer. "Kiss me, you posh git."
And Mycroft did just that.
Woo! Is anyone else hot in here, or is it just me? Damn, I'd like to break me off a piece of that lovely little ass of John's. Mmm. That's right, Baby, you take that off!
And FINALLY the hook up! Smut to follow! (The plot monkeys are pervs and like that part the best)