Chapter 11: We're Both Defrocked
He made the appointment three weeks after the verdict and Moriarty's visit. He'd waited. Waited for something to happen—for Moriarty to show his hand, for unseen gunmen to focus their laser pointers at his chest, for bombs to explode around him, room by room. But there was nothing.
And life almost went back to normal in Baker Street. Stiflingly dull in some instances.
One morning Sherlock lay back thinking about Rose. And sex. She had texted him two weeks ago, the week after her pre-verdict head job. Her message simply stated, "I'm available."
Available.
Available to be booked in.
Haircut at one, teeth cleaned at two, fucked by a prostitute at three.
And Sherlock reflected on the fact that he did enjoy it, or more to the point, the challenges he'd begun setting himself. And not to mention the post-sex conversations. They weren't dull in their entirety. So how to progress this? His next challenge, therefore, was to negotiate with Rose how he could practise being a more effective sexual partner. And that required her full cooperation. He couldn't go about this by stealth, because they'd end up in stops and starts as they'd had been previously, with Rose becoming aroused, freaking out when she realised this, then Sherlock having to talk her round. That would become very tiresome, very quickly.
Rose had apologised during that last very brief encounter, although Sherlock wasn't completely naïve as to believe that she wasn't just going through the motions in order to win back his custom. But also, egotistically, he couldn't fully believe that he was that hopeless or repulsive in the sack. Modest? He really wasn't.
So, step one: contact Rose. Step two: negotiate a new set of boundaries. Step three: fuck.
Rose had agreed to meet Sherlock in a coffee shop, neutral ground, so that she wouldn't feel he was bullying her in any way. This was a negotiation meeting, not an appointment. Sherlock would only have to pay for the coffee, or tea. No biscuits.
"I'm not sure what we're negotiating," Rose began, as she stirred sugar into her coffee.
"A new set of boundaries, as I mentioned on the phone," Sherlock stated simply.
"But why?"
"Things have changed between us."
Rose gulped down her coffee. How much had he noticed, she wondered.
"Like what?" she asked.
Sherlock leant forward and lowered his voice, "Look, you know perfectly well that I'm trying to up my game here. So I would appreciate it if you'd not hold back. Just join in, and enjoy it. You might even have fun."
"What?"
"Let yourself get aroused," he said, trying to keep his voice low.
Rose looked around, then she too, leant in and whispered, "I can't. It's not fair."
"Why not? I've said before, you can't be successful in a job if you don't enjoy yourself. What's the big deal anyway?"
Rose's insides churned monstrously. It was out of guilt, she knew this. She dropped her gaze as she said, "It's just that I'd rather save all that for someone special."
Sherlock scrutinised her and noticed the way she was fiddling with her pendant. "Your boyfriend? I thought you didn't have one."
Sherlock's words startled Rose. She stammered, "What makes you think I have one now?"
"Pendant," was his simple answer.
Rose shrugged and tried to act nonchalant. "Well he's away, but he'll be back the week after next for two weeks."
"Armed forces," Sherlock concluded.
"Yes."
"So he has a weapon of some description," Sherlock remarked, raising an eyebrow.
Rose seemed to find this funny, much to Sherlock's bemusement.
Sherlock took a sip of his coffee and asked, "And what does he think about your part-time job?"
Rose wasn't aware that she began fiddling with her pendant again as she answered Sherlock. "He doesn't know. I don't work when he's in town."
Sherlock glanced about him, deep in thought. He refocussed his gaze back to Rose and asked, "So you'll be unavailable for two weeks, starting the week after next?"
She nodded. "That's right."
"And our arrangement?" he asked expectantly.
Rose sighed. This was too much. Surely he was crossing the line. Was there a line? Yes there definitely was. But she had created the boundaries herself. Half her co-workers in the brothel hadn't cared whether they became aroused or not. Some even kept a tally of how many orgasms they'd received with a client. But she had always maintained a detached air.
"I can't," she said. "I just simply can't."
"Then we have no arrangement." Sherlock stood up and adjusted his jacket. "Have a good life!" Then he bent down to Rose and whispered, "Have a cream puff on me."
"Sherlock!"
He stopped, and raised his eyebrows.
"Sit."
"Why?" His face took on a look of defiance, reminiscent of a petulant child.
"You need to give me a minute. Stop thinking everybody can come to a decision as quickly as you. Those of us with some morals need time to reassess."
"Morals?"
And when Rose's expression remained unchanging, he took his seat and asked, "What's to assess? It's a simple yes or no answer. Have sex with me and completely be yourself and relax, or don't."
Rose hated this dilemma. It wasn't like she had morals of a high standard.
"But if I don't," she retorted, "then you won't want to see me."
"Precisely. I don't want sex for the sake of sex. I want to learn something, challenge myself, become..."
"The best?"
"More skilful," he said, but he actually thought along the same lines that had been vocalised by Rose. The best. When Rose focussed on her coffee, looking rather doubtful, he added, "And I'm just asking you to enjoy the physicality of it. I'm not asking for your hand in marriage. Save that for your boyfriend."
Rose started at the casual way Sherlock had mentioned marriage. Between her boyfriend and herself, that was the furthest thing from their minds. Just holding it together was their main challenge. Sherlock did have a point. Enjoy the physicality. There are no emotions involved when he explained it that way. That's all Rose was concerned about really. And she had been almost enjoying that aspect of their encounters.
"Two hundred pounds," she ventured.
Sherlock's broad grin stated that the deal was struck, and so their first appointment was made for the very next morning—their usual time. The time when John was at work. Sherlock was impatient to get started, and Rose really needed the money.
When Rose entered the flat that morning, her stomach was full of butterflies. It was less like a job now, she thought. It was more like a first date, or losing her virginity.
Sherlock, on the other hand, was in his element. A challenge. An experiment. He was in control now. Although he noticed Rose was less chatty as she entered, and tense.
"How do you want me?" she asked, after Sherlock had handed over the two hundred quid. They stood in Sherlock's bedroom. "Naked, robe, underwear?"
"Oh, just the same. Dressing gown, undergarments," he answered. "Or can I take those clothes off?" he asked, waving his hand at her.
"No. These are my clothes. I don't want you touching them." Then when Sherlock looked offended she added, "I need to dress for my work, so if you want to undress me, then I'll have to bring something to change into that you can take off. We don't start until I emerge from the bathroom anyway. I have other things to... take care of."
"Oh," Sherlock remarked, not fully understanding. Sounds very inefficient.
Rose disappeared into the bathroom while Sherlock sat on the bed.
"That guy's disappeared, hey?" Rose called through the door.
"Guy?"
"The one on trial. The paper said he'd disappeared."
Moriarty, thought Sherlock. Not the image I want to conjure up just before having sex.
"Can we talk about something else?" he called back.
There was silence for a moment, then Rose called out, "How's John?"
Sherlock sighed. "How about silence until you come out of there?"
Sherlock sat back feeling irritated and apprehensive. Moriarty. What's he planning? I-O-U he had carved into that apple. Flying is just like falling. I detest riddles!
"What are you thinking about?"
Rose was standing near the bed, watching him. He hadn't noticed her coming back in. She had already placed a couple of condom packets on the bedside table.
"Nothing."
"You were tapping your fingers on your knee, like you were annoyed about something. Look, if it's the clothing, I can bring some for next time, yeah? I just don't feel comf—"
"It's not the clothing. It's not you."
Sherlock got off the bed and stood up. He looked at Rose and smiled weakly. "Let's just start."
"What do you want me to do?" Rose whispered as Sherlock closed the gap between them.
"Whatever you feel like," he whispered back, putting his arms lightly on hers, and drawing her in to kiss her neck.
Whatever I feel like. Rose closed her eyes then put her arms around Sherlock's neck. I feel like kissing you, when you do that. On the lips. She held him tighter, feeling his light kisses along her neck, feeling the goose bumps that were forming and the shiver run down her spine when he let his hand wander. Whatever I feel like doing. I don't know. How can I relax?
She felt she couldn't enjoy his attentiveness without letting him into her heart. It all sounded great in theory: just enjoy the physicality of it. This wasn't working for her. She couldn't separate them when it came to Sherlock. That was her problem, and hers alone. How could she possibly relax? And in thinking how to relax, Rose was of course, not relaxed. Sherlock felt her tension and stopped what he was doing.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I...I don't know. Sorry. It's not you. It's...you know when people tell you to relax, you can't? Or calm down, when you're angry and it only makes you angrier?"
Sherlock had a slight panicky feeling that he had done something really wrong. "Are you angry with me?" he asked with trepidation.
"No, not... not angry. I just feel...lost. Like I can't do my job."
Sherlock felt relieved but a bit disappointed. "Do you want to start the way we normally do?"
Rose thought for a minute. "Why don't we just lie down and chat? You always make me feel relaxed when we talk."
"Do I?" Sherlock asked in surprise. "That's not what people normally say."
Rose gave him an encouraging smile, then walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down, waiting for Sherlock.
My talking makes her feel relaxed, he thought. Is there something wrong with her?
He climbed onto the bed, then lay down as Rose had. They both lay on their sides facing each other.
"Please don't ask about the trial, or John. Not my favourite pre-sex subjects."
Rose laughed. "Oh, you have favourite pre-sex subjects now?" When Sherlock frowned at her she continued, "What's your favourite pre-sex subject?"
Sherlock studied Rose's face for a moment, then whispered hoarsely, "You."
Without thinking, Rose reached out and stroked Sherlock's face. "That's sweet," she whispered.
She continued to caress his face as Sherlock closed his eyes. This is very relaxing, Sherlock thought. It felt good, in a non-sexualised way. Someone is touching him and he doesn't mind.
Rose leant closer and kissed his forehead, then continued kissing his face, pausing at his lips. No, don't Rose. That's stepping over the line.
Sherlock interrupted her internal debate by rolling onto his back. He brought his hand up to encourage Rose to move over closer to him. He opened his eyes again as Rose leant in to kiss his neck. A warm sensation rippled threw Sherlock and he let his hands wander over Rose's back, then around to the front of her dressing gown, yearning to see her, to feel her once more. He eased the gown open so he could slip his hand inside, gently caressing her cleavage, then along the outline of her breasts, taking his time as if cataloguing every rise and dip, noting the silkiness of her skin under his fingertips, and the catch in her breath in response. It was like music to his ears.
Rose had slipped her hands underneath Sherlock's pyjama shirt. She pushed it up so she could lazily kiss his chest and torso.
"Mmm," Sherlock murmured, his eyes darkened by arousal. His fingers drifted to Rose's dressing gown sash which he tugged at impatiently.
Rose paused her gentle kissing and sat up, helping Sherlock untangle the sash around her waist. As the dressing gown fell open, Sherlock half sat up too, pulling Rose in closer by slipping his hand inside the gown around to her back. He brought his lips to her chest, and began kissing her there as Rose let out a gasp. She surprised herself at this involuntary sound, and immediately felt self-conscious.
"Don't tense up again," Sherlock whispered. And he lay back down, taking in the vision of Rose sitting next to him with her gown open.
"I'm sorry," Rose whispered, slipping the gown from her shoulders as Sherlock watched, his eyes glistening with need. "Here, take your shirt off," Rose said encouragingly.
Sherlock sat up, and pulled his shirt over his head. Rose pushed him down again, then sat up on her knees, moving over to straddle Sherlock as her own impatient desires overtook her. She caressed his chest again, then bent down to kiss him there using more of her tongue this time.
A small fire was ignited, beginning in Sherlock's loins, but burning his skin wherever Rose nipped and sucked. She paused on each nipple as Sherlock hummed with pleasure and wound his hands into Rose's hair. He slid his hands down her neck to her back and with the swift movements of the expert he now was, he unclasped her bra. Rose sat back so that Sherlock could slide his hands up to her shoulders, and down her arms, bringing the bra straps with them. She noted the urgency in his hands and the tiny smile of satisfaction which tugged at the corners of his mouth. Rose discarded the bra then resumed her kissing.
"Take these off," he murmured, shoving his thumbs inside his pyjama waistband.
Rose climbed off him as he pulled his pyjama pants down and threw them onto the floor.
Of course he's fully aroused these days, Rose thought, slightly proud of her achievement at getting Sherlock to this stage, reflecting on his demeanour during those first few visits so long ago.
Sherlock sat up and put his hands lightly on Rose. He deliberately pitched his voice low and commanded, "Lie down."
A shudder ran threw Rose, but she lay down feeling very much like a virgin. Sherlock was already upon, her - kissing along her neck again, then slowly working his way down her chest, his breath warming her skin, until he reached her breasts. He lingered there, and teased her nipples with his tongue as Rose moaned, not caring that she was now so vocal. She noticed one of his hands lightly gliding down her midriff as he worked her breasts with his mouth. His hand slid inside her knickers and between her legs, tantalising her until she gasped his name.
This only encouraged him more, his kisses exploring and teasing her until she was trembling with desire. He began edging down her underwear, whispering, "Off," as Rose lifted her hips, helping Sherlock to discard her knickers.
Rose panicked. What's he going to do? she thought, as his attention remained focussed there.
But he seemed to know where to pleasure her as Rose groaned and clutched at his hair. Oh my God, oh my God! she breathed. She grabbed the pillow above her head and arched her back as Sherlock showed her his new found skills with his tongue. Love my job, thought Rose. Just today. Just ... oh ...my sweet Lord...
And then he stopped, and was coming back up.
"Condom," he whispered.
"Now?" Rose asked feebly.
But Sherlock had already stretched over to the bedside table and passed Rose the packet.
"Is that okay? Are you all right?" he asked, his words tumbling out as Rose breathlessly ripped the packet open.
"I'm doing really well," she sighed, breathing heavily and looking up at him with a shy smile. "You're a very good student."
Sherlock beamed, his cheeks slightly flushed, and lay on his side giving Rose access to roll the condom onto him.
"Try this way," Rose suggested. She lay on her side with her back to Sherlock, bending one leg forward.
"Um..." he hesitated. "I thought no...?"
"No! God no! You can enter from behind. Not... there...look," and she leant back into Sherlock and guided him with her hand.
"Oh..." Sherlock sighed. Awkward angle, he thought, thrusting slightly.
"Mmmm," Rose murmured. "You can do... this," she reached back and grabbed Sherlock's hand, bringing it around her and between her legs. "Just there," she sighed. Sherlock worked his hand as he thrust inside her.
After a minute or two, Sherlock pulled out.
"No, can't do it," he muttered. "My legs hurt."
"Okay, that's fine," Rose said softly, her head still buzzing, not to mention everywhere else.
She rolled onto her back as Sherlock organised himself on top of her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Rose lifted her hips, and put her arms around Sherlock, pulling him down to her, "Keep going, don't stop."
She cradled him between her legs and Sherlock moaned as he re-entered her.
"Sherlock," Rose murmured as she found her hands wandering through his dark curls again. She liked this, being able to sigh his name. Let herself go. Hold him to her.
"Rose," he gasped into her neck, sending further shivers throughout her body.
Rose angled her hips so she could feel Sherlock against her, but it wasn't enough. Sherlock was already moaning and had increased his rhythm, his breath ragged against hers. Rose was not even close. She knew it would end too soon.
Sherlock clung to her as he gasped her name once more, then gently rocked into her, riding out the waves of his orgasm. He collapsed on top of her, and she held him tightly, wanting to feel him breathing heavily against her.
"Rose," he said, rising himself up onto his elbows. "You didn't?"
"I didn't finish. It's okay! It's hard to get the timing right."
"But, you're not...I should do something."
"No, just lie back... enjoy the moment," she said, lightly pushing against Sherlock's chest so he would roll off her.
He rolled to his side, then put his arm around her waist. "Let me use my hand, or my tongue, or something."
"Not now.. no. It's... it's finished. Just lie back. Next time, okay? We'll try again then. It's fine, Sherlock. Even boyfriends of mine can't get the timing right."
Sherlock lay flat on his back, one hand on his chest as he continued to breathe heavily.
"But I'm not just anyone," he muttered sullenly.
Rose looked over at him. He really is competitive!
She watched his chest rising and falling. She wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but that seemed too intimate. After a minute or two he turned his head, noticing Rose watching him. She smiled.
"You were good," she said.
"Was I?" he was surprised.
"Mmm," she answered, feeling very relaxed - almost sleepy.
He looked at her suspiciously. "You're not just saying that... as a part of your.." he waved his hand, "...act?"
Rose gave Sherlock a stern look. "I've respected your wishes to not bullshit you. I'm not going to start now!"
"Oh," Sherlock replied, looking away from Rose. "Good."
Then he sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "I'm going to clean up."
Rose watched him leave, then got off the bed herself. She found her robe and wrapped it around herself and made her way into the kitchen. When Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, he found the bed empty and heard the sound of tinkling cups and saucers in the kitchen.
Tea time, he thought.
He walked through the kitchen as Rose looked up and smiled at him. "Take a seat," she said, "I'll just be a minute. Did you want biscuits?"
"No, John ate them all," Sherlock replied, walking over to the living room and sitting down in his armchair. It felt a bit odd playing guest in his own flat.
He looked over at Rose. He'd almost given her an orgasm. Almost. Then he concentrated on his own enjoyment. That's what she was talking about. Being a good lover. How well you pleasure you sexual partner. Dammit. He'd been that close.
Rose brought the tea over, then sat down in John's armchair.
"We should have a toast!" she said.
"With tea?"
"Well, it's too early for champagne. But we need to toast to our first real sexual encounter."
Rose raised her tea cup and sipped it.
"Real," Sherlock repeated. "Was that as real as it gets for you?"
Rose put her cup down. "Very close. There's only one thing missing, and you can't have that."
"What?" asked Sherlock, poised for a bombshell.
"My kisses. On the lips. You can't have that."
"Oh," he commented, almost rolling his eyes at what he considered a trivial part of intimacy. "I know that."
"But apart from that," Rose began, "You'll be just about ready to conquer the world."
"Conquer?"
"The world of women. Dating."
"Uh. No. That's still not going to happen. There's all this..." he winced, "Other stuff that goes with dating. I'm not going to bother with all that."
Rose laughed. "You and most other guys. So how's John?"
"Why do you keep asking about John?"
"I like John. He's nice. I'm sure he'd be very generous too."
"I've already told you several times that he wouldn't be interested. He's after a wife, and a house with a picket fence. Not a call girl who puts a meter on her company."
"Well, I can be anything he wants me to be. Where's his room anyway? Or do you share?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We're not in a relationship. His bedroom is upstairs, and no, you can't go and look at it and roll around his bed like some pyscho stalker chick."
Rose laughed again, standing up. "Does he take girlfriends up there? Do you hear them sometimes?"
"Not answering," Sherlock replied. "On the grounds that this conversation is boring me."
Sherlock continued sipping his tea as Rose wandered around the room, looking at Sherlock's collections.
"Oh! I saw this in the paper!" she remarked, picking up Sherlock's deerstalker hat from its pride of place - dumped on the floor. She put it on. "Ah!" she said, giggling and looking at herself in the mirror about the fireplace.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Take if off. It's ridiculous."
"It's cute! Especially when you wear it - here." She moved over to Sherlock's chair, holding out the hat.
"No!" Sherlock called, standing up and dodging Rose's outstretched hand.
"Oh," Rose pouted, returning the hat to her own head. "I'll wear it then. Do you want me to wear it to bed?"
"No! Are you insane?"
"Why not? Completely naked, except for this." She turned to look into the mirror again.
"No. Take it off. You remind me of someone repulsive."
"Excuse me?"
Sherlock strolled over to Rose as she skipped over to the coffee table. "Nope," she said mischievously. "Tell me who's so repulsive wearing your hat?"
"A journalist, disguising as a fan. Not my hat. She bought her own. Here..."
Sherlock held out his hand to retrieve the hat, but Rose stepped up onto the coffee table, laughing. "A journalist!"
"Take it off Rose!" Sherlock said irritably, walking up to the coffee table.
"Nope!" she teased, stepping back onto the couch.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, then stepped up onto the coffee table and onto the couch. Rose took the hat off her head and held it out behind her. Sherlock grabbed Rose by the robe and pulled him close to her. He reached up and grabbed the hat out of her hand, and threw it to the ground.
"Why are you doing this," he asked, his face only inches from hers.
"Because it's funny," she whispered, gazing into his cold, piercing grey eyes.
Sherlock looked into Rose's eyes, then he glanced at her slightly parted lips. His eyes returned to hers again as he closed the gap between them by just a centimetre. Rose moved her head back minutely.
"No," she whispered.
"What?" he asked, his voice deepening.
"No kissing," she stated.
Sherlock's face hardened as turned and stepped off the couch. "No hat wearing!" he exclaimed and stalked back to his armchair. "Drink your tea, it's going cold."
Rose lightly stepped off the couch and returned to her chair.
"What should we talk about now?" she asked, politely as if nothing had happened.
"Your boyfriend," Sherlock stated.
"What about him?"
"How would he feel if he found out about your job?"
"Murderous," Rose said matter-of-factly.
"To you or me?"
"Both."
"A murdered prostitute and her client. Straightforward case. Bit obvious," Sherlock muttered, but then he caught himself as he took in the look of Rose's face.
She was looking down at the fireplace, trying not to cry. Damn Shelley, Rose thought.
"Rose," Sherlock said softly.
Rose quickly wiped her eyes. "I'm okay. I spent a whole week crying continuously about Shelley. I couldn't even tell my parents why I was so upset about moving out of our flat. Now my mum thinks I was in a lesbian relationship with her and we broke up." She tried to laugh.
She stood up. "Tea time's over."
Rose walked over to Sherlock as he put his cup down on a side table. She turned and sat back into his lap and he moved to accommodate her. "Let me show you something," she whispered, settling in with her back resting against Sherlock's right side. She grabbed his right hand, and placed it between her legs. "Now just gently..." she guided Sherlock's finger tips and began massaging herself with them.
She leant her head back into his shoulder and said, "You're going to do that until I come. Okay?"
"Mmm," Sherlock murmured, agreeing, but becoming only too aware of his own arousal growing.
He slid his left hand into Rose's gown to the swell of her breasts, caressing her there too, as she raised her arm and reached around to the nape of his neck.
Sherlock breathed lightly against Rose's neck, cooling her and sending shivers along her skin, her body already alight in response to Sherlock's rhythmic handiwork. And Sherlock didn't need to feel Rose's pulse of check her pupils. Her arousal was obvious. She was moving her body along with his hands, and sighing as well as winding her fingers through the back of his hair.
"Sherlock," she whispered softly. She turned her head and lightly kissed his neck. He thought he could just turn his head and she'd be kissing him. He didn't know why he just had to kiss her. Why would that make a difference? he thought.
Rose brought her hand down and raked it along Sherlock's pyjama'd thigh.
"Faster," she whispered, then she moaned. "Oh God... Sherlock..."
Her hand found the bulge in Sherlock's pyjamas. His desire had already pooled there as he watched her come undone in his arms. He longed for her to touch him there. Her writhing body was such a turn on for him. And there it was! The answer to Rose's second ever question to him, "What turns you on?"
You, Rose. You do.
Rose rubbed an urgent hand against him, but it was a feeble attempt for the sex worker to offer anything back at this stage for she was already overcome by her own sweet release. It hit her hard, and she removed her hand and once again it found the back of Sherlock's head. She grabbed him there as she gasped his name and rocked along with his hand, her satisfaction petering out to a gentle throbbing.
She kissed his neck as she turned and cuddled into him. "Thank you," she whispered.
But that just left Sherlock with his own hard on.
He held her tightly as she nestled into his neck, kissing him again there. I'll just turn my head, he thought. Kiss her. She won't mind now. Kiss her!
But he couldn't. That would betray her trust. That was the one last thing she had.
So he held her still, until he felt her moving off him.
"Come on," she said breathily, standing up and re-wrapping her dressing gown around her. "Let's go finish you off."
Sherlock held Rose's hand as she led him back to his bedroom.
And Rose gave him the full apology, being sorry for having him miss out on the armchair session.
.
UPDATE 13th Jan 2016: This chapter has been edited to be consistent with changes made to chapter 1.