My health seems to be taking a turn for the worse these past couple of days, so even if I did have the time I most certainly didn't have the energy... it has been very difficult to find it in me to continue writing for many reasons...
My "John" (or is she my "Sherlock"? I don't know...) is moving away and even if I know I'll see her it won't be the same and I feel like utter crap about it... which in turn has made me absolutely depresses and unwilling to write... and the insomnia and pain is certainly not aiding matters at all...
But my OCD is pushing me to finish what I started and well I'll do it!
So here it is, chapter 12
On physical proximity
Nothing could have prepared John for what he was to find inside the building.
He had no reason to be mad at Sherlock, he had implied that maybe he shouldn't go inside, even gone as far as to have kept them away from the building for the majority of the night - though a good old honest explanation from the beginning would have been better… but being honest with himself, would John had not come with his flatmate had he known? He was starting to believe that he would have come anyways - that did not mean he was not going to absolutely beat the crap out of him… or maybe not… would Sherlock like that?
After having spent a good hour and a half outside in a low lighted place, going into a bright white enormous room meant he was certain to be blinded; he was not so certain to what he actually saw in there.
At first no sounds reached his ears, but when he walked in, shielding himself from the blinding whiteness, he turned to his right and the scene he found there was not something he had seen this up close before; sure, this kind of sexual positions were intriguing, and as a teenager he had seen his fair share of provocative porn, but…
There was a man suspended from what he could only describe as a swing, facing down while his behind was exposed - quite literally - to the person behind him, who happened to be a stunningly beautiful woman… with a strap on… while diligently penetrating the man from behind… well, at least he seemed to be enjoying it, though John could not quite say since the man was gagged and his hands were tied… to each their own he guessed.
As soon as the image registered in his brain, the obscene sounds finally caught up to him and he was assaulted with a cacophony of slapping and moaning and grunting and skin against skin.
He felt the ghost of a hand on his lower back and was startled to find Sherlock standing so close to him.
"Don't look at them like that"- his flatmate whispered and without really touching him, he led John to a small lounge area that seemed to be in the middle of the room; John wasn't really in the contemplative mood as to notice that many details about the place. He was no prude, by no standards, he had seen his share of stuff and was not close minded or anything of the sort… but a warning would have been nice.
The onslaught of sounds was beyond distracting and the feeling of Sherlock's hand somewhere near his lower back but not quite touching him, was making him rather confused and distracted.
Once sitted, John could not find it in himself to look up and look around; saying he felt out of place was an understatement, he was overwhelmed and - yes he could admit to it - more than a bit scared. He felt he was entitled to bolt for the door, but now that he was inside something - aside the idea of a bruised ego - was holding him back.
"If you are feeling uncomfortable you can leave, nobody would think poorly of you. You are new to the scene anyways"- Sherlock said and John had never been more aware of someone standing this close to him… did his flatmate usually stand this close to him and he had failed to notice it? The other's breath was fanning right on his left cheek: - "You can wait outside for me, I won't be long" - the younger male added and made to pull John up and guide him to the exit.
"No, I'll stay here"- John stated matter of factly as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, as if he wasn't standing in a lounge area surrounded by what - no mistake about it - was a BDSM club with several scenes taking place - not that he knew much of the lingo of this community, but he had read his share - and his flatmate was standing very close to him, so very, very close and he was making no attempt at building some distance between them; and he almost, almost believed it himself.
"John"- Sherlock voice sounded guarded and dangerous - which was maybe the more reason as to why John wanted to stay even more after that - and when John dared to turn to see him straight in the eye, Sherlock's eyes looked a strange shade of silver.
"You brought me for a reason, so tell me what do I do?"- John asked with a daring light in his eyes and Sherlock knew that it was impossible for him to see a red glint of the other's electric blue eyes, but as illogical as it seemed, it was there.
"Well, if you can help me buffer, I need to blend in"- Sherlock said and never had he sounded more unsure to John as he did right now… did he think the journalist couldn't deal with this? Sure it was quite shocking, but he had seen his share of horrendous things, Sherlock must know that: - "But whatever you do don't engage in any form of interaction with…" - he continued saying, but trailed off as his silver eyes widened noticing someone behind John, somewhere to the left of him.
"Who is it?"- John asked and was about to turn around to see but found himself being stopped quite forcefully by his flatmate hands on his shoulders.
Sherlock's expression turned quite stern and John could tell that whomever his flatmate might be watching it wasn't a pleasant person to be around, not that he liked many people per se, but it looked like he particularly disliked this one.
"Well look at you, brought another client here"- a female voice could be heard over the moaning and slapping sounds around them, and when she used the word client, for some reason it felt humiliating or dirty.
"He's not a client" - Sherlock started saying and John knew exactly what his flatmate was going to say next… no. They were not colleagues, they were flatmates, they were friends, they were…
"He's my…" - and in a strange repetition of random events the universe decided this was John's opportunity to redeem himself from last time… but the universe is rarely so lazy: - "partner" "colleague" - they both said at the same time and even if he did not believe in karma, he was more than certain that if there was ever an example of karma, this was it.
Sherlock could not keep the surprise from his eyes, as his gaze snapped immediately to John.
The war journalist was pretty sure that calling himself Sherlock's partner in this kind of setting was without a doubt going to be misinterpreted, but as we have very clearly established John was not known for his decision making abilities - What with the whole studying Journalism, and then following people into war… shooting a gun to save a complete stranger, twice in his life so far - and so he decided he would stick to his guns and defend his position, since stubborn was in the list of both the strong qualities and defects of John Watson.
"His partner"- John states again and finally turned around when Sherlock's hold of him slacks, right hand extended as he turns to greet the person - a woman, very obviously a woman - with a stern expression and a sneer that tries to pass up for a smile but fails miserably.
"Lovely"- she says and takes his hand and John feel a bit nauseous at the feeling of her skin touching his: - "So here on business I presume"- she says and it sounds like a question but it doesn't feel like it should be answered.
"Sort of"- Sherlock answers and John realizes once again how close they are standing, but he makes no move to put some distance between them… he briefly considers that his flatmate was right, he did crave human contact more than he believed he did, he had never thought about it before, but now as he felt a strong pull towards Sherlock's body heat he briefly - very briefly, no more than a second really - considered the notion a bit worrying.
"Is there any way I can help?"- she says and starts making her way towards the back, leading them towards an inconspicuous door; John is not quite sure if he should follow but when he feels the now very present hand of his flatmate pushing him forward - a warm and strong feeling on his lower back - he starts moving… the hand stays where Sherlock placed it, but for some reason John stops noticing it after a couple seconds. It makes Sherlock ponder on whether John notices the gesture at all, but he doesn't feel inclined to deducing his flatmate right now.
Once they walk through the door all the sounds and smells get blocked out and John finally feels at ease - or at much at ease as he can fill when walking into a dark room with a woman carrying a riding crop - and can at last start making inventory on the strange femme fatale that had lead them here.
"Maybe…"- Sherlock answers vaguely and John turns to see him remove his eye mask - his eyes look a very dark shade of blue on the poor lighting of this room, and if he had felt more observant, John would have caught that strange feeling when seeing his flatmate's face again and tried to give it a name… but as it was, John didn't feel particularly observant and it all went unnoticed.
When John turns to face the woman again he sees that she has also removed her eye mask and has a dangerous smirk on her red lips; and if John was indeed a romanticized writer as Sherlock believed him to be, he would have described her as a much more animalistic or mythical creature that feed off from human blood.
"What can I do for you?"- she asks again and walks towards John and removes the mask for him, but John doesn't even flinch: - "He likes danger doesn't he?"- she asks looking over John's left shoulder and he knows her to be directing that question to Sherlock, but he answers instead.
"That I do"- John says and can feel Sherlock's smirk on his lips even if he cannot see it, and for some reason that makes him feel like smirking too.
"You have a dangerous individual in your establishment"- Sherlock starts saying and John cannot help himself and snorts a laugh: - "I mean to say a possible murderer"- the psychiatrist adds with an insinuation of mirth on his voice: - "I just need some alone time with someone" - and now his voice sounds composed and cryptic, but John doesn't feel inclined to try and decipher the meaning of that.
"So should I keep your partner entertained?"- she asks and her hand found purchase on the journalist's right shoulder and he cannot stop himself from flinching, a natural reaction he has whenever someone gets close to his wound. He feels a hand on his lower back again and is surprised to see her putting some distance between them and is not until he glances to his right that he becomes aware of how close his flatmate has positioned himself.
"He can keep himself entertained just fine. I would appreciate if you just made sure he's not taken away by some of the most commanding characters from around"- Sherlock simply states and John feels like he should be offended.
"I missed something, haven't I?"- John asks and turns to find metallic blues eyes staring right at him. Had Sherlock always had that brownish freckle on his left eye, it's just floating there like an island in the middle of an ocean of metallic blues and greens.
"I'll look after him, don't worry"- she answers bringing them back from each other.
"Okay"- Sherlock mumbles and then makes to move away, he seems unsure, as if he wants to say or do something but cannot decide what that might be and so he simply ends up walking away; and that's when John notices all that time Sherlock's hand had been on his right shoulder and he had not even noticed.