Disclaimer: still nothing mine, of course. Sorry about the lateness, but a heat wave named Lucifer burned my brain cells out.
Their next session with the therapist was the following day at the same hour, so for the rest of the day they just played tourist. If they were to actually have the discussion about the physical side of their relationship, they certainly weren't tackling it until the last possible moment…and with as much privacy as possible.
Would they, even? There was technically no need. Sherlock could give him a sentence or two of guidelines to stick to for the next day. Generally, sheer embarrassment would make John want to speak about anything at all but any friend's sexual interests. It was one thing to cheer up a mate about scoring with a girl. But a serious conversation about one's expectations and physical yearnings? He hadn't picked psychiatry for a reason. He wasn't comfortable with it. Such things were personal.
Which was why he would never be able to admit that he wanted to have the prescribed conversation with Sherlock. That he'd wondered about his flatmate's orientation since the first day. That…well, not that he wanted to know what Sherlock was into, if anything at all, but something disturbingly close to it. Especially because…something could move him? Bodily, that is. Or was this all another front, part of the cover? John hated having such close personas; it muddled everything.
Still, John was afraid of the possible revelations to come. What if Sherlock admitted that he had wanted Irene, back then? It would make sense, given the data his blogger knew. Now, far it be from the doctor to kinkshame.
He'd seen – and participated in – enough things that he wouldn't bat an eyelid if his friend admitted to having amorous leanings toward the milk bottles. That might actually explain why they disappeared so quickly, besides their contents being used as a growing medium for whatever mould or bacteria his flatmate was interested in at the moment.
So why did the Irene option sting to even think of? No, he had to stop thinking of that, the consulting detective would read his mind and the results would become awkward even earlier than they were supposed to be. He should just enjoy the moment. The good food, the beautiful priory, the way the sun played with his partner's eyes…. Gosh no, stop John…
Or shouldn't he? Could it be passed off as acting, if he stared just a bit longer, openly entranced? They were supposed to be married after all. Frustrated with each other, sure. Sometimes wanting to strangle one's partner, par for the course. That would need no acting at all. But since they wanted to work on it, and they had no children or anyone else to do this for, it was fine to paint their couple as wanting each other still, every now and then at least?
John's conflicting feelings couldn't stop time, as much as he would have liked it, and in the evening they were back in their bedroom. "So…what are we going to tell doctor Reese tomorrow?" he asked awkwardly, after the detective had ensconced himself in bed without a word on the subject. He was giving Sherlock the chance to just teach him a version of their tale, but he needed to know how to behave.
"I thought we could have this conversation once you joined me here," the consulting detective retorted, raising an eyebrow. "We're supposed to make this work. Less chance of one of us running away from the confrontation this way."
"Do you expect one of us to want to?" his blogger replied. This wasn't reassuring at all.
"Possibly both," the detective admitted with a shrug.
That ripped a chuckle from John. "Oh well, good to know. Then I'll just go get ready, so I'll be less tempted to find myself on a train for London in half an hour."
He acted quickly, and soon he was in bed, trying to control the mix of eagerness and fear for this conversation. If he didn't look at Sherlock, but straight ahead, when he asked, "So?" ... Well, that was reasonable, wasn't it?
"What do you want to know?" the sleuth asked, still stalling for time.
"Everything," the doctor said impulsively, before adding hastily, "you think I should know". Sentence changed enough not to seem too creepy, hopefully.
"Well, then…I am not asexual. I suppose that was our main point of contention before. I just find it distasteful to make the effort of 'picking up someone', as you would say – which I am perfectly able to, people are way too easy to manipulate – for a chemical rush that is way shorter than any decent drug's. People stop liking me as soon as I stop faking, so it seems too much of a hassle to deal with the fallout. It's simple logic," the detective admitted, voice carefully even, maintaining their distance – and respecting his partner's obvious wish not to make eye contact.
John snorted at that. "Idiots." He really thought so. Sure, Sherlock could be brash and annoying and so many things – but why would anyone who was allowed to make love to him let that blind…them to what an awesome human being he was? "Wait. Does this mean that Jack, having assumed Steve was asexual, or mostly so, has left his own husband high and dry most of the time?"
His blogger sounded hesitant and a bit ashamed. Of course he would be. John prided himself in his ability as a lover. That was all too evident to anyone living with him, and unfortunately (well, unfortunately only because he was too busy pining to speak up) exposed to the infinite stretch of his very satisfied girlfriends…at least, very satisfied until the sleuth butted in their relationship in some form or another. Such self-flagellation couldn't be allowed to go on. "I'd expect you left yourself high and dry, too. Unless you think me lovable but not desirable, which would honestly puzzle me given the data I had. And since it was done out of respect, if after a wrong assumption, I would be touched. But opt to deepen your deduction lessons," Sherlock replied, a smile in his voice.
John blushed and giggled. "That would be a way to train me in deductions I wouldn't mind. If we were a couple, I mean. Which neither of us wants, obviously. Though I'd never be able to reach your level, I'd make sure that both of us enjoyed our course. So you really don't mind being touched, or… propositioned, or things like that?" he asked, turning towards his companion.
The sleuth huffed. That was ridiculous. "I ask you to get things out of my pockets all the time, John. There's a limit to how oblivious a person can be, I should think. I don't enjoy being touched or accosted by idiots. By people I know will hate me in ten minutes max, or that can't take a no. When it's people I can trust, touching or…being touched is not something that I am sensitive about. I'm a human being, after all. It's just that the list of people I am wary of is longer than most people's," he snapped.
"That is…honestly, an honour," his blogger replied earnestly, finally turning to watch his friend. "But trying to stick to our homework, why wouldn't you approach me way earlier to make love more often and generally cuddle and so on? You don't tend to be shy about your needs. Is Steve supposed to be? Because you didn't give exactly this impression this morning, you know." John allowed himself a lopsided smile.
"I suppose Jack is bi, but this doesn't stop him from having a preference. Maybe Steve thinks that his desire for the male body is…well, less than his love for him. Better not to rock the boat by demanding more sex than his husband spontaneously offers. It'd spare him from hearing too many denials," the detective pondered, voice very soft.
"Well, then he's not a genius like you, if he can't see how horny for him his husband is. You'd think sleeping together he'd notice," the doctor quipped, suppressing a laugh. That was a terribly dangerous idea to put in the consulting detective's brain, true. But it was so freeing to be able to discuss it under the veil of their personas. His heart was throbbing with adrenaline. It was a bit like throwing a ball… and waiting for any kind of reaction.
"Male biology…" Sherlock started, sounding like he'd go into a rant about the inconveniences of having a body any second.
"…Can't be helped, I know. But it can definitely be urged on, and the difference should be obvious after a while," John stated. If they needed to make up a believable backstory, he couldn't let his partner hide behind his usual transport excuse – and extending it to him, too. Not after knowing that his wasn't actually a "being human is annoying", but a "Can't trust people not to turn on me afterwards" situation…which was a bit heartbreaking, to be honest.
The detective was tempted to rebuke again – why really, it wasn't like his persona being an idiot concerned him – but for once, he caught himself before starting a row. "No wonder they need a therapist. Married, and they keep assuming things wrongly, or bickering them out. Don't know each other that well, do they? Did we marry in haste?" he wondered instead.
"It wouldn't surprise me," his blogger agreed, smiling. They'd certainly rushed headlong into things. Well, not marriage, but…if that first night at Angelo's had gone differently, who knows what would have happened. "But they're not going to regret at their leisure. Not regretting it ever. So, what we were asked to figure out – expectations…I suppose that, all things considered, we can agree that they will not feel the need to stop themselves, and just indulge the urge to ask for sex, or…any other physical affection every time the whim hits. Is that okay?"
"That seems perfect," the sleuth agreed, burying himself more under the covers.
Unexpectedly, John didn't follow suit. Instead, he remarked, very quietly. "You know…Touch starvation is actually a thing. I'm not sure if doctor Reese will bring it up eventually, but he well might. I'd just always figured that that was what girlfriends were for…or boyfriends, or whatever. With you not trusting just anyone for the role…I simply wanted to say, I'm here. You don't have to concoct ridiculous excuses like getting your phone out of your own jacket. If you need to know you're not an island…if you need a pat, or a hug, or something. No need for pretences, you know?" He felt utterly daring, but it needed to be said.
The doctor scooted down and tucked himself in without waiting for a reply, prudently giving his back to his flatmate. He would probably be too awkward to acknowledge any comment to his offer, but thankfully none came. Was Sherlock already asleep? He didn't think so…but he could never be sure.