Chapter 2: A Conductor of Light
"Hello again, John," Rose said pleasantly, as she entered the parlour from the private lounge.
Her client's expression barely suppressed a smile, she thought.
"Shelley," Sherlock replied amiably as she gave him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.
Rose was relieved that 'John' must have enjoyed his first sexual experience enough to have wanted a return visit. He silently followed her up the narrow staircase, and she refrained from making her usual remarks about how much fun they were going to have. It didn't seem right this time.
"It's lovely to see you again," she said in all honesty as she closed the curtain behind him.
"I just wanted to let you know that your hypothesis was correct," he explained before Rose could ask if he would like a shower.
"Hypothesis?"
Sherlock had been bubbling with excitement for days—excitement that is, that he had strived to keep hidden from his flatmate. He had no real cases to investigate, but the knowledge that one small incident brought him occupied his mind and filled it with possible theories, and that was always a good thing. It was either that or administer several more nicotine patches to his arms. Or worse.
He turned to Rose and elaborated. "That sexual experience is a factor necessary for me to become aroused at the mere thought of having sex with you."
Rose had to instantly switch from wanton sex goddess to intellectual sparring partner. "You're aroused now?"
"Not now," he said, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets. "Earlier. I was sitting in my dressing gown yesterday when my flatmate threw down his newspaper in disgust at some comment I'd made about his latest date or whatever, when an article about student loans caught my eye. Before I knew it, my thoughts had drifted to you, and what you did with your mouth. Next minute: erection."
He eyed her triumphantly. At the time of the incident itself, however, it was slightly more embarrassing and he had to surreptitiously skulk off to his room and deal with it before John noticed.
Rose huffed a small laugh, trying to imagine what everyday life would be like in 'John's' company. "That's...ah...wonderful, John!"
"I just thought you should know, so that you'll have one piece of anecdotal evidence to draw upon should anyone in the future ask you for your professional opinion about sexual experiences and arousal."
Rose was momentarily thrown. Yes. Because that was precisely what her sex craft lacked: anecdotal evidence during a philosophical discussion on sexual experiences as it related to sexual arousal.
"That's very kind of you," she responded. "But.. ah... is that all you came here for? Because you've made an appointment, and I'm going to have to charge you something whether we have sex or not. You had to pay the door fee didn't you?"
Rose was hoping his preference was to just sit and chat. She could pocket the cash with little effort or disrobing on her part.
Not exactly the gushing praise he was after, Sherlock thought. Of course that was what he had made the appointment for wasn't it? More sex. That was...quite...a...well, not an entirely unpleasant experience last time.
"Oh, yes," he said nonchalantly, reaching for his wallet. "Same again," he bid her, handing over a fifty pound note. "But not that play acting thing you were doing. That was irritating."
Rose stifled a laugh and asked Sherlock if he'd like a shower.
"I'm clean," he said abruptly, and about-turned, striding away from Rose and into the bedroom.
Rose was left reeling at the sudden confidence of her ex-virgin client as he shed his jacket and moved about the bedroom as if he owned it. She made for the earnings box at the top of the landing to deposit the money, then quickly returned, slipping off her robe and remaining garments before Sherlock could notice her and comment about how slowly she was undressing. She lay on the bed, on top of the white towel, and watched Sherlock carefully placing his garments onto the armchair as he disrobed.
He quickly glanced at her, his thoughts as ever returning to the pursuit of raw data. "How much do you earn per week?" he asked while removing his trousers.
"That's confidential," Rose replied.
"How much of the fifty pounds do you have to give Mark and Cynthia downstairs?"
"Again, confidential."
But Sherlock was persistent, keen to begin asking the right questions that would illicit some response, the information gained to add to his databank on prostitutes working in inner city brothels, or more specifically this one. "Twenty-five percent? Thirty?"
Rose smiled, refusing to answer, as Sherlock took off his boxers.
"Oh!" she said, her surprise genuine as she took in Sherlock's semi-arousal.
He looked at her proudly, then lay down on the bed. He was almost unaware that this involuntary reaction had taken place.
"Was that because you saw me naked, or was it from the anticipation of sex?" Rose asked, turning to lie on her side.
Sherlock thought, brow furrowed in concentration. "Huh, I don't recall. I may have glanced at you while we were talking about other things and my subconscious triggered the reaction."
He tutted at this missed opportunity for study.
Rose sat up, and moved closer to him as he muttered more to himself than to her, "Hmm. A subconscious reaction wouldn't be acceptable at just any time of day..."
"Well, you're halfway there now. Do you still want me to...play?" she asked, smiling pleasantly.
Sherlock nodded, still lost in thought about inappropriate times during which to have an erection.
Rose briefly drifted her hand down Sherlock's chest, careful not to take too long, lest she earn Sherlock's disapproval, before her hand encircled his penis. As he was already erect, she was able to roll on the condom before she started anything.
"Definitely not acceptable when I'm working," Sherlock continued to mutter.
"And where do you work?" Rose asked.
"I'm..." Sherlock started, but was unable to finish as Rose set to work once more.
Sherlock was much more relaxed this time—his thoughts alternating between purely appreciating the physical pleasure he was experiencing and analysing just what effect these experiences would have on his composure in the future.
It was the thought of her, or the vision of her that prompted the reaction, he reasoned. And that wouldn't occur just anywhere. It would only be in this specific location, surely. And...oh...
All thoughts died away again. He was lost in the specific sensation of her very focussed attention.
Once he'd found he was fully aroused, he simply said, "I'm ready."
Rose looked up. "I can keep doing this if you like?"
"No," he said. "That was good what you were doing last time, just not that nonsense you were rabbiting on about."
Rose suppressed a laugh again.
Once Sherlock had found something he liked, he preferred to stick with it: familiar faces, and places, ways of doing things. This was new, but he had found pleasure in that first experience and was keen for it all to happen exactly as it had done before.
This time Sherlock directed Rose as to when he was ready to swap positions. He relished the freedom to slip in deeper, teasing himself and experimenting with depth and pace. This was a purely physical pursuit, he acknowledged, and not inherent of his character, which was usually dedicated to the attainment of mental riches. No matter. Just for tonight, because I'm bored and John's out.
Sherlock catalogued every physiological response his body made, whether voluntary or involuntary. He noted stimuli, the progression of time, and his ability to form coherent thoughts at different phases of arousal.
As his desire quickened, his nerves alert, senses heightened, heat pooling everywhere, the rare thought occurred to him: I want more of this. Gasping with pleasure, Sherlock fully surrendered to the intense power that consumed his body and wiped his mind. Every muscle went rigid, then a wave flowed under him, engulfing him, sweeping him up until he rode the crest until it left him breathless and sated.
Rose had noticed that he was slightly more vocal when he climaxed and that he stayed on top of her for a few seconds longer before rolling off.
"How was the friction for you this time?" she asked, feeling slightly mischievous.
He looked over to her, as he took in short, shallow breaths.
"Satisfactory," he stated simply.
As the cogs in his mind started slowly turning again, he reflected on the fact that during sex he identified a very primal need. More sex. The beginnings of an addiction, or had his body and some dark recessed part of his brain awakened a very base level of existence? The thought that he could regress into such an ordinary state repulsed Sherlock.
He lay his head back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling as Rose again rolled onto her side to talk to him.
"You were going to tell me where you worked before I rudely interrupted you."
Sherlock managed a small smile as he met her gaze.
"I'm self-employed," he said carefully, deliberately choosing to remain enigmatic.
"As what?"
"A consultant."
"For?"
"We'll leave the details for future conversations. How about that?" he said, giving Rose a lopsided smile.
He sat up in order to clean himself up, then checked his watch. "Oh, good. Much more efficient this time."
Once he'd finished, he lay back down on the bed and turned to Rose.
"You don't have to keep checking your watch," she advised him. "I have a timer with an alarm.
"Oh," responded Sherlock, furrowing his brow. "I didn't hear it last time."
"You left one minute early. But don't worry, you have about five or ten minutes grace, in case you're still naked when the alarm goes off."
Sherlock tried to imagine the scenario of being in the throes of an orgasm, or perhaps not quite there yet and having sirens blasting throughout the building. "Has that ever happened with anyone?"
"Sometimes."
Sherlock tutted. "Morons."
Rose smiled in response, then asked, "As we still have about eight more minutes, what would you like to talk about?"
Sherlock thought of a multitude of topics about which he would like to engage in conversation with a prostitute, but he responded with, "If I ask questions about you, you just shut up shop."
"Well that's..."
"For your own safety, I know," Sherlock finished for her, mentally rolling his eyes at the precept.
There was silence for a few seconds before Rose ventured, "May I ask you a question?"
Worst question ever, thought Sherlock. To Rose he replied, "That's all you ever do."
"It's my job to find out what you want. This is a service industry remember."
"So why are you asking permission to ask me a question?"
"Because it's more of a personal nature."
"So ask. If I don't want to answer the question I'll either lie or not say anything," he answered, grinning. That was usually the options available to him whenever his flatmate posed inane questions to him.
Rose laughed at the notion.
"Why did you want to lose your virginity? You don't seem like someone who really cares for sex, well not the intimacy of sex anyway. You seem to be satisfied with your happy ending, which you can obviously get from masturbating."
Sherlock remained pensive. Should he tell her the truth? His big, mean brother teased him? Some slutty blackmailer of royalty called him a virgin, as if it were a flaw? Their words shouldn't have bothered him, but they eventually played on his mind. And on an impulse one idle weekend he decided to research inner city brothels, which then extended into a few days' investigation finally resulting in making an appointment when his flatmate was out on a Tuesday night. He decided to rid himself of the label, and gain some experience.
But why the subsequent visit, he asked himself.
His flatmate was either dating someone, or on the lookout for someone to date. It was irritating to watch someone putting so much time and energy into trying to get off with the opposite sex.
Just what was the big deal about sex anyway?
Now that he'd had it, he could see some benefits, especially the part where you could just lie back and let someone else do all the work for you. And he'd only have to pay cash for it. He made one phone call and less than an hour later he had an attractive young woman's mouth wrapped around his cock. John took weeks just to get the pleasure of buying some woman a meal and watching her eat it, while engaging in mundane conversations. Then he'd take two or three more weeks going to the cinema and watching movies he didn't enjoy, having lunch dates and walks in the park, more conversations that sounded dull in their entirety, and then, maybe then, he'd manage to 'get off' with whomever he was dating. And even then, he may not get the pleasure of an attractive woman sucking him off.
Ridiculous.
And don't even get Sherlock started on the number of lies John had to tell in order to wend his way through this dating maze of hell.
Pathetic.
Why was Sherlock paying for sex?
Because he could. It was easy. He enjoyed it.
Because he enjoyed...
...her.
...It.
The realisation that his last thought might have a small amount of truth to it made Sherlock dismiss it immediately. So, to Rose he answered, "Knowledge is power. Sex was an area in which I had no practical experience. In my line of work, it's an asset to know the motivations of the human psyche, what drives men to their madness and women to despair."
Rose sat up and curled her legs underneath her. Without thinking, she reached over and held Sherlock's hand in hers and said, "Well you've got it all wrong. It's not sex that does those things. It's love. And that's not something you'll find around here."
She dropped his hand and stood up, retrieving a dressing gown from the end of the bed.
Sherlock watched her as she wrapped the gown around herself. She then checked the timer on her dresser and said, "Five more minutes. Do you want to get dressed now? We can talk some more while you're doing that."
"Do you have another client?" Sherlock asked, rising from the bed.
"No-one booked in. But the night's still young. Although I would like to get home at a reasonable hour tonight. Not that I'm meant to be complaining to you about my work..." she added sheepishly.
"I appreciate your honesty more than your lies," Sherlock stated, as he dressed himself. "Lying must be second nature to you by now," he added offhandedly.
Rose's heart sank a little at seeing herself through 'John's' eyes. She'd been called much, much worse by clients, but 'John' seemed to state things so matter-of-factly, so bluntly, that they stung a little more. His keen eyes seem to bore right into her soul sometimes.
She didn't say anything in return.
Sherlock glanced at Rose as she folded up the towel. He noticed her expression.
He lowered his voice and asked, "Do you hate your job?"
"Yes," she heard herself saying, "Sometimes," she quickly added as she saw 'John's' face fall ever so slightly. "Just the unattractive, sweaty fucks mostly." Rose smiled weakly at him.
Sherlock gave her a look of disapproval. "Then why do you do it? People are far more successful in their lives if they undertake work they enjoy..."
"Do you think this is my career choice? I'm studying..." then she stopped, realizing she'd revealed too much as she took in 'John's' triumphant grin.
"So you are a student."
He looked quite jubilant, Rose thought, as if he'd won a prize.
"What are you studying?" he asked nonplussed, as if they had just met at a party.
Rose crossed her arms, already irritable that she had revealed this much.
"I can't talk to you anymore."
"What do you mean you can't?" Sherlock looked up as he put his shoes on. "Has the timer gone off?" He looked over to the dresser.
"No. If I'm at any time made to feel uncomfortable I can ask you to leave. And if you don't leave, Mark and the boys will escort you out."
"And the boys?" Sherlock repeated, his tone one of ridicule.
But Rose ignored his remark. "This was made clear to you when you signed the entry book upon entering this establishment."
Sherlock frowned. She was reciting the same disclaimer Cynthia had read out to him downstairs. He didn't realize he had made her feel so uncomfortable that the 'leave the premises or else' clause had kicked in.
He stood up and slipped his jacket on while Rose held the door open for him. He reached into a pocket and pulled out his wallet. Flipping it open, he grabbed a twenty pound note and held it out to Rose.
"Are you still giving me a tip?"
"I found your conversation as enlightening as before," he said impassively.
Rose found herself speechless as she reached for the money. Sherlock brushed past her and silently and swiftly exited.
.
UPDATE 13th Jan 2016: This chapter has been edited to be consistent with changes made to chapter 1.
