Chapter 3: He Gets Off On It
"Lovely to see you again, John. I thought we'd scared you away." Rose felt genuinely warmed by the sight of this refreshingly honest, clean and respectable man, despite his tendency to pry.
She escorted Sherlock upstairs, his expression largely unreadable due to the fact that he didn't feel as confident as he did two weeks prior.
Sherlock had left after the previous visit a bit despondent. He liked finding out information, and it was usually the bureaucracy of idiots who hindered his normal fact-finding missions, or the insecurities of the criminal element who wished to avoid being arrested as the reason for their reticence. But to be denied the pleasure of continually interrogating the woman with whom he had paid to have sex on the weak excuse that it was for her own personal safety was nothing short of an insult. What did they think he was going to do with the data? Stalk her? Why?
"No, I was away last week on a..." He paused momentarily on his next word: case, instead finishing with, "...for work." They'd reached the top of the stairs where Sherlock paused in front of the earnings box. "But I also wasn't sure they'd let me see you again, after... what happened." Your over-reaction, he thought petulantly.
"No, nothing dramatic like that," Rose answered. Banning 'John' from her list of clientele would've been a huge disappointment for her. "Not for something minor. You would've received the additional warning again downstairs though?"
Sherlock sighed. "Yes." He felt like a child being chastised for not playing nicely. 'Now Sherlock, don't call your friends 'idiots''. They are and they're not my friends.
Rose smiled at 'John's' contrite expression. "And I'm obliged to tell you once more, unless you want to say it to me yourself?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, then preceded to recite, "No kissing, no biting, no anal sex. No bodily fluids on your face or in your hair. And no questions of a personal nature." And don't have fun, he sulked.
"Well done," Rose laughed, gesturing for Sherlock to continue along the landing.
Instead he reached for his wallet and handed Rose a fifty. He indicated the earnings box and said, "I don't know why we always walk past it. You always have to return to it after I pay you over there."
"Oh," Rose said, slightly flustered at having Sherlock change things up a bit. She accepted his payment and explained, "It's so we can negotiate in private. You know, behind the curtain."
"We've already negotiated terms," Sherlock said, and he turned and strode away from her. He called back, "Same again."
Rose deposited the money and hastened to the room. Sherlock had already removed his jacket.
"I assume you created the addendum just for me?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"Yes I did."
"And my...preferences?" Sherlock challenged, as he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs.
"Oh," Rose said, taken aback at having to give an oral recount of a client's desires. "Let's see. Female, English, moderate intelligence—thank you by the way—and no unnecessarily slow movements, caresses, or fake sounds."
"Or expressions."
"Oh, yes."
"Aren't you getting undressed?" Sherlock asked as he sat down in the armchair to remove his shoes and socks.
"I've prepared ahead of time tonight—specific to your needs."
Rose opened her dressing gown to reveal her naked body as Sherlock glanced up at her.
"Oh," he remarked, mildly impressed that she had adapted her preparation to suit him. He stood up to undo his shirt buttons.
"We could try something a little different while you're undressing," Rose suggested, tentatively moving toward Sherlock. She was keen to treat him to a wide range of experiences, now that she knew that the sum total of his sexual accomplishments had been with her.
He eyed her suspiciously. Different? He didn't like different.
"Let's just try this—you may like it," she smiled slyly, unbuckling his belt for him, and glancing up into his eyes to check for a reaction.
Doubt it. Sherlock stared at her as if to say, We've already been through this undressing thing and you know my thoughts already.
"Don't worry," she reassured him. "This is just a slight variation on something you already like."
Rose unzipped his trousers, allowing them to drop to the ground. She quickly shed her dressing gown, then bent down onto her knees, reaching into Sherlock's boxers. When Sherlock saw what was about to happen he had a sudden mental picture of Anderson, his most hated forensics specialist, and Sergeant Sally Donovan, a bully of a police detective. He had accused them of liaising in this very position. And once that image was in his mind, it would not leave.
"Uh. No," he said, stepping out of Rose's reach. "Not going to happen like that."
"But it's the same as the bed," she protested, standing up again. "It's just that you'll feel more dominant, which can be a real turn on."
"No, I don't want that. I don't need extra turning on. Just like before. I'm happy with that." Perhaps he should write a checklist? Sherlock liked lists and she may appreciate his foresight. And he could reel off a few extra copies. For next time.
Sherlock bent down to retrieve his trousers, placing them neatly on the armchair as Rose picked up her dressing gown and slid it on again, wrapping it around herself. Well she tried. Perhaps when he's feeling a bit more confident they could try something else. He's only had sex twice after all, she reasoned.
Rose went over to sit in the middle of the bed while she waited for Sherlock to shed his underwear and join her. Before he removed them, however, he noticed Rose's gown.
"Why did you put that back on again?"
"It's a bit cold," she replied, shivering at the thought. "So I'll take it off at the last second if you don't mind—unless you want to try for the visual stimulation again?"
Sherlock noticed the very real physical evidence of Rose's reaction to the cold—goosebumps. "Oh, we didn't establish whether it was the thought of sex or the sight of your naked body that caused my arousal last time. Let's just leave it on for now...although you just flashed me your breasts, so that lessens the purity of the experiment. We'll just have to start again next week. No, leave it on if you're cold... why are you cold? Isn't the heating on?"
"I don't think it's working properly," she replied, glancing up at the outlet in the ceiling.
Sherlock, clad only in boxers, stepped up onto the bed and peered up to the ceiling to examine the vent. He couldn't stand not knowing the reason why things were amiss. A mystery to be solved!
"Um, John," Rose said nervously. Surely she couldn't get in trouble with Cynthia for her client standing on the bed. Could be a new sexual position.
"No, I think something's jammed in there," Sherlock muttered. Then he glanced about the room. May as well fix this while I'm here, he thought. "Do you have a long thin instrument, like a chisel, metal ruler, or flathead screwdriver?"
Sherlock looked over to the basket full of oddly-shaped objects.
Rose followed his gaze to the basket that held dildos, vibrators, anal intruders and handcuffs.
"No," she said firmly. "Not in this room. Look, John, just leave it. There're people to fix these things..."
"Looks like its been jammed for ages," he tutted.
"Just leave it."
"But you're cold," he responded, stepping down off the bed. "Don't you have anything warmer to wear... over the top bit?" Sherlock surveyed the room, frowning as he did so. "Where do you store your clothes?"
"Not here."
"Where then?"
Rose raised her eyebrows at him, her mouth drawn in a thin line.
"Too personal?" he guessed.
"Yes."
"Here, wear my shirt," Sherlock insisted, grabbing it from the chair.
"Your shirt? Look, I'll be fine once we get started," Rose protested. But Sherlock held out the shirt for her until she climbed off the bed and dropped her robe once more and turned her back on him. Sherlock wrapped it around her, and while she slid her arms into the sleeves, Sherlock gently turned her to face him and started fastening some of the buttons.
"You don't need all of them done up," he said softly. He surveyed her briefly before remarking, "Oh, I always roll my sleeves up when I'm working," then he set about rolling up both sleeves for her while Rose puzzled over him. He cares, she thought. He genuinely cares about my comfort.
"There. Warm on top, and still..." he waved his hand at her lower half, "...accessible." He chuckled at his own ingenuity, then slid off his underwear and sat back on the bed, scanning Rose from head to toe. A broad grin slowly spread across his face.
"You're very practical," Rose commented, feeling a bit embarrassed at his concern for her wellbeing.
"Simple solutions to simple problems."
Rose returned his smile, then climbed onto the bed to straddle Sherlock. He automatically put his hands to her hips.
"Looks like you got ready all by yourself," Rose whispered, leaning over to the bedside table to grab the condom packet.
Dammit, missed it again, Sherlock thought.
He was disappointed at not having noticed what it was that had stimulated a subconscious arousal in him. Expectation of sex now that he knew what it felt like? The visual image of Rose? Need more data...oh...favourite bit. Hang on...
Rose was making her way down his torso, lightly kissing him here and there and waiting for his impatient protests. When instead she heard a sigh of satisfaction, she continued downwards to give Sherlock his regular optional extra.
Sex continued on in the same fashion, with the added novelty of Sherlock sitting up when Rose was still on top of him and helping to lift off his shirt. Immediately afterward there was a slightly nerve-wracking moment when Rose thought he was about to kiss her, but she was able to distract him by kissing his nipples, and flicking her tongue over them until he groaned.
They continued on according to Sherlock's directions: Rose on top for a bit, then Sherlock to drive it home, so to speak. Once Sherlock had climaxed and collapsed on top of her, Rose put her arms around his neck, and held him there briefly, feeling him breathing heavily into her neck. Then she felt slightly panicky at the odd turn on that that moment gave her, and she let him go. Sherlock didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary about that moment though.
He lay back and stared at the ceiling, one arm loosely about his chest, and the other under his head. Rose turned to him, ready for another engaging conversation.
"So where did your work take you last week? You said you went away?"
"Dartmoor," Sherlock replied.
"I've never been there. What's it like?"
Images of south Devon's tors, bogs and grassy hills covered in a thick hallucinogenic gas came to mind. He replied, "Bleak. Foggy."
Rose was genuinely interested to know what this unique man did for a living. "What sort of work were you doing?"
Sherlock turned his head to meet Rose's inquisitive gaze. "Looking for a wild dog that was menacing the area."
"Really?" Rose asked skeptically. "You don't seem like the outdoorsy, wildlife warrior type."
Sherlock smiled to himself, as he relived the memory of the hound from hell, pausing a moment to revel in his brilliance yet again.
"My turn for a question," he said, changing the subject.
"Think you can manage to keep it general?" Rose challenged.
"Well, it's in this room, which is only used for the purposes of sex." He was enjoying this: a chance for a discovery at last.
"What is?" Rose queried.
"That cupboard," said Sherlock, indicating the door behind Rose. "It looks like it doesn't close properly. What's in it?"
"Oh, these," said Rose rising from the bed and opening the closet door. "Well, this is the Fantasy Suite, so these are costumes, for dress ups."
"For whom?" asked Sherlock, puzzled.
"For me, or whoever else uses this room. Maria, mostly. Have you met her?"
"Ah, no."
"Some clients like us to dress up," Rose commented, smiling at Sherlock. "Here, you might see something that takes your fancy."
"Why would I want you to get dressed? I need you undressed."
Rose smiled patiently at Sherlock. "Some guys have a fantasy of getting to fuck a nurse, or a playboy bunny or... parlour maid..." She briefly held out each costume bag as she recited the costumes packaged within.
"Where are there parlour maids these days for them to have fantasised about them?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Actually, I don't know," Rose replied thoughtfully. "Weird, huh? ...Or a school girl, biker girl, or this one, my favourite, police constable."
"Police constable?" scoffed Sherlock.
"Yes, it's very popular. Would you like to see me try it on?"
The very idea repulsed Sherlock to no end. "Ah. No," he replied emphatically. "I've seen enough of those in real life, and there's no way any police constable is getting to suck my cock."
Rose laughed, taking in Sherlock's look of disgust for the costume, and then he started laughing, a closed mouth, wide grin, rumbling sort of laugh.
"No police constables then," Rose stated, grinning, closing the closet with an extra shove so that it stayed closed this time. She was a little disappointed that Sherlock didn't see anything he fancied. She would've looked forward to dressing up a bit and seeing him come undone. She glanced at her timer on the dresser. When she turned around to Sherlock, he was regarding her with a slight look of dejection.
"How much longer?" he asked.
"Four minutes. Should we get dressed?"
Sherlock sighed and sat up. He cleaned himself up first, then slowly rose and grabbed his underwear. Of course Rose was already as dressed as she was going to be once she'd slipped on her dressing gown.
He would've preferred the evening to continue on in this fashion. He was enjoying picking at the fabric of life in the sex lane. Now some other lucky bastard was going to have the pleasure of Shelley's company, and this next guy probably wouldn't appreciate the candor of her conversation.
"Any more clients tonight?" Sherlock asked, hoping that wasn't one of the personal questions he was banned from asking.
"No, you're my only client on Tuesday nights," she replied, smiling shyly, which momentarily surprised Sherlock.
"Oh, so last week...?"
Rose shrugged non-commitedly.
"Oh. Sorry," he said earnestly as he pulled his shirt on.
"Why are you sorry?"
"Because you missed out on the income."
"Oh, I'm fine," Rose replied dismissively. "There was Tuesday afternoon, and Thursdays and Saturdays are always busy."
Sherlock was silent as he efficiently buttoned his shirt, then he posed the question, "Am I allowed to ask what other nights you work, or is that too personal?"
Rose felt flattered by his interest. "No, that's fine," she answered cooly. "As you're a regular client you may need to make an appointment for another time, so that's a valid question."
"So?" he prompted, glancing over at her before turning to retrieve his trousers from the armchair.
"Just Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays."
Sherlock absorbed that information, not really sure what he was going to do with it. Although he did wonder what Shelley did on the other nights of the week. And then another idea popped into his head. A small seed of an idea. "What about call-outs?" he probed.
"To private houses and hotels?" Rose asked dubiously.
"Yes."
"No, we don't do those. You'll want an escort agency. This is Cynthia and Mark's massage parlour and we sometimes stay over with our clients."
Sherlock smiled inwardly. Of course. He pulled on his jacket and stated in some amusement, "Because brothels are illegal."
"Yes. So in no way is this a brothel," she reiterated, smiling mischievously at Sherlock.
Sherlock cleared his throat, his idea coming to the fore. He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and ventured, "If I was to ask if you'll..."
"No," she answered, cutting him off.
"I haven't finished yet."
"You want to ask if I'll come to your place. No. I don't do that. I don't consider a client's house or hotel room a safe environment. There are plenty of escorts around though. Try those."
Sherlock frowned. "But I don't want anybody else." He couldn't imagine any other option. When you ordered fish and chips you go to the Marylebone Road; when you need your suits dry-cleaned, you'd take them to the Clay Street Dry Cleaners around the block, and when you want to get laid, you make an appointment with Shelley. That's the way the world turned. At least that's the way his world turned.
At that moment Rose's timer gave two almost inaudible beeps. So no sirens then. Sherlock sighed, then reached into his jacket for his wallet.
"I'm sorry, John. That's the way I work."
Sherlock fished out a twenty pound note, and thanked the sex worker as he handed her the money.
"Thanks for the tip, once again," Rose replied.
"Are your other clients tipping you generously now that you've given up those annoying comments you make during sex?"
Rose remained composed despite the urge to laugh hysterically at Sherlock. "Some clients like it."
"Why?" Sherlock asked through narrow eyes.
"Because it makes them feel good about themselves."
"But you're not very convincing."
"That's a matter of opinion."
Sherlock regarded her for a moment, thinking that she was delusional and that most of her clients were most likely idiots.
"Will I see you next week?" Rose asked, changing the subject.
"I think so," Sherlock replied. He regarded Rose curiously, for he thought he noticed a hint of hope in her face. He smiled wanly. "Goodbye, Shelley."
"See you next time, John."
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UPDATE 13th Jan 2016: This chapter has been edited to be consistent with changes made to chapter 1.
