A/N: Thanks for the pick up 'Guest'! I screwed up that edit :)
.
Chapter 4: Have You Got Any Cash?
"How could you spend over three hundred pounds in as many weeks? You never buy groceries, rarely buy clothes. Are you...you...you're not..." John peered closely at Sherlock's eyes. "Using?"
"Shut up! Of course not! I don't even smoke any more. You must've been mistaken about the balance," Sherlock countered from the comfort of his armchair.
John dumped the bills down back on the side table next to his chair, crossed his arms and turned his head to the side, mystified.
"Well all I know is, when I used your card at the chip and pin machine there was over three hundred quid, and that was after my purchases. Henry Knight paid for all our expenses in Dartmoor, so..."
"You were mistaken about the balance," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly and trying to remain disinterested by staring at the screen of his laptop.
John was pretty miffed. All of his last pay cheque went into refitting the kitchen window which blew out as a result of one of Sherlock's wayward experiments. They had bills, piles of those, and an empty larder.
"Any cash in your wallet?" John stood up suddenly and strode over to the table before Sherlock had a chance to even rise from his chair. An attempt to make a dash for his wallet now would seem too obvious and guilt-ridden.
Resigning to his fate, Sherlock sank back into his chair.
"One hundred quid! You've got one hundred quid in here! Right, I'm taking fifty of it to pay for this food."
"Food?" Sherlock said, incredulously.
"Yes! How else do you think we're going to eat? And bog rolls. Need more of that."
And grabbing his jacket, he left Sherlock in a world of turmoil. Sherlock had already been contemplating how he could borrow a few extra quid off John in order to pay for a cab over to the brothel in Lyceum Street. But now, he didn't even have enough money to pay for the sex anyway. The week had gone way too slowly for him, and he'd been so looking forward to Tuesday night.
He stood up and started pacing, feeling frustrated. He was just going to have to accept some of those tedious cases that had come in over the last few weeks. He was never interested in cases for the money. It was all about the work. But now he needed cash. How to get more cash.
"Woo hoo!" came a voice from the landing.
"Ah, Mrs Hudson, how lovely you're looking this evening!"
"Everything okay?" Rose asked as they arrived at the top of the landing. Sherlock appeared unusually forlorn.
"I can't tip you tonight," he said as he handed over two twenties and a tenner.
Rose's expression softened. "Um, that's okay. You don't always have to tip," she said as she shoved the notes into an envelope. "You're tipping me for my conversation anyway. You won't miss out on sex."
Alarm bells sounded in Sherlock's head. No, sex still did not alarm him; the prospect of his evening with Shelley not going exactly as it usually did was a cause for concern. "I enjoy your conversation," he stated simply.
Rose's heart quickened, a response she was fully aware of. "And we'll still have it," she replied reassuringly gesturing along the landing for Sherlock to continue walking. "I'm not going to not talk to you."
"Good," Sherlock said, shrugging off his jacket before he ducked behind the curtain. A weight had lifted from his shoulders. He had gone to great pains to acquire the rest of the money for this evening's liaison. There had to be a light at the end of the tunnel, especially when that tunnel consisted of sitting through afternoon tea with Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner from next door.
Sherlock proceeded to unbutton his shirt and noticed the ambient temperature of the room. "The heating appears to be working?"
"Yes, it was a piece of plastic from the old outlet cover they said," Rose replied as she closed the bedroom door. "Good spotting. Although the cold did help my nipples become erect without having anyone touch them," she added, smiling. She shed her gown and moved over to the bed as Sherlock continued undressing.
"Oh, signs of arousal?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes."
"Can't fake the other signs though," Sherlock murmured, unbuttoning his shirt.
"Apparently not. I can't say that anyone but you has noticed though."
And welcome to the world of police investigations. 'Oh Sherlock, how did you know?', 'I didn't know, I noticed.' Morons.
He glanced at Rose waiting for him on the bed, and reflected on his first visit when she had fabricated her arousal. He remarked, "I really don't know why you bother with all of the other stuff. It's supposed to be about the client getting off isn't it?"
Sherlock's direct questions always continued to amuse Rose. She replied, "And their ability to stimulate me, or so they think, helps them to do that."
"Why?"
"Everyone likes to think they're good in the sack."
"Why do they like to think that?"
Rose was getting quite a handle on the type of man her client was revealing to be through his innocent questions. It was almost like he was from an alien race. "Human nature I guess," she replied.
"How is it measured?" he asked pointedly.
Rose thought she'd missed something. "How is what measured?"
"How good you are," he answered. Something to store away in his Mind Palace. Whenever there is a ranking, whenever there is a chance to prove yourself better than someone, Sherlock would be there. This type of information was invaluable, and he was obtaining it from an expert in the field.
Sherlock made his way over to the bed now that he was naked, and semi aroused. He lay down next to Rose, who was still sitting up, and he waited expectantly for her response.
"How good you are is determined by how much pleasure you give to your sexual partner."
Sherlock pondered this point. Shelley fakes arousal, client feels confident, comes back again, so to speak. Oh, come. Yes, how funny. "So...therefore clients like to see you getting off so they feel good about themselves," Sherlock concluded with distaste.
Sherlock's interest and never-ending quest for information was all rather entertaining for Rose. She wondered what he thought about his own sexual prowess at this stage. "Wouldn't you like to know if you were any good?" she asked.
Eventually, he thought. And I will be good. Yes, I will. But for now... "Well clearly I'm not because you're not aroused at all."
"I won't let myself be. It's not professional."
She moved closer to Sherlock's side when he didn't respond, and decided that it was time to start.
"Same again?"
Sherlock nodded.
It was exactly the same, according to Sherlock's specifications, although this time he felt slightly self-conscious knowing he was the only one getting off. It was an odd feeling. The first time he'd had sex he didn't care. It was like masturbation using another person's body instead of his hand. But now he was acutely aware that there was somebody else involved, and they weren't having as good a time as he was.
He still found Rose completely encouraging though, and had no trouble climaxing once again.
"Don't you want to enjoy yourself?" Sherlock asked, panting, continuing the conversation as if the last few minutes hadn't happened.
Rose looked at him and raised her eyebrows.
"Personal?" he asked.
"Yes. A bit." She left the bed and began putting her dressing gown on. She wasn't sure how to approach the subject again, but her client seemed quite open to talking about all manner of things. "Speaking of personal...I was thinking about your request..."
"My request?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.
"About coming to your place."
"Oh," Sherlock remarked. He pulled himself to a semi-sitting up position, fully focused. Things just got rather interesting.
Rose breathed out, still wondering if she should still do this. She had been in two minds about it for the past week, and once she had made up her mind, she had hoped 'John' would make an appointment so they could discuss it. It really would get her out of a tight spot. She ventured, "How much would you give me? I wouldn't want to go all that way for any less time than an hour."
Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. There was a slim chance he may actually get his own way. He thought for a moment. "It would have to be financially beneficial to both of us. If I booked you for an hour here, what's that? Two hundred?"
"Yes, plus the twenty-five pound door fee."
"And how much of the two hundred would you get to keep?"
"I'm not allowed to say."
Sherlock tutted in annoyance. "Then how am I supposed to give you a figure worth your while? Obviously if you come to my house, we've dispensed with the middle man and you'll get to keep the full amount."
He had hoped Shelley would just go that extra step and branch out on her own.
Excitement coursed through Rose's body. Make the offer, Rose, she told herself. You'll get to keep it all to yourself, just for one hour's work. "How about two hundred as a flat fee?" she asked hesitantly. "You wouldn't have to pay a door fee or a taxi fare?"
"Two hundred pounds," Sherlock thought to himself. He'd have Rose's company for an entire hour in the comfort of his own flat. They could have sex at least twice in that time. But he could barely scrape together seventy-five for today. Surely he could earn two hundreds pounds by next week, but he'd never had to chase his own clients for payment before. He never really cared if they paid or not. John did though. Yet he couldn't involve John in chasing payment. John would then question exactly where that money went if it disappeared in an instant.
"Two hundred," he repeated.
"We'd have to negotiate other conditions though," Rose said hurriedly. "For my own safety and your privacy of course. Then there's the cancellation fee. If I come round and for some reason you can't keep my appointment, you have to at least pay fifty pounds for my trouble. They call it a cab fare."
"That's fine," Sherlock said finally. His stomach made an involuntary twist, which surprised him. Was it nervous excitement? He sat up and began clean up operations.
Rose had crossed her arms and stood with her back to him facing the window and glancing through the narrow slits in the curtain to the street outside.
"We can't let them know, downstairs," she said in a low voice. "I'll be let go...or worse," she added, her voice barely audible.
"You can count on my discretion," Sherlock reassured her, rising from the bed. "So...when?"
"Obviously not Tuesday, Thursday or Saturday nights."
"Oh, of course," Sherlock thought. Tuesdays would've been best as John was definitely out. Friday night he was sometimes out on a date, Saturday was more likely, but both nights were not guaranteed. Although...
"What about in the late afternoon one day?" he proposed. John worked late some days, so that could work.
"Really? You won't mind me showing up to your place in daylight?"
"All kinds of people show up to my place during the day," Sherlock replied, dressing as he spoke.
"Okay. Well," Rose began, thinking about her schedule. "I have something on until three on Wednesday, so... where do you live? It will depend on how far I have to travel."
"Not far from here. Baker Street."
"Oh good!" she said, her face brightening. "That's not far from...the tube. So how about 4pm Wednesday?"
Sherlock smiled broadly. It was happening. "Excellent," he said, pulling on his jacket and moving toward the door.
Rose opened it for him and said in a lower voice, "So you won't be here next Tuesday night then?"
Sherlock smiled, his eyes twinkling as he shook his head.
"Address?" she asked.
"221B Baker Street. Oh!" Sherlock had a sudden thought. "You'll be dressed..."
"In normal, everyday clothes, don't worry," she said, laughing.
"Oh, good."
"Goodbye, John. See you next time," Rose said at normal volume, opening the door for him.
"Bye, Shelley."
.
UPDATE 13th Jan 2016: This chapter has been edited to be consistent with changes made to chapter 1.
