Experiment

"Something is missing!" Sherlock yelled for the seventh time since receiving a text from Lestrade the following day.

A woman at Rocky's Pawn Shop confessed to murdering Arnold Haywire, her ex boyfriend, by shooting him once through the back of the head and taking the artwork they had showed up to collect. Case closed.

"Too easy!" Sherlock continued, kicking the furniture and tossing the papers and mail that John had just spent a half hour stacking. "Why would Moriarty bother?!"

John had been wondering the same thing but kept that thought to herself. She simply continued to brew the chamomile in peace, hiding behind the expensive science equipment.

Sherlock had managed to topple over her leather chair and throw John's pillow into the cold fireplace before John brought her her cup of tea and shoved her into the sofa.

"I need more data!" Sherlock huffed and threw the cup on the ground, soft enough to prevent it from breaking but still sending tea flying everywhere.

John sighed and sat in her chair, sipping at her own cup. "Maybe this was her plan," she suggested. "Work you up over nothing so you get distracted. Or maybe she's bored enough for the small stuff." She looked at the puddle oozing into the carpet and added, "You're cleaning that up by the way."

"Moriarty is-" Sherlock grunted. "She would not send me a dead body just to 'work me up'. It doesn't make any sense!"

John's phone pinged and she picked it up, frowning when she saw the text.

Are we still going to have a pizza and movies tonight?

Right. She had a date with Martin lined up. She looked back up at Sherlock and shook her head at her phone.

Sorry honey. Sherlock's not capable of being alone right now. I'm afraid she'll try something drastic. Like fire. . . again. Reschedule? - J

Martin had enough of an opinion about Sherlock without her mentioning the whole Danger Night aspect. Sherlock had already been scratching at the crook of her arm, one of her more obvious tells. It meant the patches were peeling from overuse, not that she was itching for a fix. Apparently that was an insult to the competent drug users. John was never going to willingly argue about the competency of drug users ever again.

Martin replied right away. That's fine. I'll just heat up something from the fridge then. Give her a kiss from me. ;)

John giggled and then froze, her face heating. She had been having flashbacks all yesterday about their drunken night and feared she may have told Sherlock something about kissing a girl. She could not remember in exactly what context though.

"Really?" Sherlock raised her eyebrows and curled into her corner of the sofa, finally seeming to calm for at least a moment -which usually meant more trouble ahead. "And on sex night?"

"Sex night?" John asked, fingers tightening around her mug. She reached for her laptop and pulled it into her lap, opening the screen, ready to type up her notes from yesterday.

"It's not been three weeks but you're about to menstrate." Her hand glided through the air mockingly. "You try to slip one in before that happens, for his sake."

"I- What?"

Sherlock smirked and tossed her body back, stretched one leg out over the cushions and dropped the other to the ground. "If you would rather have boring sex with your boyfriend than stay and help me figure out what game Moriarty is playing, don't let me stop you."

"And here we are, back on my sex life."

"Indeed." Sherlock's mouth puckered, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of the hunt.

John decided to put a stop to that immediately. "Do you think Moriarty knew we would be hung over? Do you think there are cameras in here we missed?"

Sherlock waved her off. "Checked. She may have seen from the window, but we are still safe in our flat." She pulled herself up and slid towards John's side of the room. "Now, stop avoiding the topic."

"I'm not," John shrugged. "You are the one who wanted to figure out Moriarty's game."

"And you are the who told me to drop it and pick it back up later. That's what I'm doing. Dropping it."

"And picking up my sex life."

"That's the idea."

"That's the… The what?" John tossed her bangs out of her face. "Wait. No. We were talking about Moriarty."

"I never finished my proposition," Sherlock said.

"Proposition?" John asked slowly, completely confused, "You're propositioning me?" Propositioning really only had one definition in this context as far as she knew. "But I'm… I'm in a relationship and not gay and you're-"

"Not sex, John!" Sherlock huffed. "What you're missing!"

"Well, I'm clearly missing a lot because I don't have a bloody clue what you're on about!"

Sherlock sighed, took a moment to curse whiskey, and stepped toward her. She propped her usual chair back up and brought it in close. Then paused to milk the moment for every last bit of drama she could suck out of it. "Domination. You want someone to dominante you."

"I do not want-" John slowed to a stop, a crash of fuzzy memories overtaking her. Truth or Dare. They had played truth or dare while massively, horribly drunk. Oh, that was not good. Not good at all. Sherlock has asked her if Martin was dominant and then grabbed her but the phone rang and there was something about a sock.

Sherlock smiled and leaned forward, her finger retracing the earlier pattern and landing under John's jaw, slipping down to where the choker used to be.

John swallowed and backed into the chair, pushing into the cushions and pulling her laptop over her like body armour. "What exactly are you suggesting, Sherlock?"

"No sex," Sherlock hurried to clarify, nails gripping metal and leather. She seemed to weigh the words in her mouth before she finally breathed them aloud. "I want to be your Dom."

John stared, her mouth falling open at some point because she needed to shut it to swallow and ask, "My Dom?"

Sherlock nodded. "Here only. No need to go back to that club. You do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you, whenever we scene."

"Whenever we what now?"

"Scene." Sherlock leaned back in her chair and tapped her fingers to a staccato beat. "The time we play together."

"So," John shook her head, not sure she should be swimming in this conversation this sober, but sick enough from the last hangover to not want to repeat the mistake. "This is a game?"

"If you want it to be," Sherlock shrugged.

"What do you want it to be? What do you want from this- this-" John shook her head, practically laughing. "What even is this?"

"There is a part to you, John Watson, that I do not know. A part that surprises me. You, a Captain in the army, a woman of modern society, a doctor who craves war, partner to the smartest woman in London, wants something. Something that she is not getting. That is unacceptable. I need to learn the what, when, why, where, and how you want this." Those eyes roamed up and down, savoring in every spec they could gobble up, landing on John's panicked blinks. Sherlock's obsessive gleam sparked, always starved for more. She rolled her lips and practically growled, "I need to know everything."

John shifted, clasped a hand back around the edge of her laptop, gripping it still at the point between open and shut. Dumbfounded, she muttered, "You forgot who."

Sherlock smirked. "I already know who. You want me to do it. Mason-"

"Martin."

"-was a disappointment in this. I can make up for it. I can give you exactly what you want."

John bit her lip and scoffed. This was absolutely mad. "And what makes you think I want this?"

"You told me so."

"When?"

"When we went to that club." Sherlock looked to the side and breathed, "Well, that and I recorded our drunken games on my phone."

"You did what?! Let me see-"

Sherlock held up a hand. "Already deleted."

John growled, "Why?"

"It's here," Sherlock pointed to her head -which was not the question John asked. "Think about it John. It's a win-win situation. I learn more about you and a subject you are interested in, one that might even relate to the Work. You don't cheat on your boyfriend but still spice up your life and play into one of your fantasies. It may even help your relationship."

John shivered at the word fantasies, thinking she should remember something about that but came up with nothing.

"I saw you," Sherlock continued. "At the club. You couldn't take your eyes off Beth."

"You told me not to!"

"I told you to ask for a demonstration and learn from the Dom. You didn't even look at her. Your eyes were on Beth alone. You moved when she moved, you panted when she did, you moaned when she moaned. You wanted to be her."

Echoes of that paddle sounded through John's mind, Beth's whispery counts sounding off in succession.

John found her breath leaving her, her fingers clawing into the cushions of her chair. A faint blush crawled up her neck and cheeks as she imagined herself bent over, her face on that floor, her voice calling out at every smack.

John's phone pinged.

She shook herself from her thoughts and opened Martin's message. Let me know if you're still hungover tomorrow. I hear DTS can be cured with cuddles on the sofa. xoxo

John groaned and pulled the phone down, jumping when Sherlock appeared directly behind it, far closer than she had been a moment ago. Sherlock snapped the laptop shut for her.

"He doesn't get it," Sherlock said, covered the phone and pushed it into John's lap. "I do. I want to."

John frowned and slipped her hands out from under Sherlock's grip. She flipped the blinking phone back and forth and glanced up at Sherlock's hopeful scrutiny. "No sex?"

"No sex."

How could someone Dom -and what a scary word that was- if there was no sexual gratification involved?

Martin would be unhappy with it in any scenario.

"Please," Sherlock grumped. "If anything it's emotional cheating and you've been doing that with me since day one."

John opened her mouth to argue but let it fall closed. How many people had spurted that line at her? Yes, she was close with Sherlock but she was her best friend, for whatever wonderful ungodly reason that came to pass. They were girls and girls tended to be close. The fact that men were pigs who loved to picture them having naked pillow fights was not her fault. Whenever she told them no to the lesbian action with Sherlock, they loved to spurt the 'emotional cheating' excuse for breaking up with her and not for the real reason being they could not get it on with two girls at once. It was always a pathetic excuse in John's mind. Women had closer bonds than men and she and Sherlock had one of the strongest bonds of anyone she had ever befriended. If Sherlock were a man then yes, she could see it as emotional cheating. But Sherlock was decidedly all female. It was ridiculous.

Then again they were talking about crossing some line here that might actually verge on naked pillow fighting. But what even was it but a kind of experiment? She supposed that might be acceptable way of describing it. Sherlock would not actually propose this if it were not completely scientific. Sherlock experimented on her all the time. This would be no different. Without the possibility of sex, it would be almost normal. Frightening to think it would be something where Sherlock had absolutely full control, but that's what safewords were for, right? How bad could it be?

God. Safewords. What had her life become?

"An experiment?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded.

Martin could accept an experiment. He was a science teacher after all. He would understand the need to know for knowledge's sake.

Sherlock would not quit until she got her way anyway. If John did not give her permission, she would find another avenue. Probably yell at her to drop and give her twenty while brushing her teeth or start smacking her arse at crime scenes to gage her reaction.

"Not forever." John heard herself say the words before she fully gave them permission to leave her mouth. "Just… we'll see how it goes, yeah?"

"Whatever you wish, John."

John showed up for her rescheduled pizza and movie night with Martin in jeans and a tank top. It was her favorite outfit. Sherlock had not so much as tinted the color of either item or put a single hole in even the hem. Every stain was of John's own creation.

Martin greeted her with a kiss and walked her to the couch where pizza and wings were already waiting. Lucky for her, Martin was cheating on his diet again.

"Yum," John hummed and jumped into her first slice, already halfway through it before looking back up at Martin. "Sorry," she chuckled.

"Sherlock keep you from eating again?" Martin teased, his eyes crinkling.

"A bit," she smiled around another mouthful. "There was this banker who had a cock drawn on his forehead and Sherlock swore it had to do with that Arnold case because it was done in lipstick."

"The one that was solved already?"

John nodded. "Though they don't seem connected in any way. He died in his apartment on the sofa after some kind of party. There were empty bottles everywhere. Alcohol poisoning. But she's convinced it's something related to a boozing barber. I don't know. I didn't ask."

Martin smiled fondly and shuffled closer, leaning back against the couch. "What movie did you bring?"

John held up the DVD. "I don't know what it is. Sherlock had it hiding behind one of her experiments."

Martin's eyes widened.

John laughed, "Don't worry. Nothing hazardous. Just a bit of phosphorous. The rock kind."

Martin smiled and plucked it from her hands, reading the title aloud. "Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Woody Allen?"

John nodded. "Thought we could give it a shot. If it's awful, we can always find something else."

John seethed the entire movie. True, it was partially her own fault. She did not read the cover to see what the movie was about. She did not take the time to look for a movie herself, though the dead cock banker did take up most of her day.

The message was clear, fucked up as it was. Sherlock planted the movie and wanted John to bring their arrangement up to Martin. It was the only thing stopping them from having their first scene, or whatever it was called. John refused to start anything as crazy and ridiculous as D/s play with her best friend without checking in with her longterm boyfriend.

The movie credits rolled and Martin leaned over, clearly trying for a kiss. John let him but did not return very much, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

"What's wrong?" Martin pulled away, not in the least bit angry. He really was a good bloke.

"I…" John curled a leg over the couch and leaned towards him. "Sherlock wanted me to ask you about… well, an experiment."

"Me?" Martin smirked, his eyebrows rising playfully.

John smiled back and shook her head. "She wants to experiment on me."

"Nothing new…" He drawled.

"She wants to tell me what to do, and I have to follow her orders no matter how ridiculous or embarrassing, no questions asked."

Martin nodded along, his smirk returning. "Also, nothing new."

"But-" John sighed and shifted. "Maybe I'm not explaining this well enough."

"Sherlock will tell you what to do and you'll do it. You're telling me in case you act strange and it affects me in any way. It's fine." He smiled and wrapped a large arm around her and tugged her into his lap. "As long as you're not kissing any blokes, I'm alright with it."

"What about girls?" John joked, and then promptly closed her mouth. That counted as sexual, right? Sherlock would not actually kiss her. That would be extra strange. And she promised she would not make her return to that horrible club. Unless Sherlock invited someone to the flat, which John would definitely say no to. Not a possibility.

Martin chuckled and shook his head back and forth. "Then I would need a photo."

John laughed, tried to push his arms away, and failed miserably -mostly because she was not trying very hard. "Seriously," she cleared her throat. "It could get weird. Intimately weird."

Martin seemed to contemplate this for a moment and tilted his head with mock concern. "No sex stuff, right?"

John nodded. That much she knew. "No sex stuff."

"Then it's fine. Though I can't imagine why you would want to. I already know you'll do whatever she asks. But I appreciate you telling me."

Martin pulled her in close and started laying kisses up and down her neck, closing in on her mouth and slipping into a lingering kiss. She shifted, felt the bulge in his pants, and wondered just how long that had been there. Perhaps she should have painted a clearer picture about Sherlock's plans, not that she truly even had a clear idea.

John was pulled from her thoughts as Martin pushed up and tugged her towards the bedroom, shutting the lights off on the way.

When John returned home the next day, Sherlock was throwing kitchen knives at their perfectly nice wallpaper. Wallpaper that now had a cock drawn on it in dark purple lipstick.

"Did you use my lipstick for that cock?" John growled.

"It wasn't your shade," Sherlock grumbled and threw the next knife, sending the blade straight through the tip.

"No!" John yelled. "Nope! No more knife throwing! Absolutely not. Mrs. Hudson is going to have a heart attack when she sees this."

She rushed to Sherlock's side and disarmed her, stole a handful of knives from the floor, and contemplated how she could wrestle for the one that magically popped out of her dressing gown sleeve. Sherlock seemed to guess her move, ran for the couch, jumped up, and slammed the knife home into the base of the balls.

John rolled her eyes and shoved the knives in the sink to be washed later. "You know, sometimes I wish I could come home and the wallpaper would not be a holey cock-filled mess."

"I didn't realize you were worshiping cock now."

"Whoever says you're not funny clearly has not had the privilege of living with you. I really must write down-" Sherlock was suddenly directly behind her with a loud jump. "Jesus Christ!"

Sherlock smiled eagerly. "You told him."

John whirled towards the fridge, not quite having caught up with the Sherlock train of thought. "Huh?"

Another moment later and Sherlock's grin spread, "And he said yes."

"What?"

"Merlin-"

"Mart-" John dropped the door and spun around, baffled. "Did you just call my boyfriend a wizard?"

"Merlin said yes to our arrangement."

"Yes," John nodded. "But-"

"I'm sure you explained yourself perfectly well. It's not your fault a sack of bricks could outwit him."

"And he wonders why I never bring him round," John hummed and searched the back of the cupboards for the good tea. "You're cleaning that cock off the wall, young lady. And I want my lipstick back!"

"Mrs. Hudson won't be scared of a cock," Sherlock huffed and collapsed into her chair, rubbing at the dark circles under her eyes.

"Well, Lestrade is scared of them. Especially since the woody Moriarty left you. And isn't he meeting you here today?"

"He cancelled." Sherlock groaned and flipped herself upside down, her dressing gown slipping over her knees and nearly revealing her underthings. "He doesn't believe the cases should be reopened."

"Maybe it's like I said," John soothed, pulling down a second mug for Sherlock. "Moriarty could just be screwing with you. I'm fairly certain the banker did die of self inflicted alcohol poisoning and it was one of his mates that drew it. I wouldn't want my friend's family to know if I drew a cock on their dead husband. Maybe after your tea we could get something to eat and you could lie down and-"

"That's two cock cases in as many weeks, John! The universe-"

"Is hardly so lazy, I know. But we are saying cock far more than I feel is decent so I believe we should change the subject."

"To Milo's cock?" Sherlock chuckled.

John rolled her eyes at the kettle. Why did she even bother?

"No," John sighed. "Merlin- I mean, Martin-"

Sherlock interrupted with the loudest fit of giggles John had ever heard escape from wherever she locked them up inside her palace. She even snorted a few times, squeaking like an uncontrollable cat with her favorite toy.

The laugh was infectious and the thought of Martin walking around with a cane and white beard had John giggling until the water boiled.

"Alright," John sighed. "Moving on, please."

Sherlock cleared her throat and asked, "How was your horrible sex with our favorite wizard?"

"Sherlock," John warned.

"He said yes," Sherlock spun into a sitting position and started tapping the side of the her seat.

John stared at those tapping nails and slunk into her chair with her cup, not bothering to hand Sherlock hers. Sherlock would probably just ignore it and John really just wanted to take a shower and change.

"We could start tomorrow," Sherlock announced.

"No," John yelped. She took a breath and gaped, stumbling over what she wanted to say. "Aren't you afraid things will get… strange?"

Sherlock studied her, those silver eyes quickly raking over her closed legs and tied back hair. "You are." Sherlock rose and shook her head, matter of factly. "Unnecessary. If anything becomes too strange we'll stop."

"I just mean…" Sherlock picked up her tea from beside John and traveled into the kitchen, leaving John to call after her. "How will this not get sexual?"

"Oh, it will."

John spun to her feet. "But you said-"

"No sex," Sherlock clipped, in the middle of setting up her microscope. "I am aware you don't want to have sex with me. Though your sister does." She gestured towards the phone on the table. "She texted again. This time with a picture."

John's nose crinkled. "Dare I look?"

"I wouldn't."

Harry really needed to stop with that. Just because her relationship with the newest girlfriend was crumbling did not mean she needed to steal John's best friend, again. Whether she was flirting without purpose, knowing Sherlock was not interested, or really that desperate was in character for her either way. John should call her about it. It could wait until tomorrow, but before or after she and Sherlock did...things?

John bit down on her cheek and abruptly puffed out a breath. "How can this be sexual without sex?"

Sherlock shrugged, now adjusting the eyepiece, not even bothering to look her way. "Same hormones, adrenaline rushes, emotional bonds."

"Emotional bonds?"

"Don't worry, John," Sherlock smiled. "You'll only grow more attached to me. Learn to trust me more."

John bit her lips and played with the rim of her glass, wondering if there were any other arguments she could put up that Sherlock would not automatically diffuse. "I think I already trust you more than any sane person would."

"Which is why I'm exactly the right person to do this."

John left it at that and ran off to take her shower, reminding herself to make sure she put a note on the door for Mrs. Hudson to steer clear until she could scrub the wall clean. And maybe replaster a few dozen holes.

AN: A part of me wanted John to say no so Sherlock could torture her into saying yes with such things like slapping ass and random hair pulling, but that would be a completely different fic… or at least make this one 10 times longer and crack-ier (and it's already fairly long)(everything can always use more crack though).