Amaryllis

John ended up squeaking more often than not. "John. Jo-ohn." Or cracking her voice. "John. Wa- Wa- Watson. Son."

Sherlock shook her head, busy fiddling with the strings in her purple and blue painted hands, wrapping and braiding them together. The cabbie was getting a kick out of it though.

Sherlock told the cabbie they were a part of a theatre troupe recording a video for their blog about how appearances make a difference when out it public, adding it was a part of their series on equality and sexism in the workplace.

John had nothing to add to that.

"You got to open up your throat before you try, mate," the cabbie said. Apparently he wanted to be an actor growing up and had plenty of wisdom to share from his previous classes and lessons. "Try breathing air out before you speak. Really push from your diaphragm."

As John played with her register, she had to wonder what Sherlock had planned. She was certain at this point that they were doing the D/s thing wrong, that it required more talking if the internet was correct, but so far things had been tame enough for her not to be worried. After all, most of the blogs about D/s were more about the bondage and the masochist side of BDSM. Compared to those people, what they were doing was child's play.

Well, child's play except for the Daddy's Little Girl world. That was a level of BDSM beyond her.

This time they had at least talked previous to the scene. Sherlock did promise John would not look more of a fool than she already did as an ugly man. The punishment was laid out as clear as day, which was appreciated -though she was not sure what Sherlock considered disappointing behavior.

John was impressed by how slow Sherlock was taking things. Then again, she had been distracted by cases. There was no telling what would happen once the cocks case -and she really hoped she could come up with a better name for her blog- was completed and Sherlock had nothing but boredom on her mind.

That promptly brought back the memory of Moriarty offering herself over as 'daddy' so she could toss John around. John cringed. Moriarty loved to throw phrases around. Daddy. Lesbian. Bisexual. John was not bi. Not that there was anything wrong with that. But just because she was not as active fucking her boyfriend as she would have been twenty years ago, does not mean she suddenly wanted a dramatic change in scenery.

Sherlock snapped her out of her thoughts when she smacked John across the arm. John spun and saw the strands Sherlock had been braiding were small strips of dark green suede, knotted into a necklace that looked masculine enough for a man to wear.

"Very nice, William," John said, trying out her new voice and calling Sherlock by her undercover name. She switched back to her normal female tone and added, "I really shouldn't talk, should I?"

"No, that was brill!" The cabbie said and added, "We're nearly there by the way. I'll give you my card so I can pick you up. I want to hear how it all goes."

Sherlock rolled her eyes, for only John to see, and motioned for her to turn around. She spoke into her ear as she tied the small band off. "You are allowed to talk as much as you need tonight, though you are correct in limiting that. You still must do as I say without question. As I will be busy, if you need to ask a question or say your safeword, you may text it. I will check all messages as soon as possible. Your safe word is amaryllis, unless you have another you wish to choose."

John nodded along with all of it, figuring she would mostly be waiting to snap a picture anyway. It would be easy enough.

"Repeat it back to me," Sherlock said and slipped her hands from John's neck, adjusting her sweater and tugging at her jeans.

"Amaryllis," John said and slipped back into her seat. Though she was nervous about making a fool of herself, and about leaving her gun at home, she guessed Sherlock was now in charge. Sherlock would not let anything bad happen to her. If Sherlock's lack of self-preservation kicked in, it would not be a great hardship to safeword. It would be fine.

Just a bit of kiss and tell.

Absolutely fine.

"We're here," the cabbie announced.

"Deal with him," Sherlock said and pushed her way out of the car ahead of John.

John paid and took the cabbie's card, shaking out her legs, annoyed at how her fake cock chafed against her mons.

Sherlock nodded towards the entrance of the bar and said, "Order a pint and sit in the back, preferably in the shadows. Keep your phone out. I'll be texting you. I'll be in in a minute." She dove into her pocket and tugged out a cigarette.

"Are you smoking?" John snapped, reaching out to take her lighter away.

"Appearances," Sherlock drawled and stepped back. "Very disappointing of you to question me, John. You've just earned one day of punishment. Now go inside before I make it two."

John's mouth fell open in protest, but her tendons strained against the handmade necklace and she shut it again. Right. Not in charge. Why was she doing this again?

The pub was like most pubs, only this one had a dance floor with the words Come As You Are painted across them. Sherlock defined this place as gay friendly, but not a gay club. There were couples of varying sexuality all around. It seemed quite popular for being on the outskirts of London.

Their target was near the bar. For David Borne to be promoting the bigoted propaganda and trying to take away gay rights, he sure did have a funny way of showing it. According to Mycroft's notes, the bill he was trying to pass would in no way link back to him unless he was to be exposed. It was all politicial bull-shit that made him not only a hypocrite but also a coward.

John approached nervously and ordered a pint in her best male voice. No one even blinked an eye at her, which she was grateful for. Only when she turned to David did she bother to make eye contact, sending over her best smile. David smiled back before turning his attention back to the telly on the wall broadcasting the news.

That was good, John thought. She took her pint to the table at the back of the pub and slipped into the sticky booth. Now that her nerves were gone, she felt herself sweating under the mesh cap and the goatee itching like mad. She had almost forgotten how ridiculous she looked. Her beer was absolutely just what she needed.

After a large gulp, John took out her phone, flipped it to vibrate and opened her camera. She snapped a quick shot of David and slipped it back onto the table, watching the door. It would not be enough to place David in a gay friendly bar. They would need better evidence to stop him.

Sherlock walked in a moment later, leading with her hips and flipping her hair in a way John had seen plenty of men do. She assessed the room quickly and made her way to the bar, ordering herself a wine.

Odd choice, John thought. Wine seemed a bit girly.

Sherlock sipped her drink and walked past David, not even saying hello. John frowned as she made her way to the dance floor and started chatting up one of the blokes there. The man was older, a bit round, and very receptive to the handsome young man smiling down at him. John watched while trying to make it seem like she was not, her eyes moving back towards David and the news.

After what must have been twenty minutes, John's phone pinged.

Blonde woman sitting two tables in front of you. Two cats, no boyfriend, gym teacher. Get her number. -SH

John scoffed at her phone and her eyes jumped to Sherlock who was now dancing with another man, this one slim, short, and blonde. David was talking to a woman next to him, friendly but not flirtatious. Their eyes roamed the room, though it was hard to look away from the dance floor when it was so full. John could barely make eye contact with Sherlock but Sherlock ignored her anyway, thrusting away to the beat, even grabbing her tube sock cock more than once.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Sherlock was perfectly capable of watching David, but John was not going to chat up a woman!

Don't disappoint me. Text me when you have it. -SH

John groaned.

This was going to be horrible. She lifted herself from the table but left her half-full glass, hoping to save her seat. She walked forward, instantly regretting it, not knowing what she should do with her hands.

Tucking her thumbs in her pockets seemed too feminine, but putting them all the way in made her pants show. She ended up tucking them under her armpits but that made her tits itch. There was no winning so she dropped them to her side and spun in front of the blonde's table.

The blonde was cute. She was dressed in a sundress and had a lackadaisical look about her, her eyes glued to the entrance.

"Hello," John said, clearing her throat.

The blonde jumped and spun to her, her green eyes widening. "Hi."

John rocked on her trainers, not quite sure what to say. Men usually introduced themselves first, right? They did not just ask for the number outright. "I'm John. Uh- John Watson." She only squeaked once.

"Miranda," the girl greeted, her smile falling from polite to mildly annoyed.

John bit her lip and trudged on. "How are you?"

"Good." She crossed her legs and leaned back in her booth. "How are you?"

"Good."

The awkward pause was excruciating.

"Well," Miranda said, her eyes darting back to the entrance as the door opened. "It was nice meeting you, but I am waiting for friends."

"Right," John shook her head and sighed. "I just- I wanted to compliment your hair. I like waterfall braids."

Her face lit up, her arms uncrossing. "Thank you. It took me forever to do them. That's so sweet of you."

Right. She either thought John was a gay man or knew she was a girl. That was clear.

"My ex-" John was going to say loved my hair braided, but caught herself and said, "-wore her hair like that."

"Yeah?" Miranda asked, polite but distant. "How long have you been broken up?"

"A few weeks," John lied, gritting her teeth. Now she was bringing up imaginary exes? This was terrible. She was the creepy guy at the bar she always hated. "Look, I'm sorry for bothering you. I was dared to try to get your number by my friend."

Miranda's smile grew and she looked behind him. "Who's your friend?"

John looked to Sherlock who was still grinding in front of her mystery men. It was not fair that she could still be so graceful and manly at the same time. Not to mention she got to be the one dancing in the middle of the pack of men while John was left to awkwardly chat up a girl. "Not here right now. He texted."

Miranda's eyes rose.

"I'm not lying, I could show you." John said and huffed. "I'm so sorry. You have friends coming. I'm going to leave you alone now."

"It's alright," she said, but clearly she was relieved.

John slunk back to her booth in the back and drank the rest of her pint. She sent her text to Sherlock and hung her head.

I didn't get it. -JW

John saw the moment Sherlock read the text, blue light glowing across her unhappy face as she continued to dance.

Disappointing. You earned your second day. -SH

John sighed and gripped her empty glass.

Get another pint. Don't talk to anyone. Sit back down. Keep your phone out. -SH

The bar was busier so it took a bit longer to get a drink. The girl who had been speaking with David tried to talk to her, but she smiled and shook her head. It felt a bit rude to not say anything but John was too disappointed to care.

John was a woman. She knew how women thought. She had been approached enough times in her life at a pub. She should know better.

David was busy on his phone, playing some kind of game. John looked at Sherlock who was looking directly at David, her mind already calculating what to do next. John left her to it and sat back down.

When a few minutes had passed, her phone lit again.

Flirt with Brone. Get his number. Kiss him if you can but you will not be punished if you are unable. -SH

John groaned out loud. Well, at least David was a man. John flirted with men all the time. And it was for the case.

Once she chugged a few gulps of beer, she pushed herself to her feet and took her glass with her, approaching David's side of the bar without coming directly at him. David barely glanced up from his mobile.

Well, that was not very promising.

John dipped her hips and thrust out her leg, something that usually had at least a few eyes darting her way, though she usually had a more defined ass and a low cut top.

No one even bothered to glance at her and she probably looked an idiot.

With a large sigh she turned to David and glanced over his shoulder, trying to figure out what game he was playing.

"Tetris?" she asked out loud, amused.

David glanced up. "Hm?"

"Sorry," John's voice squeaked and she tried to breathe before speaking, as per the cabbie's instructions. "I didn't mean to look over your shoulder. I just...Tetris was not what I was expecting."

David's smile did not reach his eyes. "I like the older games. All this Candy Crush has me utterly baffled."

John snickered and batted her eyelashes, before wondering if that made her look too girly for a gay man to be interested. "Um, yeah. I know what you mean." John sucked in a large breath at David's sad little smile and pushed ahead. Confidence, Sherlock said. Confidence. Right. "So what are you doing at the bar by yourself playing Tetris when there's a dance floor right there? And a dance partner right here."

David's eyebrows rose and his smile jumped a bit which gave John a reason to genuinely smile back. Thank fuck.

David chuckled briefly and finally turned his phone screen off, when that smile fell. Shit. "Look-" He started which did not bode well. "Mate-"

"Once dance?" John asked quickly, knowing her voice squeaked again.

David's tiny smile did not grow. "Sorry, but you're just not my type. I like men."

"I'm-"

"I know," David said shortly. "And you can look me up after your transition but until then, sorry." He turned right back to his phone, effectively giving John the cold shoulder.

John's mouth fell open, horribly affronted for some reason. Yes, she was clearly a girl dressed as a man but that was quite rude, was it not?

After a full thirty seconds of her mouth hanging open, she stomped back to the corner booth. Naturally, she found it taken so she spun to an empty chair and collapsed into it, texting Sherlock.

He said to look him up after my transition. -JW

There. Sherlock would understand. Sure enough, a moment later, she responded.

Disappointing but expected. That's another day. -SH

But you knew that was going to happen! -JW

Are you questioning me? -SH

I said you would not be punished for the kiss. The number was separate. -SH

Stay where you are and be ready. -SH

Almost immediately, Sherlock separated from her dance partner and tumbled over to the bar where she leaned between a woman and David to get a fresh drink, looking far more tipsy that she could possibly be. The woman huffed and tilted away but David's eyes seemed to linger a moment longer than they should. Sherlock turned to him and smiled, saying something friendly if David's smile was something to go by. Then David pointed at Sherlock's band shirt and they both leaned in towards each other, gleefully discussing.

They talked and laughed long enough for the woman to vacate her seat and for John to finish her beer. The flirting escalated to the point of touching when John clicked a new photo and received a new text.

Come behind me and order a new pint. -SH

John supposed that was a good idea. It was creepy enough she was sitting alone at a pub without talking to anyone. It would be double that if she did not have a drink in front of her.

People were still swimming around the pub but there were less than the beginning of the night. It had to be a lull between hours because they had only been there for a bit over one. John checked her phone and swallowed.

7% Battery

Perhaps she should not have been playing Candy Crush while waiting for Sherlock to be done.

The bartender understood her signal and poured her a beer as Sherlock started to chuckle. She was playing full drunk now, her hand flying to the bar to keep herself upright, bumping into John accidentally on purpose.

Sherlock spun to John and, in her deep voice, apologized, "Sorry, dude."

The low lighting and colored strobes on the dance floor truly played into the presentation. If John did not know Sherlock, she would say exactly what Sherlock had; effeminate man, a real artist type. The long lashes really accentuated the entire thing, almost making it look like she were wearing a bit of liner.

Sherlock winked once, just because she could, and John snapped herself back to the moment, shaking her head to the thumping beat behind her.

"It's fine," John said back, her voice definitely cracking.

Sherlock's eyes continued to shine as she turned to David and laughed conspiratorially. "I wonder what this gentleman would have to say about it."

David snorted into his refill of vodka, clearly not recognizing John from earlier.

Sherlock turned to John and slurred her speech, "This is Davey," she pointed to the man next to her who waved. "He thinks I look like- oh- what did you call me again?"

David laughed into his drink, red in the face and clearly drunk. "Twink!"

"Ah yes," Sherlock laughed back. She continued to keep it up as she turned to John, even though there was horror in her eyes. "A twink. I told him it's just because I'm androgynous. So, which is it?"

John looked between Sherlock and David, all eyes on her. Sherlock seemed to understand her hesitation and added, "Go on. Speak."

"I think you look like a girl," John said automatically, biting her tongue. A witty sense of humour was not going to bode well when it came to her punishment, she was sure.

Sherlock narrowed her eyes but David burst out laughing, spilling some of his drink he found it so hilarious. Sherlock joined him in his laughter and reached out for David's hand. She slipped his palm onto her thigh and slid his fingers up, all the way to her crotch, and over her tube sock cock.

"I promise I'm not," Sherlock said, biting her lips and raising her bushy brows.

The man's face froze, his mouth falling open. John could see his finger close around Sherlock's sock, his tongue flicking out. "But you are something," he said, awestruck.

Sherlock slipped his hand back down to her knee, squeezing and leaning in. "I guess you just make me… something."

John's eyes had to be bugging out of her skull. This was an image she would never get out of her head. Sherlock flirting with her seemingly hard cock sock. She pulled out her phone and snapped an inconspicuous photo, sure that it would turn to kissing soon at this rate. She even tried to pull up the video option but her phone would not allow it due to low battery.

"Damn," she muttered aloud.

Sherlock spun to her, her eyes wild and angry.

"My phone's almost dead," John answered, her eyes dropping to the floor in shame. This really was an idiotic mistake.

"Sorry, dude," Sherlock accentuated her vowels, eyes burning with disappointment, her tone clipping. "Can't help you there. Maybe that guy over there will give you his." Sherlock gestured towards the dance floor. A man was leaning against the wall, the blue glow of his phone on his face.

John looked at Sherlock and instantly understood. She could not get a girl's phone number, and could not get David's number, but now she was expected to get that random bloke's? The man was tall and strong, handsome by many standards, and young, but he was closed off, arms and legs hugging his body. And John looked like a cartoon pothead. John sighed. This would not be easy.

Sherlock and David were huddled back together and John walked over, flipping her phone in her hand. She needed this one. She had to prove to Sherlock she could do what she asked, at least once. She could get a damn phone number.

"Hi," she said as she approached.

The man looked up, smiled, and then looked back down.

Fantastic.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Screw it. "I need your phone number."

The man looked up suddenly and blinked, "Pardon?"

"I'm sure you get asked for your number a lot because, let's face it, you are fit, but I will never use it for a booty call or whatever kids are calling it these days." John plowed on, hoping the look of amusement on the guy's face was a good sign. "I just need it to prove I can get a number."

"And you want mine?" the man asked, chuckling. "Why?"

"You don't look like a cock, so it seemed like a good idea." John mumbled, "For some reason."

"Not a cock. I'll take it." The man smiled and shook his head, dipping a hand into his pocket and pulling out a pen. "Give me your hand."

John snorted at the sight of the pen but raised her arm. "Ready with a pen? Maybe I should take back the cock comment."

The man smiled and took her palm, writing down the digits. "You have really soft hands."

"Lotion," John squeaked but the man just winked. She looked down at the phone number, all real numbers too. "Wow. I can't believe that worked."

"What can I say?" He grinned. "I'm attracted to confidence. I'll see you round."

John nodded him off and smiled at her palm, jumping when her phone went off.

Good girl. -SH

John's grin was blinding as her heart thudded and her stomach flipped.

Come back to get your drink. Grab my phone next to your glass. Find woman whose seat I took and get her number. -SH

John turned and strode to the bar, easily slipping Sherlock's phone into her pocket and spotting the unhappy woman trying to talk another man up. Clearly the woman was desperate. This would be easy.

"Hello," John greeted.

The woman turned his way with a smile but it dropped when she saw it was him. "Oh. Hi."

That was rude. John may be sweaty and uncomfortable in her disguise, but she was not off putting. She smiled anyway and said, "I would like to proceed this statement with the fact that I am not gay, but I couldn't help but notice your Valentino's." She gestured to the woman's shoes, thanking Sherlock's arson case from the month before. She never would have known the difference between Jimmy Choo and Lulus otherwise. "They look lovely. Almost as lovely as you."

The woman's smile was still not reaching her eyes but it was an improvement. "It's nice they can be appreciated, even in a place like this."

"Don't come here often?" John asked, sipping her beer.

"Here?" Her nose wrinkled. "God no. I had a date. They stood me up, if you can believe that."

"I can't," she answered, though she really could. John suddenly wished she had Miranda back, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. "Men are horrible. A call or a text is really not that hard to send if you are not going to make it."

"Exactly," the woman said, eyeing John up and down.

"He should make it up to you. Take you to-" John tried to remember the name of that expensive restaurant Sherlock took them when they solved the latest case, Mycroft's platinum card slipped between her fingers. "Le Gavroche."

"You've eaten there?" she asked, raising a snooty brow.

John smirked. Money was the way to this woman's heart. That was disappointing but easy enough to work with. "I have. Ask for Alexander then next time. He's really the only reason I go anymore."

"You don't like the food?" she asked, leaning in, her arms uncrossing.

"I don't like the French," John joked distastefully and it landed, she laughed and threw her hand on John's shoulder.

The conversation was excruciating but John let Amber lead it, thankfully not needing to say more than a distant 'mm' or 'huh'. John was barely paying attention, waiting to snap the photo of Sherlock and David on the new phone. John moved Amber to a table close enough where nothing would be out of focus but far enough that she could not hear what they were talking about. Glass after glass piled up in front of David as Amber listed off her favorite destination trips. John had lied about being a coder and making millions, so Amber could happily talk on without being interested in the details of Jon's complicated fake work.

Thankfully, Amber's phone chimed and she answered the call, sighing dramatically when she hung up. "That was work. I have to go." She slipped a hand into her purse and pulled out a card. "Here is my number. Give me a call some time. We can go somewhere nice that's not French." She winked and left with John's nod.

John collapsed on herself and tucked the number away. She had Sherlock's phone so she could not text, but she pulled it out to snap another photo. David was leaning in, his hand on Sherlock's upper thigh again.

Suddenly, Sherlock fell in, her lips colliding against David's. John fumbled the phone back on and opened the camera app as quick as she could.

Luckily, David was kissing back, his hand resting on Sherlock's thigh, the other gripping the bar to stay upright. John snapped a picture but it was fuzzy and she cursed, pressing the screen to focus but all it did was flip the camera. She pressed more buttons until it flipped back, finally focusing in on the two.

Sherlock had slid from her stool and was now in between David's legs, his hands around her back, tracing up and down her spine. One of her hands was gesturing towards John, clearly asking her to hurry it up.

John snapped a photo again and froze. The flash had gone off.

The two parted and David's eyes blinked towards John. She snapped a new picture and the flash went off again.

Shit.

"Run, John!" Sherlock yelled, dropping the act.

John ran out the door, pushing people out of the way, Sherlock close behind. David was hot on their tail, his drunken brain apparently realizing what was happening. He tried to yell but it was hard to understand from so far away. Sherlock darted into an alley, dragging John behind her. All of this felt quite familiar.

Thank god for trainers. Heels were the devil's shoe.

They panted and laughed, and John handed the phone and Amber's number to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at the phone and the business card and nodded. She handed the phone back and commanded, "Call the cab."

The cabbie was very happy to hear their video went well.

When they were home, John collapsed into the couch, scratching at the itchy goatee.

Sherlock walked into the room and eyed her until John looked up and sighed. She rose to her feet and waited.

"You earned three days of punishment," Sherlock said briskly. "However, you did earn your reward. Tomorrow. Tonight, you can sleep."

Sherlock reached around the back of John's neck and undid the knot.

It was not like the last time, she did not feel like this was really any kind of scene. This seemed more like a bet or experiment on Sherlock's part. Well, the consequences were not awful and it turned out kind of fun. After the embarrassment of Miranda, it seemed to get easier to get those numbers. Less success than what John was used to but if Sherlock asked her to pick up girls again, maybe she could actually do it.

John smiled gratefully and collapsed back into the couch, yanking pins from her hair. "I cannot believe you had me picking up girls and gay blokes."

"Confidence, John."

"Not with that last one. She was horrible."

"Yes, I may have been picking harder targets." Sherlock wiggled off her shirt and scarf and tossed them onto John's chair. She rubbed at her mouth, smearing the makeup on her chin. "I did not think you would actually acquire hers."

With the tank top and the binding of the duct tape in place, Sherlock was bridging that gap between male and female even more. Here, with her chin wiped clean of fake stubble, her hair up, and her eyes dark, this was what androgynous Sherlock looked like.

John gulped. "You picked people you didn't think I could get."

Sherlock's head cocked to the side and she stood in front of her with her hands on her hips, fake cock thrusted forward. "I wanted you to prove me wrong."

"And did I?" John's hands shook as she reached into her pants and pulled out her tube sock, throwing it aside with her wig and mesh cap.

Sherlock leaned into her, arm bent over the back of the couch, her free hand gripping at John's chin, forcing her gaze up and close. "I'm very proud." Sherlock's nails slowly scraped along her chin and up her cheek to her ear where she pulled at a piece of loose hair and smiled. "I suppose you aren't as repulsive with short hair as you think."

John's chuckle came out cracking, her body twitching as Sherlock's breath tickled the rabbit fur under her lip. "I am with this goatee."

"Yes. Spirit gum is a horrible but convenient invention." With a crook of the finger, Sherlock ripped her body back. "Come to the bathroom and we will remove it with as little pain as possible."

John shook her head, oddly still breathless from the run. She smiled and called, "How much pain exactly?"

"Come along, John!"

AN: Sorry Charlie. (just found out that expression comes from some kind of cartoon whale skit? so you know. learning things.)