Hyacnith
"I still say you telling me to wear that green dress the other day counts as assigning me an outfit!" John yelled from the bathroom, glaring at her reflection.
"Don't question me, ma chérie," Sherlock yelled back, too busy with her new video game to get up. "Or I'll add another day to your punishment."
Skivvies and Lemons was not available in any of the 7 game shops they visited. It was only because one of the patrons overheard them that they learned the game was only available online and only through one retailer. Lucky for the sanity of customer service, the game could be overnighted.
"You can't-" John growled, stopping herself. Sherlock very well could add another day.
Martin was not going to be happy. They were going out for dinner and John was dressed like an elephant. She was in oversized gray sweatpants with a matching gray sweatshirt and she was fairly certain Sherlock had purposefully added stains to the front. Her hair was pinned to her head and another wig lay atop it, this one very short and very black. Her makeup was simple so that did not help very much.
Underneath the monstrosity of an outfit were the skimpiest lingerie pieces John had ever put on her own body. The top part functioned like a bra but it was completely lace and see-thru. The bottoms were strange. They were also very lacy, with a few strips of almost nothing along the sides and one digging into her crack, but the padding seemed a bit thick for it to be a usual thong. There was even a little nub that sat directly over her clit. It was very distracting.
The icing on top of the uncomfortable cake were the shoes and the necklace. The shoes were strappy and high, curling around John's ankles, teasing what was hiding underneath the sweats. The necklace was the lace choker with the red heart, a reminder to John about why she was wearing this outfit. All thanks to Sherlock.
John fixed the necklace, tucking the chain in the back underneath her sweatshirt, trying to hide it. Martin was not going to like any of this.
"Keep your phone on!" Sherlock yelled from the living room, controls from the Playstation clacking. "Your safeword is hyacinth. Though you are welcome to choose."
John clipped into the living room, raising an eyebrow as she picked up her purse and gun. "Sherlock, you know you can't tell me what to do on my date with Martin."
"You're wearing the outfit I told you," she muttered, her eyes never leaving the screen of the small telly.
"Yes," John sighed, "But you can't control my entire life, Sherlock. This is my time with my boyfriend. You can't interfere with that. Martin's not going anywhere so you'll have to learn to live with it."
"Please," Sherlock rolled her eyes, still clicking through some kind of maze. "You find Major-"
"Martin!"
"-boring!" Sherlock did not turn around once. "You say that you love him, but you don't. Why bother continuing on this plateau? You're not even attracted to him! He's forgettable. You deserve better than a medial science teacher with a stars obsession."
John ground her teeth together. "It's Star Trek and plenty of people like it. And I do love him. And he loves me. Do you know what that means? Hm, Sherlock? That means I'm going to marry him one day." John waited but Sherlock did not even bother to blink. "Did you hear me?" Her fists started to shake. "He and I are in love. We are going to get married and move in together and start a family. You of all people should know that sex does not matter."
John stomped away before Sherlock could think to say another insult.
Martin was waiting outside the Italian place, looking at his watch. John rushed over to him and he leapt back, his eyes wide.
"Yikes," he said, chuckling. "What happened to you?"
John groaned, "Sherlock," which was answer enough.
"Are you wearing something under that? Or do we have to sit in the restaurant with you looking like that?"
John flushed red. "You wouldn't want me to take my clothes off here, I promise. Let's just go in and talk about something else." She walked forward but Martin hesitated. "What's wrong?"
Martin's face pinched. "Can you at least take off the wig? You look ridiculous."
John's hand jumped to the hair on her head and pat the short black strands down. "I know it's a little dark but I didn't think it looked that bad."
Martin's eyebrows raised and he snorted. "You look like the homeless love child of Ellen Page and Ellen Degeneres. You're Ellen Watson!"
He tried to grab at the wig but John darted out of reach. It took her forever to get that thing to stay in place without showing her wig cap.
"I know it's a bit strange," she said, adjusting her sweatshirt again. "But it's only for one night and I have to."
"Have to?" Martin asked, his arms crossing.
"Remember how I said Sherlock was going to do that experiment where she tells me what to do?"
"Well, you're not with her now. How will she even know?"
John snorted. "You don't know Sherlock."
"No, I don't," Martin huffed. "Wasn't she supposed to come out with us?"
"She's working on a case and I did tell her you had those conferences already so-"
"So your best friend is too busy to meet your boyfriend on his one night back in the city?" Martin asked, raising an eyebrow. "And now she's found a new way to tell you what to do when she's not even around and is trying to ruin our date."
John flinched, her hand slapping against her thigh. "Our date is not ruined because I'm dressed like this. We can still eat and talk and have fun."
"Why can't you see you're being manipulated?" Martin threw up his hands. "She's a psychopath!"
"Sherlock is not a psychopath!"
"Sociopath, then."
"She's not that either!" John threw up her own hands. "I'm not arguing about this again. She just calls herself one so people will piss the fuck off and leave her alone."
"Exactly! She manipulates everyone around her, including you. She does it all the time. Right down to dictating our dating schedule. You are putty in her hands, Joan! She could tell you to do anything and you wouldn't know how to say no! Are you actually alright with that?"
John stumbled back and adjusted her purse. It was not like Sherlock was her warden. When they had a case on, date nights were hard to keep. Other nights, sure Sherlock had pulled her away more than once for something menial, but that was just who Sherlock was. Martin never understood that. He only ever saw John leaving to run after Sherlock. Which, she guessed, would make Martin's argument valid.
John sighed and shook her head. "No. But that's the way she is." She shrugged, pulling her bulky sweatshirt awkwardly over the pinching sweatpants. She huffed and pushed everything back into place. "We agreed to this and she could have done worse than sweats and a wig but she didn't. She does care about me. In her own way."
"I care about you." Martin stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. "I wouldn't send you out of the house looking like that. I would allow you to be your naturally gorgeous self." He slipped a hand under her chin and tilted her gaze up. "I just want to make sure you know who is controlling you and who is loving you."
John rolled her lips and nodded. "Once you meet her, you'll understand."
"Just don't pick her over me, Joan." Martin added, his head tilting to the side, his lips pinching into a tight smile. "That's why all your other boyfriends left."
John pulled her head away, "That's not what's happening here."
"Then take off the wig."
John clasped the top of her head. "I can't do that."
"See?" Martin threw his arms back over his chest.
"It's just hair." John paced in a circle. "I already know what I look like and you're not helping. I don't care what other people think. I mean- what if I cut my hair like this? What would you do then? Actually break up with me? Over hair?"
Martin froze, his hand coming up to shift through his own hair. "You're not actually going to cut it, are you?"
"No," John muttered.
"Then why worry about it?" Martin cried. After an uncomfortably long pause where neither spoke and neither moved, Martin said, "Let's forget about it and get something to eat, alright? I think I saw a food truck with Indian round the corner."
John looked at the restaurant's overhead light and back at him. "I thought we were eating Italian?"
Martin shrugged, "Indian sounds better, no?"
John followed him silently around the corner and down a few blocks where a food truck sat. They ordered and sat on a bench in silence for a while before Martin started talking about his day at work. John was not paying much attention, just shoveling in food and nodding at appropriate times. When he asked about the case, she shrugged and said they had not gotten far. She did not feel like going into their meeting with Chloe and the new video game revelations. She would tell him later when she was not getting a chill from the nighttime breeze blowing over her bare toes.
After a brief good-night kiss, John stomped up the stairs into the flat and threw her purse gently onto the sofa, wary of her gun. She looked around and frowned.
The purple cock was still on the wall with all the knife holes surrounding it, knives mysteriously missing. The kitchen was a disaster with dirty plates and beakers and pans filling the sink. Papers were strewn all over the floor, string dangling from pins along the walls. Sherlock was sitting in the middle of the mess with a computer open to her left, her phone to her right, and the gaming console in front of her, a new game on the telly screen.
John sighed aloud and collapsed into her chair.
"I didn't tell you you could do that," Sherlock said, not turning around.
"Not now, Sherlock, " John grunted and threw the papers crackling under her thigh across the room. What was a little more mess?
"Date didn't go well."
Heat flared in John's stomach and she threw her pillow at the telly, smacking it directly in the screen. She relished Sherlock's jump and yelled, "It was embarrassing!"
"For who?" She drawled.
"For me!"
"You were embarrassed?" Sherlock asked, paused her play and spun around, still dressed in her suit from yesterday.
"Yeah I was," John growled.
Sherlock's eyebrows rose and she looked at her mobile. "Not enough to text me your safe word and come back home to change."
"Well…" John swallowed and shifted back into the chair. "No. But-"
"But your boyfriend was unnecessarily embarrassed by your appearance."
John grit her teeth. "Not exactly unnecessary."
"Why?" Sherlock asked. "I could take you to eat right now and I would not be embarrassed."
John rolled her eyes. "You're not embarrassed by anything."
Sherlock sighed dramatically, her gaze falling to the open computer, her fingers tapping away. "Why do you care what other people think?"
"I care because I'm with him!" John yelled, the heat returning when Sherlock did not so much as glance at her. "We are a team and when you are on a team you make decisions together."
"Picking out your home, deciding where to have your wedding, fine." Sherlock threw up her hand and continued to read what was on the computer. "But choosing your outfits every day. Picking out your haircut and colour. Where does it end?"
"You're doing that," John pointed out.
"As punishment." Sherlock spun back to her. "If you wore a brown paper bag I would not be embarrassed to be seen with you, because you are John Watson. My soldier and my blogger. Flash your bare bum for all I care. The rest of the world be damned."
John swallowed, her gaze dropping to the floor. That was, rather nice actually. She smiled tentatively and said, "Tell me that's not your next outfit for me."
Sherlock snorted and then paused, her head cocking in a way that spelled danger.
"Nope!" John said, throwing up her hands. "I don't want to know, I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about anything."
"Oh that must be a wonderful thing, not to think," Sherlock said and spun back to her Playstation. "This game leads nowhere. Literally nowhere. It is very…" She slammed the buttons on the device but nothing happened. "Irritating!" She suddenly gasped, spun back around, and jumped to her feet. "You're still wearing the necklace."
John fiddled with the heart resting near her collarbone. "You want to play now?"
"Don't you?" Sherlock asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
"I don't know-"
"Do you remember your safeword?" Sherlock asked. "Say it if you do."
"Hyacinth," John replied immediately. "Are we really-"
"Quiet," Sherlock commanded, lifting a hand. Her body straightened and her face fell into the facade it always did whenever she took charge. "From now on, you are not to talk unless instructed or you need to use your safeword."
John nodded and ducked her head, stretching her legs out and standing up. Why the hell not? Anything to forget that awful dinner.
"Good." Sherlock looked around the rooms and paced, her hands behind her back. "This place is a pigsty. We've really let it slide. I think to start, you will be doing the dishes. Off you go."
John snapped her head up and glared. Red spots swam in the corners of her vision and her hands curled. "No. There is no way I am-"
"Are you speaking out of turn?!" Sherlock yelled loud enough to make John jump. "Any more and I'll be washing your mouth out with soap."
"I am not doing the-" John half yelped half moaned, her knees slamming against the floor. "What the-" she panted. Her entire body shook, pleasure painfully punching from her center and pulsing down her thighs. Sherlock loomed over her unhappily, a tiny silver remote dangling from her fingers.
"How unfortunate," Sherlock tutted, swaying the remote back and forth. "I'll get the soap. You stay here, on your hands and knees, just as you are."
Sherlock spun away and John thought she should probably argue or safeword or something but she was too lost in the surprise of her twitching legs.
Sherlock returned a moment later, a bar of white soap clutched in her palm. "Sit up," she commanded.
John could not move. Another vibration rattled her body and her elbows collapsed to the ground. A gasp escaped her lips.
Sherlock dropped to her knees and grabbed the back of John's neck, keeping her down. "Open your mouth."
John's mouth was already hanging open, but apparently not enough because another shock made her yelp, and Sherlock shoved the soap into her, holding it in place. John recoiled. Sherlock instantly shoved her neck back down and the taste of bitter soap burst across her tongue and mixed with the aftertaste of food cart Indian.
"One minute," Sherlock forcefully whispered directly into her ear. Her hand pressed firmly under John's nose and air puffed wildly along her fingers. "And I'll take the soap out. If you need to safeword, tap the ground three times."
John felt flush, sweat trickling along the back of her neck where Sherlock had her. Her fingertips scraped against the ground, her mouth working around the intrusive block. Her tongue lashed out and her entire body flinched at the taste, her teeth sinking in and her lips parting.
The minute ticked by fast. Sherlock removed the soap and stepped away. John took a moment to cough and wipe her spit soaked mouth along her sweatshirt, but fell back towards the floor, panting.
Bloody hell. That was nowhere near getting phone numbers or shopping errands.
"Since you're down there, you can start on the floor instead." Sherlock disappeared again, her footsteps echoing towards the bathroom.
John swallowed and immediately winced, coughing onto the floorboards.
Sherlock's bare feet returned, brushing up against John's hands. A bucket dropped next to her, splashing water inside. A toothbrush dropped next to it, hitting John in the arm before spinning back to the ground.
Sherlock's voice was direct as she spoke, "The vibrator in your pants can either be used as punishment or reward. Your choice. For every bad decision you make, you get shocked with a high amount of pressure on your cliotrus. For every good decision, you get this-"
John heard the click of the remote before the vibrator started to shake. Unlike the earlier bursts, this one was smooth and soft, gently rubbing against her center and setting her nerve endings alight. She gasped as her internal walls clenched around nothing.
The vibrating stopped. John moaned, panted, and collapsed back into herself, practically laying on the floor.
Sherlock hummed and walked back to her computer, calling over her shoulder. "Start in the kitchen."
It took John a few moments before she could reach for the toothbrush and bucket and shuffle her way to the kitchen on her knees. There was a lot more floor than she remembered there being, and, from this angle, she could see a lot more questionable stains and crusty patches. It took a minute for her idle mind to remember there used to be a rug under the table. Sherlock had spilled something on it and it was still at the cleaners.
Without thinking too much about it, she moved to the back of the room next to the fridge and started in on the first spot of tile. The water she dipped the toothbrush in smelled a bit of chlorine, but trusted that Sherlock would not allow her to work with anything that would chemically react with whatever was in the kitchen. From there it was circling over and over again, finishing up one square and then moving to the next, pausing only to slice in between the grooves. Everything else melted away, one circle at a time.
When she had made her way to under the kitchen table, she was sweating through her sweatsuit and under her wig. Her shoulders ached and her knees were starting to act up from being on all fours for so long. She shifted constantly and stretched, pulling the fabric she could from her body to fan herself.
Sherlock must have sensed something because she leaned against the kitchen walkway and tutted. "Sit up."
John moved out from under the table and sat on her legs, swiping a hand over her sweaty brow.
"You've been doing a very good job," Sherlock purred, her eyes not leaving John. "But your poor outfit, you'll sweat right through it. Take off your sweatpants and sweatshirt."
John gladly tugged the sweatshirt over her head and tossed it to the side, throwing herself on her arse so she could strip the sweatpants from around her clinging shoes. The cool air did wonders on her sticky skin, and she breathed deep, rubbing at her pink kneecaps.
Suddenly, a sharp punch of vibration rushed through her and she curled in on herself, hissing out a breath.
Sherlock swung the remote at her. "I give you clothes and you throw them on the floor like the rest of the trash here? Is that what you think of the gifts I give you?"
John sucked air through her teeth and twisted around to grab the sweats, carefully folded them, and stacked them on the chair closest to her. Sherlock hummed her approval and the a small pulsing started at John's sex, soft vibrations with a gentle slow pace.
"Good girl," Sherlock breathed and John moaned, unable to stop herself. When the vibrations stopped, Sherlock whispered, "Look at you. I do rather like you in lace. Your skin glows when you shake. Helpless to what you feel."
John gasped and tried to push herself up into a sitting position once again.
"Back to work on your hands and knees, my lovely whore," Sherlock called as she turned back to her chair. "I'll be watching you."
John knew exactly what she looked like on all fours with her lingerie and heels. She could perfectly imagine Sherlock's view of her bare arse wiggling in the air as she continued to scrub the floor under the bright lights. A blush crept from her chest to her cheeks as she turned to pull the bucket near her.
After a time, John almost forgot Sherlock was watching, her mind lost, thinking about nothing, only focused on swirling the bristles of the brush. Reminded when she went back over a certain tile that did not match the shine of the rest and was rewarded by another soft vibration, crescendoing slowly until her arms buckled.
"Keep going, ma chérie," Sherlock called, her laptop clicking in the background.
John continued until the entire kitchen floor was done, nearly shining at every corner, a few burned patches the only discolorations. She turned towards Sherlock, waiting to see if she had done well enough or if she were even being watched anymore. Sherlock met her gaze instantly but took her time in stepping out of her chair and toeing over, her eyes taking in every inch of the floor.
Sherlock nodded and said, "Good girl," followed by a vibration that started with slow pulses and picked up to an alarmingly fast beat. John curled back up on her side and whined, panting as her body ground up against only air, her internal walls flaring on empty space. Just as her muscles tensed and her cries were escalating towards ecstasy, the vibration stopped.
John groaned and flipped to her back, wiping at the spit that had collected on the side of her open mouth.
Sherlock stepped over her, her legs trapping her on either side. John looked up with slack eyes, her breath still pounding.
"You truly are lovely," Sherlock whispered, her thumb circling around the buttons on the remote. Her own chest rose and fell with pants and she breathed her words brokenly, "My lovely little whore writhing just for me."
The button clicked and John arched from the floor, her eyes pinching shut and her mouth falling open. The vibrations were fast again, pushing against her in the perfect way. Her hands fumbled for something to grab as the pleasure drove past her center and into her limbs, a gasp stuck in her throat.
The vibrations stopped and she sobbed out a breath, closing her hands tighter around Sherlock's ankles. She could not move her sweaty palms away, needing something as she caught her breath.
Sherlock's mouth clicked and John looked up to see her pink cheeks flaring, her eyes wide and dark. She held up the remote and said, "If I click this one more time, you will come."
John lost control of the cry in her throat, whining like a needy child.
Sherlock circled her thumb around the button. "Alternatively, you can take the remote to your bedroom and finish yourself. Either way, you earned your reward."
John licked her lips and eyed the remote. The bedroom was so very far away and her legs felt like rubber.
John's hands tightened around Sherlock's ankles and she rolled her lips. Sherlock nodded once and John watched as her glossy purple nail dove into the button.
Pleasure blinded John, her limbs thrusting up and out, heels clicking against the ground, hips rolling up to meet the source of those pulses. She gasped in a breath as her head rolled back, her hands slipping and recurling under Sherlock's trousers and around her shins. The growing heat washed over her stomach and pulled at her muscles, her body shaking. With one final click, she leapt over the edge, her entire body washing over with pleasurable tingles, rolling from her center to her head and back again.
"Oh fuc- god- ah-"
When her climax receded she fell back, panting. She spread out to feel as much of the chilly floor she could. The world blurred as Sherlock's arms dove under her and lifted her from the ground, depositing her gently on the couch. John hummed but kept her eyes closed.
Sherlock's footsteps echoed away for only a moment before she silently returned. The next thing John felt was a small cool cloth dripping across her chest. She took it from Sherlock and swept it over her head, leaving it against her neck.
After catching her breath, there was nothing left to do but let the guilt wash over her.
That had not been sex...right? That had just been very much sexual. But if Martin in any way shape or form knew about it, he would have a right fit. She had just orgasmed in front of her flatmate… because of her flatmate...a bit not good. More than a bit not good. Very much not good.
"Shhh," Sherlock whispered next to her, her hand working at the pins on her scalp, slipping the hot wig from her head. "The point was to stop thinking."
John nodded and moved the cloth over her chest and between her tits. She sighed in relief. That felt absolutely blissful. "I didn't think."
"Good," Sherlock cooed, pulling John's locks free and scratching her fingers over her scalp.
"That feels wonderful," she hummed.
Sherlock continued to scratch. "I believe this session was successful, do you agree?"
John nodded, her eyes closed, her body sinking into the cushions. It took her forever to do that floor. She had no doubt it was very late into the night.
"Then we shall continue," Sherlock said, trying to tilt her voice into a question but not quite reaching.
John bit her lip. She was not cheating on Martin. They knew this would come up. They were not having sex, it was just sexual. It would feel strange. For her and Sherlock, it would be alright. If it got too strange, John could quit at any time.
"That's fine," John sighed. "It's all fine."
Then, Sherlock's silken housecoat appeared over her body like a blanket and she found herself slipping into sleep. Sherlock mumbled something about waking her in a few hours but John did not pay attention. She simply breathed deeper and slept.