"If everyone could sit down, we will begin." An older Black British woman said calmly as she sat at the head at the table.

John carried his mug of tea over to the table and took his place. Looking around, he recognized many of the other faces and nodded to them in acknowledgment.

Picking up her tablet, Dr. Foncha paused. "If everyone could go to the summary page, we will do a quick review to begin."

Everyone fumbled with their tablets, looking back at her once they were ready.

"So, we are here today to complete the medical review of Paolo Baresi. He died at the age of 34, and his family is talking with lawyers about a wrongful death case." Dr. Foncha looked at the man to her right. "Let's go around the table and introduce ourselves, and briefly say our role in his care first."

The Asian British man nodded. "I'm Dr. Park, Paolo's primary care physician."

"I'm Theresa Santos, his nutritionist." The woman was an attractive brunette in her early thirties, and John had met her before.

John shifted to sit straighter when it was his turn. "Dr. Watson, Orthopedic Surgeon."

Around the table, his psychologist, physiotherapist, and massage therapist introduced themselves as well.

"Sherlock Holmes, chemist." The final person said, and Dr. Foncha nodded and started the review.

John looked at Sherlock subtly as the meeting went on. He had heard his name many times over the years, but never met him in person. From his reputation, John was expecting him to be older, but he appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was more attractive in person as well, the pictures and quick videos of him in the news not capturing the intelligence in his light green eyes. He was dressed in a black suit, obviously bespoke, showing off the success he'd had in his career, even at his young age.

"Dr. Watson?" Dr. Foncha was looking his way, and John looked down at his tablet, pulled out of his appraisal of Sherlock.

"Um, yes..." John went to his page of the document. "Paolo first came to my office for his Achilles' tendon, when he was 29. He recovered well, showing good overall health. When I operated on his knee last year, I could see the ravages playing professionally so many years had had on his body. He didn't recover as quickly from that surgery, and his weakened immune system had a harder time keeping out secondary infections."

The other health professionals discussed their dealing with the athlete, most showing they had worked with him for years, and noticed a decline in his health lately.

Sherlock was the last one to speak, and John paid close attention. It was also a good excuse to look openly at the attractive man.

"I have only been working with Paolo for three years. He was having a harder time keeping up with the younger athletes, so I mostly focused on drugs that would enhance his endurance and speed." Sherlock said calmly, steepling his fingers under his chin.

Dr. Foncha leaned forward. "You didn't submit a full list of the drugs and doses you used with him. We need this to complete his file."

Sherlock shook his head. "As you know, I am in a highly competitive business and that knowledge is proprietary. I will be attending his autopsy on Thursday, and if I think my treatments had an effect, I will release the appropriate information to you."

"This is ridiculous!" Dr. Park slammed his hand down on the table, glaring at Sherlock. "How can we fully assess his health without complete disclosure? Who knows what chemical cocktail this Frankenstein had him on?"

Dr. Foncha made soothing motions towards him. "Your concerns are valid. This isn't the first time we have faced this situation with professional athletes, and sadly won't be the last." She looked over at Sherlock. "I know it is useless to press you to release all the information, but we will work with whatever give us, for now."

Sherlock seemed unruffled by Dr. Park's outburst, and nodded in acknowledgment to Dr. Foncha. It was obviously routine that his work had gotten such a reaction.

"As Mr. Holmes mentioned, the autopsy is Thursday and I will distribute the report once available. I will be in touch with you all individually if this proceeds to legal action to work with the defense lawyers." Dr. Foncha concluded, ending the meeting.

John hung back as the attendees disbursed, timing his leaving to match Theresa's. "So, would you have time for lunch with me?"

As they walked down the hospital corridor, Theresa shook her head regretfully. "I wish I could, John, but my boyfriend is coming around. Going for a picnic in the park."

"Hmmm, a new relationship?" John teased lightly, feeling a pang of disappointment that she wasn't available. They had known each other a few years, and he had always enjoyed working with her. Unfortunately, one or both of them seemed to be in a relationship, never seeming to be single at the same time to finally go on a date. Explore if they could have more beyond the attraction and light flirting.

She shrugged a shoulder. "I suppose so. Two months. He's in New Energy."

John gave a low whistle at that. "Oh, so he's rich and he's got you. Some blokes have all the luck." His smile showed there were no hard feelings.

"Give me a break." Theresa scoffed. "You aren't exactly pining in the corner for me. Is there anyone single under fifty who works here you haven't dated?"

Laughing at the observation he couldn't really deny, John looked to the side and saw Sherlock standing with Dr. Park, arguing intensely with lowered voices. The doctor seemed to be the aggressive one, stepping into the chemist's space, looking like he was almost ready to start swinging punches.

John nudged Theresa to direct her attention to it as they passed. "I've never seen Dr. Park so riled up. He is usually such a calm, rational man."

"Well, you know what people are like about sports. Even though the DADT league is amazingly popular, many people still strongly object to it. Want things to go back to the old way." Theresa sighed.

"There is still the pure league for them. No drugs, no unnatural enhancements, full accounting of everything they put into their bodies and frequent random testing." John said as they got back to Theresa's department.

Theresa pulled out her phone, glancing at it. "I don't like the new league that much either. But I'm a nutritionist. I want everyone to eat organic, locally-sourced and vegan ideally. People are still going to choose processed food loaded with chemicals I can hardly pronounce, and I have to put aside my personal beliefs and give them the best care I can."

John gave her a lopsided grin. "You have to go meet your boyfriend now, don't you?" He leaned in to give her a quick hug. "It was good seeing you again."

As he walked over to the tube station, he hardly noticed the good weather. He would have to contact a friend or two he knew at the hospital to keep an eye on Theresa for him. Watch for signs she was single again and give him a head's up. They really had so much in common and he respected her humor and intelligence.

One of the things he clicked with her most on was diet and lifestyle choices, both favoring sustainable ones whenever possible. When he had moved into the cooperative housing a few years ago, she had given him some great information about nearby stores and restaurants to check out.

Over the years, he had dated a lot, men or women, whoever seemed attractive and mutually interested. In his twenties, it had all been about drinking, getting high and sex. As he got older, he rarely got drunk or high, and preferred to get to know someone well before sleeping with them. He had been in several relationships lasting many months, but rarely over a year. Now that he was in his forties, he really wanted to find someone for a long term relationship.

In the meantime, he dated a little, and kept his sexual needs at bay with apps like PlayLand. He got the casual sex with strangers thrill without exposing himself to STIs or emotional entanglements. It was even more exciting lately, the sessions with Frank becoming even more intense. They had met up on the site every other day for three times now, and John shifted, thinking it would be great to go home right now for another session.

Chuckling to himself as he got on the train, John couldn't think of the last time he played hooky from work to have sex. Ages. He was a responsible doctor now, with an office and patients probably already in his waiting room.

...

"Paolo Eduardo Baresi." The pathologist read off the tablet, along with his date of birth and death, for the recording of the autopsy. "Pathologist Dr. Molly Hooper conducting this post-mortem. Witnesses are Dr. John Watson, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Like Molly, John and Sherlock were wearing blue surgical gowns tied over their clothing and caps. John couldn't help noticing his eyes seemed more blue than green today, but looked away before his perusal was too obvious.

Unzipping the body bag, Molly moved the body on to the autopsy table with power lift devices. Her motions were fast and self-assured, the result of years of experience. She seemed quite comfortable as she arranged the body and began the external examination.

Her dark brown eyes scanned over the athlete. His olive toned skin was naturally paler in death, but otherwise mostly smooth and unblemished. She did note an inflamed injection spot on his inner thigh, and John didn't miss the slight glare she sent Sherlock's way before continuing.

Her manner was professional and objective, but as the autopsy progressed, John could see her expression tightening slightly with repressed emotions.

After the Y-incision was done, and his rib cage removed, his organs were on clear display. Even though it had been years since John had worked on a cadaver in medical school, he could see the abnormalities.

The heart was the first thing she removed from the chest cavity. "545 grams." She stated as she took the organ off the scale, and placed it on a stainless steel surgical tray.

John was shocked. The average heart was about the size of a clenched fist, and about 300 grams. Athletic training would account for increasing the heart size, possibly up to 500 grams even, but this was almost 10% higher than even that.

He glanced at Sherlock but his face was impassive, his bright eyes taking in every detail.

As she removed the other organs and weighed them, it hit John again how young this athlete was. He had been a lively, charming man, kind to the health care staff even when he was in pain. Never acting like an entitled, top athlete. He should have lived a long and happy life, instead of lying on this autopsy table.

Molly lifted out the liver, and John stepped closer. "Wait." He looked down at the organ in her gloved hands, the surface mottled with darker red irregular spots. "What is that?"

She examined the organ for a minute. "Perhaps hepatis. We will know better after more testing."

When the autopsy was completed, Molly turned off the recording with a voice command. "Thank you for coming out today, Gentlemen. The final report will be done once we finish testing the tissue samples."

Sherlock nodded and left, leaving the scrubs in a laundry bin.

John paused after removing his scrubs, seeing Molly's expression of distaste as she watched the chemist leave. "You don't seem to like him?"

"Our modern day Dr. Frankenstein? No." Her eyes flashed as she spun around, transferring the body back to the gurney. "At first, I was a little intrigued by him, found him attractive even, but seeing him around his former patients has made me face up to his true nature."

"What is it?" John asked directly.

She scoffed. "Most people working in health care are there because they want to help people. Not him, though. It's all about the science to him and the people he 'treats' are just test subjects."

Nodding, John gestured at the athlete, covered now with a sheet. "What were your impressions so far about him?"

"I saw the evidence of your surgeries, and that he healed relatively well from them. There are certainly also signs of long term use of performance enhancing drugs. They may be hard to identify exactly, but I'm thinking EPO and some anabolic steroids."

John was a little surprised. "I can see EPO for increased endurance, but he wasn't that bulky in his muscles."

Molly shrugged. "Sherlock's chemical cocktail usually includes some. The liver appearance is a good indicator."

"And his enlarged heart?"

She nodded. "Plus, slightly smaller testicles."

John wanted to ask more, but Molly pushed the gurney out the door, taking it back to the holding area.

...

Exiting the hospital, he was surprised to see Sherlock sitting on a bench, smoking. An elderly man in a hospital gown was sitting beside him, looking a little disoriented.

"What are you doing? You can't smoke here!" John confronted him with a glare.

Sherlock remained calm. "What, him? He doesn't mind." He waved the hand holding his cigarette the senior's direction and only got a couple slow blinks in response.

John shook his head. "The man obviously has dementia."

"Exactly. He won't remember this in five minutes."

Rolling his eyes, John tried to take a calming breath. "So, are you worried about the autopsy results?"

Tapping off the cigarette ash with a long finger, Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "Why would I be worried about that?"

His calm demeanour made John want to punch him in the face. Hard. Several times. And he considered himself a pacifist.

Huffing slightly, John tried to rein in his emotions. "Because that man lying dead on the gurney before his 35th birthday shows evidence of your handiwork all over him."

"Of course he does. That's what he paid me for."

"And did he pay extra for the enlarged heart and liver damage? The premature death?"

Finishing his cigarette, Sherlock flicked the butt away. "He was well aware of the risks and signed a consent form."

John stared at where the discarded butt laid in a flower bed, disgusted at the flagrant littering on top of everything else. "So that allows you to use him as a guinea pig for your untested drugs? Things no one has tested for the long term damage?"

Sherlock shrugged as he stood up. "Paolo and my other clients are aware of the risks. No guts, no glory."

John followed him as he ambled away. "Do any of your clients live past five years on your 'treatments'?"

That stopped the taller man, and he turned to face John. "Don't act so holy and pure. You have operated on many athletes in the DADT league."

"The difference being that I am a licensed doctor and follow approved procedures." John defended himself, standing his ground.

Sherlock's full lips tightened into a mocking smirk. "And get paid handsomely for it."

Part of John wanted to defend himself against this, but there was a grain of truth that he couldn't deny. Taking a handful of top DADT athletes as patients each year and charging them exorbitant fees covered the operating costs and allowed him to help the more needy seniors and lower mobility people who came to his practice. NHS didn't cover as much as it used to.

He settled for shrugging, most of the bluster knocked out of him. "I don't lose sleep over the things I do in my work."

That comment got Sherlock looking at him for a few heartbeats, his blue-green eyes steady on his. "Neither do I." The statement firm and irrefutable.

John shut his eyes in frustration, turning away from this infuriating man. In this world, he had come across so many who justified their horrible actions somehow. Was it greed? Self-delusion? Willful blindness? Or simply a complete lack of compassion for other people?

There was no way to get through to people like this. He knew from experience. But yet he still tried, letting out a long sigh as he looked back at Sherlock, searching for even a hint of humanity in those cool, distant eyes. "Can you truly not see that you are poisoning people with your concoctions? People are dying. We just came out of an autopsy, for fuck's sake."

By now, they were a fair distance from the hospital entrance, standing in the garden area that surrounded the property. Sherlock leaned against a sandstone low wall, crossing his arms nonchalantly over his chest. "What would you call a life well lived, a happy, good life, John Watson? A house in the country with a garden, a wife and 1.5 children? Married until death do you part?"

The change of the subject was jarring, and John struggled to find an answer. What was Sherlock getting at? Was that what he personally thought a successful life was, more or less?

"Well, isn't that generally what most people strive for in life? A family and a stable home?" John replied.

Sherlock shrugged. "Perhaps that is what all the proles want." He stood up, taking a step towards John. "But we aren't working with them, are we? We have the top 1% of the top 1%. The athletes who have worked at their sport their whole lives to get where they are. Sacrificed so much to be there. Do you really think a house and spouse is enough to satisfy them?"

Before John could respond, Sherlock took another step closer. "For them, it isn't enough to simply exist. They are like gods among us, able to do things 99.9% of us can't, and they want the glory, the adoration and wealth deserving of their station. They would rather fly close to the sun and risk being burnt up by it than playing it safe."

John swallowed hard. Sherlock, standing so close, looking down at him so intently, as he made his points was a lot to take. His intelligence and passion for his work shone through, and even though in his gut, John disagreed with him, part of him admired his bravery in standing up unflinchingly for what he believed in. Part of him felt drawn to the man even more for it.

"It sounds pretty shallow to me. Putting all that time, energy and money into becoming the best in a sport." John shrugged. "They end up rich and famous for a few years, until they get too old or injured to stay in the game. And that's if their 'regime' doesn't kill them before they retire. Their records get beaten soon enough by others, and they are quickly forgotten."

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "When they are playing at the top of their game, they push at the limits at what we think humans can do. Always striving to be stronger, faster, smarter."

He took a step back, and John could breathe a little easier. But before he could respond, Sherlock pinned him with a cool, level look. "It boils down to the question of whether you want a life of safe middle class boredom, or soar to the highest heights? Risk crashing and burning, but live life to the fullest, even if it doesn't last long?"

With that, Sherlock spun around and walked quickly away, his long legs quickly covering ground.

John sunk down against the low stone wall, feeling a storm of conflicting emotions.

...

The autopsy and argument with Sherlock left John feeling unsettled for days. He tried behaving like normal at work and in his building, but he still got a few concerned glances. He ended up holing himself away in his own apartment, having some private time to read fiction and listen to music. Taking some time to get back to himself.

The second night of that still left him wound up, and he ended up pulling on his SensiSuit, needing some mindless distraction and sexual release.

As he entered PlayLand, he couldn't deny to himself that he hoped Frank would be online. They usually made plans for their next session, but they had forgotten last time to make arrangements.

"Enter." John said, once he was settled in his chair with everything he needed nearby.

Barely a minute later, there was a private invitation to enter DrFeelgood's room, and he gladly accepted. As soon as the screen switched over and John saw Frank, he felt a surge of relief and a spark of pure lust. They both stepped forward and were hugging tight.

"Mmmm I needed this. Needed you." John murmured, shifting to press even closer. The warmth of Frank's body was against his, his long arms wrapped tight around him.

Frank moved to kiss along John's shoulder. "Me too. Let's get naked." His clothes disappeared, and Frank tugged him towards the huge bed, the only furniture in this virtual room.

His urgency was exciting, and John made a gesture to the part of the screen to remove his clothes as well. Normally, he didn't jump into being physical with people this way, in person or online, but Frank was the one who bent all the rules. He was worth bending rules for.

Rolling around together on the bed, they were both touching and kissing all over each other. They had come to know each other better by now, knew what type of caresses got the biggest reactions. It was very intense, very fast, in a way it hadn't been for years.

They soon parted to attach the sex toys to their suits. The stroker John preferred lately was self-lubricating, and could mimic light strokes to hard, intense pumping that could have him orgasming in seconds. There was even a suction feature than rivaled the best blowjob. And being mechanical, it could keep up a good pace and didn't tire or get sore. It allowed for a combination of sensations into seven settings, increasing in intensity. Personalized for what he liked best, like the light twisting stroke combined with licks around the head on setting number two.

He only gave strangers access to choose between the seven settings, letting them determine which one and for how long, before the switched to other ones. It worked well most times, with John getting variations on sensations he liked, kept a little off guard by another person at the controls. Revving it up to level 7 until he was on the edge, and down to a lower level to cool him down. Teasing him with too brief moments on the middle levels, until he was panting and begging for more. They did it for him, and he did it for them.

Somehow, with Frank, it was even better. Perhaps he was just better at reading John, his movements and expressions, the little gasps and moans of pleasure. Moving between the settings in a way that was always what John needed right then, pushing his pleasure higher and higher.

Tonight was no different, John already arching off the bed and begging for more. Frank was kissing up his inner thigh as the stroker felt like another mouth, teasing him with swirling licks and sucking kisses on the tip. "Yes, yes...so good..."

Then he felt a soft bite, the sensation of teeth deliberately moving over his erection. He froze, half to hold back his orgasm from the sensation, and half in confusion. "What...What was that?" John gasped. It was not part of any of his settings.

Frank chuckled at John's reaction. "Oh, I wanted to mix things up a little, now that I know what you like."

"But how? My settings are password protected." John was able to pull back enough from the sensual haze to question this.

Frank smirked a little. "In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours. Not exactly Fort Knox."

The answer caused a few different emotions within John. Irritation that Frank had breeched his privacy, and had acted in such a highhanded manner. A bit flattered that he had taken some of his own time to bother doing it at all. Surely that was a sign that Frank thought about him when they weren't together like John did. And one other emotion. Curiosity.

"Um...did you change the other settings as well?" John asked, motivated mostly by his unflagging arousal.

Frank gave a low, evil chuckle that made things tighten low in John's body. "Mmmm Hmmm... I've gotten to know what you like. Do you want to try them out?"

The question was accompanied by kisses at the base of John's neck. It was completely unfair, and completely effective. John soon found himself nodding in agreement as he moaned in anticipation.

...

DADT league: A play on the old "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" mantra in the US armed forces about homosexuality, the new sports league is referred to by most people as "Don't Ask, Don't Test". The new sports league knows that most athletes use performance enhancing drugs (PED), and have stopped trying to police it. I've deliberately left the specific sport a bit vague, as DADT leagues will probably be the way most sports go in the future.

Hepatis: "Peliosis hepatis is an uncommon vascular condition characterised by multiple, randomly distributed, blood-filled cavities throughout the liver." - Wikipedia. It can be seen in a wide range of conditions from AIDS to anabolic steroid use.

EPO: Common name for Epoetin, a synthetic form of the hormone erythropoietin, often used by endurance athletes. It mimics the hormone, increasing production of red blood cells and hemoglobin, resulting in improved movement of oxygen to muscles. It became common in the 1990s among competitive cyclists and allegedly contributed to at least 18 deaths. It may increase the risk of stroke, heart attack and pulmonary embolism (deadly blood clot in the lung).

Steroids: "Besides making muscles bigger, anabolic steroids may help athletes recover from a hard workout more quickly by reducing the muscle damage that occurs during the session. This enables athletes to work out harder and more frequently without overtraining." (From Mayo Clinic site). Side effects of use are often severe acne, shrunken testicles, impotence, liver tumors and abnormalities, heart and circulatory problems.

NHS: United Kingdom's National Health Service was one of the major social reforms after WWII. Launched in 1948, it had at its heart three core principles: that it meet the needs of everyone, that it be free at the point of delivery, and that it be based on clinical need, not ability to pay. It employed around 1.6 million people with a combined budget of £136.7 billion as of 2016, treating a population of 65 million.

Icarus: Ancient Greek myth of a father escaping Crete with his son, Icarus, using two pairs of wings he made for them out of wax and feathers. The father warns his son first of complacency and then of hubris (pride), asking that he fly neither too low nor too high, so the sea's dampness would not clog his wings or the sun's heat melt them. But, giddy with the excitement of flying, Icarus soared into the sky, not realizing that the hot sun had destroyed his wings until it was too late. He fell into the sea and died, and the area still bears his name. Island of Icaria, southwest of Samos, in the Icarian Sea.