Hi! If you are reading this and liking it, I would sure like to know about it!
Anyways, hope you are having Happy Holidays!
John blinked at the morning sunlight and yawned loudly. As awareness dawned, sleep flew away from his eyes and he kicked his bedcovers away. Yes! A full day off with only one job to complete. And Sherlock will be home tomorrow night, bloody hell wish I didn't have to do the half-shift tomorrow, well can't be helped…. He looked forward in pleasurable anticipation to the rest of the day.
The last two days had been busy with surgery shifts but his mind never strayed far from what he was about to do. Which was get pen to paper and write out the draft for Sherlock to look at when he got back the next day. Every spare second had gone in thinking about what he was going to put in there, how he was going to format it. Most of what he had to say was organised in his mind anyways.
He went down the stairs grinning with delight, I will have it all wrapped and ready. He may want to change a few things, we could negotiate some things, who knows he may have kinks I may neglect to put down and I am certainly up for doing anything he finds a turn-on….. well almost anything, no fucking way I am drinking piss or having him piss on me…..
Yes, a full day with nothing to do except this….
He sat with his steaming cup of tea and clicked a button to boot up his laptop.
He had given great thought as to how to put his preferences down. The new-fangled websites seemed to have a more modern and thorough approach. One website had suggested making a list and then giving all the activities in the list a score- from "0" being an activity that you would be appalled to even consider trying to "5" being an activity that you found a wild turn-on and were frantic to try again and again. Another website had suggested making a list and marking "Yes" or "No" with some added space for elaboration if you need.
After a lot of thought John had settled on the old fashioned approach. He had decided to just make a list under various headings—safe words, soft limits, hard limits- and write down his wishes in some depth and leave spaces for Sherlock to fill out any comments he might have. He thought this less ambiguous than a number or just yes/no answers.
He sat on the table, tea by his side, blank paper and an open laptop in front of him. He thought once again about the headings he wished to make.
SAFEWORDS
SAFETY
HARD LIMITS- WILL NEVER TRY
SOFT LIMITS- Will consider at some stage or open to negotiation
Bondage
Pain
Sex toys
Sexual acts
Kinks
VERY EAGER TO TRY
Bondage
Pain
Sex toys
Sexual acts
Kinks
There, that sounded nice and organised, he thought, warming his hands on his cuppa. He leaned back and sighed. Can't wait, can't wait for him to come back. How did I not see how exquisite he is, I could have had this years ago if only I had looked. What is it that they say, that 'the grass is greener on the other side'? Yeah, that's me alright. Searched the whole world for what I wanted and never realised he was in front of me the entire time! I'll take a shower first and then get down to writing this. Should I give it to him handwritten or type it on the laptop, how will I print it without anyone seeing it…
The stream of consciousness swirled and swirled around the same topic…. Sherlock….
An hour later, showered and fed, John sat in his bathrobe at the table in the living room, ready to write.
"DRAFT CONTRACT- Dom-Sub Relationship terms between Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson"
I, John Watson, being of sound mind and body, hereby declare that I am ready to enter into a Dom/Sub relationship with Sherlock Holmes, based on the principles of Safe-Sane-Consensual, for our mutual pleasure and the advancement of our relationship.
He stared at the words he had written. Damn, I'm not a fucking lawyer, hope this sounds okay…..
He pulled out a rough paper to note down ideas under the sub-headings he had made earlier. I'll make a fair copy later after I've put down all the points.
The easiest was putting in his hard limits, so he focussed on that first-
No edge play, enemas, water sports, spitting, fisting, sounding, video recordings, public humiliation…..
He broke off, as he went down the list on the three websites he had found. Can add something later if I come across it.
His eyes moved to the various sexual acts in the lists.
Bondage… fuck, it looks exciting, but I don't want any PTSD to be triggered, that would be a complete mood-killer. He carefully noted his concerns, requesting for light bondage only, collars (soft limit), suspension bondage (fucking hell, that is hot? But it would make me feel totally helpless and vulnerable, better stay off that—soft limit)…. And on it went as he meticulously wrote in one column or the other. He did put blindfolds and gags in the hard limits—might give me flashbacks of soldiers I've seen, his heart already beating faster in mild panic as he thought about it.
Sex toys…..he frowned as he considered—vibrators, butt plugs, dildos, anal beads—he opened new tabs to look at the specimens available on the internet, some small, some huge….. don't know what it would feel like, definitely don't want to walk around in public wearing them, but if Sherlock wants to use them when we are alone, maybe? His arsehole clenched almost sympathetically as he thought about it. It was an issue he had tried not to think too much about. The fact that he had never had anything inserted in his anus before, being a bit young to have had even a prostate exam. The thought of Sherlock's fingers and then his cock breaching him was both exciting and terrifying and more than a bit humiliating. But they would be Sherlock's fingers, Sherlock's cock, the most intimate personal parts of him and fuck I want that, I want to feel invaded by him, to be used by him, for him to feel pleasure inside me….. would it hurt? How much would it hurt? Maybe I'll get used to it?
His frown deepened as he thought and then decided to put those toys in the soft limit column. Painstakingly he went down the alarmingly long list, occasionally looking up unfamiliar toys on different websites—whips, floggers, paddles, belts…. Nipple clamps? He put one hand inside his robe to feel his nipples, they had always been quite sensitive, but women don't like to touch them, would I like him to pinch them? Fuck yes. Put a clamp on them? Not so sure…. Soft limit but willing to try, he wrote down, chewing his lip as he focussed. Riding crop? Bloody hell, that is a definite yes.
Time flew as he meticulously went through the lists, acts, sexual positions and toys. His own lists grew. Absently he wondered that with such a comprehensive list at hand it was unlikely that any kinks or turn-ons or desires that Sherlock may have were not already included. But he is Sherlock Holmes, who knows what new way of fucking or bondage or pain he might know of that people have not already thought about.
His bones creaked as he stretched in his chair and then stood up.
All that remains is thinking about safewords and safety issues and then typing all this up. I will print it at the surgery tomorrow, will have to be cautious so that no one else sees it. I want to be ready by the time Sherlock gets home tomorrow evening.
Suddenly famished, he thought, lunch first…
It was much later, after dinner that he sat back with his papers.
Safety was a complicated subject to think about. He had put all forms of edgeplay in the hard limits list. That ruled out the more serious of injuries due to burning or cutting. That only left protection from sexually transmitted diseases to be considered.
Till we both have tests, we should use condoms. Once we have them, then it is fine. His brow furrowed as he was struck by the thought that Sherlock had not mentioned exclusivity. In fact when John had asked him about Victor, Peter and any others, he had pointedly left the option open. What did he mean with what he said? He will decide when it is appropriate? So he gets to decide if he is going to fuck other people? Do I also have the choice of fucking others? Do I want to fuck anyone else? What if he wants a threesome? Fuck, would I entertain that possibility? Is it a possibility? Would Sherlock share? Should I put that in the draft contract?
His head swam and it became clear that this was an area he would need to discuss with Sherlock further.
Next, safewords.
He grinned. He had thought about these. All websites suggested that there needed to be two. One was to be used when things got intense and he wanted to take a break. The second one was for when he wanted Sherlock to stop what he was doing altogether. The websites suggested they be words he would not use in normal conversation but they also couldn't be words that he would forget under stress. A generic "yellow" for a pause in the proceedings and "red" for stopping altogether were often suggested.
The idea had come to him while showering this morning. And he had been laughing inside ever since. He thought Sherlock would also get a few laughs out of it as well.
Safeword One- "Anderson" he wrote down. And grinned. Can't imagine that I say Anderson and Sherlock does not go into a state of shock and stops straight away.
Safeword Two- "Mycroft". Bloody Mycroft. Can't think of a faster way for both of us to lose our hard-ons immediately than muttering his name.
He sat back, satisfied.
He had done his best. Tomorrow he had a shift, he would be free by four in the afternoon. He would type all this up now and print it at the surgery, need to be careful and make sure no one sees it. And then he would have a few hours to get everything ready for Sherlock.
He started typing.
It was nearly five in the evening the next day as John peered at himself in the bathroom mirror as he wiped his face. He had shaved for the second time, need to look my best today. He is coming in the next few hours. Damn, this is a nice face. Women appreciate the deep blue colour of the expressive eyes…. But I wonder why I appeal to Sherlock?
He looked down at his body. Not bad for a middle aged guy. Still have good muscle tone. He looked down at his half hard cock, as he imagined Sherlock's pale hands on it. He ran fingers through his pubic hair. Need to trim this, have to make it look neat, have to make a good first impression. Held his cock, hope Sherlock likes what he sees.
He looked at himself in the mirror again. He had been unable to get the smile off his face all day, look like a damned eager puppy whose master is coming home. Fuck it, if that is the way it is, so be it. Why lie to myself when I'm alone?
He got in the shower with razor in hand.
It was nearly eight in the evening as John inserted his key to let himself into 221B with one hand, the other clutching at a bag from Angelo's with his Chicken Ravioli in cheesy sauce, Sherlock's favourite. He almost ran up the stairs, he should be here any minute.
And stopped short as he opened the door and saw the familiar coat and scarf casually draped on his chair and the shoes by the door. He deposited his bag on the kitchen counter, his heart suddenly beating faster. The toilet flushed and a few seconds later Sherlock walked out into the kitchen.
He stopped short as he saw John, suddenly motionless, watchful. They both looked at each other, memories of just a few nights ago fresh in both their minds. Moments ticked by as neither looked away, the tension in the air thick and heavy.
"You're back," John's voice was hoarse as he moved closer towards Sherlock. "I missed you." The confession was sincere, without guile and Sherlock's eyes were warm as he smiled back.
"I missed you too, John," he said softly.
John looked around, "Look let me just put this away and then we'll talk."
Hurriedly he put the hot food aside, got the plates organised. Some of the sauce had leaked and he washed his hands. He came out to the living room drying his hands, an eager smile on his face. Sherlock was sitting in his chair with his palms folded in front of his chest, watching John, an indulgent look on his face as he waited patiently.
John threw the towel back on the kitchen table and grinned. "I'll be right back." Sherlock nodded gravely, his eyes narrowed as they followed John leaving the room.
Upstairs in his room, John looked down at the clear file with the draft contract attached neatly, his heart pounding. This is it! If all goes well and he is pleased, very soon I may have his hands and lips on me, his cock inside me! Head lowered he deep-breathed for a few moments, get a grip, Watson.
He ran down, clutching the file in one hand.
Sherlock's gaze flicked over him as he entered and then settled on the file. John missed the sudden tightening of his face muscles and the forbidding look that came into his eyes.
"What's this?" Sherlock's voice was several shades cooler than before.
John took a deep breath as he handed the file over and pronounced, "I've thought about everything your said and I think I'm ready to kneel for you, Sherlock." He stepped back to take a seat on his chair, "I wrote down a draft for us to discuss and negotiate our limits and such while you were gone. Don't worry it's not complete," he hastened to add, "We can talk about it and finalise it if you like, before we actually do anything."
Sherlock stared back at him, his expression inscrutable, the file lay unopened on his lap. John's heart stared to sink as finally he noticed the absence of any mirroring enthusiasm. The moments ticked by and finally, with a sigh, Sherlock looked down as he opened the file. There was a period of silence broken only by the sounds of papers being flicked as Sherlock's eyes moved on the pages rapidly.
John sat back on his chair, fingers of one hand moving over his temple subconsciously, where Sherlock had kissed him four nights ago. A mixture of hope and anxiety broiled in his belly making him feel queasy. Say something, for fuck's sake, Sherlock.
Finally Sherlock closed the file.
A long, pale finger taped absently on the closed file on his lap as he stared vacantly at the carpet, deep in thought.
The silence started to get heavy. John decided to take the plunge.
"Well, what do you think?"
Sherlock's eyes focussed on John's face, frowning.
"What do I think?" he repeated, his eyebrows rising. He leaned back and brought his palms together, his fingertips touching in front of his chest.
His tone was flat, without inflection, his face impassive.
"I think you have been very thorough. You've done an excellent job of specifying what you want during the 'scenes' in the bedroom. Where you decide what is tolerable and what is not. You decide what is pleasurable to you and what is not. You decide when you want to take a pause, an interval during the 'scene'. And you decide when you want to bring a complete halt to the proceedings, pulling down a curtain as it were on the 'scene'. Even while you are ostensibly on your knees, it is your will that will reign supreme. Where I role-play along with you wearing leather trousers and a whip in one hand and my role is that of a performing monkey whose job it is to entertain you and sate your desires."
He leaned forward and pinned John with eyes that suddenly sparkled with anger, "AM. I. WRONG?"
The three words rang out loud and clear in the living room as John struggled to breathe, feeling as though he had been slapped.
"Sherlock, please….." he started to say.
"No," Sherlock shook his head, his tone final. He rose from his chair, one hand holding the file and the other moving to his trouser pocket, as he looked down at John, his eyes focussed like laser beams, incinerating whatever hopes John's heart was harbouring in his bosom.
"You cannot decide that you will kneel for me. It is not a voluntary action based on a decision that you take after weighing all the pros and cons. You kneel when you cannot help but fall to your knees, when your knees are unable to hold you up because every fibre in your being, every single part of you needs to subjugate itself to the will of your Dom, the pleasure of your Dom. Kneeling is the physical representation of a much deeper psychological surrender. This is not about sex, it has never been about sex. I have tried and failed to get you to see what I mean. You and I seem to be seeing this from entirely different viewpoints."
John was staring up at him with unblinking eyes, looking stricken.
The anger slowly drained out of Sherlock's face as he stood with his head bowed, eyes closed. He sighed deeply. When he opened his eyes, the sadness in them was visible, naked. He pulled himself to his full height, his entire demeanour imposing as he looked down at John.
"I am a Dom. And I cannot look after my Sub's needs with my hands tied behind my back." He dropped the file gently on John's lap as he murmured. "Forgive me, for I miscalculated your readiness and raised your hopes in vain. I'm afraid I have to decline. I'm sorry, John."
He nodded curtly and then walked to his bedroom. The soft click of the door as it closed resounded with far harsher finality than a loud slam would have done.
John sat there for a long time frozen in shock and grief. What the hell just happened?
A roar went up as someone on the telly scored a goal again. Boisterous yelling and sounds of clapping hands added to the cacophony of loud conversations and tinkling of plates and glasses in the crowded bar.
John sat alone at a table by the window nursing his second beer, the tumultuous thoughts in his mind threatening to make it explode.
Where did I go so wrong? What possessed me to write all that stuff up? He had told me not to go to the internet. But I wanted to be organised, this was not a decision I could take lightly. After all I am supposed to hand over my body to him. Is it so wrong to express what I want? What the fuck did he mean that I cannot decide to kneel? That my knees will give out from underneath me? What is he talking about? 'No'… he said 'NO'…..can he just say 'no' and walk away? What about what is clearly there between us? Does he get to unilaterally decide to throw it all away? What about what I want? What about my needs? I wanted so badly for him to touch me, kiss me, fuck me, hurt me…..What did I do that was so bad, that he had to walk away? I don't understand any of this…..
On an impulse he reached into his pocket and took out a card from his wallet. Before his brain had a chance to talk him out of it, he dialled.
"Hello, is that Victor?"
"Yes it is. Who is this?" a sleepy voice answered.
"Yeah, hi. This is John. John Watson."
"Hey, John," Victor said surprised. "How are you?"
"Look I know it's a bit late, but I needed to talk to you."
"Yeah, sure. Is everything alright? Is Sherlock with you?" Victor sounded fully awake now, alert.
John's hand tightened around his glass. "No, actually that was what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Is it urgent? You can come up right now if you like," Victor said, his tone concerned
"No…. well I would like to see you soon, but it's too late tonight," John replied.
"Well, how about tomorrow? I'm meeting my agent in the morning, but we could have lunch. There is a great little café near where I live."
"Yeah, that'd be great," John answered, relief in his voice.
"Sure. Look, I'll text you the address. One o'clock in the afternoon sound okay?"
"Yeah, sure. I appreciate this…."
"Anytime, John. And call if you need anything, okay? And don't worry, whatever it is, we'll figure it out." Victor's voice was reassuring.
"Yeah, I hope so. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow then."
It was close to midnight and the only sounds were those of patrons leaving the crowded bar on an otherwise deserted road.
Sherlock stood leaning against a wall on the pavement at the opposite side of the street, his upturned coat collar fighting a losing battle against the chill. A gloved hand raised his cigarette to his mouth and he blew lazy rings to match every exhalation as it frosted and cooled in the air. His eyes were focussed on the frosted full glass windows of the bar across the road and the hazy jumper-clad figure which had been sitting alone at his table for the past two hours. The weak street light drew sharp shadows on his cheekbones as he sucked in with each puff.
The clickety-clack sound of a shopping trolley on the rough stones of the side-walk interrupted his musings and he turned his head towards the figure walking towards him, clad in a torn winter coat and tattered woollen earmuffs, a homeless man with all his worldly possessions in the trolley.
"Mr 'Olmes Sir, yew out late tonight!" The thick Cockney accent rang out.
Sherlock flicked a quick glance towards the bar and back at the man and then raised his hand for another puff of his cigarette, "It appears so."
"Dr Watson in there?" the man said as the stared at the window. "I can keep a look aaht fer yew if yew want'er go 'ome, guv!"
Sherlock shook his head, "Thank you, Howie, but I am fine. Go someplace warm."
"Yew know where to find me if yew need me, guv," he said waving a mitten clad hand as he moved away.
It was past midnight when John staggered out of the bar, his head buzzing with alcohol and a million and one thoughts.
He walked oblivious to the silent figure that shadowed him home and then thoughtfully watched over him as he entered the safety of 221B Baker Street.