lol I give up on giving myself limits. Shit always comes up.
I also blame my suddenly vibrant social life I never knew existed...
I tried to focus, I really did
And yet... this did not go where I wanted it to.
Somehow heterosexual relationships surface, though the main point of me writing this was to amuse myself with homosexual relationships... Not that the gay times won't be resumed, but Irene has this power to completely throw me off... I hate her character. Why did I tell myself bringing her in would be fun? She took the boys from me , and fucking ran.
Disclaimer: I own no one in this lovely fic, except Rachel. She's my baby. I hold her close to my bosom when Irene isn't using her and breaking her lovely heart.
Warning: not beta-ed, so, once again, all mistakes are mine
The following morning brought Lady Branum to their room bright an early, the sun just barely lighting up the city.
"I was hoping you two would start as soon as you could." She told them. "Especially since my marriage is in two days time."
"Two days is more than enough. Trust me." Sherlock reassured her as John bustled about the room, once again searching for John (who was genuinely lost this time).
"Well, in that case, I'd best be off. I only stopped by to make sure you were on the case." Sherlock stood and offered her her jacket, slipping it on over her slender shoulders. No trust then. Sherlock mentally noted while the Lady stiffly left the two men to return to wherever she came from.
"John, quit pawing around for him. He'll come out of hiding soon enough. We must be going." Sherlock stood and reached for his coat.
"But he hasn't been fed yet, and I don't want him starving until we get back." Sherlock watched him crawl around under the beds for a moment, contemplating.
"For a soldier-turned-thief, you are rather domestic, and caring." John froze, ass in the air, head and shoulders ducked under the bed to try to reach John hidden away in the dust in the corner of the bed. It was rather comical if you didn't count the tension oozing from him. Sherlock smiled anyway.
"Let's be off, shall we?" Reaching down, he gripped John's ankles tight, and pulled him out with one swift movement. John was glaring at him as Sherlock bent down to wipe away little dust bunnies sticking to his hair and eyebrows.
"Throw your fit later. We have a case to solve."
"John," Sherlock began as they stepped into the pale dawn light. "Tell me, where have you seen this specific type of parchment before?" Sherlock handed a rich cream coloured envelope to John. "Before you ask, and I know you want to, I snatched it off her persons this morning when she came to us. She was keeping something from us so a did a quick, yet thorough check of her jacket pockets as I put it on her."
"You're the devil." John joked, running his hand along the paper and opening it, removing two pictures before barking out a laugh.
"I don't recognize the envelope, no, but I do recognize the woman in these pictures." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, clearly finding humour in the fact that John would know a woman with her specific expertise. "Oh, don't give me that look. I've never been to see her. She's just a well-known criminal." John tucked the photos back into the pouch. "Not that you'd be able to tell by those." Both eyebrows rose to a sandy hairline. Inside the creamy package were some rather revealing photos of a beautiful brunette woman, scantily clad, straddling another blond woman, a riding crop between her teeth. John felt a tad uncomfortable looking at them.
"They call her 'The Woman'. She's got quite the rep for getting what she wants." John chuckles, passing the envelope back to his friend.
"Where can we find her?" Sherlock was eyeing the town square where a small band could be heard.
"Now? I'd say maybe here in this city actually." He seemed thoughtful. "Probably not for long though, considering that poor woman's predicament." Sherlock 'hmm'ed his affirmative, seeming captivated by the beautiful sounds coming from a small corner where a string quartet was playing, the stall beside them selling a variety of string instruments.
"I want one." He suddenly said, knocking John out of his concentration on how to best seduce the cute cellist.
"Sorry what?" John's head snapped 'round to look at Sherlock.
"I detest repetition, John." He sighed, pointing to one of the band members. "I want one."
"One what, Sherlock?" John tried to figure out which instrument Sherlock was pointing out, but they were all packed together. Sherlock walked over to the stall and picked up the particular instrument he wanted.
"This." Sherlock lifted the wood to mimic the instrumentalist's posture, resting the end under his chin.
"A violin." John informed him, running his hand along the smooth wooden body.
"How much money do we have?" Sherlock pulled the violin away from his chin, resting it back on the counter next to its bow
"What are you going to do with a violin you don't even know how to play?" John said, counting their coins nonetheless.
"I can learn." Sherlock countered, indignant.
"Of course, of course. We have about fifty gold pieces. How much is the violin?" The question was directed at the shop keep.
"120 gold pieces."
"One hundred and- Sherlock, you don't need a bloody violin. Let's go." John grabbed Sherlock's wrist, and marched them way the hell away from that stall. "If you're royalty like we think you are, we'll get you as many violins as you please, until then our money goes to food and shelter." Oddly enough, that was the first time Sherlock had even slightly hoped he was royalty.
He was determined to master such an elegant instrument. He had no reasoning behind this strange need, which made it all that much more exciting. He wished he had time to at least pluck the strings before John rushed them away like the answer to the case was waiting for them on the other side of the square.
Wait a second.
"John." He tugged John to a stop, aiming him in the direction he wanted him to look. Standing at a stall full of expensive looking silks and cottons, stood one Irene Adler fingering the darker silks, her assistant (as Sherlock helpfully pointed out) nearby, weighing and measuring. She looked over her shoulder, caught their eyes and smirked. She knew!
She sauntered to her assistant, saying something along the lines of a departure, for the blond nodded and pulled out a purse, paying for the cloth. Sherlock took off at a run for them, John following close behind.
"Oh!" The assistant was surprised when she was suddenly scooped off her feet, a wagon crashing through the streets where she had just been standing. She glanced over her rescuer's shoulder to see her employer was safe, wrapped up in a tall handsome man's arms. Her own hero wasn't too bad on the eyes either.
"You okay, miss?" She looked back at the blonde man as he set her down.
"Yes, thank you, Mr..."
"Watson. John Watson." He gave her a warm smile and held out his hand.
"Rachel Williams." She took his hand in hers, watching Ms. Adler chat up the other stranger in her peripheral. "Thank you for saving us, but my employer and I must be going." She clutched her bag of cloths to her chest, looking at Ms. Adler for the go ahead, but was surprised to find her missing.
"Huh, she must've gone on ahead. I can help you carry those if you'd like?" He held out his hands in offering, ever the gentleman, Rachel regarding him carefully before sighing and letting up.
"I guess since you're here you may as well escort me home."
"Of course. It is dangerous, after all, for a young lady as pretty as yourself to be wandering this huge city by yourself." He tucked the bag under one arm and offered the free one out to Rachel, which she wrapped a small hand around, before they set off together.
They arrived back at Ms. Adler's manor rather quickly, the easy conversation the pair had making it seem that much sooner. Admittedly, Rachel did feel quite attracted to the simple, easy-going man that was John Watson, but at the same time felt as though she was betraying Ms. Adler for wanting to pursue anything with him. Especially since the main reason was because she just wanted a small dose of normal in her usually unique routine. Being the secretary for someone who was basically an expensive private whore was more stressful than one would think.
"Would you like to stay for lunch? I'm not sure when Ms. Adler will return, but it'd be best to prepare her something for when she does." Rachel commented, leading John through the hallways and into a nearly invisible door, which in turn led to the kitchens.
"Yes, that would be lovely." He set the bag on the counter nearest him before settling on a stool by a small island where Rachel had placed a fresh cup of tea (how had she boiled the water so quickly?).
"I think I'll just make some finger sandwiches, if you don't mind?" Her head was in the fridge, one hand picking through the different meats, and vegetables.
"Oh, no, of course not. You are the hostess after all." He was smiling charmingly at her again, causing a pink tint to rise in her cheeks. She wasn't necessarily ugly, but it wasn't usually she who was getting looks like that from men. No, that was Ms. Adler. Very rarely did a man take interest in Rachel instead, and those were only ever times she was no where near The Woman.
"Well, a good hostess wouldn't want her guest to have to suffer through a terrible lunch." She teased, preparing the sandwiches on the same island John occupied. The next ten minutes or so were filled with mindless banter, and John attempting to steal a few pieces of stray meat or pickles.
Sometime around two, much after John and Rachel had finished lunch, and had merely begun casual conversation about their lives ("You wouldn't believe the cliental this woman gets." "Did he really do that? In a cave? He does know the ceiling could've come down, right?" "She actually can do that? I thought it was a myth." "No one is seriously that flexible... are they?" "I've got photographic evidence.") their other halves came floating in, both basically suffocating the other two with their egos.
"Oh, John, I see you and Rachel have had a nice time." John looked down at their linked arms, nodding.
"Yeah, surprisingly two sidekicks have a lot in common." He joked, Rachel's bell-like giggle behind him.
"I'm glad you kids had fun today. Sherly and I sure did." John suddenly felt something in him freeze over and harden at her tone. At what she was implying. "Well, we've got things to discuss. Ta, kiddies." and then they were gone, out the door again. This time to a sitting room. Or a bedroom. John's mind supplied, rather discomposedly.
"You're friend sure is handsome." Rachel said, clearing the counter. John leapt up to help.
"It's no wonder Ms. Adler has taken to him." She seemed bittersweet. Sort of how John felt.
"And it's no wonder Sherlock likes her. She seems sharp." That got a laugh out of his companion.
"As a freshly filed knife. I've been on the receiving end of her cuts, the ones with words, mind you, and it's never any easier than the first time."
"I know all about that. Sometimes I manage to make Sherlock so enraged with me by my pure "stupidity" alone, he rattles off all sorts of hurtful things."
"That can't be very often then, since you're clearly not that stupid of a man." Rachel countered, leaning into John's side as they washed the dirty silverware and dishes.
"Rachel," John looked over at her, she really was quite beautiful. "Would you like to go out for dinner tomorrow? I know I have to leave the day after, but just to spend one night with someone as beautiful as you would be enough." Yeah. That right there is John "Three Kingdoms" Watson right there. The smoothest of the smooth. More charming than a prince.
"I would love to..." She bit her lip, glancing at the door that led out to her employer and his friend.
"But you have other commitments." John sighed. "That's alright. I'm sure we'll see each other again, if those two stay chummy." The thought made his stomach churn, but he didn't have much time to settle on it, however, due to Rachel pressing her lips against his. A soft, but insistent pressure. A thank you kiss.
"It was lovely to have been able to spend the afternoon with you, John." She said. "But I should probably go and see if Ms. Adler would like lunch." John nodded, before leaning in to kiss her once more.
"I should go see if Sherlock needs any help in his current case."
The sight the two walked into was, well, interesting. Sherlock, having recently discovered he had a sex drive, was quite happily caught in a compromising position with Irene who didn't even look remotely flustered like the situation would usually call for.
"Well, clearly we caught them at a bad time." John pointed out, just for anything to say, as they shut the door
"Shall we return to the kitchen?" Rachel, used to this, was handling this much better. As if Sherlock and Irene were merely having tea, not sex. John nodded, unable to get words out past the weird knot in his throat. Afraid if he opened his mouth he'd get sick all over their nice rug,
Later that evening found John back at the hotel, having even had a light dinner with Rachel before telling her he needed to leave for prearranged plans, but that he'd probably be back, and gave her a warm parting kiss, hoping to lift the heavy feeling in his gut. He was currently on his knees again, trying to coax John out from under the dresser this time for food.
"C'mon, please? I don't want Sherlock biting my head off because I let you starve to death." He let his head fall to his chest, ready to give up.
"John!" Jesus! John jumped up, nearly hitting the dresser in front of him, not hearing Sherlock come up the stairs. "Tomorrow is when we strike." John looked up and found Sherlock looming over him, a very large love bite just above the collar of his shirt.
"What are you going on about?" His mood suddenly gone sour, John didn't want to deal with Sherlock right now.
"Tomorrow we get the photos back." Sherlock was absolutely ecstatic. Clearly, he had a brilliant plan in mind he couldn't wait to share.
"Oh, so you haven't forgotten about the client?" John snapped, scooping up John as he finally scurried out of his hiding place, petting his head as he settled on his shoulder.
"What? Of course not." Sherlock scoffed.
"Could've had me fooled." John moved to set John down on his pillow. "I'm going out. Don't expect me back too early. I have drinks with James tonight, remember?"
"Wait, we still haven't figured out what I'm to do in this time! Besides, you're three hours early."
"Why don't you go visit Irene. Fuckings a grand way to pass the time, I hear." and with those words hanging in the air, John threw on his jacket and stormed down the stairs.
James was waiting downstairs behind the counter, like John expected him to be.
"Hey, John. I won't be able to get off until later." He smiled warmly, cheeks tainted pink. "I do find it flattering though. That you're so excited to have drinks with me."
"I know you still have quite a bit of time. I just needed to get some air and away from my room mate." He pulled a chair over from a nearby table, sitting by the counter, but not in the way of any future patrons. "Tell me about your day, Jim."
So for the next three hours they sat, talking about nothing. John thought it was nice to socialize with people not Sherlock for once.
"And then he just bursts into the room all chipper with that- that- hickey from that devil woman's mouth just fucking shouting "Look at me, John! Sherlock had sex with someone! Haha!" This conversation began after a couple of rounds. Jim found the repressed sexual feelings remarkable.
"I think you should just burn her house down." He supplied with a shrug. John actually seemed to contemplate this.
"... As long as neither inhabitant was harmed, I think I will." Jim burst into laughter.
"Even piss-drunk you're still quite the humanitarian, John Watson." Jim took another large gulp, leaning against John's side heavily.
"I think it's time we headed back... "headed"? Whatever." John stood, impressively, only swaying a fraction. "As your superior, it is my duty to return you home safely, ma'am."
"You came here with me, John. Not her." Jim stifled his giggles as he gestured towards a busty babe in the corner.
"Oh.. Sir." Once he had cleared up his mistake, he offered his hand to help Jim up, which Jim took happily, of course.
"Now, where do you live?" John stood up straighter, holding out his arm as if Jim was the one who needed to be steadied.
"Just around the corner." Jim looped one hand through his arm and began to direct them towards his home.
Once they arrived, after many drunk stumblings, John bowed low, ever the gentleman.
"What? I don't get a good night's kiss?" Jim joked. John thought for a moment, before grinning, stepping up, and kissing him on the nose.
"That'll have to do. Especially since, well, I'm not gay." He looked around as if preparing to tell a deep secret, "In fact, lately I'm beginning to think I'm Sherlocksexual." John seemed all too pleased with his broken reasoning. Jim agreed in fun, before waving John off.
"John? Good. I was wondering when you'd return." Sherlock was sat in the middle of the room on the floor, reading something or another. John couldn't be bothered to care as he wobbled over, dropping himself into Sherlock's lap and nuzzling his neck.
"John, what are you-mmfph." Sherlock frowned as John covered his mouth with his hands.
"Shh, Sherlock. Sleepy time." John let his hand fall back into his lap, settling in to sleep right where he sat.
"John, if you're going to sleep, use the perfectly good bed right over there."
"Carry me. Too tired to walk." He mumbled from Sherlock's neck. Sighing, Sherlock set the book down before shifting his arms a bit, shooting upwards quickly, and dropping John on to the bed, covering him with the blankets set to the side from last night.
"Hurry up, and come to bed." John sighed, now snuggling the pillow. Sherlock stared at the dosing creature before him.
Just several hours ago he had been livid. Now, here he was, wanting nothing more than to cuddle and sleep. Hesitantly, and with a couple of jerky stops on his way down, Sherlock leant over and planted a kiss where John's short bangs met his forehead. John remained sleeping, but only for a moment before his eyes flew open and his head shot over the edge of his bed as he threw up the contents of the night all over Sherlock's bare feet.
Well that certainly woke him up.
"Oh my- Sherlock, I am so, so, so very sorry!" John shot out of bed and for the wash bin, quickly bringing it to him and immediately falling to his knees, still muttering apologies. Sherlock merely stood, and stared. Had he done it wrong? Perhaps John was sensitive to that spot on his head, and it had triggered his gag reflex and he had vomited-
No. No, no, no. That made no sense what so ever. Perhaps John was becoming ill.
"Perhaps we should sleep in separate beds tonight in case I do that again." That caught Sherlock's attention. He rather enjoyed their sleeping situation. He stayed warm at night, and John was squishy.
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"No." Sherlock rolled his eyes, took the wash bin from him and dumped it out the window. "You'll be fine sharing a bed with me. If you get sick again, you can empty your stomach into this." He set it on the floor on John's side.
"... Fine. But no complaining if I get sick on you on accident." John warned, stripping out of his soiled clothes, and stepping into bed. "Now, I'm going back to bed. Try not to leave the candle on all night." And with a ruffle of the sheets, John was facing the edge of the bed, therefore away from Sherlock, and was back to attempting sleep. Sherlock stripped out of his clothing, blew out the candle, and spooned right up against John's back. He felt John shift minutely, sigh, then settle again, going silent. Sherlock thought back to earlier that day with Irene. How close and intimate they had been. When Sherlock had seen John after returning to the hotel room, he had begun to wonder how it would feel if he tried the same things with John.
He thought back to the little kiss he had given him, that had given him a pleasant flutter in his abdominal region. John had been a warm, and welcome accessory to his lap, even if he did block his view from the text he had been studying. He certainly hadn't enjoyed John being angry with him, for whatever reason that had been.
Would he feel all these little things with Irene? He certainly had felt a fire build up inside of him at the sight of her naked body, but when she touched him, he certainly hadn't felt any flutters of joy like he does with John. Just the basic carnal need and desire burning inside him.
Quite frankly, he can't tell which one he prefers. It makes him a little sick to think about, so he shoves it into the recesses of his mind, and sleeps.
Sherlock wakes up in the early hours of dawn to discover the bed empty. Sitting up, he finds John had moved to the other bed throughout the night. Probably still worried about throwing up again. Sherlock decided it was early enough to dress himself, and visit Irene. A little morning conversation wouldn't hurt? On the plus side, if she's still sleeping, he can retrieve the photos.
Just as he was shrugging on his jacket, he heard the rustling of sheets as John sat up, now awake.
"Oh, Sherlock. Already up I see. I hope you didn't mind me switching beds. It was just a little too warm."
"Good morning, John. I was just about to head out for Irene's. See if I can find those photos." Sherlock turned at John's "Oh." Well, that sounded pitiful.
"If you're still feeling ill, I can stay back and keep you company." John was shrugging on a long sleeve shirt, pants already on, though left undone. Sherlock shoved the small pull he felt towards his companion away, replacing it with the rational worry he should have felt first and foremost.
"No... No, you go on ahead if you'd like. I planned on taking a scenic walk around the city today." He was now tying the strings of his pants up, walking towards the kitchen. "Unless you wanted to join me? I could wait until later."
"No, thank you. We have plans later. I will need you there with me, so you should go and enjoy yourself." Sherlock smiled brightly at John before leaving the room.
So John did. He spent the entire afternoon wandering around the rather large city. He's willing to admit he'll miss it here. Perhaps once he returns Sherlock he can come live here. Surely Sherlock won't want him with him after he returns home. John isn't sure he could handle seeing the royal family anyway, not after all that had happened three years ago. He sighed, barely able to believe it had been three years since he was removed from the royal court, then sent into exile for something he hadn't done.
At Irene's, Sherlock is only half paying attention to what she is saying, his thoughts leaning to a more John-based subject. Maybe he should have taken up John's offer to go for a walk. That certainly would have helped clear his mind, rather than sitting with this chatty woman.
"Well, what's got your panties in a twist?" He looked back at Irene's smirking face. "Don't look at me like that. You've been sulking all morning." She sighed, uncrossing her legs and walking across the small space to land herself in his lap. For all that he seemed to care, it was as if someone threw a sick puppy at him. A disgusting sick puppy.
"It's not dear John, is it? Did you two end up fighting?" She spoke to him as if he were a wounded child. When Sherlock didn't answer, but merely looked away, a blush creeping on to his cheeks, Irene smirked, able to figure it out.
"No, but something has changed, hasn't it?" She leaned to whisper in his ear, "Does Sherly have a crush on John?" She teased. Having enough, Sherlock moved to remove her from his lap, but she held on tight.
"You do, don't you? But you're too scared to admit it. Why?"
"What does it matter?" He snapped. Emotions were clearly proving to not be his thing.
"I'm with you right now, and that should be all that matters." His hands lifted to grip her hips. "Besides, it's not like John is willing to return any sort of desire I may or may not feel for him." He bit her collar bone, brushing aside her robe easily. "While you seem very obviously willing."