The tall thin woman undulated on the stage. Her creamy white skin contrasting sharply with the red of her velvet bikini and Santa hat. She turned her back showing the white straps of her g-string as she squatted down on her high-heels directly in front of John. She bent over. Her long blond hair flopping onto the stage, as he looked up at her, his mouth slightly open. He licked his lips.

Harry walked over and sat beside him. She looked up at the long pale legs. Then she nudged John in the ribs, tossing her head toward a table.

John rose and followed his sister through the club to a table far enough from the stage so that they could hear themselves talk. She sat down. John sat beside her and glanced back over to the stage to watch the woman perform an elaborate backbend. Harry put the beers down, and John picked one up and drank.

"So John, Harry said, how long do you plan to stay here? John! ... are you even listening to me?"

John turned his head toward his sister. "What?"

"I asked if you were listening to me?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm listening Harry? What do you want?"

"I want to know why we're here."

"Look, I took you to a bar, and I haven't said a damn thing about your drinking."

"That's because I refuse to get drunk at these prices. This place is outrageous! And these people, standing around with their hands hidden under their coats. There's not a person in this place I'd be willing to touch, much less talk to. Let's go, John."

"Why? I like girls, you like girls. This shouldn't be a problem for you."

"I like my women to have a bit of class."

"Now come on Harry," John said slurring a little. "I'm sure these girls would be very nice if you got to know them."

Harry hmphed and sipped her beer. "Are you going to tell me what happened now, or are we just going to go trolling all night?"

John looked down at his drink and said nothing.

"Now John, I think that you owe me something. I was having a pretty good night before you came over all needy and had me take you halfway across England to run away from your wife. I had to call in some pretty serious favors to muddy our trail, and all this so that you could drink away your troubles and look at scantily clad women? We could have done this back in London. Can you at least tell me what it is that you're thinking about right now?"

"Thinking?" John said. "I'm trying not to think." The dance ended and John clapped. No one else did.

"So, what happened? I heard about Sherlock being hurt. It was serious wasn't it? Is he going to die or something? Or maybe, Mary gave you an ultimatum chose one or the other. Is that what happened?"

"No, Harry no."

"Then what is it? Do you usually go to strip clubs when you have love problems?"

"This place has nothing to do with love. It's about sex. That's why I'm here. I happen to like sex, you know. 'Three-Continents Watson' they used to call me, because no matter where we went, I was usually able to pull some girl or other even when the other blokes struck out."

"It's true, and I don't know how you do it. Clara said it was something to do with your 'funny awkwardness' or 'awkward forwardness', or something like that. You were always chasing skirts, even as a boy. Although, lately, I suppose you've been chasing trousers. See where that's got you."

"Chasing trousers? What a stupid thing to say! I'm not gay, you know. Why does no one ever believe me?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you sleep with men!"

A few people at the other tables turned toward them then. One with veiled interest. John sighed, then he leaned his head toward Harry's and continued talking in a lower voice. "I don't sleep with men. I have slept with one man. One! I don't find any other men even remotely desirable. My feelings aren't so simple or obvious that they can be placed in a box with a label on the front saying GAY or STRAIGHT. But even if I could, it wouldn't make this decision any easier."

"What decision, John? Are you thinking of leaving Mary?"

John put down his drink. "I was remembering something that Mycroft asked me once."

"Mycroft?" Harry asked. "You mean Sherlock's brother? Did he ask you about strip clubs?"

John chuckled, "No, but he did ask me about sex. He asked if my choosing Mary over Sherlock was about the sex. I was positive that my answer was no, but I'm not so sure anymore. I think about sex quite a lot, and he doesn't."

"Mycroft Holmes doesn't think about sex?"

"No, not Mycroft...well actually, I don't know if Mycroft Holmes thinks about sex, or at least, I don't really want to know what he thinks. I think that I may know too much about it actually, but that wasn't what I was talking about. I meant...oh it doesn't matter."

"Is this some kind of ...I don't know, gender insecurity thing. Do you think that having sex with a bloke one time means that you're not a man?"

"It was more than one time, Harry."

"How long?" she asked. "You always denied you and Sherlock were involved. You denied it very strongly, in fact. What's so different now?"

"Nothing's different, I mean everything is. Christ! I don't know how to explain it." John sat back and looked up at the ceiling. "I'm just wondering what's wrong with me... I thought that I was more than this, but when I look back ... I mean, how many times have I dated a woman just because I thought that I'd have a chance to get off with her? If they weren't interested in having sex with me, then I wasn't interested in them. I talk about relationships and compatibility, but is it really just about the sex in the end? Does my decision really rest on who gave me the better orgasm?"

"Who did give you the better orgasm?"

"Harry!"

"You brought it up, not me."

"Quiet, they're starting again."

Harry looked up and saw an identical blond girl come to the pole. This one was wearing an elf hat and a couple of green felt circles. "So how does getting hot over girls you don't know, help you figure out who you really love?"

"It doesn't," John said. "I'm just acknowledging the kind of man I am. The kind of man that I used to be before I met Mary. Before I met Sherlock even, I didn't have these kinds of problems. The sex was simple. No strings attached, just scratching an itch and going on with life. I sometimes wish that I could go back to that."

Harry smiled, "You sound like a bloke on his stag night. You have obviously forgotten what it's like to be single. Tell me how many people did you shag the months after you got back from Afghanistan?"

John tore his eyes from the stage and looked at her, "I was wounded, shell-shocked. It wasn't tops on my mind then."

"What about your first year of medical school? How many times did you complain to me then that you couldn't get a shag?"

"Alright, point taken," John said. "Then when I did finally find a girl who liked me, she ended up going home with you. Do you know how emasculating that is? To lose a girl to your own sister?"

"Oh you were never gonna get Clara," Harry said. "You weren't her type."

"Obviously not." Then quieter he asked, "so have you seen her...since?"

Harry frowned, "Once or twice. She'd be mad at you, you know, taking me to a bar much less a strip club. You were always the responsible one."

"So are you drunk?"

"No."

"Then she wouldn't be mad at me," John said before drinking the rest of his beer. He leaned his head on his hand. "Maybe it was the sex where I went wrong with Sherlock. Maybe if we had never had sex, then this stupid blow up wouldn't have happened, and my life with Mary would have been problem free, but I don't think so. I've always felt ... something for Sherlock ever since the first moment that I met him, and it wasn't just sexual attraction. I think that the reason I was so insulted when people called me gay, was because they were implying this bond between us was something simple and base like lust. As if, that was all that I saw in Sherlock. As if, I wouldn't like him if he wasn't so handsome. It was never about his looks. Sherlock could be ugly or deformed and I'd still love him just as much. Maybe even more so. And the fact that I love him doesn't stop me from loving Mary and hoping that we can have a life together. Mary always used to say to me that love isn't a 'zero sum game'. There isn't a fixed amount, and you don't use it up, so I ran with my feelings, despite convention, and it was terrifying and wonderful at the same time."

"But something happened recently, between Sherlock and me. I felt something for him that he didn't return, and I began to wonder if that hadn't always been the case. If in the end it wasn't all about the sex after all. The fact that I like it, and for the most part he doesn't.

"And I hurt Mary. She won't admit it, but I know that I did. I took advantage of her because I knew that I could. There's only one thing that she made me promise when I married her, and the fact that I would even consider breaking that promise after what she has let me get away with, is awful. I'm beginning to think that I'm what's wrong with my marriage. I'm the one who's caused all of this. I mean...It wasn't Sherlock who left me. I was the one who left him, and I think that I may have left him for all the wrong reasons.

"Everything in my life has become so twisted and complex. I don't understand my own feelings anymore, so I wanted to do something simple. Something that I can understand. So please give the moralizing a rest, and just let me sit here and enjoy my scantily-clad women while I may, before I go back to hating myself as I have been doing ever since abandoning the people who love me at Christmastime."

"John," Harry said. "You're being too hard on yourself."

"Am I? Without Sherlock and without Mary, I'm a pretty worthless person." Harry put down her bottle and frowned at her brother who seemed on the point of tears. Then she noticed the tall, brunette woman in the blue bikini top and miniskirt standing beside the table staring down fixedly at her brother.

"Dr. Watson? It's you isn't it?" she asked.

John looked up at the woman. She was very attractive. "Yes, I'm Doctor Watson," he said.

"You don't remember me do you?" she said looking down at his surprised expression. "I don't suppose that you would. I looked terrible then, but you saved my life."

John smiled, "Really, I think that I would have remembered saving you."

"It was in London. I was locked in the bottom of a barge by my jerk of a boyfriend. He was a murder. He had me chained to the mast, and the boat was sinking. You shot my chain to free me, and then you carried me out. You really are a hero."

"Oh! I case of the murderous mariner. What happened to you afterward?"

"Well, as you can see, I left London. I'm taking Open University classes now. I hope one day to become a nurse. I've always wished that I could meet you again...to thank you. But I never introduced myself, my name is Phoebe Banks." She reached out and took his hand in hers. They shook hands, then she looked down at his fingers and frowned. "You're married?" she said. "You weren't before."

"Six months ago," Harry said. The woman looked up noticing Harry for the first time.

"Your wife?"

John laughed, "No, that's my sister."

The woman smiled a sad smile. "I sort of hoped that I might get there first. But then again, they say the best ones are either married or gay."

"Or both," Harry said. John glared at her.

"When I saw you here, I just had to come over and tell you how much what you did meant to me. You saved me. I know it's a funny thing to say, but I owe you my life."

"Don't mention it. It was my pleasure," John said. "It would truly be a crime to deprive the world of a beautiful woman such as yourself."

The woman blushed then. Her smile almost glowed. She looked down at her feet shyly, and then she looked into his eyes. "I have to ask. I always wanted to kiss you. Do you think that you'd mind if I just gave you a kiss before I go. I know that I'll never have the chance again." Harry rolled her eyes.

"I certainly wouldn't mind it," John said a slight smile on his lips as he looked with amusement over at his sister who sighed heavily.

The woman placed one hand lightly on his shoulder. Then she swung her leg over and sat on his lap wrapping her arms around his neck. John pulled back a bit trying to look at her face. She shook her hair back and then leaned forward to touch her lips to his. Her kiss was deep and long and sensual. John sat in his chair only lightly touching her back. Even so, their antics drew the attention of some of the patrons who seemed to think her kiss at least as interesting as the girl on the stage. Harry pulled out her phone and began recording the kiss which went on for quite a bit longer. John's hand was pushed firmly against her in the end, when she finally came up for air tossing her head back and closing her eyes to savor the moment. John's other hand had somehow ended up clutching her breast, and it was clear by the way that he sat that his jeans had become uncomfortable.

Harry clicked off her phone. She expected to be able to get a great deal of mileage out of this juicy bit of blackmail.

"Thank you," the woman said.

"You're very welcome," John replied, his voice gone low and hoarse.

Phoebe climbed to her feet. She leaned over and whispered, "I get off at one, if you want to talk or anything. I just want you to know how much what you did meant to me. You really are my hero."

John smiled, "I'm sorry I...can't."

She frowned and then bit her lip. "Oh well. I do hope to see you again sometime. So glad to have run into you."

"Yes, very nice to have met you, Phoebe," John said following her with her eyes as she walked across the room.

Harry uploaded the image to her online storage so that John couldn't simply erase her phone, but when she looked up at his dazed expression, she realized that he probably hadn't noticed her filming him at all. "Are you ready to go now?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," John said. "Let's get to the hotel, I think that I need a cold shower."