When he woke up the next morning, Sherlock was confused. He didn't remember going to bed, and he definitely didn't remember taking off his clothes. Running his fingers through his hair, Sherlock sat up in bed, noting the appearance of the extra blanket. He froze when he realized it was John's. What had happened last night? The last thing Sherlock remembered was sipping his tea in his chair while he talked with John.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Sherlock got out of bed and pulled on a clean shirt and pajama pants, tugging his blue dressing gown over his shoulders when he was dressed. He tried to be quiet as he made his way into the kitchen, turning on the kettle. He jumped when he heard John's cup clinking against the wooden coffee table.

John looked up from his paper and watched as Sherlock went about making tea. He smiled softly at the detective's slightly rumpled appearance. "Morning, Sherlock," he called out, turning the page of his newspaper.

Slowly, Sherlock turned to face John. "What happened last night?" he asked, his eyes locking on John's.

"You don't remember?" John asked, his paper dropping to reveal furrowed eyebrows.

Sherlock shook his head. "The last thing I remember is sitting in my chair drinking tea. We were discussing the new case," he said.

"You zoned out on me, so I told you to go to bed. I popped in after you were asleep and put the extra blanket over you," John said.

Sherlock blinked a few times before nodding.

"Nothing happened between us, if that's what you're worried about," John supplied, rising to attend to the steaming kettle.

"Obviously," Sherlock drawled, his voice sharp.

John turned and shot the detective a look before pouring two new mugs of tea.

"Your hair isn't mussed, and your shoulder is relaxed. Whenever you have sex, it troubles you the next day," Sherlock said, standing behind his chair to look out the window.

"Don't snap at me, Sherlock. It's a bit not good," John warned, handing the detective his morning tea.

Sherlock bristled at John's words, his spine straightening and chest puffing out. "I didn't snap," he countered.

John raised an eyebrow and tightened his grip on the second teacup. "Oh really?" he asked.

Everything about John seemed to challenge Sherlock, and the detective wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Normally, he would push back and challenge John in return. But snippets of last night flashed through his mind, and Sherlock shrank back, reverting to his normal stance. Though he tried, Sherlock couldn't put his finger on why he found he couldn't challenge John.

"I think," John started, "That we need to talk about what happened last night."

Sherlock found himself nodding at John's statement. A moment later, he found himself perched on the back of his chair, his feet against the cool, supple leather.

"Sherlock, do you trust me?" John asked, echoing his question from the previous night.

"Of course, John," Sherlock replied.

John smiled and sank into his chair. "I'm glad you do," he said, pausing to drink from his tea. "Because I think we need to have a small scene, Sherlock."

The detective stiffened. "Why? That sounds like a waste of time."

"Because, like I said last night, if we're going into Leather as a couple, I'll be acting as your dominant. I know how hard it is for you to actually obey my requests, but that's what everyone there will expect from you. A small scene here would introduce you to that in a familiar setting, so it shouldn't be as much of a shock for you," John replied, pausing to take another drink. "It will also be easier to care for you if you drop into subspace."

"What makes you think I'd drop into subspace?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.

John smirked. "Because I'm pretty sure you dropped last night, Sherlock."

The detective rolled his eyes. "I'm sure I would remember something like that, John," he said.

The doctor shook his head. "Not necessarily. Subspace is different for everyone. Besides, this exercise would be as much for me as for you."

"Why would you need it?" Sherlock asked.

John was quiet for a moment, abandoning his teacup and sitting up straight in his chair. "Come kneel by my chair like you did last night and I'll tell you," he said.

Sherlock stared at John for a few heartbeats before curiosity got the best of him. He kneeled by his flatmate's chair and was still.

"That's good, Sherlock" John murmured, his right hand once again carding through the detective's curls. "I'm proud of you."

"There's no need to praise me like a dog, John," Sherlock said, ducking his head to hide the hot flush on his cheeks.

John chuckled. "And yet, you like it. Which is fine by the way; it's all fine."

"So why do you need this, John?" Sherlock pushed.

John fisted his hand in Sherlock's hair, pulling ever so slightly. He smirked as his flatmate gasped, his grey eyes seeking out John's own deep blue, his neck arcing back to expose that long, pale neck. "Because, Sherlock," John said, "I need to learn how to read you in these kinds of situations."

"I'm not sure I understand," Sherlock admitted, blinking owlishly a few times.

John let go of Sherlock's head and resumed carding his fingers through the dark locks. "Think of it as me attempting to deduce you," he said. "When we're acting as a couple, I'm going to need to know everything that's going on inside that brilliant head of yours. There may be times when you won't be able to talk freely. Even so, I'll still have to know how far I can push you, Sherlock."

He felt his flatmate shiver under his touch. John smiled. "I can tell that right now you're embarrassed, but you like having your hair played with."

Sherlock nodded minutely. "Accurate deduction, John. So how do we proceed?"

"Well, I'd like to give you a few… tasks, ok? Nothing too much, just enough," John said, pulling his hand back to his lap. It wouldn't do well to have Sherlock distracted now.

"What tasks?" he asked.

"First, I'd like it if you started eating regularly. The amounts will mostly be up to you, as will the times you eat. I'd be very happy if you kept a record of the foods you do eat. I'll be checking with you at night before I go to bed," John said.

Sherlock frowned. "Eating slows me down, John. Surely you remember that," he said.

John nodded. "Leather can be hot, and you'll be exerting yourself. You'll need to eat to keep up with everything. I won't have you passing out on me in the middle of a stakeout," he said.

"Ok. I'll do that for you, John. Thank you for explaining," Sherlock said.

"I won't always be able to explain myself, Sherlock. Nor will I. You'll have to learn to trust me explicitly."

"Then how will I communicate if something is wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"You'll have a safeword, Sherlock," John replied. "That's my second task for you. I want for you to do some research on fetishes and make me a few lists, ok?"

"Yes, John," Sherlock murmured.

"That's a good boy, Sherlock. On the first list, I want for you to tell me anything and everything you'd feel comfortable doing in public. On the second list, tell me the things that would challenge you to do in public. The third list will be activities that are not to happen under any circumstances, ok? Include your safeword on each list, too," John said.

Sherlock nodded and fidgeted in his spot. "John, can I change positions? My knees hurt," he asked.

"Count to sixty for me, Sherlock, and hold it for just one more minute," John replied, turning to watch the detective.

"One," he began, taking care not to rush through the numbers. Sherlock seemed to sink into his kneel even more, his eyebrows pinching together, the veins throbbing in his neck. When the detective murmured "sixty" he looked up at John as if asking permission.

"Go on ahead and move, Sherlock," he said, smiling at his flat mate. John winced in sympathy as Sherlock moved, his knees cracking as he shifted his legs out from under him. He settled with them off to the side, his head leaning against John's armrest.

"You did so well, Sherlock. Thank you for doing that for me," John murmured, stroking through the detective's curls.

John was surprised when Sherlock seemed to melt into his touch. He'd never thought that his flatmate's scalp was that sensitive. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, both content.

"John?" Sherlock asked, breaking the silence. "Thank you."

"For what?" John said.

"For being right and having me experience this here," the brunet said, leaning into John's touch.

"You're welcome. How are you feeling?" John asked.

"Good," Sherlock replied. "My mind is quiet… it's a nice change of pace."

John smiled. "I'm glad it made you feel good; that's what it's supposed to do."

"Can I move now?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. I'm going to go for a walk, ok? Why don't you start on that research for me," John replied, standing from his chair. He held out a hand to Sherlock, grasping his hand to help him up. The two didn't say anything else; Sherlock slipped down the hall to his bedroom, and John pulled on his shoes and coat before heading down the stairs.

It was crisp and cool outside, and John found it was just what he needed to gather his thoughts after Sherlock had jumbled them so thoroughly. This was going to be a dangerous case for them, possibly the most dangerous. John hoped that he and Sherlock could get through it in one piece, and hopefully, with their friendship still standing.