Here's chapter ten! I surprised myself and got this installment finished sooner than anticipated. It was a swell break from my end of term papers, so maybe that's why it got whipped out so quickly... As always, let me know what you thought in a comment or review. Cheers.
John and Sherlock made their way back towards Leather's bar, sliding into a cozy booth just off to the side. They ordered drinks, and Sherlock was nursing his double shot of whiskey when Charlie slid into the booth by John, dragging Clarissa in behind him. "Well done, mate. Surprised us all again," Charlie commented, his arm wrapping around Clarissa's shoulder, hand dangling possessively in front of her chest.
Sherlock fought to suppress a smirk when he saw her press her lips together, her
eyebrows tensing toward each other for a moment before her face was a blank mask once more.
"Seriously," Charlie continued, "your submissive is incredibly responsive. It's beautiful to see you play him. How long have you guys been together?"
John turned and looked at Sherlock, asking for his input. "We've been living together for two years," John supplied, pausing to take a long swig of his pint, "but only started playing together recently." A small nod from Sherlock validated his answer, a small smile pulling at the corners of John's face.
Charlie sucked a breath in through his teeth. "You lived with him for over a year before getting on that? Damn, Captain, that's some mighty fine restraint you have," he said. "I barely lasted two hours after I met my girl before I had her sucking my cock. I can't imagine waiting that long. Was it worth it?"
The crease in Clarissa's eyes pulled Sherlock's attention from John. He frowned when he saw the very corner of her mouth turn up. He knew that look, he'd seen it on John a few times, but only when he was either furious, or was around someone he absolutely loathed. When he saw that look directed at Charlie, Sherlock had to refrain himself from launching across the table and pinning her to the ground. The thought of John's disappointment at ruining the case was the only thing that kept him in his seat, sipping his whiskey.
"Living with Sherlock in general is worth it, Charlie," John said, raising a hand to rub at the back of the detective's neck as if he sensed Sherlock's inner quarrels. Sherlock leaned closer to John, his hand resting comfortably on John's thigh.
"I bet it is. With a mouth and ass like that, how can it not? I bet he swallows, doesn't he?" Charlie asked, leaning over to study Sherlock lewdly.
John stiffened, his hand pausing it's ministrations on the back of his flatmate's neck. "That's none of your business, Charlie. What happens between Sherlock and I in our home stays there," he said, frowning slightly. "You don't see me prying into your personal life with Clarissa."
Charlie waved a hand dismissively. "She doesn't mind, trust me. She behaves so well for me even though the relationship is so new. Someone trained her well," he commented.
"Please, Sir," she interrupted, tugging gently on Charlie's sleeve. "I don't feel well. Can we go home early?"
Charlie turned to look at her and frowned. "I suppose. You have been so good tonight. We will come back tomorrow though," he replied. With a sigh, he turned back to John and shrugged his shoulders. "Tough luck mate, I was gonna let you play with her."
John smiled a pinched smile and handed his mobile to the other dominant. "It's ok, mate. Put your number in, I have some ideas for a scene I want to run by you later, if that's ok," he said.
Charlie nodded and punched his number in quickly, handing the phone back to John when he was finished. "Can't wait to hear from you, mate. Maybe you can give me a few ideas of things to try with my girl," he said, standing from the booth.
John nodded and waved as he watched the two leave the club, Charlie's hand resting lewdly on Clarissa's ass. He waited a few minutes before texting his friend.
10:23 Do not go inside her home - JW
10:24 Who is this, and what the fuck does that mean?
10:24 John Watson. From Leather. I'll explain after you take her home. - JW
10:27 Okay, but you better have a good reason. If you don't, I'll make you pay for
making me miss out on taking her sweet ass.
10:27 When you kiss her goodnight, pull her hair. I need to check something - SH
10:28 SW? Who the hell is this?
10:28 John's submissive. And don't ask questions, just get your fingers in her hair - SH
10:28 Also, if I'm wrong, you can fuck her later. If I'm right, you won't want to. - JW
10:35 Ok, but John, you owe me for this.
10:53 Dropped her off. Now explain.
10:53 Do you have dye on your hands? - JW
10:55 Yes… How did you know?
10:56 Come to New Scotland Yard, 8-10 Broadway, London SW1H 0BG. - JW
10:56 Seriously, John, what the hell is going on?
10:57 Just get your ass to that address. We need to talk face to face. - JW
10:57 Don't wash your hands! We need that evidence! - SH
Twenty minutes later, Charlie stumbled out of a cab, mumbling obscenities under his breath as he tripped over the kerb. "John Watson, you have some serious explaining to do!" he shouted, looking around frantically for them.
John walked out from the main entrance and waved at him. Sherlock towered behind him, his thick Belstaff coat a stark contrast from the minimal clothing Charlie had seen him in earlier. The two flanked Charlie and entered the building, both silent as they made their way to Lestrade's office. As soon as the door was shut and locked behind them, Charlie exploded.
"What the hell, John? You've gone and spooked me real good. What the fuck is going on? You've kept me in the dark long enough, mate!" he yelled.
John exchanged tired looks with Lestrade, the silent 'how do you want to handle this?' passing between them. "Sherlock," Greg said, gesturing to the tall detective. "Would you be so kind as to do your thing?"
"Really, Lestrade. It's called observing. But seeing as I'm the only one in the room who is capable of that basic task, I will, as you so dully put it, do my thing," Sherlock huffed, pulling the coat from his shoulders, laying it dramatically across the back of a chair.
"Sherlock, be nice. We're all tired, and I'm not in a forgiving mood," John murmured, running a hand through his hair. He caught his eye and was relieved when the detective nodded minutely, silently acknowledging his instruction.
"Clarissa is a murderer, and you're her next subject," Sherlock said evenly, steepling his hands under his chin.
Charlie looked from Sherlock, to John, to Greg a few times before tipping his head back and laughing. "Very funny, guys," he said between peals of laughter. "You got me."
John sighed and gestured to one of the three empty chairs in Greg's office. "I think you better sit down, mate," he said.
Charlie quieted and sunk down in the chair. "Does that mean you aren't joking?" he asked.
John sat down beside him, gesturing for Sherlock to take the third seat. "Dear god, I wish I was joking, Charlie," he replied. "This is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, and Sherlock and I are helping him with a case," he said, gesturing to man sitting behind the desk.
"And you think it's Clarissa?" he asked.
Lestrade exchanged looks with John, as if asking him to handle it.
"It's definitely Clarissa," Sherlock said, perching on the back of the third seat. "We should get a warrant and arrest her tonight, Lestrade. This is wasting our time."
"Seriously. My Clarissa. The girl who couldn't hurt a fly if her life depended on it? I don't believe you," Charlie huffed, crossing his arms.
"Look, mate, we have evidence to believe that Claris-"
"Bullshit, Captain. I doubt you have anything pointing at her," Charlie interrupted.
John fixed him with a glare and gestured once more to Sherlock. "Go on then," he said. "I know how hard it's been for you to hold back. Deduce it for him, pet."
Sherlock felt his cheeks color at the public use of the nickname. "You have dye on your hands, don't you?" he asked, reaching across John to grab at Charlie's wrists.
"Yes, but what does that have to do with it?" Charlie asked, showing the detective the smears of brown dye staining his fingertips.
"The victim is twenty-five and has a petite build. She's dyed her hair recently, and has been targeting men that look a lot like John," Sherlock started.
Charlie huffed and ripped his wrists back. "I don't look a thing like John," he stated.
"Yes, and let's thank god for that small mercy," Sherlock murmured. "She also has the same brand mark that all of the victims had. If we ran a DNA test on her hair, it would match the one we found at the last crime scene," Sherlock continued, laying out pictures of the previous victims. "By her pattern, her next murder would be scheduled for this weekend, likely tonight. We need your help in catching her."
Charlie went still for a moment, processing all the information, and eventually nodded. "Okay, how do I help?" he asked, looking up at Greg.
"Well," Lestrade said, rubbing his temples, "it would help us to catch her in the act. Not the actual murder, mind you, but the beginning of it. She likes to tie her victims up first, tease em a bit before she tortures them. I don't have a plan yet, but I'm sure we can come up with something with John and Sherlock."
"And you trust these men? I mean, I know John, and he's a good guy, but I'm not sure I would trust him with my life against a murderer," Charlie asked.
Lestrade chuckled. "I trust them both with my life. Can't go wrong with an ex-army doctor and his consulting detective. This wouldn't be their first time confronting a murderer, and I doubt it will be their last," he said.
"Ex-army doctor?" Charlie mumbled, turning to blink owlishly at John.
The blonde chuckled and hit Charlie's shoulder lightly. "I had to earn the 'Captain' somewhere, mate," he said.
Charlie gaped at John for a moment. "I thought it was just a fake title. You know, for the club. To attract potential partners," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders sheepishly.
John smiled at him and winked.
"John definitely earned his title," Sherlock said, eyes fixed on a scratch in Lestrade's desk. "Even has the scar to prove it."
The room was silent for a moment, as Charlie looked back and forth once again from John, to Sherlock, to Lestrade. "So, an ex-army doctor and his pet consulting detective investigate a BDSM club and find a murderer. How the hell does that happen?" he asked.
Lestrade laughed, pulling an amused look from John. "Ex-army doctor and his pet consulting detective," he mumbled. "That's priceless. Just wait until Anderson hears…"
Sherlock frowned and stood up from his chair. "That will be enough for tonight, Lestrade. I will organize a plan and will text you the details. Both you and Charlie should report to Baker Street tomorrow night promptly at seven pm," he barked, pulling on his coat.
"What for?" Charlie asked, looking incredulously at the detective.
Sherlock grinned. "We're going to catch a murderer. Now, come along, John," he said, opening the door and exiting, his great coat swirling around his legs.
With a sigh, John hauled himself up from his chair and shook Greg's hand. "Nice cuffs Sherlock was wearing," Lestrade commented, smiling crookedly at the doctor.
John smiled wearily and shook his head before leaving the room without speaking a word. John jogged down the hall, catching up to Sherlock just before the doors to the elevator closed. "Please tell me you have a plan worked out, Sherlock," he said.
"Of course, John. I'll text it to Lestrade on the way back. Then we are going to bed," Sherlock replied, fingers flying over the keys of his blackberry. He was silent the entirety of the cab ride, typing furiously before sending off his message with a flourish of his hand. John's phone pinged a moment later, notifying him of the new messages, and he silenced it with a sigh. He had all day tomorrow to worry about whatever plan Sherlock had cooked up.
Baker Street was quiet when the cab pulled up. Sherlock covered the tab and followed John up the stairs into their flat. They gravitated towards each other, John easing Sherlock's coat off his shoulders before heading into the kitchen to be crowded by Sherlock as he made a sandwich. He cut it diagonally and gave one half to Sherlock, the look on his face a silent order to eat it. Surprisingly, he did so without complaining, even taking care to rinse off the shared plate when he finished. They took turns in the shower, first Sherlock, then John, both hurrying through their evening routines.
It was half past two by the time Sherlock appeared at John's door, hair still damp from his shower, dressed in his pajamas. He quietly climbed into bed with John, carefully curling against him like he had the last time they shared a bed. He smiled when John's arm wrapped around his shoulders, his hand ghosting down his arm to stroke at the skin of Sherlock's wrist. Sherlock blushed and gripped John's shirt when he heard the doctor's quiet gasp upon discovering that he was still wearing his leather cuffs.
"Sh'lock? We can take 'em off now," John mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.
Sherlock shook his head. "I want to wear them tonight. Please, John?" he asked.
John pressed a kiss to the detective's curls and squeezed him gently. "Of course, pet. You only need to ask. Now sleep, tomorrow will be a long day," he replied, shifting to lay on his back.
Sherlock adjusted to the new position, resting his head on John's chest, being careful to avoid his shoulder. He spent a few minutes rubbing small circles into the soft skin just above John's stomach, humming contentedly when the muscles relaxed under his touch. John was asleep within minutes, snoring lightly into Sherlock's curls. The detective pressed a kiss against whatever part of John's chest he could reach before following the doctor into dreamland.