A/N: Warning NSFW. Smut of the slash variety included in this chapter. It's not overly graphic (or maybe that's my own opinion after having read more than my share of smut), but I still want to warn any people who might be upset by this (though by now I'd imagine most of you are well prepared). Please please please just skip if you don't want to read it. No flaming me. I've warned you.
John's thoughts and behaviors towards Irene are not supported by the writer. I completely disagree with slut shaming and believe women should possess the right to have as much or as little sex as they like without repercussions, but felt a little trash!John was necessary for this chapter.
Chapter became a bit long, but I didn't really know how to break it up any better. And I hope it makes up for the long wait. Hope you enjoy it regardless!
O
She was at her wit's end.
Her thoughts were lost to Kate most of the time. Every hour spent thinking what would have happened if she'd simply told the truth. Perhaps they would still be together.
Her heart ached, and for a moment she closed her eyes and her only thought was that it could all go away in an instant. There were choices she could make that would guarantee that.
Why flee when there was nothing left to fight for? It was obvious Moriarty had won. There was nothing left for her. No matter where she ran he would find her. And at this point the toll had become too much. So what options did she have left?
She'd been wandering London's streets. All of her safe houses had been discovered. Her few contacts were becoming more limited as Moriarty's terror grew. At this point where did she have left to hide?
Her eyes fluttered a bit, threatening to close without her permission. How long had she been awake now. Fifty hours? Seventy? Any more and she'd likely start hallucinating.
By now she needed a bit of everything. Sleep. Water. Food. Warmth. Perhaps a nice wash too based on her smell. There had to be another option. There had to be some way. She couldn't give up.
Irene thought for a moment and then she smiled. Well, if Moriarty had become her enemy, her enemy's enemy had just become her friend.
Sherlock had been…odd for the past few months.
That was really the best way to describe it.
Not that Sherlock wasn't normally odd. But…this was a different sort. This was too normal to be considered typical Sherlock behavior. And that was what was putting him on edge most.
John had been trying to puzzle it out for months now.
But of course, his detective skills were a bit lacking. And besides, every question he tried to ask Sherlock simply ignored. At least that was normal.
For once the flat wasn't a complete mess to come home to. Sherlock seemed to have made some kind of an effort on that, and even the bloodied body parts seemed to have disappeared. And then one day there was milk when he checked the fridge. An item Mrs. Hudson denied having bought, both of them turning to eye Sherlock upon hearing that. What could possibly be going on in that funny head of his?
But what startled John most was that the weeks of loneliness had ended. Suddenly, Sherlock kept finding ways for them to spend time together.
Dinner at Angelo's. More cases. Lestrade noticed that as well. Commented on it once or twice too as though his statement would somehow make a point. And then there were odd outings on occasion. That Sunday morning in particular, a walk in the park. By the time they got back, John realized he needed to act. Things had become too strange.
He'd decided maybe it was time to take a more direct approach. When they entered into Baker street he went right for the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of wine. Nothing like a little liquid courage.
Of course, right about the time he was going to ask if Sherlock might sit down and have a drink with him, the man disappeared into the back bedroom.
"Sherlock," John called with a sigh. Did he have to choose now to bloody wander off? They needed to have this talk. It'd been long overdue.
"We have a client?" the man said, still staring into his room.
"What in the bedroom?" John said with a chuckle, only to pause when he finally got to the door and saw the figure asleep on the bed.
He paused and stared at Irene Adler au natural, no makeup, but thankfully with some clothes. She was curled up, brow wrinkled even as she slept. Of course, in an instant John's entire body was tense, ready for the upcoming fight.
"Oh," he managed to remark as he stared at her.
To make matters worse, Sherlock stalked over and settled a hand on her arm. Gray blue eyes opened to stare up at them.
"Hello, Ms. Adler," Sherlock said in a low voice. "To what do we owe your visit?"
She blinked a few times and then gave a long, quite sensual stretch.
"I needed help," Irene said.
"And you believe I will offer it to you?" Sherlock said, eyes narrowed.
"I have nowhere else to go." She stared at him fixedly. "Will you help me, Mr. Holmes?"
Sherlock stared at her for a moment, while John held his breath only able to hope that Sherlock would somehow decide not to. But of course, one glance in Sherlock's general direction was enough for him to deduce what the decision would be.
"I will help you, Ms. Adler," he said. "I could use an interesting case for once. Now, perhaps you'd like some time to clean yourself up before we sit you down to find out what precisely is the matter."
She gave a nod and sat up more fully. John's jaw clenched almost painfully as he turned to go back into the sitting area. He stopped in the kitchen, setting the bottle of wine aside. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the counter.
Of all the days for Irene Adler to invade their lives, why did today have to be the one?
He went and settled in his chair. For a moment there was a temptation to close his eyes. Maybe it was all just a bad dream, and he could wake up to find Sherlock alone with him in the flat.
After a bit the sound of footsteps stirred him from his hopes of sleep. He looked up at Sherlock as he stalked back into the room. His brow was furrowed, hands steepled under his chin as he began a pace of the sitting room.
"So, why's she here?" John said with a sigh.
"Not everything is possible to deduce, John," Sherlock said. "I still haven't cracked the code on her phone."
"She wants it back though," John suggested.
"Yes," Sherlock said. "Most likely."
"And will you give it to her?"
He tilted his head slightly before turning sharply in the other direction to make a brisk line across the floor again.
"No, I don't believe I will."
"Then what?" John asked, doing his best to keep the edge out of his voice and mostly failing. "Aren't we at a stalemate if that's the case? She won't just give you the codes. You won't surrender the phone. Neither of you will get what you want. How can this possibly end all right?"
Sherlock's gaze fixed on him. "I'll get a few things I want. I guarantee it. As to what she wants…well we'll see how that works. I'll do what's necessary in the long run."
"Necessary for what?" John asked. But Sherlock seemed to disappear into his mind palace for a few moments. John rolled his eyes and settled for going over to open his laptop up. Perhaps he should just consider what the latest update on his blog should be.
Maybe, "Skank shows up for second time, Sherlock falls all over himself to impress." No perhaps, "The Slutty Fugitive"? No, even that didn't do it justice. He almost growled as he thought again of the woman in the bathroom. He should have refused to allow her to stay. Why hadn't he?
Well, the answer came down to one glance in Sherlock's direction. A single glimpse of those dark curls and those unfocused gray eyes. John managed to swallow, effectively keeping the emotions he was feeling at bay. He sighed and then closed his eyes for a moment.
He was roused from his thinking by the bathroom door opening. He glared in the general direction, watching as Irene stalked out wearing one of Sherlock's dressing robes. He was only thankful it wasn't his favorite. If that had been the case he might have flown at her to rip it off….or maybe not. That would likely put Sherlock in an even more awkward position again.
Sherlock motioned to his own chair. John clenched his jaw, but remained silent as Irene took her place.
"So," Sherlock said as he pulled up a chair. "Who's after you?"
"People who want to kill me."
"Who's that?" he asked.
"Killers," Irene said with a sharp look.
"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific," John muttered, doing his best to not simply lose his temper. Here they were helping her, and she wasn't even being straightforward with them.
Sherlock, for once, decided to make up for John's surly mood. He jumped in before John could do something he'd regret.
"So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them," Sherlock speculated.
"It worked for a while," Irene said.
"Except you let John know that you were alive," Sherlock said, shooting him a look. "And therefore me."
John made a fist and forced himself to take a deep breath.
"I knew you'd keep my secret," Irene said, again looking at John, eyes glittering meaningfully.
"You couldn't," Sherlock pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
"But you did, didn't you," Irene said.
John was still trying to catch up. He'd followed at first, but the latest had him a bit lost.
"Where's my camera phone?" she asked.
There was a flash of red in his vision. All she'd put Sherlock through and still all she cared about was her precious phone.
"It's not here," he said. "We're not stupid."
"Then what have you done with it?" Irene asked. "If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you."
"If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the strand a few months ago."
She shot him a fierce look. "I need it."
John sighed. Why on earth were they even helping her? Other than Sherlock's motives to impress her, there were no other options. It didn't take a genius to figure out he had to have a reason. Well, best to play along in that case.
"Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" He looked at Sherlock, doing his best not to stare too hard. "Molly Hooper. She could collect it, take it to Bart's; then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back."
It didn't take much of a deduction to see that Sherlock's smile was anything but genuine.
"Very good, John," he said. "Excellent plan, with intelligent precautious."
Even with the forced smile, for a moment he was slightly fooled. "Oh…thank you. So why don't…" he broke off staring as he saw the phone coming out of Sherlock's jacket pocket, holding it up to examine it closely before showing it to Irene.
"So what do you keep on here—in general, I mean?"
Irene smirked, and John imagined all the nasty things she could probably say.
"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful."
"For blackmail?" John asked, eyeing her. She was a slippery thing, but it was so obvious in those moments why Sherlock liked her. It wasn't just the sex appeal. It couldn't be. Sherlock didn't go for that sort of thing. But this…her very manner. Her intelligence. Those fierce eyes staring at him almost hungrily.
"For protection," Irene said. "I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."
"So how do you acquire this information?" Sherlock asked.
John tried to resist rolling his eyes. Wasn't that obvious? She was a sex worker. A dominatrix. Honestly, he needed to make Sherlock watch more films. Maybe then the man would understand the whole role of femme fatale.
"I told you," Irene said, lips curling. "I misbehave. I know that might be hard for a virgin like you to understand, but do try."
Sherlock didn't respond to the insult. "But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?"
The two of them were staring at each other, eyes never breaking contact. John looked back and forth between the two, feeling like he was only catching half the conversation.
"Yes," Irene said, smirking. "But I don't understand it."
"I assumed. Show me," Sherlock snapped.
John sighed and settled back, waiting and watching as Sherlock pulled the phone away from her.
"Passcode," he said firmly.
Take that, John thought, only to watch Irene keep her hand out. What an idiot. Doesn't she realize Sherlock's not going to budge?
Of course, after a long moment, John was expecting her to finally give in. Only to see Sherlock finally sigh and hand over the phone. He opened his mouth to protest, shocked to see Sherlock just giving into her whims. But of course, this was Irene Adler they were dealing with. This was The Woman. Sherlock's one weakness it seemed. It had to be her.
Irene took the phone, still maintaining her smirk. John stared at her fixedly, watching as she typed something in, only for the phone to buzz. Her expression didn't change a bit.
"It's not working," she said.
"No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers one oh five eight," Sherlock said, snatching it from her hand.
John did his best to not sigh in relief. Good, so Sherlock hadn't intended to give her the phone then. Just trick her. Perfect.
Irene waited as Sherlock pulled another phone out.
"I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway," Sherlock said before typing in the numbers.
There was the same buzzing sound and then Sherlock was looking puzzled. A lump went down John's throat as he realized what that meant. Sure enough the woman's smirk was even more impressive.
"I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand," Irene said.
Sherlock eyed her again. "Oh you're rather good."
"You're not so bad," she said, still looking him over quite hungrily. God, John just wanted this all to be over. He just wanted it to go back to him and Sherlock solving crimes without his stomach tying itself in knots every time Sherlock looked at him, or his jaw clenching every time he looked at Irene.
"Hamish," he said.
Sherlock turned to eye him suspiciously. The woman looked in his direction, but it was Sherlock's attention he'd really caught. It was Sherlock who knew he didn't say that name willingly. It was Sherlock who was all too aware of the extremes one had to go to get it.
"John Hamish Watson," he eventually muttered. "Just if you were looking for baby names."
He half expected Irene to ignore him, but instead her attention refocused.
"Hamish," she said, rolling the name around in her mouth. On any other beautiful woman he might have found it erotic. But with Irene it was quite easy to ignore. "Scottish in origin? Quite handsome, though perhaps a bit old-fashioned. Would it be Hamish Holmes then? Or Hamish Watson?"
His eyebrows furrowed. "What?"
"Oh, just tricky with last names you know. Well, it is for everyone in the modern world I suppose," Irene said with a wave of her hand. "But I rather like Hamish Holmes. Has a nice ring to it. Were you thinking surrogate or adoption?"
He blinked a few times, trying to catch up with her conversation. "What? I…I don't follow."
"Of course you don't," Irene said with a sigh. "He is adorable though, isn't he Sherlock? You like that sweet cluelessness don't you?"
Sherlock's attention refocused on Irene. "I find John to be adequately intelligent," he said. "But we weren't discussing him. We were about to have a look at whatever is on your phone."
Irene smirked and pulled it back out, carefully hiding her movements while typing in the passcode.
"One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it." She passed the phone over to Sherlock, nodding to whatever was on the screen. "He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen – can you read it?"
Sherlock squinted at whatever was there, going to have a seat.
"Yes," he said, still eyeing whatever was there.
"A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it – though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out."
Did she have to go into dirty details about all of her conquests? John wrinkled his nose at the thought. Why men enjoyed that sort of thing was beyond him. Though for some reason that sent an image of Sherlock bound to the bed naked, and he had to quickly dismiss the thought before he got himself into real trouble. He could picture Irene leering at him and his hard on. God, better to just sit tight and not think right now.
"What can you do, Mr. Holmes?" Irene purred, leaning forward over his shoulder. Her mouth was right by his ear. Whatever she said next, John couldn't hear. But her eyes flicked up to look at him as she did, still smirking and even adding a wink in.
Sherlock stiffened but his eyes began to move faster. Whatever she'd said was apparently a nice little catalyst. Probably promises of sex later then. Who knew Sherlock Holmes could think with his—
Sherlock quickly spoke. "There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure—"
Whatever came next was a blur of details that John could hardly process in the moment. Not with Sherlock sitting there in front of him looking so beautiful and brilliant. All in the name of Miss Adler, of course, but it was nonetheless impressive. He began to harden. God, not now.
"Oh, come on. It's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look ...," Sherlock said, turning the screen round to show him.
John did his best to straighten up and actually have a look while Sherlock explained the plan.
He did his best to absorb details while both confused and aroused. But of course, his name drew him out of his reverie.
"Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language," Sherlock said, looking bored.
Oh fine, don't appreciate the praise, John thought. You git.
"I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice," Irene suddenly cut in.
John startled, unable to help it. He gazed back at Sherlock who hadn't so much as flinched. He stared at her unblinking, eyes never wavering from hers. Was this consent? Was he implying he wanted such things? Surely Sherlock, Mr. Tell-Everyone-My-Opinion would very clearly decline if he wanted to.
"John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I'm right?" Sherlock said, not looking away.
John nodded and set to it, somewhat relieved to be able to stare at his screen for a moment rather than at the two ridiculous people in front of him.
"I've never begged for mercy in my life," Sherlock said.
"Twice," Irene added, smirking. "Or perhaps you'd be more compliant with John having you. I'm fairly certain he could make you beg if he wanted to. In fact I'm quite sure of it."
John looked up, wondering if he should comment on that or just ignore it. After a moment he settled on just delivering the information instead. No not with his trousers already tenting a little. The last thing he needed was to raise suspicion.
"Uh, yeah, you're right," he said, only to realize how idiotic it sounded tacked on to what Irene had just said. His face felt too hot. "Er… uh, flight double oh seven that is."
Sherlock finally stopped his staring contest to look at him. "What did you say?"
"Er…you were right? About the flight?"
"No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that?" Sherlock snapped.
"Flight double oh seven?" John said.
Sherlock stood silent for a moment, apparently processing, but he eventually nodded. He did have some idea then. But for whatever reason he wasn't going to say. For once he seemed to be keeping his head around the woman.
"So, good work on the information," Irene said with a sigh, flopping down in another chair. "However, I actually have some news I'd be willing to impart to you…provided I'm given compensation."
"Information?" Sherlock said. "What kind?"
"About a certain old friend of yours," Irene said. "A Mr. Moriarty."
"And the compensation?" Sherlock asked.
Irene smirked. "I'd like to see if Dr. Watson really could make you beg for mercy."
On seeing his face she laughed outright. John was scrunching further under the desk, trying to hide how much the idea was affecting him.
"It's not that hard Mr. Holmes. I'll direct you and him as I see fit. Just fifteen minutes. I promise you. I know that's all it would take."
Sherlock's face was stony, nearly impossible to read. John eyed first him then Irene again. She couldn't be serious, could she? After everything was she still set on this bizarre power trip? That had to be what it was. Her getting her rocks off at the thought of forcing them to perform sex acts. Though something glittering in her eyes put John on edge. Perhaps there was more to her sinister plan.
"Come Mr. Holmes. It might even save your life," Irene said before nodding to John. "Or his. Take your pick."
Sherlock was silent for a moment. It was easy enough to see his brain working even if he wasn't speaking. His eyes flicked over to John.
"What do you think?"
"Er…" John again shifted uneasily, glad Sherlock's deduction skills seemed to be failing him with Irene in the room. "If…well I mean…it's Moriarty right? We could probably use a few advantages. I'd say…yes? Only if you're game of course. Don't want to take advantage."
"Well, John, why not see if Ms. Adler can read her clients right. Besides, I…trust you," Sherlock said, standing up brushing his hands nervously over the top of the chair. His gaze went back to Irene. "Here fine or shall we go to the bedroom?"
"Oh I prefer here," Irene said, going to settle in Sherlock's chair. "Nicer view."
"And what," Sherlock said, his throat bobbing once, "would you have us do?"
"Oh never fear my pretty virgin," Irene purred. "I'll have this one take good care of you. Follow my instructions through for fifteen minutes, and I'll give you your information."
Sherlock moved slightly, going over to the doors and shutting and locking both, probably in hopes Mrs. Hudson wouldn't barge in. As he went back towards the couch he glanced back at John for a moment, eyes flashing uncertainly. God he made a beautiful sight.
However, John had more pressing issues on his hands. Namely getting rid of the hard on that was preventing him from standing.
"Dr. Watson, if you'd go over with Sherlock," Irene said with a flutter of her eyelashes.
After a moment he began to realize it was pointless to keep pretending. With a sigh he pulled away from the desk, moving over to where Sherlock was standing. Sherlock's eyes flickered to his tented pants, as did Irene's. She smirked. Sherlock's adam's apple bobbed again.
"No worries," Irene said with a purr. "He has that effect on me too. Why don't you start by giving him a little kiss, Dr. Watson?"
He leaned closer, licking his lips, eyeing Sherlock while his heart began to beat faster.
"John," Sherlock murmured.
"Just fifteen minutes," he whispered. "Got to keep you alive. It'll be all right." He paused for a moment, readying himself for what came next. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."
Sherlock looked like he might speak, but before he could John had moved in for a kiss, placing one hand on Sherlock's shoulder in reassurance before leaning in.
Their lips met. Noses knocked briefly until John adjusted slightly, turning his head to avoid the awkwardness. John kept it tender at first, just a soft light touch of mouths, no tongue included. He heard Irene's breath hitch behind them, even as his own caught in his throat. There was another noise too, and he quickly realized Sherlock had emitted some sort of groan.
Unable to resist that delicious noise, John moved back to place several other kisses, one or two on the corners of his mouth and his cheeks and his jawbone. Irene made a slight sound of approval from behind them before John moved back up to look Sherlock in the eyes.
"It'll be all right," he promised in a whisper.
One more look into Sherlock's eyes, waiting for consent. Then there was a nod, and John knew it was all right. They both needed this. Sherlock to obtain information on Moriarty. Him to finally have his chance with the man he loved. John shut his eyes at the thought before moving in to slot his mouth against Sherlock's.
This time he opened. Soft and easy, pulling Sherlock into the motions of a deeper and more intimate kiss. One of Sherlock's hands reached out to caress his face. Their tongues touched, lingered, tasted. His heart was pounding, unable to settle even as he kept the kiss tender. John felt as if he was dreaming again. Like he had on Christmas Eve thinking of him, and Sherlock in bed…God why couldn't this be real?
"Go ahead and kiss his neck a little, John," Irene instructed. "Give him another of those gorgeous love bites."
John sighed and pulled away from Sherlock's mouth, nipping at one of his lips as he withdrew. He gazed up into the detective's eyes for a moment, taking in the dilated pupils. Well, that was a good sign if nothing else. At least his body was responding.
He moved back to pull Sherlock's collar out of the way. His lips traveled down that sharp jaw bone to the pale smooth skin of Sherlock's neck. After a long moment of planting different kisses, he finally settled on a spot and sucked lightly. Sherlock groaned, and when he pulled away he could already see color blossoming.
"Lovely," Irene said, she sounded a bit out of breath. "Now undo his shirt."
John pulled the jacket aside. Sherlock helped him, shrugging his shoulder to toss the garment aside. John's fingers moved to the buttons, fumbling slightly as he popped the first one open, revealing more pale skin. He noted Sherlock was almost hairless, only a fine dusting here and there. After a moment of admiring, John began to work open the second button, moving faster now that he'd seen what would await him. A few more seconds and the whole expanse of Sherlock's chest was available to him. He licked his lips.
"Why don't you pay those pretty perky nipples a little attention," Irene said behind him.
It took all of his self-control not to just rush to her command. God, how he wanted that. But he couldn't allow her or his desires to have too much control. No. John moved to kiss Sherlock's neck again.
The man stiffened beneath him, before relaxing some as he realized John was working a path down. There was a stifled noise from Sherlock's mouth as John finally reached his destination.
"Love on them a little," Irene purred. "Do what you think will make him eager and wanting."
John hesitated a moment before leaning in to lick at the left one. Sherlock's breathing was becoming harder now. He wondered how much more the man could take. After all, someone as inexperienced as Sherlock had to be pretty sensitive. He moved over to the right, kissing it before taking it in his mouth and giving a light suck.
"God, John," Sherlock breathed.
Irene let out a sigh of her own.
After a few more moments of gentle affections, Irene finally stopped him.
"How do you feel about blowjobs, Dr. Watson?"
He felt like his heart might stop, even as his own body continued to express its interest.
"I'll do whatever it takes to keep Sherlock alive," John said, looking up at his friend. Sherlock was staring at him, though his expression was indiscernible.
"Then go ahead and undo his trousers. And if you'd like a little bit of fun for yourself in the process, undo yours too."
John pondered that. Part of him wanted to take care of his…er…problem. But at the same time this was embarrassing enough with an audience. And besides, Sherlock might feel used. So instead he shook his head as he sank to his knees.
Again his fingers were shaking by the time they reached Sherlock's fly. He was careful as he undid the button and then pulled down the zipper. He only paused when he realized Sherlock wasn't wearing any underwear.
"Bit of a bad habit," Sherlock managed to whisper breaking him away from his staring.
"Oh, no, no worries," John said. "You…forgot to do laundry didn't you?"
"Yes," Sherlock said. "John, if you please…your mouth?"
"Yes, all right," John said.
He pulled the trousers out of his way, revealing Sherlock for the first time, aroused and ready for him. His stomach jerked in anticipation as he leaned forward a bit. Steady on, he thought to himself before taking it in his hand.
Sherlock groaned above him, hips bucking ever so slightly.
"Please," he whispered.
"What was that?" Irene said from the chair. "Did I hear you beg, Mr. Holmes?"
"Just do it," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.
John stared at Sherlock for a moment, but he knew the longer he waited the worse he made this. No, better to get it over with. And with that last thought he slid forward to take to his task.
He'd never given head before. A few hand jobs, yes. But never this. It was different, but not unpleasant. Not repulsing by any means. And he found himself responding in kind as he saw Sherlock's mouth drop open.
"A bit more, Dr. Watson," Irene said. "Almost there. Do what you think would feel good. Make our dearest Mr. Holmes come for you."
John bobbed his head a bit, swirling his tongue. One of Sherlock's hands came down to touch the back of his head, those long violinist's fingers twirling into his hair, pulling him closer. Sherlock's eyes had closed and his head was thrown back. The noises coming from him were intoxicating. God, did this man have any idea how sexy he was?
"Pull off for a moment, Dr. Watson," Irene instructed.
He groaned but did as he was asked. There was an immediate temptation to just ignore her, but the whole point of this was to get her to talk, not to pleasure himself or Sherlock.
However, the moment his mouth moved away, Sherlock let out a cry.
"No, I…I was…"
"Close, Mr. Holmes? I'd imagine so," Irene said. "You know what you have to do."
Sherlock's eyes closed again. "I can't," he said through gritted teeth.
"Shush," John said. "Just do as she asks. If it saves your life isn't it worth it you arrogant bastard?"
Sherlock's nose wrinkled, but he seemed desperate enough to try anything.
"Please," he said after a moment.
"What was that, Mr. Holmes?"
"Please," he said again, eyes opening to look down at John. "I beg of you. Finish. I…I need it…I need you, John."
"Tell him what you want," Irene said. "Beg prettily and maybe he'll have some mercy."
John licked his lips, unable to figure out how to behave while waiting for Irene to give him permission. Well, if anyone had told him a year ago that a dominatrix would have him whipped into submission waiting to suck Sherlock off he would have laughed in their face. But here he was…kneeling and ready.
"Please," Sherlock said again, chest heaving. "Please, John. I…I beg of you. Your…your hand at least. Please. I'm begging. Mercy. John. Please."
"Go ahead," Irene said. "Finish him off for me, Dr. Watson."
He ignored her mentioning herself, as though she might at some point be in this same position. He could hardly imagine it. But Sherlock had complied with her demands. And after all, he'd humiliated himself just for information. John was more than willing to give him the mercy he deserved. He put his hand in place and began to stroke softly.
It only took a few tugs before it was over. Sherlock crying out and pulsing into his hand. John felt himself throb desperately, but he didn't dare do anything about it. This was about information. It wasn't about his pleasure.
Irene distracted him from his thoughts by tossing a towel his way. She was busy straightening up the dressing robe, and he suspected she'd been enjoying watching. But of course, he refocused on Sherlock before he could think on it too much. John cleaned himself and his friend before he did Sherlock's trousers back up carefully. After a moment he pulled away, even as Sherlock sat back on the couch, still regaining his breath.
"Excellent begging," Irene purred. "I knew you could, Mr. Holmes. Now, perhaps you and I should chat about Moriarty while Watson here takes care of his little...problem." She turned her eyes meaningfully towards his pants.
John scowled but did stand up.
"Er, right. I'll just go have a wash and then…I think I'll go to the store anyhow. We're running a bit low on milk again."
"Farewell, Dr. Watson," Irene said.
Sherlock, however, grabbed his arm before he could truly disappear into the next room.
"Thank you, John," he murmured. He hesitated a moment before leaning in to place a soft lingering kiss to John's lips. "I meant it. Every bit."
John searched his face for a moment, wondering if the man was lying for his sake.
"Er…right…anytime…I mean…you're welcome." He pulled away before it could become any more awkward. "Right, I'm off."
He walked to the door, closing his eyes for only a moment to steady himself. God, could this day be real? To think he'd had Sherlock there before him for once…like in all his fantasies and dreams. And yet to have him slip away in the end. Just like he'd always known he would.
Irene was still trying to gather her wits about her. After a rush of knowing she'd beaten Sherlock, procured information for Moriarty to save Kate, orgasmed quite nicely, and seen her two pets play together for the first time, she was more than a little bit overwhelmed. But that was all to be put behind her now. She knew what she had to do.
A little bit of her felt bad for the betrayal. She and Jim had been working together for a time. But for once she knew whose side she wanted to be on. Though she normally preferred to just stir up chaos and scandal rather than ever helping anyone but herself, for once she was going to change all that. She would pick her side in this war. And that was most obviously with Sherlock Holmes.
So she needed to ready herself then. Best to have what bits and pieces she wanted to give him ready. And if she was lucky, maybe Sherlock would even help her disappear after, so that Moriarty's wrath couldn't follow her anymore. But that was wishful thinking she supposed.
A/N: Thank you to Evangeline039, MycroftTheGingerCat, GayMexicanBatman, ConsultingTimeLadyFromHogwarts, ChuYumeAkirameru, and JessMill for the reviews! Positive comments always keep me going.
Hope to see you all in a few days at most. Working hard to get another chapter done and start wrapping this up!