Exploring Sexuality

A/N: As hoped for, an update a week! Enjoy!

Thank you always for all the favorites/follows/reviews; you all are wonderful!

Ch. 13

John kept his face relatively blank as he looked down at Sherlock, who seemed completely serious. "Yeah, okay," he agreed, thinking about it. "You do realize it's… half past noon, right?"

"I know a place," Sherlock assured, getting up quickly, then pausing to hold his head momentarily. Vertigo, John assumed. "Go change," he added when he composed himself, letting out a slow breath.

John chuckled under his breath, following Sherlock to his room. "My stuff is in here, too," he said, watching Sherlock carefully.

Sherlock could feel John's eyes on his back as he picked out clothes for the both of them, taking John's apparel into his own hands. He sighed. "Lestrade talked me down when I was getting clean. I quit relatively abruptly, sudden, and I know it was… difficult for him to put up with me through the withdrawal," he explained, handing John his pile of clothes without really looking at him. "After the first time he did it, when he found me, I couldn't stay off without someone distracting me like that."

John nodded understandingly as Sherlock spoke, taking the clothes handed to him and starting to change. "The second time Mycroft "kidnapped" me, he told me about your 'danger nights,'" he said quietly.

"I haven't had one since I met you," Sherlock defended himself.

"I know," John assured. He didn't think Sherlock was weak for having done what he did. He knew people that did successfully get off substances that strong would always feel the pull towards it, and that make Sherlock strong, in his opinion, for being able to stay clean. "I don't…" John started, wanting to tell Sherlock he understood. "I don't think less of you, you know." At that, Sherlock's eyes flickered over to him briefly as he stepped into well-fitted, black trousers. "I know, and I accept that that was a part of your life. Though I certainly don't want you to go back, I get it."

Sherlock looked up at John again. "Thank you," he said sincerely. Not many people look at you the same when they know something like that, and for a minute Sherlock reveled in the completely understanding goodness that was John Watson. That was his.

John merely nodded, buckling his belt and fixing his shirt. Both his shirt and trousers were fitted tight, though not obscenely so. Sherlock was border lining obscene, and John wracked his eyes greedily over the man before him. The dark colors he wore accentuated the pale complexity of his skin, but made his eyes look brighter. Eyes that were burning into John with such intensity that he just couldn't not kiss Sherlock. Firm arms pulled him closer and skimmed and prodded, finding out where John was sore from yesterday. John's hands stayed on Sherlock's hips.

And then he pulled back. John looked up to meet his eyes, and he looked upset very briefly, before composing himself. "You don't want me to ask what's bothering you, do you?" he asked softly, sort of defeating the purpose of not asking.

"Sound observation," Sherlock replied, his hands still searching John's body. His fingers lingered around John's neck, where his dog tags would be.

John sighed internally and reached up to kiss Sherlock's cheek. "So where are we going?" he asked, wanting to take the other's mind off all of what had happened yesterday, but knowing it would be near impossible.

Sherlock smiled a little, allowing the change in subject. "Clueless," he replied, taking John's hand and leading him out of the flat. He hailed a cab almost effortlessly, an incredible skill at lunchtime in London. He slid in and pulled John after him, not letting go of his hand as he gave the cabby the address. "Do you have your mobile?" Sherlock asked, then shook his head. "Stupid question, of course you do. Turn it off."

John raised an eyebrow, but reached into his pocket and turned his mobile off. "Am I not allowed to have contact with the "outside world" on this trip?" he asked curiously when Sherlock offered no explanation.

"I don't want the world having contact with you, actually," Sherlock replied. He knew Lestade and Mycroft would want to check in with them, but he was in no mood to talk to them right now. Or never, with what they'll want to ask about. It was hard enough talking to John about all of it. John might answer them, but Sherlock could just ignore it if they texted or called.

John pondered that a minute, then nodded. "Alright," he agreed, deciding that wasn't really Not Good. "But tell them you're fine, should they ask. You don't have to respond again after that, at least until we go back to the flat."

Sherlock huffed in annoyance at John's courtesy for others, but didn't protest. Nor did he agree, however.

"They'll only worry more if you don't tell them, anyway," John pointed out, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "You should eat something more while we're out, too."

"I had breakfast."

"You had three quarters of a piece of toast," John corrected. "You can't run on that today."

"Because..?" Sherlock grumbled, mostly to be difficult.

"Because you emptied the contents of your stomach in the lou this morning," John said a bit exasperatedly. "Either eat something small now and later, or skip now and eat an actual meal for dinner," he compromised.

Sherlock scowled at him. He didn't need to be reminded of his body's weakness. "Fine," he ceded, knowing logically that John was right. He didn't like John's definition of "actual dinner" though, so; "The first one."

"Thank you," John said as Sherlock turned his head to look out the window of the cab. He contemplated telling Sherlock to stay hydrated as well, but figured he could monitor well enough for a while.

They rode in a comfortable silence, the sounds of midday London traffic coming through the closed windows. John watched the streets, trying to figure out where they were going, really not very familiar with this part of London. Before he could recognize enough of the street names, however, they pulled to a stop by the curb of a large building, two stories. There was a sign that read "CLUELESS" with a triangle underneath, filled in with the colors of the rainbow.

Sherlock was taking him to a gay club, then. He should have expected it, really. Clueless seemed like a pretty good name, to John.

Sherlock paid the cabby and followed John out, taking his hand again as the cab drove away. Then he led John up to the door and knocked, clearly some sort of coded knock. "I proved the owner's partner innocent of murder a year before I met you," Sherlock filled John in as a man in his mid-twenties or so answered the door with a wide smile.

The man had very light hair and eyes, brought out by the blue eyeliner he was wearing. "Sherlock, how lovely!" he exclaimed happily. "And you brought a beau, even better."

"Justin, this is John. John, Justin," Sherlock said, gesturing with his free hand as he did the introductions.

John smiled and held his hand out. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"Yes, very," Justin agreed with a smile of his own, shaking John's hand and looking as if he were trying to hold back a chuckle. "Please, come on in," he added, turning and leading them into the club like it was his home. A bouncer stood to the left of the door, dark shirt fitted tightly to his chest. "Drew, darling, Sherlock brought a friend!" he called to the man at the bar, presumably Justin's boyfriend. They each wore a ring on their pinkies.

Drew's hair was dark, and he was taller than Sherlock by about an inch. His eyes were a light brown, green specks complementary to and brought out by the green of his shirt. He whistled, looking between Sherlock and John with a smile. "Very nice," he said as he poured a drink for the man in front of him. Radom people were scattered about, maybe twenty total, not nearly enough to fill the room. The music was loud, but not so that you had to yell to be heard, and so John heard both the whistle and the comment, causing heat to rise to his cheeks.

"And very much mine," Sherlock said possessively, his hand tightening a little in John's and John felt his blush intensify fractionally.

"Of course," Justin said with a smile, throwing an arm around Drew's waist, pulling him closer to whisper something in his ear before looking back at Sherlock and John. "Soo, tell us how you met!" he said.

"We were both looking for a flat in London, and a friend pointed us in the direction of each other," Sherlock explained, not very much in to the social ritual of "catching up." But he put up with it for now. "The rest, as they say, is history."

Drew smile mischievously, an arm over Justin's shoulders. "You should stop by more often, you know, without a cause. We'd love to see more of you," his eyes shifted to John, "and you're beau."

"We haven't even been together for a month yet," John felt compelled to point out, though he didn't miss the innuendo in the man's words.

"Ahh. Well, in that case I hope we see you again, still together," Drew said in the stereotypical 'You two look cute together, it would be a shame if you broke up,' clear in the tone of his voice. Behind something else.

Sherlock stiffened a little beside him and let a sigh out between his teeth, "Yes, well, if you two don't mind I think I'll show John around."

Justin nodded, seeming to understand the sudden shift in Sherlock's demeanor. "The usual?"

"Please. John'll have a Boilmaker. You know where to find me," Sherlock replied, turning away and bringing John with him.

John tipped his head politely at the couple and let Sherlock lead him to the back of the club. "Care to tell me what that was about?" he asked as Sherlock opened a door for him, taking them downstairs.

Sherlock didn't answer, and he didn't let go of John's hand as they walked down a hallway lined with doors. He stopped at the second to last one on the left and pulled John inside. When he shut the door it was pitch black for a couple of seconds before Sherlock found the light switch and turned them on.

They were in what John could only describe as a sex room. Black and red decor. Soft, mattress-like material formed a resemblance of continuous benches along every wall except for the one with the door. A bed was positioned against the back wall in the center, with a small dresser full of only God knew what beside it, three candles on the top of that. Sherlock played with the lights and dimmed them so that they were barely on.

"I'm not being romantic, sorry, I just still have a headache," he said, watching John in the dimness.

"It's fine," John assured with a nod, still trying to process everything. "Are you going to tell me anything yet?" he asked after a minute, looking back up at Sherlock.

Again, Sherlock didn't answer him, but led him over to the bed and gently pushed him back onto it, then gracefully climbed up next to him, resting his head on John's chest, over his heart. John maneuvered with him easily, wrapping an arm around the taller man's back. Sherlock laced the fingers of their other hand together. "Not until he comes and leaves," he answered, closing his eyes.

John nodded again, a bit lost but used to it with Sherlock, and rubbed Sherlock's back as they half-lay there. He could hear the music from upstairs, could almost make out the words that went with the fast rhythm and deep bass.

A couple minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and a young man came in a second later, a bowl of pretzels and two drinks on a tray in his hands. He set the tray on the dresser, pushing the unlit candles aside to make room, and left without saying a word.

"When I decided, or Lestrade decided for me, that I was going to get clean, I came here the days after I relapsed. Justin and Drew had just bought the place, and they were willing to help me the day after. Drew's sister died of an overdose when he was thirteen. Most of the people here at this time of the day are recovering, and not all of them are actually LGBTQA," Sherlock started quietly, not moving from his spot on John's chest or opening his eyes. "No one's been in this room since they opened, except me and a few others. Drew and Justin are flirtatious, and annoying, and almost exactly stereotypical, but they're good. When the music is louder, at night, it gives me something to focus on. Your heartbeat is good too."

John waited a minute to see if Sherlock was going to say anything else, and sighed a little when he didn't. "So you proved Drew's innocence after you had met the two of them here?" he asked, trying to get a timeline straight in his head.

"Yes."

John nodded. "How did you find this place then?"

Sherlock sighed and hesitated a second, as if he didn't really want to answer that, "I was buying from Javier and Bill a couple of alleys down when they opened." He paused again, debating whether or not to continue. "I needed to pay them somehow."

John reluctantly let the many realizations of how exactly Sherlock could have paid them run through his head unnecessarily, and his hand in Sherlock's tightened fractionally.

"That bothers you."

It wasn't a question. "How bastards like that take advantage of people when they're low does bother me, yeah," John said a bit snappishly, and he felt Sherlock tense. This wasn't a pleasant topic for Sherlock either. "You… I just don't like the idea of someone using you like that." However "that" actually was. "Or anyone else, really, for that matter."

John was good, so good. He didn't blame Sherlock, wasn't mad or upset or disgusted with him for what he had done or for doing it to get drugs. "Justin and Drew knew. Know. Lestrade would talk me down, then I'd come here and they would patch me up. They never mention why any of us are here, but they know that's the only reason I come."

John was still absorbing all of that, trying to get used to this open Sherlock, who told him things without John having to ask. The question crossed his mind and was out of his mouth before he could register it enough to feel embarrassed for asking. "Did you ever bring anyone else here with you?"

Sherlock's eyes opened at that, and he turned his head up to meet John's gaze. "No," he said honestly, pulling himself up so that he was half-sitting, level with John. "That's why they were so surprised. I don't think either of them realized at first that you weren't just someone I picked up."

John smiled a little at that, refusing to take it as an insult. "Technically I am. You picked me up at Bart's. I just haven't left."

Sherlock smiled back, turning to the tray and holding out a drink to John, putting the pretzels in between them and taking the other glass and two pills in the other hand. "Aspirin," he explained to John's dubious look.

"Non-alcoholic, please?" he said next, a questioning hope, nodding to the glass in Sherlock's hand.

"Water," Sherlock replied after knocking back the two Aspirin before John could protest that he really probably shouldn't take two more just yet.

John sighed a little at that, but nodded, taking a sip of his own drink. Strong, but good. "So why did we have to change and look nice to come sit on a bed downstairs?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled a bit devilishly, looking John over. "I wanted to show you off, of course," he replied, taking a pretzel and popping it in his mouth.

"Of course," John muttered with a roll of his eyes, taking a pretzel himself. Salty, typical bar food.

Sherlock watched John, leaning against him as they picked at the pretzels. "It was worth it, don't you think? Did you see the way Drew looked at you? He appreciated it."

John had noticed. "I would have thought you would prefer if no one but yourself looked at me like that," he teased lightly, nudging Sherlock's shoulder with his own.

"I know Drew and Justin," Sherlock said with a shrug. "As provocative as they can be, especially together, they wouldn't touch you. More so, knowing you're mine."

John nodded and looked at Sherlock, opening his mouth but finding nothing to say, so he closed it again. They sat together in the dark and ate pretzels and drank. A comfortable silence enveloped them, accompanied by the low bass coming from upstairs.

The not-really-silence was broken by an erotic half-moan, half-sigh from Sherlock's pocket.

The Woman.

A/N: Clueless is a real gay bar, but not in London. It's somewhere in NY I think, we passed it on a road trip. But I just borrowed the name, I have no idea if it looks like this or about the people or anything, but felt the need to point out it really existed :)