Exploring Sexuality

A/N: Hey all; I had inspiration AND time to write this week! Yay!

Also, I've decided I have a soft spot for emotional Sherlock oops

Ch. 26

When they got home, it was a little after four and John helped Liz get everything situated, making a mess before anything locked neat due to the clothes they had moved into John's old room when he moved into Sherlock's. But after much reorganizing and laughing and reorganizing again, they managed to work it out. Then Liz told John she was sure he and Sherlock had to talk, so she would stay up there and draw and let them be for a while, and John smiled at her and let her be in return.

Coming back downstairs, he found Sherlock laying on the couch, thinking. He warranted this conversation would call for tea, so he made a cup for each of them before joining Sherlock, who had sat up when he heard the kettle so that John could sit next to him. "Do you want to pick what we talk about first, or should I?" John asked.

"You."

John paused. "Is it worth asking about today and the case, or should I just not?"

"Eric is cutting with steroids, which in and of itself is a mystery, but he seems to have a lot of money, which he doesn't necessarily pass down the business. Tom's been selling for years and now has a fractured knee, but he did at least seem to know a lot about Eric. And me. But Eric first." Here his voice switched into the one he used when deducing or listing facts off for show, and John smiled just a little bit. "Eric travels a lot, and never meets in the same place more than once. Tom's spoken to him twice. He's excellently informed, and seemingly only interested in making money, which makes me again wonder why he's cutting with steroids, but I haven't figured that one out yet. He has an accent, Spanish Tom thinks, and isn't connected to any other illegal activities that he knows of besides dealing. He's persuasive and strong willed, but Tom insists there's something off about him."

"That seems like an awful lot of information for him to just give you," John murmured thoughtfully when Sherlock finished, sipping his tea.

"He didn't; that's why," Sherlock said evenly, his voice hard but quieter than it was a minute ago.

John took a breath and let it out slowly. "You can tell me," he assured.

Sherlock looked up at John, his expression very serious, but at the same time very vulnerable. "Why does everyone assume you top or have a military or power kink?"

John took half a second to be relieved he wasn't drinking his tea at that moment. Then he took a couple more to consider the question. "Well, I can see the topping aspect because of how they know you. And didn't you say I was the first person you've topped anyway?" he asked, looking back at Sherlock, who nodded, but didn't say anything. "The rest of it, I don't know," he admitted, his voice a bit softer. "Maybe they don't really think it, but say it to gauge your reaction, or mine, to see if it will get to you." He paused, and Sherlock leaned up against him, still silent. "Why does it bother you so much?" he asked hesitantly.

"Because I don't want that!" Sherlock snapped, but he couldn't hold the sharp tone and his voice faltered when he continued. "I can't… I need the control, and thinking about giving it all up to anyone, even you, and I know you would never hurt me, I do, but I can't do it. It bothers me, and I don't want to feel helpless like that again." He stupidly felt tears burn his eyes, but refused to cry.

John put his mug down on the table, then took Sherlock's and did the same before pulling the other man close to his chest, which Sherlock had no qualms with. He didn't say anything for a long time, but when he did, his voice was tight. "When did you start paying for drugs with your body?"

Sherlock didn't want to answer that, he really didn't, scared of what John would think of him still. "A month and a half after I started using," he mumbled anyway. "Mycroft cut me off."

"Christ," John murmured, holding Sherlock even closer. He took another deep breath. "Okay, Sherlock? Listen to me. I never want to make you feel that way, alright? I want you to be comfortable with me, and we're only ever going to do things that we're both okay with. And if you never want to even consider a dynamic like that, then neither do I. And that's okay. It's all fine. And some people are always going to think differently, but it's none of their damn business, so that doesn't really matter. Okay?"

Sherlock nodded, not looking up at John.

"Talk to me, love."

"Okay." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Yeah, okay. Thank you. That was… Yeah, that was Good."

"You don't have to thank me," John said, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's curls. "Was that all that upset you today?"

Sherlock hesitated. "There was more, but it's okay now. You helped. I don't need to talk about it anymore."

"Alright." John nodded, still holding Sherlock close, marveling at this side of him, still amazed that someone so put together all the time can break just as easily. "Do you want to talk about Liz now?" he asked softly.

"Do you think it's in her best interest for us to keep her?"

John paused; that was a bigger first leap than he had been expecting. "Do you want to?" he countered.

"If she wants," Sherlock replied almost before John had gotten the words out. "If you want to."

"Then yes," John answered. "Following those conditions, I do think it would be in her best interest."

"Do you want to?" Sherlock asked quietly, hesitantly.

"Do I want to raise this wonderful teenage girl who's been through so much with the man I love?" John asked rhetorically in response. "Yeah, I think I do."

"We can home school her," Sherlock replied, his voice growing more confident again, more excited. He'd clearly thought about this a lot already. "At least until she's caught up to where she's supposed to be. I think we can manage it, don't you?"

"Between the two of us? I think so," John chuckled, smiling. Sherlock's mood was infective. "We'll still have to talk to her, obviously, see what she wants to do."

"Of course," Sherlock nodded.

John paused, thinking about what Sherlock had said this morning. "She might have to see an actual therapist, you know. I don't think I'm that qualified."

"I know; that's okay. Something else to talk to her about."

John nodded, and they both jumped a little when the doorbell rang a couple minutes later.

"That'll be Mycroft's men with the chair," Sherlock mumbled, not moving from his seat atop of John.

"Let me answer it, then," John chuckled a bit, pushing Sherlock playfully, who sighed.

Mrs. Hudson was there first, though, and John met her in the hall. "Oh, John dear, they say this chair is for you two?" she asked.

"Yep; we're housing a third at the moment," he explained, feeling Sherlock walk up behind him.

"Are you really? And who might that be? Not that woman again, is it?" she asked chastisingly as she eyed the chair and the two men carrying it past them into the kitchen.

"No, no, not Irene," John assured with an amused chuckle. "Her name is Liz. She's in a bit of a tough spot right now."

"Alright. I know you boys'll take care of her. Still, feel free to holler if you need anything. I'm just down the way."

"Of course, Mrs. Hudson. Thanks so much."

"Anytime, dear. You three take care, then."

"You too," John bid her farewell with a smile, nodding his head as Anthea walked in the flat too, holding a small file folder out to Sherlock without looking up from her phone.

"From Mr. Holmes," she explained.

"Tell Mr. Holmes that I don't want it," Sherlock snapped a bit more rudely than was strictly necessary.

"He says you will."

"I suppose he says I'll want another hit then, too, because he's just oh so smart?"

"Would he be wrong?" Anthea countered, raising an eyebrow without looking up. She didn't say it cruelly, just matter-of-factly, but John still felt Sherlock tense beside him in admission.

Sherlock scowled and snatched the folder out of her still out stretched hand, flipping it open quickly, then almost immediately closing it again. "Oh," he deadpanned, a faint blush rising slowly to his cheeks.

Anthea just smiled, typing with ease now that she again had two free hands.

"What is it?" Liz asked curiously, sketch book in hand and pencil behind her ear as she leaned against the wall.

"Nothing," Sherlock replied quickly, walking into the living room and putting it on the desk almost defiantly.

Liz raised her eyebrows at John, and he shrugged. "Liz, Anthea; Anthea, Liz," he did the introductions, looking over at Sherlock curiously.

"Hello," Liz said with a small smile.

"Hi," Anthea responded, an amused smile on her face as she put her mobile in her pocket.

"You work for Mycroft?" Liz asked curiously.

"Mhmn," Anthea nodded, looking to the two men as they returned from the kitchen. "And I must be going. Enjoy your chair." And with that, they all left, leaving Liz a little dumbfounded.

"Don't take it personally," John said with a reassuring smile. "She does that a lot; not very talkative."

"Oh, okay," Liz said lamely.

John chuckled a bit and felt Sherlock wrap his arms around his waist, chin on John's good shoulder. "Do you want supper?" he asked. "Sherlock's going to cook."

"Ugh," Sherlock complained at the same time that Liz agreed with a bright smile and a nod. "Why am I cooking, and since when?"

"Since you haven't eaten anything all day and you can," John replied, turning and kissing his cheek. "Plus, Liz and I bought a bunch of food this morning, so if you want, you can pick what we have."

"How generous of you," Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.

Liz giggled, smiling still. "Thank you," she said in advance. "And thanks again for the sketch book. It's been a while, but so far I'm not awful."

"Don't mention it," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, though he had a pleased little smile on his face as he kissed John's cheek. "Do you like pasta?"

"I do."

"Good, because that's what I'm making."

Liz and John shared an amused grin, and they all sort of migrated into the kitchen together.

"And while I'm cooking, we can all talk."