refill Sherlock's Rx refill Sherlock's Rx
Sherlock, stop crossing it off, you need it
refill Sherlock's Rx
dairy milk bars
John woke up (abruptly, completely) to Sherlock turning on the light in his bedroom. No light filtering through the muslin curtains. Still night. "No," John said, turning over and pulling the blanket over his head. "It can wait." His ribs still ached. He needed some rest, and Sherlock did too.
"I came to a conclusion," Sherlock said. He sat on the side of the bed. John felt his weight pin the blanket to his hip, then a second, small weight by his shoulder. Sherlock's hand.
"Mm," John said.
"Sex is clearly necessary for you, though I don't know why."
"So I can--do that. I can perform that office for you."
"So--yes?" Sherlock touched his hip through the covers. Warm. Tentative. Wrong.
John yanked the blanket down from his face. "Absolutely not. Rather wank myself to death."
"Oh." Sherlock sounded miffed. "I have watched pornography. I'm reasonably certain I can master those skills," he said as he slid into bed and embraced John through the blanket from behind.
"Bitchy, unenthusiastic fucking. My lucky day. Go to bed, Sherlock."
Sherlock sighed into his hair. He hugged John's shoulder and threw a leg over his. He still had his shoes on, the inconsiderate arse.
"Sherlock," John repeated.
"You're very comfortable."
"I like touching you."
John gave up. "Fine. Shoes off, lights out, hands outside the blankets, and shut the HELL up until at least eight AM."
"Agreed," Sherlock said, and got out of bed to turn the light out.
"And stop hiding your iron supplements. You need them."
"They're horrible and pointless," Sherlock said. He nestled around John, shoes off.
"You're injured. You sleep half the day. You need them. Take them properly or I'll make you take them."
"You can't possibly make me," Sherlock said into John's hair.
"I know how to force feed a person, Sherlock."
"Mm. Are you threatening me with violence?"
"For your own good."
"How considerate," Sherlock said, already fading into sleep. John covered Sherlock's hand with his and pulled him a little further into his warmth.
To do (Sherlock):
Biological waste disposal
Shelve your damn books yourself or I'll do it and you won't like it
To do (John):
They wound up in a sex shop ("Behind Closed Doors: Shop For Your Secrets") because of a case, but then Sherlock started browsing for real. "Now is not the time to hit puberty," John said.
Sherlock smiled. "This is nice," he said, drawing the soft rubber flogger across his inner arm, over and over.
"If you get a hard-on we're going to get kicked out," John warned him.
"I'm not." But he continued brushing the strands of rubber over his arm. John took it out of his hand and dropped it into the shopping basket.
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir, that's our floor model," the attendant said. She walked over and pulled a cardboard box from the shelf. "Here you are."
"No, the colour isn't as nice," Sherlock said. "I like the navy."
"Sorry," John said, trading boxes.
"Not at all. Can't have the wrong colour. Can I help you find anything else?"
"Actually, we came in here to look at glass dildos. My friend just got distracted." Sherlock, proving John's point, was now staring at the wall of leather. Cheap plastic and rubber on the shelves, proper leather whips on the wall, splayed out in blatant invitation.
She smiled. Tai, said her name tag. Probably not her real name. She had a pointed, foxy face, more striking than pretty, heavy eye makeup, and red-pink hair as bright as a traffic cone. "That happens," she said. "This way. We keep them in a case to avoid breakage."
They left Sherlock fingering a suede leather whip. "Are you together?" Tai asked.
John was pleasantly shocked. "You're the first person to actually ask. Everyone else just assumes. No, we're not."
"You get a pretty good idea of who's a couple and who's not in this job. If you were together, he'd have tried that flogger on you," she said. "So he's shopping for himself, and you're not involved. Right?"
"Well deduced. We're flatmates. I'm actually straight."
"But not narrow," Tai grinned.
John grinned back. "How about those dildos?"
They came in Pyrex, as it turned out, in a dazzling array of colors and shapes. "We can special order navy blue," Tai said, winking.
"Actually, we're trying to match something specific... Sherlock!" John yelled.
"Oh for--" John marched back over. "I'm doing your job. When do I get paid?" He fished the plastic-bagged chunk of glass out of Sherlock's pocket as Sherlock stared, transfixed, at a wire-wrapped cat o' nine tails. For decoration only, the label said. It looked vicious.
He returned to the case of dildos. "I thought this might match," he told Tai. It was a cylindrical chunk of glass in an iridescent pink. "Seemed plausible. We think the victim was hit over the head with the rest of this."
"You're police?" Tai looked from John to Sherlock.
"Private firm. The victim's lover wanted a second opinion." And found them via John's blog; take that, Sherlock.
"Wow. Yeah, that could be. Do you have the diameter?"
"Two centimeters exactly on one end, two point one three on the other."
"Sounds plausible. Let me check the catalog for the colour," Tai said.
"Fantastic," John said. "Thank you." He examined the display with an eye for comparison.
Sherlock leaned over his shoulder, hip against his hip. "Finished beating yourself up?" John asked.
"Is that meant to be a pun? Yes, you're clearly right about the dildo," Sherlock said. "I thought they would be more like drinking glasses. Wouldn't a man use a smaller size, though?"
John shook his head and picked up The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Men from a stand by the display. It looked like precisely what Sherlock needed.
Sherlock looked at the shopping basket doubtfully. "For your reference library," John said. Sherlock gave him a raised eyebrow, but didn't remove the book.
"Our new friend Tai is entirely non-judgmental," John said, loudly enough that she could hear.
"We're in favor of any kind of sex you want to have, loves; we just draw the line at animals and children, though we do have blow-up sheep," Tai said.
"Ah. Comedy," Sherlock muttered.
"No sheep for me, thanks. Women suit me fine." John grinned at her.
Tai smiled and nodded them back over to the counter. "I think I found a match. I looked for pink, and here." She turned the monitor around. It showed a knobbly, wavy, pink glass dildo with a loop on the end for ease of use. "We have one in back. I'll get it."
"And the wire-wrapped cat, please," Sherlock said. Tai nodded and disappeared into the curtained back room.
John looked at Sherlock. "What?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing. It's good that you know what you want."
"Yes, thank you, I do."
"Here we are," Tai said, returning with the boxed dildo and the coiled whip. "This can draw blood, so be careful."
"Clearly," Sherlock said. He put down his card and paid for the whole order.
"Let me know how it turns out. I've never been part of a murder investigation before," Tai said to John.
"Oh, well." John scribbled his number on the back of the store's business card. "Any time. This one keeps me up all hours."
"See, that's why people think you're a couple," Tai said, grinning.
"John! Clock is ticking!" Sherlock shouted.
They went to the supermarket yet and bought coconuts, which they then hit with the dildo to prove it was a viable murder weapon. It was bloody good fun.
And Tai called, that very night, after her shift.
John made a lunch date with Tai and carefully told Sherlock nothing about it, not even that she had called. That night he dreamed that the coconut broke open and bright blood with clumps of brain slid out. He picked it up in his hands--it smelled of fresh, green, oily nut--but it was too late, the light had gone out of the coconut's three hairy eyes.
It woke John up instantly when Sherlock touched the bed around two. "Morning," John said.
"Sexual jealousy," Sherlock said. He slid under the covers.
"Yes, that's definitely what you have." John noted that Sherlock was obeying the rules, though, insofar as he had his shoes off and his hands above the covers. Unfortunately, there wasn't a force on Earth that would make Sherlock shut up.
"No, that's what I don't have. I would understand it much more easily if I did." Sherlock drew John closer, burrowing his nose into John's hair, his arm snugly into the dips of John's torso, his knee over John's knee.
"You have jealousy down pat. Wanting every inch of someone, needing all their time, not able to let them have another moment with another person? You ran Sarah off like a thief."
Sherlock's arm tightened. Sherlock didn't have to say it again: She was a thief, stealing John away--except, of course, that John wasn't a possession, and he'd gone to her on his own two feet, and he didn't need to say that either; they had the whole argument in one touch and the responding breath.
"Sexual jealousy inspires half of all crimes, easily. I can see it, but not feel it. I'm trying to decide..."
"Sherlock. Shut up."
Sherlock huffed through his nose. Amazingly, though, he did shut up, and merely stroked John's arm through the blanket. It was nice.
John left his phone and sneaked away while Sherlock was in the bath, but Sherlock had noticed his absence and tracked them down by the time John paid the bill. He was glowering outside in a taxi. "It was lovely, but--" He shrugged. "My master calls. I'll ring later, yeah?"
But Tai raised her eyebrows and stepped closer, hitching her enormous handbag up higher on her shoulder. "Well, what are you doing? Do you need help?"
"I don't know." John opened the car door. "Sherlock, what are we up to?"
Sherlock lurched over and grabbed John's wrist. "I need your brain! Come on!"
"Can I bring Tai or is it dangerous?" John clarified.
"Oh, Christ! Bring a brass band if you want." Sherlock let go. Safe, then. Sherlock would have said "dangerous" with relish if there was any peril to be had.
"How mad do you like your afternoons?" John asked Tai.
"Pretty mad," she said.
"Then let's go."
John sat in the middle. Annoyance rose off Sherlock like steam from a boiling pot. "So the dildo was the murder weapon," John told her.
"What?" the cabbie said, turning half around.
"Oh, sorry, movie plot," John said. "The things they think of in Hollywood, eh?"
"Right," the cabbie said.
John mimed zipping his lips shut to Tai. She grinned.
Once they reached Baker Street, Sherlock paid; John resumed. "The dildo was the murder weapon. We killed a few coconuts with it for proof."
"As you do," Tai said.
"So the issue now is means. How did the ex get into the house? I left Sherlock making a model."
"Eyes, I need eyes," Sherlock said.
"Well, now you have four! Funny how it works out."
Tai blinked a bit at the flat. Mess of books and papers, pink glass dildo sitting in in pride of place on the desk, lingering smell of coconuts. Well, if he was going to start bring embarrassed by the place he would never bring a woman home again.
The kitchen had been turned into a model. Sherlock had been at it all day, shoving the fridge and stove and tables around so it matched the layout of the murder flat. (They weren't allowed into the murder scene. Sherlock had pissed off the landlord before they even made it past the door.)
"You be the victim," Sherlock told John, picking up the dildo.
By dark, Sherlock had settled onto the sofa, staring out the window and muttering to himself. John sat on the stairs that led to the bedrooms, snogging Tai. "Bedroom up there?" she asked.
"I would love to see your bedroom ceiling," she said.
"Oh, by all means." John hauled himself to his feet, mindful of the massive erection behind his zipper. Ow.
"John!" Sherlock barked.
"I need you here."
"Okay." John waited for a moment. "For anything in particular?"
"I need you here, not upstairs."
Tai shrugged and sat down. John sighed and followed suit. "Honestly, this is fine by me," she said.
"Sorry." One more promising date ruined by the cockblocking power of Sherlock.
"No, I mean..." Tai slid her hand up his thigh. "I have a bit of an exhibitionist kink," she said with a sly smile. "If your friend wants to watch, that suits me very well."
John experienced a moment of vertigo as his mind spun 180 degrees. "Oh," he said.
"If you do."
"God yes," John said, though he had never considered it until that moment, had never done this, but his body said yes, yes, YES.
She grinned and pulled his thighs open. If he looked over--and he did--he could see Sherlock's dark head on the sofa. He had no idea if Sherlock was listening or if he was in a little world of his own.
Tai opened his trousers. "Bigger than I thought!" she said with delight. She fished a condom out of her handbag--striped, which made his cock look like a stick of Blackpool rock--slid it on and gave him a few good strokes with her hand that had him grasping the banister.
"Don't fall down the stairs," she said.
"Oh no, I'm just fine." John braced his foot on the floor and she dipped her head and fucking hell that was good. Of course she couldn't get his cockhead in her mouth, she had a small mouth, but her tongue was damn near prehensile. He thumped his head back against the wall.
"You sound like you're in pain," Sherlock observed.
John took a deep breath. He was sure his cock jumped against Tai's tongue. Didn't look at Sherlock. Felt the thick wallpaper under his fingertips, felt Tai's palm pressed into his thigh.
"All those instruments in the shop also caused pain; I understand the pathways are similar," Sherlock said.
John didn't look at him, he looked at Tai; she straightened up, wiping her mouth with one hand and still stroking him with the other. She smiled and slid closer, leaned over and kissed him, stroking his cock between them.
Licorice. The condom was flavoured as well. First class. Tai put her whole body into stroking him; bouncing tits against his chest, always welcome. Tongue kisses. Enthusiasm. She juggled his balls and that finished him. Too long chaste, too excited, no stamina, but no matter, he'd make it up to her.
John slid across the stair. "Requests?" he said, breathless.
"Love your hands," she said.
She wriggled her knickers out from under her skirt and used them to wrap up the used condom.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked. John glanced over, saw Sherlock leaning halfway over the sofa, glanced back immediately.
"Fucking," Tai said.
"How can you just do that?" Sherlock asked.
"Your friend is just that fit," Tai said. John grinned and kissed her.
His hands felt gritty. "Sorry, I should wash my hands," John said.
"Not going anywhere," Tai said. John levered himself up--his hands had been all over the dusty floor; maybe he should borrow some of Sherlock's latex gloves--and tugged his trousers up as he half-ran to the kitchen sink. He did grab a pair of Sherlock's gloves after washing his hands and held them up, raising his eyebrows to Tai on the way back.
"Prepared!" Tai said. John snapped them on and stroked Tai's thighs.
Tai took her shirt off. "Oh, hello, ladies," he said to her cleavage. He kissed the slope of her breast. She reached out and pulled on his shirt; John slipped out of it and tossed it on the floor. Tai's gaze slipped over the ugly scar on his shoulder, but she didn't say anything.
He knelt between her legs and slipped two fingers past her thighs and into her warm, friendly cunt.
She gasped. "Bold move, two fingers!"
"Feeling cheeky," he said. He kissed her, moving his hand slowly. He learned her anatomy with the tips of his fingers. She had a nice big clit, no mystery here. He could feel the roots right up inside her. He curled his fingers a little and gave it a rub.
"Mm," she said. "You know what you're doing."
"I like watching ladies come," he said, and she shivered and kissed him, and he moved his hand a little faster.
"Are you looking at me or him?" Tai said over John's shoulder.
"John," Sherlock replied. God, that sent lightning through his balls.
"Make him look at me," Tai said to John.
"All right." John started with a third finger and a thumb on her clit, which made her arch and yell in a very good way. Tai clung to his shoulders and rolled her hips against his hand. With his free hand, he unhooked her bra.
Tai laughed breathily. "You're going to be disappointed..." But she helped him slip it off, one strap at a time, and it was strangely heavy--ha! because the cups were full of silicone inserts. Her real breasts were tiny.
"I thought so!" Sherlock exclaimed. He was closer than the sofa. John still didn't look. He was busy.
"Disappointed? Never," John said. He mouthed her chest, from nipple to nipple, each breast no more than a delicious mouthful, then licked the same path with broad strokes of his tongue. He twisted his hand in her cunt as she rocked and bounced against him. His wrist hurt. Worth it.
"Slow down, slow down, I don't want to come yet," Tai said. She leaned back against the steps and caught her breath. John stopped rubbing her clit and just rested, twisting his hand gently. "Okay. Okay." She beamed over his shoulder.
John looked. Sherlock was crouching in the doorway like Gollum, knees bent to either side, hands in front of his curled, naked toes, watching them with all his enormous attention. John swallowed and the world seemed to snap into higher colour.
The woman in front of him, soft muscle around his hand, heavy smell, slight curves leading up to her sharp face and bright, engaged eyes. A real person, with a real life, unlike Sherlock. "I have to say I'm enjoying the fuck out of this," Tai said. She sat up again and held onto John's shoulders. "Okay, go, go!"
John slipped in his fourth finger so he didn't break it on her pelvic bone and she let out a hoarse, growling noise. Now his hand slipped in to the base of his thumb and he could feel her muscles squeezing his bones. She narrowed her eyes and clamped down on his hand, hard, so it would hurt if it weren't so brilliant, and then she let go with a gasp and back-arching shimmy. She was still wearing her skirt, though it was curled up and twisted around itself at the waistband. John's jeans were slipping down his arse again, though his boxers were staying.
Tai hauled herself higher, shoving her nipple in his mouth, and who was he to argue? "Getting there! Almost," she said, and she was shoving herself up against him, rubbing her body on his chest. He bit softly and she cried out in a way that seemed good. Then she reached down and rubbed her clit hard, much harder than he would have ventured, and came, her thighs shaking, groaning in his ear, and squirting down his arm.
Which he'd never felt before, not like that. "Stop moving, stop," she said, and he did. Tai let go and flopped back against the stairs. "I mean," she said, grinning broadly, "you can just hang out in there as long as you like, because you feel great. Oh, my god." Her muscles pulsed around him. Her clit was rock hard against his palm.
"Oh, I'm very comfortable. Bit wet, though."
Tai cracked up. She seemed entirely unselfconscious, sprawled before him. Her soft stomach folded above the roll of her skirt. The berry red of her nipples matched her smiling mouth.
"What the hell just happened?" Sherlock demanded.
"Actually, cramp. Sorry, got to--" John worked his hand out, rubbing his wrist. Bloody damn nerve damage in his left arm. Tai hummed a cheery tune, wiggling her knee in the air. His arm was dripping and there was an enormous wet spot on his thigh.
Sherlock touched him. His cold finger sent a shiver across John's naked back. "What did she--what is that?"
"If you've been very good, and gave money to charity, and rescue stray puppies, and live a good life," John started, as Sherlock scowled and Tai giggled, "then sometimes, just sometimes, a lady comes all over you." He licked his arm. Salty. Womanly.
"Why didn't I know this?"
John shrugged. "Because you've never had sex with a woman?"
"Well, I've done my research," Sherlock said.
Tai thumbed her nipple, looking at Sherlock. "Squirting videos are available at the shop."
"Squirting," Sherlock repeated. Must have been the first time he heard the term. John grinned at Tai.
"John," Tai said, hooking his knee with her boot. "Can you get it up again?"
"No, not a chance. I'm nearly forty. Lucky I can do one a night." John shrugged; he'd had a bloody good time.
Tai's eyes slid to Sherlock. Sherlock jumped to his feet, caromed off the door frame, and retreated all the way to the sitting room window. "You've completely ruined my concentration!" Sherlock yelled.
John sat on the floor, his knees tired as anything, and glanced at the kitchen model. "Maybe the victim was washing up after fucking his ex? That would explain everything: The angle, the lack of dishes, the lack of forced entry. Maybe he was washing the dildo."
"Easy soap and water cleanup is a selling point," Tai said. She sat up and hugged John from behind. "Shower?" She drew a finger up his sticky arm.
Sherlock looked horrified, then thoughtful, then furious. "If you give me a hand," John said. "I think my legs stopped working."