The Vibe: EPILOGUE
Eight months later
It was a little after 9:00PM when weary feet plodded up the stairs to 221B. John’s shift at the A&E should have ended four hours earlier, but a multiple vehicle accident saw five of the victims end up at his hospital, and it was all hands on deck to get them assessed and stable.
There was no sign of Sherlock when he entered the lounge room, but he could hear the shower running and scent his body wash. John briefly thought about joining him, washing off the smell of hospital and exhaustion of the day, but his tummy rumbled with a force that Mrs Hudson must have been able to hear from her flat below.
Checking the fridge for leftover take away came up fruitless, Sherlock mustn’t have eaten yet, so he checked the freezer, mouth watering at the thought of digging into a bit of pie or lasagne. No sooner had he opened the freezer door than he slammed it closed. He took a deep breath and tried again. Yes, they were toes in that ziplocked bag on the top shelf.
“Sherlock!”
The man in question walked into the kitchen in mouth-wateringly tight black trousers and charcoal shirt yet to be buttoned all the way up. The ends of his hair were still slightly damp from his shower, and John wanted to throw him on the table and have his way with him.
Until he saw the toes again.
“Molly’s boyfriend gave them to me,” Sherlock explained. “From a corpse in the morgue whose feet had been severed.”
“Why?”
“For an experiment. For my book. I needed to know how long it would take before toes went black in freezing conditions.”
Right, Sherlock’s book. His previous book, the anthology of erotic short stories, had become a bit of a cult classic in the six months it had been out. To the point where his publisher had already bought the rights to his latest book; an actual novel this time. John had only been allowed to read the first few chapters thus far, but it was shaping up to be an erotic mystery thriller. It had led to John finding various ‘experiments’ around the apartment, because heaven help Sherlock trusting Google or Wikipedia for information.
“Why does it have to live amongst my food?”
“Where else can it live? They’re in a bag this time.”
John’s gaze was drawn down to where Sherlock was buttoning up the rest of his shirt, covering the expanse of milky white skin.
Hang on a sec, those were his going out clothes.
“Are you going out tonight?”
“We are, remember?”
John sighed. “Seriously?”
“You promised the other night. You said that you’d be happy to go out with me after your last hospital shift for this week, not sooner. That’s tonight.”
John vaguely recalled saying that. He only did three shifts a week at the A&E, job sharing with a fellow doctor he once shared an operating theatre with in Afghanistan, but they were long shifts and they were tiring.
“I’ve just come off a 15 hour stint.”
“I can go on my own, if you’d rather?”
Sherlock knew that John did not like him going out late at night on his own. Sherlock could look after himself well enough but he also liked to incite trouble. John thought that maybe, just this once, he’d let Sherlock loose. All he wanted was a nice hot bath, a strong whiskey, and a full night’s sleep.
“Where are you off to?”
“Golden Towers.”
John quirked an eyebrow. “The strip club?”
“It’s for my novel. It’s an integral part of the story and I need to observe the ins and outs.”
Of course it was for his novel. Everything was for his bloody novel.
“You’ve been to strip clubs before.” John had heard the stories.
“But never as a writer. Only as a single man looking for some fun.”
John’s eyes narrowed. He knew that Sherlock was playing him, and damn it, it was working. “I can be ready in twenty. Let me grab a shower.”
With a sparkle in his eyes, Sherlock leaned over and kissed him. “I do realise I’m not a single man anymore.”
“You better not forget that. Ever.”
Sherlock smirked. Making John jealous appeared to be one of his latest hobbies. “I still wouldn’t mind some fun, but I’m only looking for one person to provide it.”
“Get me some food ready and I’ll ensure that fun is what you get,” John told him, kissing him with an intensity that would leave his boyfriend in no doubt of where the fun would be had that night.
***
Golden Towers was one of the classier strip joints in town, if a strip joint could be classified as such. The carpet underfoot was a rich burgundy, the chairs and bench seats were black leather, and the bar running down the right side of the room was black marble. All patrons abided by a dress code, and it being the evening of their monthly boys night, the clientele were mostly male and mostly gay. In fact, if it weren’t for the stage and floor-to-ceiling poles up front, it would not be immediately obvious what type of establishment it was.
“Thank you.” John took the tumbler of whiskey from Sherlock’s hands, taking a sip and letting the smooth burn unfurl some of the tension from the day. He was still exhausted, but the atmosphere in the room had him perked up.
They were sitting up front, close to the stage, and while that was closer than John would have liked, it was obvious that it was exactly where Sherlock wanted to be. He sat next to John with a glass of red wine by his right hand, scribbling away in his notebook. John rested a hand on Sherlock’s thigh while they waited for the next act. He was there now, he may as well enjoy it.
It had been years since John had been to a strip club, and even then the dancers were decidedly female. He’d only been to the one male strip act, back when he was 20 and questioning his sexuality. His reaction frightened him so much that he ended up running from the venue and having a one night stand with Amelia from his anatomy class.
How life had changed. Twenty years down the track, John was a part-time doctor who co-managed a sex shop with his male lover of eight months. And he was about to watch another man take his kit off onstage.
Life wasn’t horrible.
The sound of a siren interrupted his reverie. John’s first instinct was that there was some form of bust; fight or flight instincts kicking in; but then he realised that the lights onstage had changed and there was a booming voice coming over the PA.
’Ladies and Gentlemen, he’s armed, he’s dangerous, he’s arresting! For one night only, our special guest, our favourite law enforcement officer - DI Lestrade!’
John’s mouth fell open and he looked across at Sherlock who had put his notebook away and was looking very smug.
“You knew about this?” John leaned across to ask him. “I’ve never been able to find out about his impromptu shows until after the fact!”
It was a well known fact that DI Lestrade got his start in the business as a pole dancer before being discovered by an adult movie producer. Every few years you would hear of him returning to his roots, but this was the first time John had ever seen him live and in the flesh.
His eyes were as wide as saucers as Lestrade sauntered onto the stage in a beige trench coat. As the music sped up to something with a faster beat, Lestrade took to the pole on the left side of the stage, spinning round once before flinging his coat off. Slowly, he ripped off his shirt and trousers, leaving him in nothing but a silk tie and g-string.
Lord, the man was fit. As he worked the stage and the poles you could see the great control he had, the flexing of very defined muscles. For all that porn usually did not translate as well to normal life, if anything, it had not done justice deserving of the detective inspector.
John thought it was probably bad manners to be drooling over another man while his boyfriend was seated next to him, but Sherlock did not appear to mind. Each time John threw a glance his way, Sherlock only smiled at him and turned back to the stage.
As the music was heading toward the crescendo, Lestrade suddenly leapt off stage and into the crowd. Hands reached out to touch flesh, but Lestrade turned his gaze to survey the crowd, and if John wasn’t mistaken, that gaze rested purely on him.
He stalked over and straddled John’s lap, and John could barely breathe for the feeling of every single homosexual fantasy coming true. His trousers, already a little tight at the proceedings, were well and truly now in danger of splitting. He cast a nervous look at Sherlock while the crowd cheered. Sherlock was still smiling, as if he thought nothing of his boyfriend getting a lap dance from another man. Lestrade climbed off him and turned around to face the stage, thrusting his arse against John’s crotch, which really, really didn’t need more attention.
John took a deep breath and threw his hand out for Sherlock to hold. Sherlock took it and held it, grounding him. Until he felt a warmth against his fingers. He looked across to see Sherlock licking them, back to Lestrade who was doing a great job of making a show of the lap dance, and back to Sherlock fellating his fingers.
Just when it was becoming too much, Lestrade turned around against, rubbed his chest against John’s, whispered “happy birthday” in his ear, and took off for the stage.
John looked at his watch to see it was 12:02AM on March 31. The week had been so busy he’d forgotten what day it was. But indeed, it was his birthday. And he now knew what the weird, bizarre and utterly amazing night was actually about.
John wished that the people who questioned their relationship could see this, see how thoughtful Sherlock was. John would be the first to admit that Sherlock could be difficult to be around, but John was aware that he was no picnic either, and really, their personalities complemented each other. They laughed, they fought, and they were stupidly in love with each other. Sherlock going to the trouble to bring a decades-old fantasy to life for John’s birthday only proved that.
He reached over and pulled Sherlock across to meet his lips. He kissed him hard and deep and with plenty of tongue. He wanted to devour him.
“How did you manage that?”
“Happy 40th,” is all Sherlock replied.
Within a minute, Lestrade’s act was over to the whoops and cheers of the appreciative crowd. John tugged Sherlock out of his chair and led him down a hallway, following the signage to the bathrooms.
***
Although John had yet to complain (much) about his skills as a boyfriend, Sherlock wasn’t convinced that he was quite up to par when it came to occasions of note. After all, he’d never had someone to share them with before. Christmas went by without a hitch, and John had dismissed any plans for Valentine’s Day as ‘complete rubbish’, but Sherlock was aware that John’s birthday, and his 40th birthday at that, was a milestone that not only should Sherlock do something special for, but he found himself wanting to.
The pressure was on even more so after John had so successfully organised his birthday a few months earlier. John had managed to organise for Sherlock to spend a day riding along with a division of Scotland Yard. Not only was it fascinating, it helped Sherlock with the plot of his novel, and had the added bonus of him actually assisting. Thanks to his observations, a would-be serial killer was caught with no more casualties than the one they were called to. He’d since been invited back three times and was yet to turn down an opportunity.
Thank goodness for The Woman and her contacts in the industry. The object of so many of John’s fantasies (and obvious inspiration for some of his moves in the bedroom) was planning on making a public appearance that year, and Sherlock was able to convince the pretend Detective Inspector to make it happen at a particular venue on a particular day.
It was all worth it, even the debt he now owed to The Woman, because Sherlock’s surprise had worked. John led him to the men’s room with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and a noticeable bulge in his trousers. Sherlock couldn’t wait to push him against the wall, drop to his knees, and taste the reward of his efforts.
But apparently the birthday boy had other ideas.
Sherlock found himself pulled into a stall and shoved against the wall, John attacking his neck and palming his crotch, which didn’t need much encouragement. Goose-pimples rose upon his flesh as his boyfriend sucked at a particularly sensitive spot and he couldn’t stop the groan falling from his lips.
“You are brilliant,” John said before finding Sherlock’s lips with his own, picking up the kiss from where he left off out in the main room. “I don’t know how you managed it, but you are incredible.”
“Needed to get you something special for your 40th birthday,” Sherlock said as he watched John drop to his knees.
“I’ve got my special gift right here,” he said, unzipping Sherlock’s flies and pulling his erection out. “Wanted to wait until we got home. Wanted to tie you up with your favourite scarves and ride you. But I can’t wait. I need to have you now, or else our cab driver would likely get a show.”
Sherlock groaned as John swallowed him down, and God, why had Sherlock resisted this for so long? He’d always known that John was different to anyone else he’d ever wanted, but he didn’t realise that part of that difference would be wanting him again, and again, and again.
John was a creative and generous lover, and there was a marked advantage to sleeping with someone who knew you so well. Knew what you liked and what you didn’t. Knew where your most sensitive zones were. Knew by the way your eyebrow quirked that you wanted to be on top, or on bottom by the curl of your smile. John was an endless treasure trove to him, and he knew deep down that all of his initial fears of being bored after their first night together were unfounded.
Sherlock Holmes was never, ever going to tire of being the other half of John Watson.
As John continued to work him, Sherlock grabbed fistfuls of his hair. Not trying to guide him, just wanting to keep that connection, to feel him under his fingertips as he oh-so-expertly sucked him down.
“John,” he warned as he was getting close. As much as he didn’t want it to end, he’d been aroused since John first looked at him with wide eyes when Lestrade had graced the stage.
He glanced down to see John looking up at him through his lashes, cheeks pink, and right shoulder moving, obviously jerking himself off. Seeing that image only made the urge to come rise to the surface even stronger.
“Fuck!” he said as he came down John’s throat, legs shaking with the force.
John stood, cleaned himself up with some tissue, and leaned back into him to give him a toe-curlingly good kiss.
“I fucking love you,” John told him and Sherlock felt a warmth spread through his chest like it did whenever he said those words with such feeling.
Sherlock had spent much of his life not believing in love, not believing that emotion was worth the pay off. But John had taught him that none of that was true, that it was worth it when those emotions were brought out by the right person.
He grabbed John around the waist and pulled him closer. “I love you, too, old man.”
He felt the puff of John’s laugh against his ear. It made him smile in return. Mycroft often accused him of being a sap of late. Sherlock was discovering it increasingly more difficult to find it within himself to care.
“Come on then, time to take this old man home to bed.”
And when they made it to bed, John didn’t fall straight to sleep like he usually did after three days straight at the hospital. Instead, Sherlock found himself naked, blindfolded and bound, needing to use his senses to anticipate John’s movements. It was thrilling, sensual, carnal, and the fact that John indulged him only made him love the man more.
“Forever,” John said after, when they were sticky and sated and drifting off to sleep. Sherlock was spooning him, arm wrapped around his waist, and John had snuggled back so they were flush back-to-chest. “We should do that forever.”
Sherlock dropped a kiss against John’s scarred shoulder and nuzzled his neck.
“Forever sounds like a brilliant plan.”
“Knew you’d have to like one of my plans eventually.”
Sherlock chuckled and held John tighter, listening to his breathing even out as he fell to sleep.
Once upon a time, the thought of the same routine with the same person day in day out would have been enough for Sherlock to put a bullet in his brain. Now, the thought of not having John to hold onto each night and wake up with each morning was intolerable.
Forever. Yes.
Sherlock drifted off with a smile on his face. With John by his side, dull would be the last thing forever would become.
THE END