Re: Stolen Moments pt 24/?velvet_maceJanuary 8 2011, 21:58:20 UTC
"I understand your fear of rejection, especially given your history with these things. Lord knows it was difficult being young and gay and socially awkward in the nineties. But you aren't 19 anymore. Times have changed. If you want to try having a sexual relationship again, far be it from me to stand in your way. But this can't continue."
"Get out," said Sherlock. Low and deadly.
Mycroft continued. Implacable. Unstoppable. "As you can see from John's behavior, there are consequences. Can't you see him attempting to run away from you to protect himself? He doesn't even know why he's doing it."
"Get out," said Sherlock repeated. Because either Mycroft was going to leave in the next few seconds or Sherlock was going to shut him up by shoving that umbrella down his throat. "Get out. You've said what you've needed, get out."
Mycroft nodded. "So I have." He stood up and walked to the door. "Oh, and Sherlock, I won't tell him. You're secret is safe with me. I do wish to see this resolved in a happy manner."
Unable to push Mycroft out the door fast enough, Sherlock turned and stalked to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, unsure if the fury that burned him was for his brother or himself.
The case helped. It filled up all the corners of his life where John could have been. It soothed the raw spots with the pure cleansing Puritanism of intellect. For four days, he hardly thought at all about his sexual experiments. True it was a bit annoying having his libido rear up in the night, but he'd expected that to happen. After all, he'd all but trained his body to expect sex. But abstinence wasn't anymore difficult for sex than it was for food. And honestly, the amount of sex he'd been indulging in had been a fluke to start off with.
Without John distracting him, his mind felt as sharp as ever. The clues, the mysteries, the little details. Yes, now he remembered why he'd married his work! Nothing could compete with this, and how ridiculous of Sherlock to have gotten so sidetracked. If he hadn't been so bored….
The Belgian was dead, of course, his body wrapped in burlap, weighted with chain and dropped into a canal near his office. Mycroft accept that with a dismissive nod. The real question wasn't so much how and where, but why and who. Those questions took longer, but eventually Sherlock sniffed out the rat: a counteragent for the Ukraine and a competitor for a particular bit of juicy encryption technology. It was far too political for Sherlock to care about, so he simply phoned the information back to Mycroft and let him handle it from there.
Re: Stolen Moments pt 25/?velvet_maceJanuary 8 2011, 21:59:37 UTC
When he arrived back at the flat, all seemed to have returned to normal with John. They had a decent conversation, went to dinner together to celebrate Sherlock's secret mission. But as the dinner progressed through the awkward everything-but-the-case discussion of Brussels, Sherlock began to detect a little discomfort in John's behavior. Lack of customary eye contact for one. A little blush that crept in when Sherlock reached out his hand to pat John's sleeve.
It was time for that conversation.
"You are uncomfortable around me, John," said Sherlock. "Why."
"Don't ask," was John's response.
"I have to, because you are important to me. Is there something wrong? Have I done something?" Does he remember?
"It has nothing to do with you Sherlock," said John and met his eye. Sherlock detected that it was only a partial lie. Galling. He far preferred it be fully one or the other.
"Does it have something to do with our accidental kiss two weeks ago?"
"Don't say that so loud!" hissed John, he looked about the restaurant as if anyone in the other tables cared about love life.
"It does have to do it!" said Sherlock. "But I thought we'd squared that away, John. I'm fine with it. I liked it. I wouldn't mind doing it again."
John did a double take. "You what?"
"Or not, if you'd prefer. I know you are heterosexual -"
"You what?" repeated John.
"I liked the kiss," said Sherlock. "I am gay you know. Is that your fear? That I'm going to hit on you, or molest you in your sleep -" it was as close to a confession as he could make it. Here is where, if Mycroft were right, John would reveal that the experiments had subconsciously bled through.
But John shook his head. "No, of course not," said John. "I know you'd never do that. I'm not a bigot."
Sherlock pressed his eyes closed for just a second before donning a poker face. "You're afraid that kiss lead me on?"
"No, I--"
"Some kind of affront to your sexual identification -?"
"Shut up, Sherlock and let me say something."
Sherlock snapped his mouth closed. This was maddening. Was Mycroft right or was it coincidence that caused John's behavior? He had to know. He hoped Mycroft was wrong, that he hadn't driven John away. Why couldn't he just spit it out, whatever it was?
But John didn't speak right away. Impatience pressed on Sherlock to speak up again, but he bit his tongue while John took his sweet time ruffling his hair and pulling his jumper. He was blushing furiously.
"Well?" Sherlock said before he could stop himself.
"I didn't know you were gay," John said softly. "And now that I do. I'm not sure what to think. I'm thrown."
"You didn't know I was gay?" said Sherlock. "How could you not? I hardly keep it a secret. The clothes. The utter lack of interest in women? Certainly you didn't think I was straight."
"Yes, I noticed you didn't seem interested in women, but you didn't seem interested in men, either. No data does not automatically mean 'gay' to me. You could just not be interested. At all."
"Ah. Well, now we've cleared that up," said Sherlock. "Is this a problem?"
John blinked. Then shook his head. "You being gay? No. Definitely no."
"You were afraid you'd foisted yourself on me," said Sherlock suddenly realizing. "Was that it? Two weeks of the silent treatment because you were worried that I was weirded out by it? I told you I wasn't." This couldn't be the whole story.
"It does seem a bit silly, I suppose." His eyes drifted down. Ah, there was more. "But no." Here it came. "What if I wanted more than a kiss?" His face turned darker. "What if I've been having a hard time keeping my hands off of you? What if I've been thinking about you in bed, damn near obsessively?"
Sherlock's eyes widened. Suddenly he had no words.
John continued: "You offered me that pity fuck and I turned you down. But since. I just keep thinking what would have happened if I said yes." John shook his head as if to rid himself of a thought. "But you seemed so relieved when I did turn you down that I know you don't actually want to sleep with me. But I still …" John shrugged. "I can't stop where my mind goes."
Re: Stolen Moments pt 26/?velvet_maceJanuary 8 2011, 22:00:32 UTC
"But you are straight."
"Obviously not completely. Most blokes don't do it to me. But you do. And it seems like only you lately." John sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm wrecking everything aren't I? You're my best friend, and the last thing I wanted was to be a creeper. I suppose I can try avoiding you some more. That seemed to help. While you were off in Belgium, I stopped feeling like I was going to get up in the middle of the night and jump you in your sleep."
Sherlock winced.
"When did this obsession with me begin?"
"The idea crept into my head after the last case, if you can believe it. I suppose it could have been worse. I could have developed a thing for underage girls."
Sherlock flashed back to their first hurried handjob. It had been that night. Oh god. "And before that - did you desire me?" Please say yes.
John tsked. "I didn't think of you that way. It didn't occur to me."
"So this is my fault. I changed you." I violated you. Not just your body. Your soul.
John rolled his eyes. "Don't blame yourself my problems. I mean, you are brilliant and I love you, Sherlock, but you don't have that kind of power over me."
I changed you to please myself.
Mycroft was right. It had to end. It had to end before he did it again.
"Read it," said Sherlock, holding out the sheet to Mycroft, as they sat in the nearly empty office that Mycroft used to entertain visitors. The real office was hidden behind a false wall, and was considerably larger and far more filled with electronics, but it had nowhere for a guest to sit.
"Your handwriting hasn't improved over the years," he muttered before his mind caught up with his eyes. Mycroft looked thoughtful. Then nodded. "I see. You've come to see the reason of it."
"I don't want to damage him."
"Of course, you don't." Mycroft had the sensitivity, thank god, to put aside his usual smarm and sound genuinely concerned.
"But I will," Sherlock insisted. "I can't stop myself. I want things… him… so much, the temptation to take the short cut is too great. Right now it's sex, but what will it be next? Will I start hypnotizing him out of his bad habits? Will I alter his speech? I'm afraid that I will turn him into a puppet, who is everything I think I want and nothing of what I fell in love with. I should not have this power over him. I'm convinced of it."
"I agree with your caution," said Mycroft looking down at the paper again. "Though you realize that by doing this, it will make John, for all intents and purposes, unhypnotizable by anyone, ever."
Re: Stolen Moments pt 27/?velvet_maceJanuary 8 2011, 22:01:38 UTC
"There could be times when it would be helpful," cautioned Mycroft. "It did solve that stalker case of yours."
"It's too tempting. I solved crimes before without hypnosis."
"You could alter the wording… here…" Mycroft pointed, "And allow me to speak for you. I promise I would never touch him without you being in the room."
Anger burned white hot in Sherlock's belly. "Never." Even the thought of Mycroft whispering into John's vulnerable ear was enough to make his gorge rise.
Mycroft sighed. "Very well. What is it that you want from me?"
"To be a witness. To be there to stop me from chickening out at the last minute. With you there I wouldn't be able to convince myself I'm wrong."
Mycroft nodded. "Very well. Let me in at two a.m. tonight. We shall do this together."
Sherlock seemed to collapse in with relief.
"Though it will cost." Mycroft smiled his more normal smirk. "One more case. I'll see to it that John gets his clearance, so it won't be quite so lonely this time."
John's breathing was slow and steady when Sherlock lifted his head and found the spots. He'd gotten so good by this time that John didn't rouse at all. Mycroft stood like a dark shadow near the door, not saying anything. His presence nonetheless loomed. When John moaned, he reached over and flipped on the switch.
"John, do you recognize me," Sherlock asked.
"Sherlock. My best friend."
He hesitated.
By the door Mycroft shifted. His eyes commanded Sherlock to begin.
Girding himself, Sherlock read the sheet. It wasn't long, but the wording was careful. It had to be, because there was no going back to fix things and the last thing he wanted was to leave John with the impression that he should never listen to Sherlock or obey a directive from a boss or worse yet, lock out all instructions before Sherlock reached the end and be left forever in unreachable limbo. This had to be clean. It had to be complete. It had to be perfect.
He didn't stumble. When he looked up once, he saw Mycroft nodding his approval.
"Do you understand?" Sherlock asked after giving the final instruction.
"Yes," said John. He seemed neither happy nor unhappy. Just neutral.
Sherlock leaned in and kissed his brow. Then whispered "I love you," in John's ear. He stood up and gave the final hypnotic order: "Sleep naturally and wake free of hypnosis."
Re: Stolen Moments pt 28/28 and ENDvelvet_maceJanuary 8 2011, 22:03:29 UTC
The lights flicked off again. Without a word, Mycroft turned around and walked slowly down the stairs. Sherlock remained a few minutes in the dark, listening to John sleep. By the time he wandered down the sitting room, Mycoft had gone.
Sherlock hadn't really expected any open praise or forgiveness from his older sibling. For him, the matter was closed and he'd moved on, the way he always did. Except for the marker, which he would call in.
Sherlock wondered if it would ever be over for him.
The next case was an aggressive purse snatcher, whose M.O. was to drive up to women and lean out the window and snag the bag and hit the accelerator. Four times it had ended with a woman pulled off her feet and thrown to the pavement. The fifth victim had been dragged under the rear wheel before the strap snapped.
Sherlock cursed the fact that the witnesses all seemed to have stared at precisely the wrong things. Trivial details like the pattern of the purse. What about the hand? Did no one notice anything about the hand? Of course, not. The license had been conveniently obscured with mud, but in what pattern. What kind of mud? Black Fiesta. Oh my, how many black Fiestas were there in London? Were there any scratches, dents? No one noticed.
Sherlock found the man anyway, though it took a dreary long while canvassing the pawn shops until he found the Gucci bag in question. From then on it was a matter of going through the owner's records and following the trail of hand-offs until John did the honors of throwing back the tarp over the car with the woman shaped dent in the rear door.
The perp fled his flat in nothing but his pants. He didn't get far in the deep winter chill. Lestrade provided him a warm car for the ride down to the MET. An undignified end to a nasty petty thief's career.
John and Sherlock laughed all the way to the Quilon, where Sherlock treated John to a proper five course feast of West Coast Indian cuisine. The atmosphere was intimate. The beer was good. The camaraderie was almost the same as it had been before mesmerism entered their lives.
It had been weeks now since their last "experiment". The memory was still rich in his mind, filled with tantalizing desire and shame. There wasn't really much learned by it, other than what Sherlock already knew. The taste of John's skin, the sound of his moans, the warmth of him, tight around his cock, holding him in the most intimate way possible.
Sex was boringly predictable. Messy. And far more complicated than it was worth. And yet, had he the chance, he wouldn't hesitated to repeat any of those stolen moments.
Sherlock put down his fork and gazed at John. There was one thing left to try.
"What if it weren't a pity fuck," he asked, boldly. Shall we give this a try.
John chewed. Swallowed. Glanced up. "Well, that would be completely different."
Re: Stolen Moments pt 28/28 and ENDdarthhellokittyJanuary 8 2011, 23:37:56 UTC
Wow... very dark, really, although at the end... if Sherlock can forgive himself, and be very, very sure that John doesn't suddenly remember everything...
Re: Stolen Moments pt 28/28 and ENDvelvet_maceJanuary 10 2011, 07:11:26 UTC
Sherlock is kinda amoral in this one. I don't think he'll have too much trouble forgiving himself. But yeah, it's a bit of a bomb if John ever finds out.
Re: Stolen Moments pt 28/28 and ENDs0mmerspr0ssenJanuary 8 2011, 23:52:18 UTC
Oh, I grew worried, so very very worried there in the end.
I still cannot really decide whether I think this is worse or "better" than rape. Obviously, John wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of having sex with Sherlock but never having really thought of it before the hypnosis? Not being able to object? Tricky and very, very dangerous.
This was a brilliant, fascinating read. It gives me a lot to think about which I think is a big compliment. You did very well with describing the conflict of Sherlock's and I think Mycroft essentially knowing but not really stopping his brother until it's pretty much too late is very much in character for him.
Thanks for letting me know you updated this! Definitely bookmarking this one!
Re: Stolen Moments pt 28/28 and ENDvelvet_maceJanuary 10 2011, 07:18:17 UTC
Well to be real, it is rape. It's a total violation of John. Even though John wasn't kicking and screaming, he was also pretty much "implant your preferences here". Which pretty much is the point of the whole hypnotism kink.
I think John genuinely liked Sherlock, and if he'd gotten past all his good reasons for not wanted to start up a relationship, they might have been fine, but Sherlock sure put his thumbprint on things. He's guilty as sin.
Mycroft is pretty amoral himself. He might not have caught on right away. It's possible he wasn't watching them that closely until John started behaving out of character.
Re: Stolen Moments pt 28/28 and ENDtellytubby101January 9 2011, 14:15:33 UTC
Wow, that was a fantastic story. It was more about the smut, which was good. I like fics with the emotional/mental element. Though the elements of non/dub-con threw me for a bit, I think you handled it well enough.
And damn, cutting this up into comment-length sections must have been a real pain in the ass. Are you thinking of perma-linking this at your journal?
Re: Stolen Moments pt 28/28 and ENDvelvet_maceJanuary 10 2011, 07:21:10 UTC
Well, this prompt really couldn't be handled without it being Dub/non-con. I mean, anytime you put someone under without their express permission -- it's mind rape at the very least.
Cutting it up sucked horribly. I'll be putting it up to my journal in the next couple of days. Unfortunately, right after uploading this, my computer crashed so hard it needed to be reformatted, so I'm still piecing things together from backups.
Re: Stolen Moments pt 28/28 and ENDvelvet_maceJanuary 9 2011, 16:31:51 UTC
This was really, really well done, showing us the rational way Sherlock convinces himself - logic can indeed be a dangerous thing.
Even though I'm sure the method of hypnosis is fictional (and oh god if it isn't PLEASE DON'T TELL ME) I am never letting someone give me a neck massage again...
Re: Stolen Moments pt 28/28 and ENDvelvet_maceJanuary 10 2011, 07:27:32 UTC
Just shows that logic can't replace morality.
It's totally fictional. Mythbusters has pretty much disproved that hypnosis works beyond a kind of placebo effect. But in fiction we can make anything happen.
Re: Stolen Moments pt 28/28 and ENDvelvet_maceJanuary 9 2011, 18:22:25 UTC
Oh god, YES! This is so wonderful. I love the possessive!Sherlock who doesn't always admit that he loves John and then he does. I don't even know if that makes any sense. And I adore the John that would just say, "I love you." *melts*
I'm going to just tuck this story close to my heart so I can read it whenever I want.
"Get out," said Sherlock. Low and deadly.
Mycroft continued. Implacable. Unstoppable. "As you can see from John's behavior, there are consequences. Can't you see him attempting to run away from you to protect himself? He doesn't even know why he's doing it."
"Get out," said Sherlock repeated. Because either Mycroft was going to leave in the next few seconds or Sherlock was going to shut him up by shoving that umbrella down his throat. "Get out. You've said what you've needed, get out."
Mycroft nodded. "So I have." He stood up and walked to the door. "Oh, and Sherlock, I won't tell him. You're secret is safe with me. I do wish to see this resolved in a happy manner."
Unable to push Mycroft out the door fast enough, Sherlock turned and stalked to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, unsure if the fury that burned him was for his brother or himself.
The case helped. It filled up all the corners of his life where John could have been. It soothed the raw spots with the pure cleansing Puritanism of intellect. For four days, he hardly thought at all about his sexual experiments. True it was a bit annoying having his libido rear up in the night, but he'd expected that to happen. After all, he'd all but trained his body to expect sex. But abstinence wasn't anymore difficult for sex than it was for food. And honestly, the amount of sex he'd been indulging in had been a fluke to start off with.
Without John distracting him, his mind felt as sharp as ever. The clues, the mysteries, the little details. Yes, now he remembered why he'd married his work! Nothing could compete with this, and how ridiculous of Sherlock to have gotten so sidetracked. If he hadn't been so bored….
The Belgian was dead, of course, his body wrapped in burlap, weighted with chain and dropped into a canal near his office. Mycroft accept that with a dismissive nod. The real question wasn't so much how and where, but why and who. Those questions took longer, but eventually Sherlock sniffed out the rat: a counteragent for the Ukraine and a competitor for a particular bit of juicy encryption technology. It was far too political for Sherlock to care about, so he simply phoned the information back to Mycroft and let him handle it from there.
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It was time for that conversation.
"You are uncomfortable around me, John," said Sherlock. "Why."
"Don't ask," was John's response.
"I have to, because you are important to me. Is there something wrong? Have I done something?" Does he remember?
"It has nothing to do with you Sherlock," said John and met his eye. Sherlock detected that it was only a partial lie. Galling. He far preferred it be fully one or the other.
"Does it have something to do with our accidental kiss two weeks ago?"
"Don't say that so loud!" hissed John, he looked about the restaurant as if anyone in the other tables cared about love life.
"It does have to do it!" said Sherlock. "But I thought we'd squared that away, John. I'm fine with it. I liked it. I wouldn't mind doing it again."
John did a double take. "You what?"
"Or not, if you'd prefer. I know you are heterosexual -"
"You what?" repeated John.
"I liked the kiss," said Sherlock. "I am gay you know. Is that your fear? That I'm going to hit on you, or molest you in your sleep -" it was as close to a confession as he could make it. Here is where, if Mycroft were right, John would reveal that the experiments had subconsciously bled through.
But John shook his head. "No, of course not," said John. "I know you'd never do that. I'm not a bigot."
Sherlock pressed his eyes closed for just a second before donning a poker face. "You're afraid that kiss lead me on?"
"No, I--"
"Some kind of affront to your sexual identification -?"
"Shut up, Sherlock and let me say something."
Sherlock snapped his mouth closed. This was maddening. Was Mycroft right or was it coincidence that caused John's behavior? He had to know. He hoped Mycroft was wrong, that he hadn't driven John away. Why couldn't he just spit it out, whatever it was?
But John didn't speak right away. Impatience pressed on Sherlock to speak up again, but he bit his tongue while John took his sweet time ruffling his hair and pulling his jumper. He was blushing furiously.
"Well?" Sherlock said before he could stop himself.
"I didn't know you were gay," John said softly. "And now that I do. I'm not sure what to think. I'm thrown."
"You didn't know I was gay?" said Sherlock. "How could you not? I hardly keep it a secret. The clothes. The utter lack of interest in women? Certainly you didn't think I was straight."
"Yes, I noticed you didn't seem interested in women, but you didn't seem interested in men, either. No data does not automatically mean 'gay' to me. You could just not be interested. At all."
"Ah. Well, now we've cleared that up," said Sherlock. "Is this a problem?"
John blinked. Then shook his head. "You being gay? No. Definitely no."
"You were afraid you'd foisted yourself on me," said Sherlock suddenly realizing. "Was that it? Two weeks of the silent treatment because you were worried that I was weirded out by it? I told you I wasn't." This couldn't be the whole story.
"It does seem a bit silly, I suppose." His eyes drifted down. Ah, there was more. "But no." Here it came. "What if I wanted more than a kiss?" His face turned darker. "What if I've been having a hard time keeping my hands off of you? What if I've been thinking about you in bed, damn near obsessively?"
Sherlock's eyes widened. Suddenly he had no words.
John continued: "You offered me that pity fuck and I turned you down. But since. I just keep thinking what would have happened if I said yes." John shook his head as if to rid himself of a thought. "But you seemed so relieved when I did turn you down that I know you don't actually want to sleep with me. But I still …" John shrugged. "I can't stop where my mind goes."
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"Obviously not completely. Most blokes don't do it to me. But you do. And it seems like only you lately." John sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm wrecking everything aren't I? You're my best friend, and the last thing I wanted was to be a creeper. I suppose I can try avoiding you some more. That seemed to help. While you were off in Belgium, I stopped feeling like I was going to get up in the middle of the night and jump you in your sleep."
Sherlock winced.
"When did this obsession with me begin?"
"The idea crept into my head after the last case, if you can believe it. I suppose it could have been worse. I could have developed a thing for underage girls."
Sherlock flashed back to their first hurried handjob. It had been that night. Oh god. "And before that - did you desire me?" Please say yes.
John tsked. "I didn't think of you that way. It didn't occur to me."
"So this is my fault. I changed you." I violated you. Not just your body. Your soul.
John rolled his eyes. "Don't blame yourself my problems. I mean, you are brilliant and I love you, Sherlock, but you don't have that kind of power over me."
I changed you to please myself.
Mycroft was right. It had to end. It had to end before he did it again.
"Read it," said Sherlock, holding out the sheet to Mycroft, as they sat in the nearly empty office that Mycroft used to entertain visitors. The real office was hidden behind a false wall, and was considerably larger and far more filled with electronics, but it had nowhere for a guest to sit.
"Your handwriting hasn't improved over the years," he muttered before his mind caught up with his eyes. Mycroft looked thoughtful. Then nodded. "I see. You've come to see the reason of it."
"I don't want to damage him."
"Of course, you don't." Mycroft had the sensitivity, thank god, to put aside his usual smarm and sound genuinely concerned.
"But I will," Sherlock insisted. "I can't stop myself. I want things… him… so much, the temptation to take the short cut is too great. Right now it's sex, but what will it be next? Will I start hypnotizing him out of his bad habits? Will I alter his speech? I'm afraid that I will turn him into a puppet, who is everything I think I want and nothing of what I fell in love with. I should not have this power over him. I'm convinced of it."
"I agree with your caution," said Mycroft looking down at the paper again. "Though you realize that by doing this, it will make John, for all intents and purposes, unhypnotizable by anyone, ever."
"That is the idea." If not me, nobody.
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"It's too tempting. I solved crimes before without hypnosis."
"You could alter the wording… here…" Mycroft pointed, "And allow me to speak for you. I promise I would never touch him without you being in the room."
Anger burned white hot in Sherlock's belly. "Never." Even the thought of Mycroft whispering into John's vulnerable ear was enough to make his gorge rise.
Mycroft sighed. "Very well. What is it that you want from me?"
"To be a witness. To be there to stop me from chickening out at the last minute. With you there I wouldn't be able to convince myself I'm wrong."
Mycroft nodded. "Very well. Let me in at two a.m. tonight. We shall do this together."
Sherlock seemed to collapse in with relief.
"Though it will cost." Mycroft smiled his more normal smirk. "One more case. I'll see to it that John gets his clearance, so it won't be quite so lonely this time."
John's breathing was slow and steady when Sherlock lifted his head and found the spots. He'd gotten so good by this time that John didn't rouse at all. Mycroft stood like a dark shadow near the door, not saying anything. His presence nonetheless loomed. When John moaned, he reached over and flipped on the switch.
"John, do you recognize me," Sherlock asked.
"Sherlock. My best friend."
He hesitated.
By the door Mycroft shifted. His eyes commanded Sherlock to begin.
Girding himself, Sherlock read the sheet. It wasn't long, but the wording was careful. It had to be, because there was no going back to fix things and the last thing he wanted was to leave John with the impression that he should never listen to Sherlock or obey a directive from a boss or worse yet, lock out all instructions before Sherlock reached the end and be left forever in unreachable limbo. This had to be clean. It had to be complete. It had to be perfect.
He didn't stumble. When he looked up once, he saw Mycroft nodding his approval.
"Do you understand?" Sherlock asked after giving the final instruction.
"Yes," said John. He seemed neither happy nor unhappy. Just neutral.
Sherlock leaned in and kissed his brow. Then whispered "I love you," in John's ear. He stood up and gave the final hypnotic order: "Sleep naturally and wake free of hypnosis."
John's eyes closed.
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Sherlock hadn't really expected any open praise or forgiveness from his older sibling. For him, the matter was closed and he'd moved on, the way he always did. Except for the marker, which he would call in.
Sherlock wondered if it would ever be over for him.
The next case was an aggressive purse snatcher, whose M.O. was to drive up to women and lean out the window and snag the bag and hit the accelerator. Four times it had ended with a woman pulled off her feet and thrown to the pavement. The fifth victim had been dragged under the rear wheel before the strap snapped.
Sherlock cursed the fact that the witnesses all seemed to have stared at precisely the wrong things. Trivial details like the pattern of the purse. What about the hand? Did no one notice anything about the hand? Of course, not. The license had been conveniently obscured with mud, but in what pattern. What kind of mud? Black Fiesta. Oh my, how many black Fiestas were there in London? Were there any scratches, dents? No one noticed.
Sherlock found the man anyway, though it took a dreary long while canvassing the pawn shops until he found the Gucci bag in question. From then on it was a matter of going through the owner's records and following the trail of hand-offs until John did the honors of throwing back the tarp over the car with the woman shaped dent in the rear door.
The perp fled his flat in nothing but his pants. He didn't get far in the deep winter chill. Lestrade provided him a warm car for the ride down to the MET. An undignified end to a nasty petty thief's career.
John and Sherlock laughed all the way to the Quilon, where Sherlock treated John to a proper five course feast of West Coast Indian cuisine. The atmosphere was intimate. The beer was good. The camaraderie was almost the same as it had been before mesmerism entered their lives.
It had been weeks now since their last "experiment". The memory was still rich in his mind, filled with tantalizing desire and shame. There wasn't really much learned by it, other than what Sherlock already knew. The taste of John's skin, the sound of his moans, the warmth of him, tight around his cock, holding him in the most intimate way possible.
Sex was boringly predictable. Messy. And far more complicated than it was worth. And yet, had he the chance, he wouldn't hesitated to repeat any of those stolen moments.
Sherlock put down his fork and gazed at John. There was one thing left to try.
"What if it weren't a pity fuck," he asked, boldly. Shall we give this a try.
John chewed. Swallowed. Glanced up. "Well, that would be completely different."
Sherlock's heart raced. "Would it?"
"Yeah, I loathe pity." John smiled. Yes.
Sherlock let out a bray of relief. "I love you."
John went back to his meal. "I love you, too."
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I still cannot really decide whether I think this is worse or "better" than rape. Obviously, John wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of having sex with Sherlock but never having really thought of it before the hypnosis? Not being able to object? Tricky and very, very dangerous.
This was a brilliant, fascinating read. It gives me a lot to think about which I think is a big compliment. You did very well with describing the conflict of Sherlock's and I think Mycroft essentially knowing but not really stopping his brother until it's pretty much too late is very much in character for him.
Thanks for letting me know you updated this! Definitely bookmarking this one!
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I think John genuinely liked Sherlock, and if he'd gotten past all his good reasons for not wanted to start up a relationship, they might have been fine, but Sherlock sure put his thumbprint on things. He's guilty as sin.
Mycroft is pretty amoral himself. He might not have caught on right away. It's possible he wasn't watching them that closely until John started behaving out of character.
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And damn, cutting this up into comment-length sections must have been a real pain in the ass. Are you thinking of perma-linking this at your journal?
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Dammit, I need sleep.
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Cutting it up sucked horribly. I'll be putting it up to my journal in the next couple of days. Unfortunately, right after uploading this, my computer crashed so hard it needed to be reformatted, so I'm still piecing things together from backups.
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Even though I'm sure the method of hypnosis is fictional (and oh god if it isn't PLEASE DON'T TELL ME) I am never letting someone give me a neck massage again...
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It's totally fictional. Mythbusters has pretty much disproved that hypnosis works beyond a kind of placebo effect. But in fiction we can make anything happen.
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I'm going to just tuck this story close to my heart so I can read it whenever I want.
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