Deduction - Parts 3 and 4
The fic continues. Parts 1 & 2 are here:
And without further ado...
Title: Deduction (3/4)
Rating: It's gone a tiny bit 15/PG-13
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Notes: Minor Study in Pink spoilers.
Synopsis: After a few months living together, John and Sherlock are beginning to understand each other...
(Some months later)
When you close the door softly like that it always jerks me awake. I should explain this to you at some point. I'm used to Lestrade banging on my door at 3a.m. What I'm not used to is someone that comes in at 8a.m, slips quietly through the sitting room and and closes the door behind him with hardly a click. It completely ruins my ability to doze on the sofa.
But you're quite obviously trying to be considerate John. I notice things like that after several months in your company. Over the years I've had much more practice at understanding the motives of criminals than the motives of a friend but I'm getting there, slowly.
You're learning too - I spot the little absences where there used to be clues. The LED indicator on your mobile is switched off permanently these days. You throw away receipts before you get back to the flat, and you have your shoes shined at Baker Street station on your way home. You're trying to reclaim your privacy and I respect that. I appreciate that you're trying to find a way to accommodate a freak like me. You're getting there too. But you're not quite there yet.
It doesn't help, of course, that other people are so astoundingly stupid. They don't notice the things they give away, all the time.
Sally Donovan, for example, is so busy trying to wind me up intentionally she doesn't realise how much more effectively she annoys me just by being herself. She's the kind of person that could lay a trail of red herrings across a case with her inexplicable behaviour. Her hardly-subtle intrigues with married men for example. So I didn't need clues from you to deduce what was going on.
I don't blame you. I understand that your ego was damaged by the Molly fiasco a few months ago. At least, I understand it better now that you've explained it to me.
Perhaps I shouldn't have pointed out that she only came to the flat when she knew I would be here. Perhaps I should have kept my observations about her ridiculous plans for a "double date" to myself. But think about it John - you can enjoy my company at any time you like and you know I have no interest in meeting a stranger so her plans were evidently self serving. It was so glaringly obvious to me that I thought you must have noticed that she was using you as a means of spending time with me.
I also hadn't realised you'd consider it any great loss to end your relationship with her. After all, you never once had sex with her, though I know now that I shouldn't have brought that to your attention either. Although surely it's not a secret? You know you didn't sleep with her. But you always came home shortly after the bars and restaurants you went to closed for the night, which tells me two things - you waited as long as possible for an invitation to her flat and you never got one. I also know that, unless your sex drive is impressively high you wouldn't have masturbated immediately after you came home each time.
You didn't like it when I pointed that out either now I come to think of it, but it's a small flat John. Even a flatmate without my deductive prowess might have worked that one out. I would have thought that Army life would have taught you to be quieter. Ah well. I'm learning all the time.
As to your motives concerning Sergeant Donovan I am, I admit, at a total loss. As far as she's concerned of course you're an improvement on Anderson. At the very least you're not already married. What do you see in her? She seems to find me at least as odious as I find her, so I know she's not using you to get to me - perhaps that's what you like about her?
Not so ridiculous perhaps? Maybe it is me, indirectly. Maybe I don't give you the excitement you need these days. This last couple of weeks have been a bad patch for me I know. When I'm not working I get depressed. The only danger you face here in the flat is tripping over my legs as I slump in my chair, or death from boredom.
But I could see from your sweater, the state of your hair and the way you were carrying your mobile as you slipped so quietly across the room just now that you've been getting your excitement elsewhere.
Title: Deduction (4/4)
Rating: 18/R (on account of the, y'know, BDSM)
Pairing: John/Sally, Sherlock/John
Notes: Minor Study in Pink spoilers.
Synopsis: ... but is Sherlock any closer to understanding himself
If I could be bothered to astound you (and I do so love to astound you John) I'd follow you upstairs right now and lay it all out for you - so obvious to me, so like a magic trick to you - everything you've done these last few hours since you arrived at Sally's flat. No. It was a hotel. You smelt of strange shampoo just then, so you've washed, but it's not Sally's usual brand. She has no male flatmate and she's not the type to plan ahead for guests, so that says hotel toiletries to me.
Before you even finished crossing the room I began to see it all, as clearly as if I had been there. You know I can't help myself. Is that why you didn't want to wake me?
Your sweater first. It's a warm morning already, and as you crossed the room I could see that you were sweating slightly. Wherever you stayed, you walked home. You're warm but you wore your sweater over your shirt anyway. The shirt has short sleeves, the sweater's sleeves are long so what marks are you concealing? You've been tied up by the wrists, I am assuming to a bed because of my other deductions but really I'm not sure yet. You were tied with something that leaves a mark, but a mark high up the arm enough that sweater sleeves cover it. Not her handcuffs then - something tighter. It was probably improvised too, so something readily available.
Yes - I have it. Sally tied you to the bed with the belts from the hotel bathrobes. Wrists and ankles, or just wrists? I'd have to see your legs to know for sure.
I wonder.
But tied up? Yes definitely. Face up or face down? Now I can tell by your hair that it was face down, at least towards the end. That surprises me, considering what I assumed you went there for, but the evidence is irrefutable.
Consider a scenario where she has you restrained face up. Let us imagine you, supine, arms outstretched. The pillows are behind your head - I know your shoulder won't sustain you lying completely flat for long, and you must have been tied up for a while for marks to have appeared. That means the pressure on the back of your head from a pillow would have hard and sustained. I can see it now, very clearly.
I've noticed that your hair is not quite as guardsman-short as it used to be, so if you had been tied down like this I would definitely have seen the impression - a flattened patch of hair right at the back of your head. On the contrary - your hair was disordered and sticking up. Less like it had been pressed to a pillow, more like someone had been pulling on it.
What happened is this - you're naked - at least from the waist up, and face down on the bed. Donovan is astride you, which is the only way she could get such a firm grip on your hair. Did she lull you into a false sense of security? Did she offer to massage your shoulder before she slipped the towelling bands around your wrists and tied you to the bed? Did you struggle as she pulled the bonds tighter and tighter until you could no longer move? Or were you stoic in the face of...
(No, Sherlock! Ridiculous! This is what happens when theories ignore the data. Despite his injuries you know that John is a man of pretty impressive physical ability and Sally is unlikely to be a match for him over a prolonged struggle. The facts must be these: John, naked at least from the waist up - yes, he must have been for there is no way she could have removed his shirt once she had him restrained, that much is very clear - lies on the bed and offers his arms to be tied. )
That's the only way the facts will hang together. You surrendered to this woman? Oh John, really, she's hardly a worthy adversary. Why would you..?
Pointless to speculate. Motives, other than the criminal, are not my strength I know. But I do have facts and my deductive expertise. What next? I know you were lying face down on a hotel bed, naked at least from the waist up, tied at the wrists, with that woman astride you, pulling your hair. A delicate question remains: just how naked were you?
Your shoes are slip-on so no knot to check whether it had recently been retied. Your socks are a closed book to me - which is strange as, when you left Barts I could see a the smallest part of the bridge of your foot, but I couldn't just now.
(Ah, Sherlock! Stupid and slow! Why so distracted? A belt!)
You had on a belt that you're not wearing now John. And that, in a roundabout way, explains the position of the mobile phone. Oh I love this moment when it all crystallises and I can see just how right I am. I know you were completely naked because I know everything that happened.
(I feel livelier than I have in weeks. Why is that? This is nothing but the most trivial of deductions. And I haven't even established whether he was tied at the ankles. Damn the fact that he's showered already this morning - I have a very strong desire to see John in his bathrobe. The missing detail irritates me.)
With my eyes closed it becomes clearer than ever. I can see you on the bed, completely naked, tied (ankles or not? This will annoy me!) That woman is astride you. She pulls your hair but why? At first I thought it was part of the struggle but there was no struggle, so she needs to see your face. I don't think she was checking whether you wear contact lenses. Might she have gagged you? Again with something improvised. A small, light item of clothing. Stockings, perhaps, or her underwear. But she knew you wouldn't protest - this wasn't a struggle. No! It was your involuntary cries she wanted to stifle.
When I noticed the change in position of your mobile phone it was a shot in the dark - but an excellent one. What makes a man put the only valuable item he owns, not in his back pocket where it is secure, but in a front pocket where it might easily get lost? Maybe you needed to get it quickly, but at such a ridiculous time on a Sunday morning the only person likely to contact you would be me, and then only by text. Come to think of it, it's also quite telling that you walked home, rather than sitting in a cab.
(Time to face the truth Sherlock. Why put it off any longer? You know what happened. Given that it was not against his will, there should be nothing in the truth that can hurt either of you. And yet...)
It makes my my stomach knot and my hands shake even to consider this, but I know you've been beaten by that woman. Why does it upset me this much? I've seen violent deaths and I've been the cause of a few myself but for some reason this disturbs me more, to imagine you, naked, vulnerable, restrained. Sally has your belt in her hand. I see you wrench against your bonds (wrists and ankles? I need to see it all) and to hear your stifled cry as she brings it down across your thighs and your...
Oh John. If you wanted a sadist...
Have I not been giving you enough danger? Enough excitement? When I'm in one of these moods I can barely take care of myself. Perhaps if I were to put myself further in harm's way it might make you exercise your vocation as a doctor and keep you from this sort of adventure.
Maybe it's time I revisited some old habits.
Closing my eyes is torture to me now. All I can see is the half-completed, half-unknown image of you, bound, gagged and helpless. I must know if your ankles are marked. I will never sleep if I can't see exactly how it was done to you. You will be asleep soon. If I lifted your covers just a little I'm sure I could make the necessary observations without disturbing you. In fact, I could take the opportunity to test my deduction about your wrists too. And as for the marks from your belt - I'm sure you know better about these sorts of things than I do but isn't it the duty of a friend to be concerned enough to check?
I hope you sleep deeply, John, because I'm not sure either of us will understand what I think I'm about to do.
And without further ado...
Title: Deduction (3/4)
Rating: It's gone a tiny bit 15/PG-13
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Notes: Minor Study in Pink spoilers.
Synopsis: After a few months living together, John and Sherlock are beginning to understand each other...
(Some months later)
When you close the door softly like that it always jerks me awake. I should explain this to you at some point. I'm used to Lestrade banging on my door at 3a.m. What I'm not used to is someone that comes in at 8a.m, slips quietly through the sitting room and and closes the door behind him with hardly a click. It completely ruins my ability to doze on the sofa.
But you're quite obviously trying to be considerate John. I notice things like that after several months in your company. Over the years I've had much more practice at understanding the motives of criminals than the motives of a friend but I'm getting there, slowly.
You're learning too - I spot the little absences where there used to be clues. The LED indicator on your mobile is switched off permanently these days. You throw away receipts before you get back to the flat, and you have your shoes shined at Baker Street station on your way home. You're trying to reclaim your privacy and I respect that. I appreciate that you're trying to find a way to accommodate a freak like me. You're getting there too. But you're not quite there yet.
It doesn't help, of course, that other people are so astoundingly stupid. They don't notice the things they give away, all the time.
Sally Donovan, for example, is so busy trying to wind me up intentionally she doesn't realise how much more effectively she annoys me just by being herself. She's the kind of person that could lay a trail of red herrings across a case with her inexplicable behaviour. Her hardly-subtle intrigues with married men for example. So I didn't need clues from you to deduce what was going on.
I don't blame you. I understand that your ego was damaged by the Molly fiasco a few months ago. At least, I understand it better now that you've explained it to me.
Perhaps I shouldn't have pointed out that she only came to the flat when she knew I would be here. Perhaps I should have kept my observations about her ridiculous plans for a "double date" to myself. But think about it John - you can enjoy my company at any time you like and you know I have no interest in meeting a stranger so her plans were evidently self serving. It was so glaringly obvious to me that I thought you must have noticed that she was using you as a means of spending time with me.
I also hadn't realised you'd consider it any great loss to end your relationship with her. After all, you never once had sex with her, though I know now that I shouldn't have brought that to your attention either. Although surely it's not a secret? You know you didn't sleep with her. But you always came home shortly after the bars and restaurants you went to closed for the night, which tells me two things - you waited as long as possible for an invitation to her flat and you never got one. I also know that, unless your sex drive is impressively high you wouldn't have masturbated immediately after you came home each time.
You didn't like it when I pointed that out either now I come to think of it, but it's a small flat John. Even a flatmate without my deductive prowess might have worked that one out. I would have thought that Army life would have taught you to be quieter. Ah well. I'm learning all the time.
As to your motives concerning Sergeant Donovan I am, I admit, at a total loss. As far as she's concerned of course you're an improvement on Anderson. At the very least you're not already married. What do you see in her? She seems to find me at least as odious as I find her, so I know she's not using you to get to me - perhaps that's what you like about her?
Not so ridiculous perhaps? Maybe it is me, indirectly. Maybe I don't give you the excitement you need these days. This last couple of weeks have been a bad patch for me I know. When I'm not working I get depressed. The only danger you face here in the flat is tripping over my legs as I slump in my chair, or death from boredom.
But I could see from your sweater, the state of your hair and the way you were carrying your mobile as you slipped so quietly across the room just now that you've been getting your excitement elsewhere.
Title: Deduction (4/4)
Rating: 18/R (on account of the, y'know, BDSM)
Pairing: John/Sally, Sherlock/John
Notes: Minor Study in Pink spoilers.
Synopsis: ... but is Sherlock any closer to understanding himself
If I could be bothered to astound you (and I do so love to astound you John) I'd follow you upstairs right now and lay it all out for you - so obvious to me, so like a magic trick to you - everything you've done these last few hours since you arrived at Sally's flat. No. It was a hotel. You smelt of strange shampoo just then, so you've washed, but it's not Sally's usual brand. She has no male flatmate and she's not the type to plan ahead for guests, so that says hotel toiletries to me.
Before you even finished crossing the room I began to see it all, as clearly as if I had been there. You know I can't help myself. Is that why you didn't want to wake me?
Your sweater first. It's a warm morning already, and as you crossed the room I could see that you were sweating slightly. Wherever you stayed, you walked home. You're warm but you wore your sweater over your shirt anyway. The shirt has short sleeves, the sweater's sleeves are long so what marks are you concealing? You've been tied up by the wrists, I am assuming to a bed because of my other deductions but really I'm not sure yet. You were tied with something that leaves a mark, but a mark high up the arm enough that sweater sleeves cover it. Not her handcuffs then - something tighter. It was probably improvised too, so something readily available.
Yes - I have it. Sally tied you to the bed with the belts from the hotel bathrobes. Wrists and ankles, or just wrists? I'd have to see your legs to know for sure.
I wonder.
But tied up? Yes definitely. Face up or face down? Now I can tell by your hair that it was face down, at least towards the end. That surprises me, considering what I assumed you went there for, but the evidence is irrefutable.
Consider a scenario where she has you restrained face up. Let us imagine you, supine, arms outstretched. The pillows are behind your head - I know your shoulder won't sustain you lying completely flat for long, and you must have been tied up for a while for marks to have appeared. That means the pressure on the back of your head from a pillow would have hard and sustained. I can see it now, very clearly.
I've noticed that your hair is not quite as guardsman-short as it used to be, so if you had been tied down like this I would definitely have seen the impression - a flattened patch of hair right at the back of your head. On the contrary - your hair was disordered and sticking up. Less like it had been pressed to a pillow, more like someone had been pulling on it.
What happened is this - you're naked - at least from the waist up, and face down on the bed. Donovan is astride you, which is the only way she could get such a firm grip on your hair. Did she lull you into a false sense of security? Did she offer to massage your shoulder before she slipped the towelling bands around your wrists and tied you to the bed? Did you struggle as she pulled the bonds tighter and tighter until you could no longer move? Or were you stoic in the face of...
(No, Sherlock! Ridiculous! This is what happens when theories ignore the data. Despite his injuries you know that John is a man of pretty impressive physical ability and Sally is unlikely to be a match for him over a prolonged struggle. The facts must be these: John, naked at least from the waist up - yes, he must have been for there is no way she could have removed his shirt once she had him restrained, that much is very clear - lies on the bed and offers his arms to be tied. )
That's the only way the facts will hang together. You surrendered to this woman? Oh John, really, she's hardly a worthy adversary. Why would you..?
Pointless to speculate. Motives, other than the criminal, are not my strength I know. But I do have facts and my deductive expertise. What next? I know you were lying face down on a hotel bed, naked at least from the waist up, tied at the wrists, with that woman astride you, pulling your hair. A delicate question remains: just how naked were you?
Your shoes are slip-on so no knot to check whether it had recently been retied. Your socks are a closed book to me - which is strange as, when you left Barts I could see a the smallest part of the bridge of your foot, but I couldn't just now.
(Ah, Sherlock! Stupid and slow! Why so distracted? A belt!)
You had on a belt that you're not wearing now John. And that, in a roundabout way, explains the position of the mobile phone. Oh I love this moment when it all crystallises and I can see just how right I am. I know you were completely naked because I know everything that happened.
(I feel livelier than I have in weeks. Why is that? This is nothing but the most trivial of deductions. And I haven't even established whether he was tied at the ankles. Damn the fact that he's showered already this morning - I have a very strong desire to see John in his bathrobe. The missing detail irritates me.)
With my eyes closed it becomes clearer than ever. I can see you on the bed, completely naked, tied (ankles or not? This will annoy me!) That woman is astride you. She pulls your hair but why? At first I thought it was part of the struggle but there was no struggle, so she needs to see your face. I don't think she was checking whether you wear contact lenses. Might she have gagged you? Again with something improvised. A small, light item of clothing. Stockings, perhaps, or her underwear. But she knew you wouldn't protest - this wasn't a struggle. No! It was your involuntary cries she wanted to stifle.
When I noticed the change in position of your mobile phone it was a shot in the dark - but an excellent one. What makes a man put the only valuable item he owns, not in his back pocket where it is secure, but in a front pocket where it might easily get lost? Maybe you needed to get it quickly, but at such a ridiculous time on a Sunday morning the only person likely to contact you would be me, and then only by text. Come to think of it, it's also quite telling that you walked home, rather than sitting in a cab.
(Time to face the truth Sherlock. Why put it off any longer? You know what happened. Given that it was not against his will, there should be nothing in the truth that can hurt either of you. And yet...)
It makes my my stomach knot and my hands shake even to consider this, but I know you've been beaten by that woman. Why does it upset me this much? I've seen violent deaths and I've been the cause of a few myself but for some reason this disturbs me more, to imagine you, naked, vulnerable, restrained. Sally has your belt in her hand. I see you wrench against your bonds (wrists and ankles? I need to see it all) and to hear your stifled cry as she brings it down across your thighs and your...
Oh John. If you wanted a sadist...
Have I not been giving you enough danger? Enough excitement? When I'm in one of these moods I can barely take care of myself. Perhaps if I were to put myself further in harm's way it might make you exercise your vocation as a doctor and keep you from this sort of adventure.
Maybe it's time I revisited some old habits.
Closing my eyes is torture to me now. All I can see is the half-completed, half-unknown image of you, bound, gagged and helpless. I must know if your ankles are marked. I will never sleep if I can't see exactly how it was done to you. You will be asleep soon. If I lifted your covers just a little I'm sure I could make the necessary observations without disturbing you. In fact, I could take the opportunity to test my deduction about your wrists too. And as for the marks from your belt - I'm sure you know better about these sorts of things than I do but isn't it the duty of a friend to be concerned enough to check?
I hope you sleep deeply, John, because I'm not sure either of us will understand what I think I'm about to do.