The Vibe - Chapter Two
The Vibe: CHAPTER TWO
Sherlock was right, as per usual. John was craving male company. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. A Sherlock-sized itch, more to the point. One that John was only vaguely aware existed before Sherlock stopped flirting with him so obviously. It was as if that bit of harmless flirtation was enough to sustain the part of him that enjoyed Sherlock’s attentions.
He did miss the flirting. Just a little bit.
But at the end of the day a one-night stand with his best friend was not what John was after, no matter how satisfying it might be. And while that was all that was on offer, he would simply stick to his string of unsuccessful dates.
Besides, Sherlock really was the best friend that John had. He was interesting, enigmatic, and lacked a certain self-awareness that was almost endearing. To John, anyway. He was proud to call him a friend, and a warm feeling pooled in his stomach when he saw others appreciate his talents of observation instead of him being maligned for them.
At Sexpo, the happiest adult exhibition on earth with 200 retailers and a centre stage holding hourly acts and demonstrations, Sherlock seemed to be in his absolute element. The buzz around the hall was electric, many people walking through and all of them happy and curious and willing to take advice, even of the abrupt and sometimes rude Holmesian variety.
“No, no, no. You don’t want those.” Sherlock marched over to a woman and her friend who had picked up a pair of padded handcuffs. He had to speak up over the grunts and groans coming from the centre stage speakers for the Best Fake Orgasm competition.
“I don’t?” she asked. The smirk on her face held a hint of skepticism, but she was willing to hear him out all the same.
“No, it won’t solve your problem. It will still rub against your wrist like this.” Sherlock grabbed the woman’s arm, drawing her attention to the faint red marks. “Obviously, your husband enjoys it, and you like to please him. But if you don’t get the right apparatus you’ll find yourself cursing him and yourself for agreeing to it in the first place.”
In a normal situation, sometimes even at The Vibe, the person would have either slapped John’s best friend, or walked away in a huff. Instead, the customer raised her eyebrows at her friend and gave a wry smile while Sherlock took a strip of material out of a box.
“Now this is what you need for those delicate wrists of yours. Give them to me.” Sherlock made a double loop with the long length of cloth over the woman’s offered wrists. Sherlock held onto the other end. “Okay, now pull.”
John saw the pleased look on the woman’s face as she yanked her hands away from Sherlock.
“It doesn’t rub at all,” she said, giving him a kind grin that made even John feel fuzzy.
She and her friend ended up buying two each and thanked Sherlock profusely as he handed them their bags. John often wished the world could see Sherlock through his eyes and appreciate what a unique person he was, and to see it happen filled him with a sense of pride on Sherlock’s behalf.
“We’re going through those Rabbits,” John told him in a break between customers. “We brought ten along and in two hours we’ve sold eight.”
“Interesting.” Sherlock took his mobile from his pocket and punched out a series of buttons. “Yes, as suspected, it was on last night.”
“What was?”
“The Rabbit episode of that terrible show about the four horrible women in New York.”
“Sex and the City?”
“That one, yes. Whenever that particular episode airs we seem to sell out of Rabbits within a week. Heaven knows why, when there’s much better female vibrators on the market.”
“Because you’re the expert on female pleasure?” John raised an eyebrow.
“One does not need a vagina to conduct research.”
“But one usually at least needs to know what works in that region.”
“I forgot I was dealing with a modern day Don Juan. Please, John, tell me all about it so I may learn enough to be worthy of looking up reviews on the internet!”
“I’m not getting into an argument with you about female genitalia,” John said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll call the store and get someone to bring some more over.”
“How many were there in the storeroom back at the office when you did that pointless stocktake the other night?”
“It wasn’t pointless.” John huffed. Sherlock was still using every opportunity he could to coax John into moving in with him. Bringing his attention to the amount of unpaid overtime he did was one strategy. “And about 70, from memory.”
“Get Sally to bring 30 of them here, and the rest should be put on the display at the front of the store.”
“Sally? You want to leave Anderson as the most senior person at the store to look after the weekend casuals?”
“You’d rather we bring Anderson here? To this exhibition where Miss Nude Canada is about to grace centre stage?”
John thought he probably deserved the look of scorn he was getting.
“I’ll call Sally.”
“And get her to bring some more penis pasta and nipple gummies, too.”
***
It was a wide variety of people who showed up to the Sexpo weekend, and John had a feeling that every single one of them came to their stand. It was great for business, but neither of them had had the chance to have a look around themselves. John was hoping to scope out some new merchandise and meet a few other retailers prior to the networking drinks that would be held at the exhibition’s close.
“Who are you texting?” he asked Sherlock during one of their brief respites.
“Molly. All this standing around and talking is making me hungry.”
“You are not getting Molly to bring you lunch.”
“Why not? She would do it.”
“I know she would, which is why you can’t. You are not to take advantage of that poor girl’s crush on you.”
“I never asked her to have a crush on me. Besides, it’s no longer a crush, merely a fixation. I represent the string of men she feels has rejected her.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to take advantage of it.”
“You don’t seem to mind Mycroft taking advantage of your admiration.”
“Admiration, yes, not a crush. And that’s different. Everything he asks me to do is around the store and actually forms part of my job.”
“I’ll get her to bring one of those caramel slices you like?”
“Sherlock, no. Look, there seems to be a lull. Go to the food hall at the back and get something from there. And get me a salad sandwich. I’ll look after things here.” He noted the tired look around Sherlock’s eyes and took pity on him. “Go on. You’re not usually around people for this long and you probably need some down time, right? Sally will be here soon with the stock. If it’s busy, I’ll just get her to help.”
“You can be surprisingly insightful at times,” Sherlock said, patting his pocket to ensure his wallet was in there. “I’ll make an observer out of you yet.”
“Thank you. I think. Now go before it gets busy again.”
Luckily the slight lull in trade did continue, so John spent his time fixing up the stock and speaking to the occasional customer. It had been a good day thus far, they’d already made their daily target in sales and the atmosphere from the crowd was contagious.
“Look at that, the puppy is dutifully holding the fort so the boss can have a break. How pathetic.”
John’s shoulders immediately stiffened at the Irish accent, his good mood suddenly soured. He turned to face none other than Jim Moriarty. He was wearing dark jeans and a tight t-shirt, hair slicked back and looking as creepy as ever. What did Sherlock ever see in him?
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“It’s a public exhibition, I don’t believe there is a restriction on entry for the over 18s. Besides, my sister is running a fudge stall and could use my assistance.”
“How convenient for you. Well I don’t think we have any merchandise here you don’t already own, and Sherlock is too busy for your usual attentions.” It was going to be a struggle to keep Jim away from Sherlock in a confined space like this, but John would try with all his might. This guy was a borderline stalker and the less time he spent around Sherlock the better for all of them.
“Oh Dr Watson, no need to be jealous. This isn’t a competition, I think we all know who he likes best. Well, the one he’s allowed intimate knowledge of himself, anyway. No matter how many nights good soldiers stay back after work to please their masters.”
He could feel the heat rise to his face and his jaw clench with the insinuation. The thought of this man’s hands on Sherlock made him feel physically ill and somewhat possessive.
John tried to school his features to be that of nonchalance, but he knew Jim could see right through him.
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat,” he said, smirk evident on his creepy little face, “but you seem busy. Tell Sherlock I said hello.”
As soon as he’d gone, John hobbled to the other side of the stand, keen to get as far away from Jim as possible. In these situations, he found himself longing for his discarded cane, even if it was just to bash Jim over the back of the head with.
***
“Would you be right if I took a break in a few minutes?” John asked, trying to hold back the eagerness in his voice. He saw Sherlock glance at his watch.
“Four o’clock? The day’s nearly over.” He paused. “Oh, that’s where everyone has disappeared to. Irene Adler performs now, doesn’t she?”
“Centre stage for a half hour demonstration.”
“You surprise me, John. The dominatrix scene is not usually your thing.”
“It isn’t at all, but she’s a bit of an icon, isn’t she? I wouldn’t mind seeing her in action.”
“Fine, go.” Sherlock waved him off. “I’m sure I can handle things here for the fifteen minutes before you get bored.”
“Are you sure? You know your greatest admirer is here too, don’t you?”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “I had the pleasure of bumping into him before. The man is a terrible actor, feigning his surprise at seeing me. I can handle him. Go see The Woman.”
John felt a bit giddy as he took a seat in the back row of centre stage. There was a sea of people waiting and the applause and catcalls almost drowned out the announcement.
“…and put your hands together for the delectable, dangerous diva, Irene Adler!”
In real life, Irene Adler was tiny, but what she lacked in stature she more than made up for in presence. She commanded the audience the second her black stiletto heels touched the stage. She was more alluring in the flesh than she was in any of her DVDs. The black and red corset hugged her torso and created curves, black hot pants accentuating her more than acceptable rear asset, black fishnets elongating her legs. John felt a wave of heat go through him just looking at her.
Irene was enigmatic and incredibly sexy. The control and confidence she displayed using her usual repertoire of apparatus showed how much in a league of her own she actually was. There were doms all over England who would kill to have an iota of her charisma. Irene Adler was a professional, the best in the business, and John could imagine that if it were his kink, he’d be making a quick stop off at the loo on his way back to their stall. But as it was, he found himself looking at his watch after ten minutes of the routine.
“We should get her to launch her new DVD at our store,” John suggested when he returned. “She’d be a big draw. Sign some covers and posters, maybe give away a session with her. One entry for every DVD bought from us?”
“You want to deal with that kind of audience in our store?” Sherlock looked at him as if her fans didn’t show up to the store every day to keep them in business.
“It would just be for a day. A few hours. The sales would be extraordinary. We should try and speak to her agent.”
“The Woman herself is here, why not just speak to her?”
“Because there are rules with these people. You go through their agents so you don’t bother them.” Besides, he was somewhat intimidated by Irene Adler, and the thought of approaching her directly gave him a touch of anxiety.
“What an inefficient use of time.”
“That may be so but you need to play by the rules in this business.”
“Rules are nothing but useless obstacles. Five minutes with her and we’d have a deal done.”
John rubbed his fingertips at his temples. It had been a good day, but it had been a long day, and he knew Sherlock was being deliberately contrary. He would get that way sometimes after spending excessive time around other people.
“You will do no negotiating. If I can track down her agent, I will speak to them. Five minutes with you and they would probably pull distribution from us.”
It wasn’t long before the doors shut on the exhibition for the first day. One more to go, then John could put his tired feet up. He was glad this didn’t happen every weekend, but it was a nice change from the confines of the store.
“We did good, today,” John said, scrolling through some of their point of sales screens on the iPad. “Thirty percent up on projected.”
“Good, that would be the appearance fee for Ms Adler,” Sherlock said as he finished tidying up some of the displays in readiness for the next day.
“You really think she’d say yes to a DVD signing?”
“I know she would. The Woman is not one to shy away from publicity. She’d appear at the opening of an envelope if there was a guarantee her drooling followers would be there to lay down at her feet.”
A female voice came from behind them. “Really, Mr Holmes? That’s the best you could come up with? You’re slipping since I saw you last.”
John’s jaw dropped. That was. Oh my. It was. Irene Adler. Live. Right in front of him. Literally a foot away.
“Tell me which part of it isn’t true and I shall come up with something else,” Sherlock said, and didn’t he know that he was insulting Irene Adler? The Irene Adler? She looked different out of her costume, just in jeans and a blazer, her hair in loose curls rather than a French twist. But it was still undeniably Irene Adler. Oh God. It was Irene Adler and Sherlock was going to ruin everything just by being himself. If it was anyone other than the woman he wanted to try and get to their store John would probably find it amusing, but in this case--
John’s internal monologue never usually rambled that much, but he was quite star struck. In fact, the only thing that derailed it was the sound of laughter coming from Irene Adler’s mouth. Irene Adler was laughing at Sherlock Holmes?
“No, you are quite right. I do enjoy the attention. I just thought you’d be a little nicer to me if you wanted your present.”
Now John was confused. His head darted between the two of them like he was watching a tennis match. He shook his head to clear it.
“Wait, you two know each other?”
John’s voice seemed to snap Sherlock out of his staring competition with their guest.
“Sorry, allow me to introduce you. Irene, this is Dr John Watson, a manager at my store. John, this is Irene, someone who latched onto me during University and I haven’t been able to shake off since.”
John wiped his palm on his trousers before offering it to Irene. “I’m a big fan.”
“Hmm,” she said, looking him up and down. “You’re not, really. You’re in awe of me, respect what I do. Maybe a little intimidated. But you’re not into what I do for a living.”
John swallowed. Great, it was just like dealing with a female Sherlock. Lord, those two at the same University. It’s a wonder London didn’t burn down.
“Enough about John. I believe you said something about a present?” Sherlock said. Irene reached into her back pocket.
“You know the rules. Close your eyes,” she instructed, taking out a strip of fabric and tying it around Sherlock’s head, over his eyes. John saw Sherlock’s breath hitch. He found himself also short of breath not a second later.
For all that John wasn’t into bondage, he was into blindfolds, and Sherlock looked exquisite in one. He could almost see that brilliant brain turning, heightening his other senses to compensate for losing his vision.
And God, John could picture it now. Sherlock, naked except for the blindfold. Standing in the centre of a room, sensing movement through vibrations on the floor or breath against his skin. Waiting, anticipating which direction John would come from. Light licks to his cock? Wet breath against the head of his dick? Feather-light touches against his nipples?
Or maybe Sherlock would be laying on his bed, back against the mattress, John rubbing his arse along his dick, getting him hard, ready. Then shuffling up towards his face on his knees, Sherlock opening his mouth in anticipation of John putting it to good use…
He swallowed past the dry lump in his throat and tried to concentrate on the scene in front on him. Irene Adler tying a bow around the back of Sherlock’s head, looking like she’d done this before, running her fingertips over it to feel it over his skin.
“…from the finest Japanese silk,” she was saying.
“I believe this one will be my favourite. It feels delicious.”
“It looks delicious, doesn’t it, John?” Irene gave him a knowing look, and John found it difficult to force the words from his throat.
“Um. Ah,” he started, he could feel his body going both cold then hot. He had no idea what was going on anymore. “So are you two--? I mean, have you ever been--? You know?”
“Lovers?” Irene asked, then both she and Sherlock completely cracked up with laughter. “Sherlock and I are completely incompatible with our sexual preferences.”
“Not to mention neither of us possessing the right genitalia for the other.”
“Right,” John breathed out. “So you’re-“
“A lesbian? Yes, most certainly. No need to worry about me stealing your man.”
Sherlock pulled off the blindfold and wrapped it around his fingers, feeling the texture. “Oh no, John and I are just friends, aren’t we?“
John’s gaze rose from watching Sherlock’s slender fingers twist around the material to look him in the eye. This was the first time since John’s known him that Sherlock hasn’t tried to turn that assumption into a come on or a flirt.
“Best friends,” John agreed, a good reminder to his libido of exactly why that particular craving would not be sated.
“Oh? From your emails I thought-?“
Sherlock cut her off. “You’d be wrong.”
“Oh. Okay. Well I’m ready to leave this den of depravity. Dinner?”
“For once, I am going to take you up on that offer. John made me buy the most hideous pork sandwich today. It was from a food court, Irene.”
“Oh no. Not a food court?” Irene mocked. “John, would you like to join us?”
“Perhaps we could convince The Woman of your idea to hold her DVD launch at The Vibe?”
“Oh no. I am not talking work at dinner. Besides, any of those requests need to go through my agent.”
“See!” John said, smug at finally getting something over Sherlock for once. “I told you.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Congratulations, I’ll buy you a trophy tomorrow. Are you coming?”
John looked at the two of them. They seemed relaxed and comfortable in each other’s presence, like two peas in a pod. Probably a ton in common and much to catch up on, not to mention being an absolutely striking couple together. He really didn’t want to be a third wheel. Besides, from the second he’d seen that blindfold across Sherlock’s eyes John knew the only plans he’d have for the night would involve a Lestrade DVD and his vibrating dildo.
“Thank you anyway, but I have plans tonight.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but didn’t question him.
When John left that evening, his leg was not the only thing that was slightly stiff.
Continue to next chapter
Sherlock was right, as per usual. John was craving male company. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. A Sherlock-sized itch, more to the point. One that John was only vaguely aware existed before Sherlock stopped flirting with him so obviously. It was as if that bit of harmless flirtation was enough to sustain the part of him that enjoyed Sherlock’s attentions.
He did miss the flirting. Just a little bit.
But at the end of the day a one-night stand with his best friend was not what John was after, no matter how satisfying it might be. And while that was all that was on offer, he would simply stick to his string of unsuccessful dates.
Besides, Sherlock really was the best friend that John had. He was interesting, enigmatic, and lacked a certain self-awareness that was almost endearing. To John, anyway. He was proud to call him a friend, and a warm feeling pooled in his stomach when he saw others appreciate his talents of observation instead of him being maligned for them.
At Sexpo, the happiest adult exhibition on earth with 200 retailers and a centre stage holding hourly acts and demonstrations, Sherlock seemed to be in his absolute element. The buzz around the hall was electric, many people walking through and all of them happy and curious and willing to take advice, even of the abrupt and sometimes rude Holmesian variety.
“No, no, no. You don’t want those.” Sherlock marched over to a woman and her friend who had picked up a pair of padded handcuffs. He had to speak up over the grunts and groans coming from the centre stage speakers for the Best Fake Orgasm competition.
“I don’t?” she asked. The smirk on her face held a hint of skepticism, but she was willing to hear him out all the same.
“No, it won’t solve your problem. It will still rub against your wrist like this.” Sherlock grabbed the woman’s arm, drawing her attention to the faint red marks. “Obviously, your husband enjoys it, and you like to please him. But if you don’t get the right apparatus you’ll find yourself cursing him and yourself for agreeing to it in the first place.”
In a normal situation, sometimes even at The Vibe, the person would have either slapped John’s best friend, or walked away in a huff. Instead, the customer raised her eyebrows at her friend and gave a wry smile while Sherlock took a strip of material out of a box.
“Now this is what you need for those delicate wrists of yours. Give them to me.” Sherlock made a double loop with the long length of cloth over the woman’s offered wrists. Sherlock held onto the other end. “Okay, now pull.”
John saw the pleased look on the woman’s face as she yanked her hands away from Sherlock.
“It doesn’t rub at all,” she said, giving him a kind grin that made even John feel fuzzy.
She and her friend ended up buying two each and thanked Sherlock profusely as he handed them their bags. John often wished the world could see Sherlock through his eyes and appreciate what a unique person he was, and to see it happen filled him with a sense of pride on Sherlock’s behalf.
“We’re going through those Rabbits,” John told him in a break between customers. “We brought ten along and in two hours we’ve sold eight.”
“Interesting.” Sherlock took his mobile from his pocket and punched out a series of buttons. “Yes, as suspected, it was on last night.”
“What was?”
“The Rabbit episode of that terrible show about the four horrible women in New York.”
“Sex and the City?”
“That one, yes. Whenever that particular episode airs we seem to sell out of Rabbits within a week. Heaven knows why, when there’s much better female vibrators on the market.”
“Because you’re the expert on female pleasure?” John raised an eyebrow.
“One does not need a vagina to conduct research.”
“But one usually at least needs to know what works in that region.”
“I forgot I was dealing with a modern day Don Juan. Please, John, tell me all about it so I may learn enough to be worthy of looking up reviews on the internet!”
“I’m not getting into an argument with you about female genitalia,” John said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll call the store and get someone to bring some more over.”
“How many were there in the storeroom back at the office when you did that pointless stocktake the other night?”
“It wasn’t pointless.” John huffed. Sherlock was still using every opportunity he could to coax John into moving in with him. Bringing his attention to the amount of unpaid overtime he did was one strategy. “And about 70, from memory.”
“Get Sally to bring 30 of them here, and the rest should be put on the display at the front of the store.”
“Sally? You want to leave Anderson as the most senior person at the store to look after the weekend casuals?”
“You’d rather we bring Anderson here? To this exhibition where Miss Nude Canada is about to grace centre stage?”
John thought he probably deserved the look of scorn he was getting.
“I’ll call Sally.”
“And get her to bring some more penis pasta and nipple gummies, too.”
***
It was a wide variety of people who showed up to the Sexpo weekend, and John had a feeling that every single one of them came to their stand. It was great for business, but neither of them had had the chance to have a look around themselves. John was hoping to scope out some new merchandise and meet a few other retailers prior to the networking drinks that would be held at the exhibition’s close.
“Who are you texting?” he asked Sherlock during one of their brief respites.
“Molly. All this standing around and talking is making me hungry.”
“You are not getting Molly to bring you lunch.”
“Why not? She would do it.”
“I know she would, which is why you can’t. You are not to take advantage of that poor girl’s crush on you.”
“I never asked her to have a crush on me. Besides, it’s no longer a crush, merely a fixation. I represent the string of men she feels has rejected her.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to take advantage of it.”
“You don’t seem to mind Mycroft taking advantage of your admiration.”
“Admiration, yes, not a crush. And that’s different. Everything he asks me to do is around the store and actually forms part of my job.”
“I’ll get her to bring one of those caramel slices you like?”
“Sherlock, no. Look, there seems to be a lull. Go to the food hall at the back and get something from there. And get me a salad sandwich. I’ll look after things here.” He noted the tired look around Sherlock’s eyes and took pity on him. “Go on. You’re not usually around people for this long and you probably need some down time, right? Sally will be here soon with the stock. If it’s busy, I’ll just get her to help.”
“You can be surprisingly insightful at times,” Sherlock said, patting his pocket to ensure his wallet was in there. “I’ll make an observer out of you yet.”
“Thank you. I think. Now go before it gets busy again.”
Luckily the slight lull in trade did continue, so John spent his time fixing up the stock and speaking to the occasional customer. It had been a good day thus far, they’d already made their daily target in sales and the atmosphere from the crowd was contagious.
“Look at that, the puppy is dutifully holding the fort so the boss can have a break. How pathetic.”
John’s shoulders immediately stiffened at the Irish accent, his good mood suddenly soured. He turned to face none other than Jim Moriarty. He was wearing dark jeans and a tight t-shirt, hair slicked back and looking as creepy as ever. What did Sherlock ever see in him?
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“It’s a public exhibition, I don’t believe there is a restriction on entry for the over 18s. Besides, my sister is running a fudge stall and could use my assistance.”
“How convenient for you. Well I don’t think we have any merchandise here you don’t already own, and Sherlock is too busy for your usual attentions.” It was going to be a struggle to keep Jim away from Sherlock in a confined space like this, but John would try with all his might. This guy was a borderline stalker and the less time he spent around Sherlock the better for all of them.
“Oh Dr Watson, no need to be jealous. This isn’t a competition, I think we all know who he likes best. Well, the one he’s allowed intimate knowledge of himself, anyway. No matter how many nights good soldiers stay back after work to please their masters.”
He could feel the heat rise to his face and his jaw clench with the insinuation. The thought of this man’s hands on Sherlock made him feel physically ill and somewhat possessive.
John tried to school his features to be that of nonchalance, but he knew Jim could see right through him.
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat,” he said, smirk evident on his creepy little face, “but you seem busy. Tell Sherlock I said hello.”
As soon as he’d gone, John hobbled to the other side of the stand, keen to get as far away from Jim as possible. In these situations, he found himself longing for his discarded cane, even if it was just to bash Jim over the back of the head with.
***
“Would you be right if I took a break in a few minutes?” John asked, trying to hold back the eagerness in his voice. He saw Sherlock glance at his watch.
“Four o’clock? The day’s nearly over.” He paused. “Oh, that’s where everyone has disappeared to. Irene Adler performs now, doesn’t she?”
“Centre stage for a half hour demonstration.”
“You surprise me, John. The dominatrix scene is not usually your thing.”
“It isn’t at all, but she’s a bit of an icon, isn’t she? I wouldn’t mind seeing her in action.”
“Fine, go.” Sherlock waved him off. “I’m sure I can handle things here for the fifteen minutes before you get bored.”
“Are you sure? You know your greatest admirer is here too, don’t you?”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “I had the pleasure of bumping into him before. The man is a terrible actor, feigning his surprise at seeing me. I can handle him. Go see The Woman.”
John felt a bit giddy as he took a seat in the back row of centre stage. There was a sea of people waiting and the applause and catcalls almost drowned out the announcement.
“…and put your hands together for the delectable, dangerous diva, Irene Adler!”
In real life, Irene Adler was tiny, but what she lacked in stature she more than made up for in presence. She commanded the audience the second her black stiletto heels touched the stage. She was more alluring in the flesh than she was in any of her DVDs. The black and red corset hugged her torso and created curves, black hot pants accentuating her more than acceptable rear asset, black fishnets elongating her legs. John felt a wave of heat go through him just looking at her.
Irene was enigmatic and incredibly sexy. The control and confidence she displayed using her usual repertoire of apparatus showed how much in a league of her own she actually was. There were doms all over England who would kill to have an iota of her charisma. Irene Adler was a professional, the best in the business, and John could imagine that if it were his kink, he’d be making a quick stop off at the loo on his way back to their stall. But as it was, he found himself looking at his watch after ten minutes of the routine.
“We should get her to launch her new DVD at our store,” John suggested when he returned. “She’d be a big draw. Sign some covers and posters, maybe give away a session with her. One entry for every DVD bought from us?”
“You want to deal with that kind of audience in our store?” Sherlock looked at him as if her fans didn’t show up to the store every day to keep them in business.
“It would just be for a day. A few hours. The sales would be extraordinary. We should try and speak to her agent.”
“The Woman herself is here, why not just speak to her?”
“Because there are rules with these people. You go through their agents so you don’t bother them.” Besides, he was somewhat intimidated by Irene Adler, and the thought of approaching her directly gave him a touch of anxiety.
“What an inefficient use of time.”
“That may be so but you need to play by the rules in this business.”
“Rules are nothing but useless obstacles. Five minutes with her and we’d have a deal done.”
John rubbed his fingertips at his temples. It had been a good day, but it had been a long day, and he knew Sherlock was being deliberately contrary. He would get that way sometimes after spending excessive time around other people.
“You will do no negotiating. If I can track down her agent, I will speak to them. Five minutes with you and they would probably pull distribution from us.”
It wasn’t long before the doors shut on the exhibition for the first day. One more to go, then John could put his tired feet up. He was glad this didn’t happen every weekend, but it was a nice change from the confines of the store.
“We did good, today,” John said, scrolling through some of their point of sales screens on the iPad. “Thirty percent up on projected.”
“Good, that would be the appearance fee for Ms Adler,” Sherlock said as he finished tidying up some of the displays in readiness for the next day.
“You really think she’d say yes to a DVD signing?”
“I know she would. The Woman is not one to shy away from publicity. She’d appear at the opening of an envelope if there was a guarantee her drooling followers would be there to lay down at her feet.”
A female voice came from behind them. “Really, Mr Holmes? That’s the best you could come up with? You’re slipping since I saw you last.”
John’s jaw dropped. That was. Oh my. It was. Irene Adler. Live. Right in front of him. Literally a foot away.
“Tell me which part of it isn’t true and I shall come up with something else,” Sherlock said, and didn’t he know that he was insulting Irene Adler? The Irene Adler? She looked different out of her costume, just in jeans and a blazer, her hair in loose curls rather than a French twist. But it was still undeniably Irene Adler. Oh God. It was Irene Adler and Sherlock was going to ruin everything just by being himself. If it was anyone other than the woman he wanted to try and get to their store John would probably find it amusing, but in this case--
John’s internal monologue never usually rambled that much, but he was quite star struck. In fact, the only thing that derailed it was the sound of laughter coming from Irene Adler’s mouth. Irene Adler was laughing at Sherlock Holmes?
“No, you are quite right. I do enjoy the attention. I just thought you’d be a little nicer to me if you wanted your present.”
Now John was confused. His head darted between the two of them like he was watching a tennis match. He shook his head to clear it.
“Wait, you two know each other?”
John’s voice seemed to snap Sherlock out of his staring competition with their guest.
“Sorry, allow me to introduce you. Irene, this is Dr John Watson, a manager at my store. John, this is Irene, someone who latched onto me during University and I haven’t been able to shake off since.”
John wiped his palm on his trousers before offering it to Irene. “I’m a big fan.”
“Hmm,” she said, looking him up and down. “You’re not, really. You’re in awe of me, respect what I do. Maybe a little intimidated. But you’re not into what I do for a living.”
John swallowed. Great, it was just like dealing with a female Sherlock. Lord, those two at the same University. It’s a wonder London didn’t burn down.
“Enough about John. I believe you said something about a present?” Sherlock said. Irene reached into her back pocket.
“You know the rules. Close your eyes,” she instructed, taking out a strip of fabric and tying it around Sherlock’s head, over his eyes. John saw Sherlock’s breath hitch. He found himself also short of breath not a second later.
For all that John wasn’t into bondage, he was into blindfolds, and Sherlock looked exquisite in one. He could almost see that brilliant brain turning, heightening his other senses to compensate for losing his vision.
And God, John could picture it now. Sherlock, naked except for the blindfold. Standing in the centre of a room, sensing movement through vibrations on the floor or breath against his skin. Waiting, anticipating which direction John would come from. Light licks to his cock? Wet breath against the head of his dick? Feather-light touches against his nipples?
Or maybe Sherlock would be laying on his bed, back against the mattress, John rubbing his arse along his dick, getting him hard, ready. Then shuffling up towards his face on his knees, Sherlock opening his mouth in anticipation of John putting it to good use…
He swallowed past the dry lump in his throat and tried to concentrate on the scene in front on him. Irene Adler tying a bow around the back of Sherlock’s head, looking like she’d done this before, running her fingertips over it to feel it over his skin.
“…from the finest Japanese silk,” she was saying.
“I believe this one will be my favourite. It feels delicious.”
“It looks delicious, doesn’t it, John?” Irene gave him a knowing look, and John found it difficult to force the words from his throat.
“Um. Ah,” he started, he could feel his body going both cold then hot. He had no idea what was going on anymore. “So are you two--? I mean, have you ever been--? You know?”
“Lovers?” Irene asked, then both she and Sherlock completely cracked up with laughter. “Sherlock and I are completely incompatible with our sexual preferences.”
“Not to mention neither of us possessing the right genitalia for the other.”
“Right,” John breathed out. “So you’re-“
“A lesbian? Yes, most certainly. No need to worry about me stealing your man.”
Sherlock pulled off the blindfold and wrapped it around his fingers, feeling the texture. “Oh no, John and I are just friends, aren’t we?“
John’s gaze rose from watching Sherlock’s slender fingers twist around the material to look him in the eye. This was the first time since John’s known him that Sherlock hasn’t tried to turn that assumption into a come on or a flirt.
“Best friends,” John agreed, a good reminder to his libido of exactly why that particular craving would not be sated.
“Oh? From your emails I thought-?“
Sherlock cut her off. “You’d be wrong.”
“Oh. Okay. Well I’m ready to leave this den of depravity. Dinner?”
“For once, I am going to take you up on that offer. John made me buy the most hideous pork sandwich today. It was from a food court, Irene.”
“Oh no. Not a food court?” Irene mocked. “John, would you like to join us?”
“Perhaps we could convince The Woman of your idea to hold her DVD launch at The Vibe?”
“Oh no. I am not talking work at dinner. Besides, any of those requests need to go through my agent.”
“See!” John said, smug at finally getting something over Sherlock for once. “I told you.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Congratulations, I’ll buy you a trophy tomorrow. Are you coming?”
John looked at the two of them. They seemed relaxed and comfortable in each other’s presence, like two peas in a pod. Probably a ton in common and much to catch up on, not to mention being an absolutely striking couple together. He really didn’t want to be a third wheel. Besides, from the second he’d seen that blindfold across Sherlock’s eyes John knew the only plans he’d have for the night would involve a Lestrade DVD and his vibrating dildo.
“Thank you anyway, but I have plans tonight.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but didn’t question him.
When John left that evening, his leg was not the only thing that was slightly stiff.
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