Chapter Text
Pretense didn’t come easily to John Watson but if he wanted to get out of the army while he was still technically human it was going to take a bit of effort. The florescent lights were far too bright to be comforting and John was almost gagging from the stomach-turning combination of sickness and medication that pervaded the entire building. The harsh cleansers they used didn’t help either, he felt like he was choking. He could hear someone walking down the hallway on the floor beneath them, they had something wrong with one shoe and it was squeaking with every other step. The doctor in front of him smelled of weak coffee, latex, and hand-crème he used to soften his much-washed hands. Taking a deep breath John did everything he could to scale back the level of data that was crashing into his untrained mind and lied to the medic who was examining him, “Apart from the fact that my arm is totally fucked and my hip seems to have joined it I can’t say that there’s anything else I feel needs looking at, well, on the outside at least.” His PTSD was clearly marked in his files, a therapist had already been arranged for him. There was no option. If he wanted to collect his pension on the outside John Watson needed to lie and keep lying until his lies were indistinguishable from the truth and no one ever guessed his terrible secret.
Everyone knew of them, of course they did, they were unmistakeable. More and more of them were seen every single day. It used to be only certain families but now it seemed like there were new collared and tattooed Pairs everywhere. John supressed a shudder, he was so close now, he couldn’t let himself slip. This was his very last official appointment and he’d been so lucky so far. All he needed was a single signature and he would be safe. When he was in everyone talked about how incredible it would be to have your physical strength massively increase, to have all your senses maximized beyond imagining, to have your very mind expand to deal with the changes. You couldn’t tell who would Emerge next and John wasn’t about to let on. The Tower was never going to get its soulless hands on John Watson! He needed to figure out how to remain free.
“Sign these.” Said the medic who handed John a stack of paper. John’s hand trembled with each line but with bandages still on his wounded shoulder the medic said nothing. “The nurse has some information for you. Good-day Dr. Watson.”
John blinked at having his civilian title used. He’d been Captain Watson for so long, this was going to be another adjustment. The nurse handed him pamphlets to tell him how to obtain housing, and how to go about collecting his pension, where to meet his therapist and that was it. Limping slightly John clutched his cane and tapped his way to freedom. It was almost fate that the first people he bumped into were a bonded Pair and they frowned at him in tandem, “Sorry, still getting the hang of walking.” He clutched his cane dramatically and emanated an aura of weakness and weariness. Their expressions instantly eased. John’s eyes darted to their matching collars and elaborate facial tattoos before dropping politely to the ground. He didn’t want to catch their attention further by accidentally seeming confrontational.
They could hear his heart thundering with the panic he felt at recognizing what they were and instantly they attempted to sooth him. “Walk with care brave soldier, we thank you for your sacrifice. Be at ease, we mean you no harm.” Emergent were always polite, that seemed true enough. Sentinel and Guide together, bonded mind, heart, and soul forever. John barely supressed a second shudder. What would that be like having someone else’s thoughts in your head, to have someone else’s mind ruling yours, the government controlling them so you were both puppets on a string? That’s what Guides did, they played their Sentinels like hand-puppets, controlling their emotions and thoughts by overruling their minds with their own, warriors that were directed like well-trained pets with their owners in matching leather and ink! Before terror took him completely the Pair turned away as one and walked off, already forgetting his existence. With relief John kept going.
It took the rest of the day but John soon had his meagre belongings gathered up and tucked into a corner of his sister’s spare room. It was actually her TV room but John was bunking on the sofa-bed until his bedsit was arranged for and after ten minutes of being ranted at by his drunken sibling John was wondering if staying in rehab would have been a better choice. Clara had left her yet again for drinking too much and bitterly Harry accused John of being the most recent cause, “If you hadn’t got shot Johnny I wouldn’t have started up again. Worrying about you drives me to drink. It’s your fault.”
That night John took the maximum dosage of medicine he was allowed and let himself fall into a drugged stupor to escape her endless ravings. The next morning he was driven out before she even woke, the stench of stale alcohol and misery more than he could deal with. The chaos of the city streets nearly overwhelmed him but even the headache he eventually had was better than an extra minute with his only sister. The light was too bright and reluctantly John invested in a pair of sunglasses which helped a small amount and at least hid the pain in his eyes so no one else noticed they had an un-bonded Emergent Sentinel limping next to them. Music seemed to help so John went from one store to another to listen to demo music for as long as they would tolerate him before moving on to another location. Parks were as chaotic as the streets but all the green made John relax a bit more and gave him a chance to practice filtering out conversations he could hear everywhere, or the distressing sounds of the hidden darkness of distant wrongs being committed. He wished he could shut it all off because he could hear screams just as clearly as he could hear laughter and it was all around him. John couldn’t stop hearing it all and it wasn’t until someone bumped into him standing in the path that he snapped out of his daze. It was very late in the day now. How long had he been standing there distracted by all the noise which now had faded away properly?
Agreeing to the first place that was available the very next day John moved out, simply leaving the key Harry had given him on her small kitchen table. The bedsit was damp, bland, and miserable but it was mercifully quiet, the silent rooms around him filled with people just as low as he was. No one had it in them to make a fuss any longer. John lay huddled on his narrow and sagging bed nearly whimpering as his mind tore itself apart. Here in the sanctuary of his social isolation he was safe to suffer, safe to weep when he needed to, safe to try and learn some rudimentary control over his new self. The nightmare that had begun while he was away had followed him home.
When John was bleeding out on the burning sands of the Afghanistan desert something had happened. The sniper shot had torn through his shoulder, the fierceness of the impact so shocking he hadn’t felt a second of pain while it happened. Instead John had felt a moment of disconnect and then a strange kind of euphoria as he fell to his face, his own blood pooling beneath him. He should have died there with everyone else but despite the odds he’d survived. They called it a miracle but now John knew what had happened. Something inside him had been activated and John was now one of the Emergent. He was becoming a Sentinel.
Despair gripped him as tightly as fear. Sentinels and Guides were not legal citizens, not once they Emerged. They became part of a separate social class, bound by harsh rules, their lives given over to the service of the realm. John would be forced to choose a Guide and bond with them. Man or woman it would make no difference, everyone knew that. Apparently he would meet someone and he would just know and so would they. Once the government found out John was a Sentinel his life would be over. He had to hide somehow. He had to master his new body and senses and somehow stay hidden. Without a collar or tattoo John looked like a regular human. If he was careful no one would ever know about his enhanced strength and coordination, or the fact that he could hear and smell things for blocks around. Food was both wonderful and revolting now, for much of the time all John could tolerate was the familiar fragrance and rich flavor of tea. If he had the money he could rent a shielded flat. They were all the rage back in the early seventies when Sentinels and Guides finally became public knowledge. Back then it had been considered chic to have Pairs as guests and many an overly-wealthy dilettante had their homes fitted with shields to protect the delicate senses of bonded Pairs. Now at least half of all rentals were shielded but it was pricey. John could never afford it, not alone.
Six months of struggle and depression later a new fear gripped John. He was on the verge of being homeless. While mastering the art of masking his abilities John had overcompensated faking his slow return to health while in therapy and they had delayed clearing him for work. His hip and shoulder were still a problem but not enough to stop him from applying at various hospitals but without full clearance from the army no one would hire him even if they were interested. He couldn’t get a job. Renting the bedsit was eating its way through his slim savings and John would live in a bin in the alley before he went back to Harry for shelter. Anxiously he went for a walk through the city to try and figure things out. “John! John Watson!”
Mike Stamford had been a decent friend back in uni and though it had taken a moment for John to recollect him when he did he was happy to sit down and enjoy the coffee Mike bought him while they reminisced. John didn’t want Mike to ask questions about his injuries so he complained about his bedsit instead, “Who’d want me for a flatmate?” he demanded almost angrily and was surprised when Mike just smiled as he replied and took John to meet someone.
John was completely blown away by the overwhelming and almost forceful personality of the person in front of him. He came off condescending but John immediately realized that the stranger was simply so packed tight with information that it leaked out constantly, he couldn’t help it and John was instantly intrigued. The man was tall, narrow, seemingly made entirely of edges and points, his body as sharp as the mind behind eyes that were taunting and teasing at the same time. Raven black curls were stark against milk white skin, and his mouth! John had never seen a person who was so very…different. John barely remembered the words he’d heard but the last mouthful were burned into his brain, “The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221 B Baker Street.” The wink was completely uncalled for and made John want to chase after him in a way that surprised him. He didn’t.
Mike was almost unbearably smug after that and John was grateful that he had to leave for his therapy appointment. Ella was disappointed yet again when John simply sat there saying and doing nothing. He didn’t trust himself and he most definitely didn’t trust her. She was a government appointed therapist. She’d see right through any lie he tried to tell so he stayed silent even if it frustrated her. To stave off another well-meant lecture he said, “I might have found a flatmate. I’ve got an interview tonight.”
“Oh? A new living arrangement might be just what you need John.” Ella smiled encouragingly at him and he nodded tentatively. This was the most information he’d divulged so far and she seemed very pleased, “I hope it goes well, do you have to leave soon?”
The meeting wasn’t until seven. John had hours to go but any excuse to skive off early was a good one, “Yeah, I’ll just make the train if I limp off now.” She smiled understandingly and wished him luck once again. John tried not to make a show of his cane but he still leaned a little harder than he needed to but kept his pace steady as he left. Hiding from Ella was the most important deceit right now. Maybe she could have helped with his nightmares if he’d opened up to her but he was afraid of accidentally revealing himself so he suffered night after night without relief. His bedsit was a prison of blankness and grief, he needed out.
He rode the busses for a long time to pass the hours before finding his way to the address he didn’t need to write down. 221 B Baker Street was kept by one Mrs. Hudson, a sweetly smiling lady who led John up to the flat. He was going to say no, there was no way to afford a place in this neighborhood, he had…to…say…oh. The door to the street shut and all the noise, all the smell, everything that bothered John simply went away. Mrs. Hudson was saying something and John was saying something back but he was hardly paying attention.
The flat was…amazing. The shielding clearly covered the entire building because it was peaceful and quiet, well, except for the explosion of color from the mass of things that were already filling shelves and spilling off of surfaces. Sherlock had moved in already and before John could react the tall strange man was flying out the door, his long coat flaring behind him at the speed of his departure. Discomfited John sat while Mrs. Hudson made him tea, angrily tapping at his leg for being so bloody useless. Until now he’d faked how bad it was but he hadn’t needed to fake the problem itself. His leg just didn’t work right and no one could figure out why. “You’re a doctor. An army doctor.” Sherlock was back, somehow silently ghosting up the stairs to startle John out of his musings, “Seen a lot of bodies?”
“More than enough for one lifetime.” Replied John fervently and he could see them all, torn flesh of friend and foe alike as he and others like him worked endlessly to patch them back up, to keep them together long enough to be passed along to someone who didn’t have bullets razing past their helmets, or dirt blowing all over their surgery.
“Want to see some more?” offered Sherlock with another cheeky smile and how could John resist?
“Oh god yes.” he said and was up and out of his chair without another thought. It was brilliant and exciting, thrilling and it made John’s heart race once more but not with the thrill of the hunt as his new flatmate amazed him over and over again with his perceptions. Was Sherlock a Sentinel? Did he also have enhanced senses? John was unsure but now he needed to know. Could he have bumbled into someone who knew how to hide himself somehow?
One of the coppers, Donovan he thought her name was, had pulled John aside, or rather, pushed him aside and gave him some hard words about the man he was going to live with. Her eyes were hard and flat with distaste and more than a touch of hate filled them when she looked at Sherlock. John didn’t like her and recoiled from her unwelcome touch. He could smell something rank on her, something that smelled like shame combined with frustration. Before he could think of a way to extricate himself a silver-haired man in a trench-coat made her allow him to go inside with Sherlock.
John had worked for months learning to hide his reactions so he didn’t even flinch when he saw the body of a woman in a cheerful ensemble laid out on the floor but he could smell the stench of death hanging in the air. She looked as if she were hailing a cab, if that meant doing so while being face-down on the floor while also being very thoroughly dead. Sherlock made John examine her so with eyes made sharp with experience he did. He could smell something on her breath but he couldn’t tell anyone but there was a burning high in his nose that told him whatever it was that she had ingested was toxic and likely how she had been killed but until someone did an autopsy and found the pill or powder or liquid or whatever it was, then John had no way of plausibly telling anyone how she died.
Sherlock was excited about something and was going on about something that wasn’t there. Everyone attending simply got on with their jobs of collecting information, the other officers pretending that Sherlock simply wasn’t there, all of them sighing in relief when he ran off leaving John with a corpse and a small crowd of very unwelcoming police officers. One of them reminded John of a rat for some reason and he was smirking at John before informing him that he had just been abandoned. No one hid their laughter and John limped down the stairs angrily. He was mad enough to lose control over his senses which cast wide, revealing all of John’s surroundings in stunning detail via smell and sound. Even his skin seemed sensitive to the vibrations around him, like a spider in its web John found Sherlock running around the exterior of the building, clearly delighted, clearly completely distracted.
When he went to have a shout at his new flatmate John was picked up on the street by a beautiful woman in a long dark car. Confused and wary he got in, his fingers clenching reflexively on the handle of his cane as he was delivered to a dim damp warehouse. A man even taller than Sherlock was waiting, his suit of the most expensive cut and material, his obvious wealth and power evident in his posture and expression. John disliked him intently, his nose fluttering as he took in the man’s scent, noted the tiny details on his tie-pin, the thinness of his hair, and the faint traces of make-up that muted the freckles that John could still see. Whoever this was wanted John to feel intimidated. Not likely!
John simply stood there and looked at the man. By the time their conversation concluded John was furious! Who was this creep and why would he offer John money to spy on his flatmate? John would never do it, he’d never betray someone like that! How dare anyone even suggest it? He’d been in the army and secrets often unintentionally spilled out when so many people were packed so tight. The very least a decent person could do was grant the others the gift of silence. If John was going to room with someone he would expect the same treatment in return, he would never spy on Sherlock, not for any amount of money.
John felt an extreme level of anger for some reason. He was mad at the strange man and he didn’t know why. Frustrated John also realized he didn’t know where he was. With almost no cash left he took the Tube back toward Baker Street and eventually painfully limped his way to the door where Mrs. Hudson fluttered over him. Sherlock was obviously upstairs and John shook off her attempts to sooth his temper and went up to yell at his flatmate for leaving him, “Ah John, I knew you’d make your way back. In the future just know that I have a service contract with the cabs, here’s the card for it, charge all your rides to that. My brother pays for it all and as far as I’m concerned I don’t make him pay enough. Be a good chap and help me with that would you and look, I found it. I can’t believe the police hadn’t even checked the nearby alleys or bins yet. I mean…”
“Sherlock you left me behind.” said John firmly, “I don’t know those people and I barely knew where we were! I got kidnapped on the street and some arse with an umbrella tried to pay me to spy on you! Care to explain?”
Sherlock looked stunned for a moment, completely derailed from his excited chattering about the contents of the suitcase he had located which was colored to match the dead woman’s clothing. He stood tall and blinked down at John before narrowing his eyes, “My brother. His name is Mycroft and he tirelessly interferes with my life. The next time he offers you money, take it. He has plenty and then you can feed him any lie you choose. I apologize for leaving you behind, I’m not accustomed to working with a partner and Lestrade would have brought you back here if you’d asked. Also I would have hated to deprive Donovan who was simply itching for a chance to pour her bile in your ear so let’s have it. What did she call me this time because I’m going to say it was her saying that I am insane which is clearly wrong.”
“As a matter of fact she may have heavily hinted something of the sort.” said John. For some reason Sherlock was making him smile, especially now that the man was dramatically rolling his eyes and huffing like a child. He should be furious right now but learning that the tall man had been his over-protective brother seemed to take the sting away from all of it, and then listening to Sherlock’s disparaging tone when speaking of the detective for some reason amused him.
“High-functioning sociopath is that so difficult to recall?” John was more than a little taken aback. Sherlock looked put out too and continued in a voice that was a little too careless to be natural. This topic clearly troubled the pale man. John could smell faint anxiety and uncertainty buried in Sherlock’s scent. “Apparently I don’t feel things the way people ought to feel things, people have been more than a little concerned that I might have been born…defective.”
“I don’t buy that for a second.” said John. Sherlock was brilliant and no one as observant as him could possibly be lacking for feelings. John was a doctor, he understood very well the label Sherlock had produced for himself.
Sherlock looked instantly mutinous and ready to say something except Mrs. Hudson rushed in nearly in tears, “Sherlock what have you done now?” she shouted. Behind her a flood of people poured into the flat. They spread out and infiltrated every room, upturning everything and making the chaos even worse.
Lestrade was there, “Drugs bust. Everyone volunteered oddly enough.” John couldn’t believe it, not Sherlock. The detective didn’t look like a drug-user but his silent plea for John to say nothing had told the doctor everything he needed. John considered the little he did know about the man, too thin, too jittery, too much of everything and somehow he understood but it was still a shock. Sherlock was a junkie, or ex-junkie and the police knew it with such certainty that they volunteered to come look.
John’s fingers trembled. The blessed silence of the flat was shattered. There were nearly a dozen strangers rummaging around, spreading their stench, exhaling endlessly and John could smell every bit of them. He wanted to be ill, the smells were too much. Once triggered by his sense of smell all his other senses seemed to grow rapidly acute. He could hear every heartbeat. He could feel how the strangers were moving around the flat by the disturbance they made in the air. John’s entire body became one huge receiver for information and it nearly shattered him except a long pale hand reached out and rested on his shoulder. Abruptly the world snapped back into normal focus and he fixed his eyes on Sherlock’s face. The tall man looked apologetic and wary, “I’m sorry John.”
Sherlock’s eyes flickered to the people around them and John realized Sherlock was apologizing for being the cause of the invasion and instantly he softened. “We’ll deal with it.” he said with a smile which grew bigger when Sherlock’s face became relieved looking. Was John’s approval already so important to the dark-haired man? They hadn’t even known each other a day! Regardless Sherlock managed to not only rid the flat of everyone uninvited but also managed to keep hold of the suitcase he’d located in the alley. He even silently listened to the detective inspector’s lecture about stealing evidence without rolling his eyes which frankly even John had a hard time not doing. Sherlock wasn’t wrong. Why hadn’t the police simply looked? Sherlock must have found it right away but everyone on scene except for Lestrade pretended he wasn’t even there so who’s fault was it really? John found himself staunchly on Sherlock’s side. The man was clearly able to solve the case without help from the so-called professionals and John wasn’t interested in being friendly with the authorities anyway.
Lestrade was winding up his lecture to Sherlock. John could smell something on the DI, it smelled expensive, almost like Sherlock but not. It made his nose wrinkle. Mycroft. Was the DI spying on Sherlock for his brother? Even more determined to protect his flatmate’s privacy John moved to position himself defensively beside the taller man, if anything happened John wasn’t going down easy. “Don’t make me bring in a Sentinel in here Sherlock, you know what trouble that causes.”
John was amazed when Sherlock abruptly stiffened beside him and almost spat his answer in the DI’s face, “You can tell my brother to fuck off. His Sentinels are not welcome here. Both of you can cease your efforts to match me with one.”
John was reeling. Sherlock was a Guide! How? He just admitted to having emotional issues and Guides were all about feelings. They were masters of empathy, capable of understanding someone so deeply that they could reach out and actually get inside someone enough to manipulate their emotions, soothing them, calming them, taking away violent impulses instead of hurting people though Sentinels were capable of wreaking immense damage. Guides were the masters of the Pairing. That went without saying. John felt ill. How could he get out of this? Mycroft controlled the Sentinels and Sherlock was an un-bonded Guide! John had to get away but Sherlock surprised him when the tall man’s anger escalated into a hard demand, “You tell your husband that John is off limits for him or any of his associates is that clear Lestrade? Just because he lives here with me doesn’t give any of you the right to use your despicable tactics to pressure him. Leave me and John alone and let me do what I do best.”
John was staring at Lestrade. The DI was married to Sherlock’s Sentinel controlling brother! Was he a Guide or perhaps a Sentinel himself? He wasn’t collared or tattooed, John couldn’t tell and he certainly wasn’t going to ask. The last thing he wanted to do was expose himself and end up being sent to the Tower for training. Lestrade didn’t sound dangerous when he spoke, he sounded tired, “I’ll tell Myc to back off of John but you know as well as I do he’ll never stop watching out for you Sherlock, not ever.
“Leave Lestrade. Text me any new information on the case but otherwise don’t talk to me. I’m sweeping the flat for bugs again and when I find them tell Mycroft I will shove them someplace painful if he tries to monitor my life inside my home. Good day Detective Inspector Lestrade, say hello to Mummy next weekend, I’m afraid I’ll be too busy for Sunday brunch.”
Disgruntled the DI left with a frown. Sherlock shushed John and prowled through their flat, cursing as he extracted two small devices which he crushed underfoot. He prowled around a second time and now that he knew what he was hearing John knew there was a device embedded in the human skull on the mantle. He went over and pulled it out, dropping it to the floorboards and crushing it. He listened again and found one more on their telly. John found himself being turned physically to face Sherlock who was now inspecting John intently, his hands gripping his shoulders, “When did it start?” he demanded and John almost fell back, “The headaches, the changes? When did they start? Was it when you were hurt? You were triggered then weren’t you? Yes, I can see you were. So, not a psychosomatic limp, rather it’s a full body delay in shock from the shift. You are wounded, it will heal perfectly but no one will know that but me and you that you have Emerged! This is perfect, absolutely perfect John!” Sherlock seemed exultant but John was definitely not, “John are you alright?”
John was shaking. Sherlock knew! He knew John had Emerged and was a Sentinel, albeit an untrained one. John was going to the Tower. He was going to be collared and tattooed, bound forever to some person he didn’t even know for the rest of his existence. For once he couldn’t stop himself and rushing to the bathroom John made it there in time to be tremendously ill. Dimly he realized Sherlock was in the bathroom with him and the man was still talking! He was also wiping John’s neck with a damp cloth and speculating on John’s physical condition, “Of course you needed a shielded flat, I should have guessed when you first got here, the relief on your face was palpable. Naturally someone like you would want to hide your new condition. Have you zoned yet? Gone into a trance or lost time? Oh, you wouldn’t know if you had would you. You wouldn’t even notice unless it went on for some time.” Sherlock sounded disappointed.
“The park.” Said John hoarsely, “It happened in the park. Someone bumped into me and I snapped out of it. I must have stood there for hours.” John realized he could have been spotted then, the government had cameras everywhere it seemed. He should be going into shock but something about Sherlock’s presence steadied him.
“When were you triggered?” Sherlock was now rubbing circles onto John’s back but completely absently as if his hand were moving on its own because his mind was definitely off in another universe of thought, “The army. Your shoulder. The incident is what triggered you but the symptoms were masked by the drugs they used while saving your life. You didn’t even know until you were nearly back. You’ve had to hide all this time and nobody knows. Oh John this is absolutely the best present I’ve ever gotten!”
John still felt sick but Sherlock’s hand was making him feel better and the weird level of attention he was receiving felt kind of nice even though it was obvious to John Sherlock didn’t even realize he was doing anything. He was thinking and his body was just hanging around occupying itself. John found the presence of the much larger man to be oddly calming even if he never stopped talking but suddenly he paid attention to what Sherlock was actually saying, “Why would this be a present for you? It seems like a big fat piece of hell to me.”
Sherlock’s body stiffened once again and John regretted the harshness of his words but Sherlock merely helped John stand upright and kept his hand on John’s sore shoulder as he handed John mouthwash and let him clean up. When they were seated back out front he answered, “It is perfect because the last thing in the world I want in my life is a well-trained and thoroughly brainwashed dog who’s waiting to come to heel, and it’s clear to me that the last thing you’d ever find acceptable is being forced to comply to the faceless dictates of the Tower. You are a soldier, you are accustomed to taking orders but you are also an individual. You don’t need someone planning your every moment, you have a deeply developed personality that will not accept being subsumed by the normal Sentinel/Guide paradigm therefore I have a proposal to make John. Bond with me. Be my Sentinel and we can live our lives any way we like. The Tower is only for unbonded Sentinels. I was privately trained, you wouldn’t have to go. I don’t want to bond with one of the people trained at my brother’s facility and you don’t want to have a Guide that treats you like a meat-puppet. We’d be free of all of it and no one could change it. We could be partners, real partners, not one of those…Pairs.” Sherlock sounded as revolted as John, his entire long lean body shuddering delicately.
It sounded almost too good to be true. Sherlock would make an ideal partner. John already like him. Maybe they could even have been friends and he was already feeling very loyal toward his flatmate. Maybe it was impetuous, maybe it was rash but John heard his answer as clearly as Sherlock did, “Yes.” It felt right.
Sherlock looked as surprised as John felt when the word rang out clearly, “Sooner rather than later John. My brother has eyes everywhere. You won’t be able to hide for long and if he discovers you he will take you from me out of spite.” John wondered at the possessive note in Sherlock’s voice, and the sense of urgency that was beginning to tug at him.
“I don’t know how to do it,” admitted John. He was only vaguely aware that bonds existed. He didn’t know how they were formed, “Actually I know nothing at all for certain about Sentinels or Guides.”
“Well it’s not difficult. We have to have sex and at the point of orgasm you will bite me here,” Sherlock used his index finger to circle a patch of skin at the base of his neck. He sounded entirely matter-of-fact, “That will activate a chemical cascade that creates a bond between us and that’s pretty much the entire process. A bond grows deeper over time but even initially we will feel very strongly for one another, it will cause some physical reactions but we’re both adults. I have zero interest in a physical relationship, in fact I have considered a lifetime of celibacy entirely acceptable, but I can’t see why we can’t deal with whatever issue arises like grownups.”
John was gaping at the clear innuendo. He needed to have sex with a man, specifically this man and Sherlock didn’t even care for sex. Like bonds John was vaguely aware that Sentinels and Guides came in all combinations of the gender binary. Being male or female was a technicality now, he was a Sentinel and he needed a Guide, that Sherlock was a man was irrelevant. “I’ve never had sex with a man before. Does it require penetration?” John didn’t want to do that. Anal sex had never interested him and Sherlock was a man…there weren’t a lot of orifice options.
“Good question and yes. At least one of us needs to be inside the other, though how two women are able to bond I can’t quite figure out though they do manage somehow. I will penetrate your body and then you will bite into mine. That seems fair doesn’t it? Actually I have no real preference, I’ve never had sex before. Did you want to top?” Sherlock seemed to genuinely be offering because he literally had no idea how it would feel either way and simply didn’t care. John needed to sit down. He’d agreed to become Sherlock’s Sentinel without hesitation and now he was learning how he might have to be buggered silly by a virgin just before he bit into that virgin’s long neck to chemically induce a bond. “I don’t think I can even reach your neck!”
A nervous giggle escaped him and Sherlock looked chagrined, “It would be a bit awkward with our height difference. I suppose you’ll have to take me from behind and bite me that way, actually, come here and let’s figure this out.”
Sherlock just stood up and bent invitingly over the couch, presenting himself while John stood there in shock, “You want me to…” Were they really doing this? They were! They were working out the logistics of having anal sex with each other!
“Just lay over my back John, I just want to see if you can reach my neck! It would be pretty odd to be having sex for the purpose of bonding only to discover we can’t manage!” that was how John found himself actually stretched over Sherlock’s long hard back, his groin mashed into Sherlock buttocks as he craned his neck up to reach. He couldn’t quite make it so Sherlock arched his back but John still couldn’t quite reach, “Well that answers that. Come here John.” Sherlock pushed John off his back and sat on the sofa, “We’ll have to do it this way I suppose, here, kneel over me. If I penetrated you like this you could easily reach my neck.”
John stood there while Sherlock patted his knees as if that would make John sit astride them. It made John acutely aware of how vulnerable it felt. He’d never been touched by anyone but doctors before and now he was planning to let some man stick his dick into him. This was unreal, “I don’t know if I want to be fucked actually.” John had never once considered having anal sex with him as the receiver. In fact it had never once occurred to him to ever want anal sex at all, what was the point? He was straight, his cock worked perfectly fine, and every woman he slept with was a brand new adventure. John didn’t care if other people liked anal sex, they could do what they liked with their bodies, it wasn’t his business but he was pretty certain he only liked sex with women and all the ones he’d slept with had never once requested it. There wasn’t really an option here though.
“Well I know for a fact that I don’t want to have sex but we have to or the bond won’t activate. We can manage one time John even if it’s not the best experience in the world. Wouldn’t a single round of bad sex be infinitely better than a lifetime being governed by the Tower and Mycroft?”
John blinked. Sherlock was a virgin of some years and clearly stating that he was not a sexual creature. He was willing to have sex only to bond. John wasn’t gay but Sherlock wasn’t wrong. Even if it was the worst most painful sex he ever had it would be better than a lifetime on a government leash, their every move monitored, all their work selected for them. John would never be a doctor again unless Sherlock let him but even that was a better risk to take than falling into the hands of the government. The Tower wouldn’t care a jot for any of John’s old training. He would be run through their programs and taught whatever they felt like he needed to learn. No, Sherlock was entirely correct, “If you lean back a bit it might be easier.” he conceded. Sherlock smirked but obeyed. Shaking his head John sat on Sherlock’s lap and shuffled forward so that Sherlock’s flaccid cock was near his backside. Leaning forward John easily reached the section of skin Sherlock had indicated and latched his mouth onto it experimentally. Sherlock’s skin was salty and sweet at the same time and without thinking John licked the damp patch he’d left behind, “Yeah this will work.”
Sherlock had gone still and John felt him swallow hard as he pulled away, “Yes John. I believe it will.” John sat back and Sherlock looked up at him sitting there, “When do you want to bond?”
John shrugged. This was hardly a romantic relationship, it was a whirlwind bonding, not a courtship, he wasn’t sexually attracted to Sherlock this was a deal they were making with one another to save themselves. Both of them were grabbing tight to what freedom they could find for themselves and both of them knew they were using the other to do it. It was a practical arrangement that satisfied their greater needs, that was it. John had already Emerged, he wouldn’t have to hide it any longer not that he’d be able to. Even now he found himself slipping and Sherlock’s first question had been about falling into what he’d called a zone, “I don’t know. Like you said, sooner rather than later right? Do you want to do it now?”
Sherlock looked seriously at John, “I think we can at least make the attempt. We’ll need lubrication of course. I am regularly tested thanks to my brother and his spouse, what is your health status?”
“Clean. I got checked due to the injury and I haven’t been with anyone since well before that.” John had been going on leave in just two more weeks before he was shot. He was perfectly healthy that way at least. “I’ve got lube.” John had the best lube he could afford. A man had to treat himself to something and wanking was at least free.
“Well then I’m going to take a shower first, you can have one after. I’ll meet you in my bedroom when you’re ready. I think I’ve got clean sheets.” Sherlock just dumped John off his lap and left. This was the least romantic sex the doctor ever imagined he’d be planning to have. John was still sitting in a heap when he heard the shower turn on and it galvanized him into action. He went upstairs and stripped off his clothing, dumping everything into the hamper. He wrapped on his robe and stuck the bottle of lube in his pocket before returning downstairs and ensuring that the door was as locked as it could get. He even drew the curtains though he was certainly keeping their carnal activities limited to the bedroom! When he was satisfied that he was as secured as he could get John puttered around the kitchen until Sherlock was out of the shower.
When the coast was clear John went to wash up, conscientiously scrubbing himself everywhere zealously. This might be the only time Sherlock ever had sex, John was determined to do his best even if it was one neither of them particularly cared to have the experience. This was a practical solution he told himself as he shaved closely. Making sure to rinse all over thoroughly John debated about deodorant before deciding he was showering later anyway so there was no point, he wasn’t going to get that rank in whatever time it took for Sherlock to…to…but whatever, no matter what John was showering again later. Stepping out of the tub John began to dry himself and noticed how steamy the mirrors had gotten. It was actually quite lovely. Droplets of condensation were gathering and beginning to bead. One trailed down the surface of the glass and got caught on a bit of dried on toothpaste or something but it looked so beautiful John couldn’t stop staring. Unmoving and unblinking John Watson simply stood, his mind disconnected with his body as his senses short-circuited.