Chapter Text
Hello. I am emailing you about the ad you placed online, looking for clients. I am interested in meeting with you. Please let me know soon.
John stared at the message. It seemed so incredibly silly to him. Was that all he had to say? Was he supposed to treat this like a normal business arrangement? He went back to the window with the Craig's List ad, looking to see if there was any other information he'd overlooked. He couldn't find anything. He focused on the crop in the photo, biting his lip as he went back to his message. He had been having trouble sleeping for almost a week now. He had tried taking medicine but that only left him trapped in nightmares, making it hard to wake up. He had tried staying up too long to exhaust himself to sleep, but there was always so much going on with cases. He'd even tried masturbating but he could never get his head in the right place, making the build up to his orgasms too long and not intense enough to make him sleepy. He knew this was an extreme solution, but it had helped him in the past and he was desperate.
Meeting with a dom would definitely tire him out, not just from the orgasm but from whatever other activities they got up to. Someone else could take over, allowing him to give up his control and finally stop his wandering mind. He could focus, settle down, and finally sleep. That was the plan, at least. He took a deep breath and sent the message as it was.
Sherlock was at the library, finishing some research. He was just about to pack up his stuff when an email arrived. He looked it over but wasn't quite sure what it meant. Perhaps it was a potential case, though he'd taken great pains to make sure his website did not seem like an ad. Although John had told him it would be good for business, Sherlock wanted that website to be informative, not persuasive. He thought about just ignoring it -- there was no name and the email address seemed deliberately random, but, with his research done, he did need a new project.
I might be able to help. Could you tell me where you saw the ad?
John was pleased when he got such a quick response. He paused for a moment, swallowing the small spike of nerves before writing back.
I was talking about the one with the crop on it? I saw it online.
Sherlock stared at the message. What was this person talking about? Crop? Was this some farm-related thing? He started to type.
I think you may have made a mistake
And then all of a sudden, Sherlock remembered. Craig's List. A few months before John's arrival, Sherlock had a case that involved fraud at a local BDSM club and he had posted an ad to try to draw in the perps. He opened a new window and found the ad, which he quickly deleted. He looked back at the email. Could this still be related to that case or was it something else? He wondered if he should just leave it or possibly wait until he got home to ask for John's opinion. But Sherlock wasn't sure how John would feel about all that. He deleted the line and instead wrote something new.
What can I help you with?
John shifted forward in his seat and hit reply.
I need your services. I'm having trouble sleeping, I was thinking sessions at night, if you could?
Sherlock was slightly intrigued. At university, he had had some sexual experiences but since then, he'd only focused on work and that had been enough. However, once John moved in and was continually going out on dates, Sherlock had on occasion thought about the lack of intimacy in his life. Not enough to do anything about it, of course -- his attitude about its importance hadn't really changed -- but sometimes when John was out on dates, Sherlock stayed at home and wondered if he'd ever do any of those things again.
Not that he was going to meet this person and have sex with them. That'd be ridiculous. But perhaps a little chat about it couldn't hurt anything.
I see. And what is it you'd like from me? Feel free to be specific. I'd rather know in advance if I can help you. No need to waste either of our time.
John licked his lips. Okay. This was going well.
I like being tied up, ordered around, that sort of thing. I just want to give up control for a bit, stop thinking so much.
Sherlock shifted a bit in his chair and then glanced around quickly.
And the crop is of interest to you?
John swallowed back another burst of heat.
Yes. That's what's been used on me in the past.
Luckily your requests are my specialties. Of course, I'll need to see proof that you are drug/disease free. Also, if you are a woman, you will need to look elsewhere. Once you have proof in hand, if you are still in need, feel free to contact me again.
Sherlock closed up his laptop and slid it into his bag. He got a taxi and stared out the window as it drove through the city. That had been mildly interesting. However, by the time he got home, he'd forgotten all about it.
John put his phone down. That wasn't an unreasonable request. He could find his records and get this going as soon as he got home.
Unfortunately, the rest of the day was busier than he had expected. When John got home he set aside looking for his records, too tired for it tonight. Perhaps his exhaustion would be enough to let him sleep tonight. "Is there dinner in?" he asked Sherlock.
Sherlock was lying on the sofa. He opened his eyes. "No idea," he said. "If you're putting the kettle on, I'll take a cup please."
John sighed loudly and went into the kitchen, looking around for leftovers as he started the kettle.
Sherlock sat up and stretched a bit and got up and followed John to the kitchen. "Work okay?" he asked, fiddling with some papers on the desk.
"No. Well, yeah, just busy. I'm really exhausted."
Sherlock got up and poured the tea for both of them. "I was busy as well," he said. "Got that research sorted. I might have a bath and an early night myself."
"That's good," John said, digging into the leftover Chinese. He wasn't really feeling it so he put it away not long after starting it, having his tea instead.
Sherlock moved to his chair and took a sip of his tea. He glanced over at John. "You sure you're okay?" he asked. "I'm not trying to hassle you, but I've rarely seen you turn away food. Did you have a late lunch or something?" He took another drink.
"No, I'm just tired," John said. "It was a long day." He hoped he would be able to sleep when he went to bed.
"All right then," Sherlock said. He finished his tea and got up to draw the bath. He went into his room and got his pajamas and dressing gown. "I'm taking a bath," he called as he went. He settled into the hot water and thought about his research and hoped that tomorrow he'd get a new case.
John had hummed to let him know he heard, putting his mug down and settling back into his chair. He thought about his email exchange earlier and smiled softly. His mind drifted to the times he had tried this before and how effective it had been then. He knew Sherlock was always reminding him he could ask for help, but the thought of Sherlock doing something like this for him made him laugh softly. He would be good at it -- he's so technical and precise about everything. But no, that would never happen. Finding someone anonymous would be better.
When the water began to cool, Sherlock got out, dried off and put his pajamas on. He went out to check on John, who was watching some stupid show on the television, and then went into his bedroom to read for a bit.
When John heard Sherlock go to bed, he shut everything off and headed up himself, stripping down and crawling right into bed. He closed his eyes and waited to drift off to sleep. And waited. He tossed and turned, drifting for a few minutes only to have a nightmare. He got out of bed and wrapped up in his dressing gown, padding down to the kitchen. Maybe some warm milk would help.
Sherlock read for a while and then found he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He turned off the lamp and rolled onto his side, drifting off. And then he heard a noise in the kitchen. He checked the clock -- despite feeling like he'd just fallen asleep, it had been a couple hours. It was two am. He sat up and listened. It sounded like John was moving around in the kitchen. Why? He put his dressing gown on and stepped out. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice seeming loud in the dark flat.
John jumped lightly before turning around. "Nothing. I can't sleep."
"I thought you said you were exhausted," Sherlock said. "Did you drink too much coffee or something?"
John shook his head. "I didn't even finish the tea," he said.
"Well, maybe you just had an off day," Sherlock said, sitting down at the table. "Do you have to work tomorrow?"
John shook his head. "No, I'm off. Hopefully I'll be able to sleep in for a bit."
"Well, if I'm up before you, I'll be quiet," Sherlock said. He yawned a little. "Want me to stay up with you for a while?"
"You don't have to do that. After this I am going to go up and try again," John said.
"All right," Sherlock said, standing up. "If you need anything, though, you know you can always ask me, right?" He moved towards his room. "Night, John," he added before going in and getting back into bed.
John looked over at him and nodded. "I know," he said. "Good night, Sherlock." He leaned on the counter and drank half of the milk before heading back up to bed to give it another go. The milk didn't really help, but he was more settled and comfortable. Eventually he fell asleep, his mind stuck in nightmares again that woke him too early. He stayed in bed for a bit, drifted off, and slept well into the morning.