John Watson (
ihadabadday) wrote2018-03-05 06:07 pm
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Entry tags:
Into the Night - AU - Locked to
seaweed_writes
Sex sold. It could be seen in marketing for businesses across all sorts of industries.
And for John Watson, his business was booming.
He worked out of a club in London that catered to certain... Tastes. Men and women who looked to dominate someone sexually. Some would look down on a man having that job, scoffing. Sex work was legal though. But those who were interested in BDSM, found sex workers to be lacking.
John was sitting at a bar at the club he usually worked out of, nursing a soda. He rarely drank when he was working, preferring to stay sober.
He looked around the room, seeing if there was anyone who caught his interest tonight.
And for John Watson, his business was booming.
He worked out of a club in London that catered to certain... Tastes. Men and women who looked to dominate someone sexually. Some would look down on a man having that job, scoffing. Sex work was legal though. But those who were interested in BDSM, found sex workers to be lacking.
John was sitting at a bar at the club he usually worked out of, nursing a soda. He rarely drank when he was working, preferring to stay sober.
He looked around the room, seeing if there was anyone who caught his interest tonight.
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He ran a hand over his face, slowly. "I do wish you had let me help you make the final decision on the collar." He repeated. his voice not angry, but suddenly very tired and weary. "And I don't appreciate you looking on my laptop. We already privacy boundaries when he we first started seeing each other." He must have left the laptop open, because his was quite well passworded. That was a mistake he wouldn't make again.
But I am not mad at you, and I am not going to punish you." Right now, Sherlock was just not feeling very dominant at all. quite the opposite, really.
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"I'm going to go upstairs. I need to sort myself."
He then retreated to the upstairs room. He had things up here and technically it was his room, but he hardly ever used it, instead choosing to stay with Sherlock. He shut the door and sat on the bed, his back to the headboard, propping him up. He sighed and rubbed his face. Well fuck.
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He went back to the bedroom and put some clothes on, then puttered around for a while on his computer. A text came in a short time later, Lestrade still needed his statement from the night before.
John hadn't taken his phone up with him, he knew it was still in their bedroom. Still, Sherlock sent John a text so he'd know where he went, then headed out, getting a taxi for Scotland Yard.
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He sighed and dropped his head back. He understood the not wanting to snoop. And he really hadn't. Sherlock had left his laptop open. It was a grey area and he felt awful, yet not, for looking through Sherlock's things. He sighed softly and then rubbed his head. Fuck.
He stayed upstairs for the rest of the day, reading a book he kept up here.
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Which was a mistake.
It had rained a bit the night before, and the roads were slick. While Sherlock was chasing after a suspect, he stepped in a puddle that was deeper than it looked. The small pothole had filled with water, making it look like a small puddle. Since it was nighttime, it was even harder to see.
Sherlock fell, twisting his ankle and falling on his wrists, he knew at least his right one was sprained right away, maybe the left as well.
Thankfully, Lestrade and his team were right after the man He was eventually caught, and an ambulance was called for Sherlock.
Unfortunately, he had had his phone out while running to tell Lestrade where he was, so it had fallen in the water, and the screen was broken- not that he could use it anyway with his hands messed up as they were.
He was sent off to the hospital to get his wounds looked at.
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Have you seen or spoken to Sherlock lately? He didn't come home last night.
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---
Who is this?
In all the time John and Sherlock had been together, Lestrade had only seen John a couple of times, they seemed to keep zigging and zagging the few times that Lestrade came to the flat in the last couple of months.
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He went to get cleaned up and dressed, putting on some of his nicer clothes that he bought on his own thank you very much.
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John pulled on his shoes and grabbed his coat. He left the flat and hailed a cab, giving the name of the place he wanted to go to.
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His ankle wasn't broken, but he'd need to keep off of it for a couple of weeks. His wrists weren't hurt as bad, a bit twisted and scraped up, but not unusable,. thankfully.
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For John, he'd make an exception, of course.
"Yes, please." He responded.
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"No. I wouldn't want you to get injured as well. You couldn't have stopped by stupid mistake. I was too busy chasing after the suspect to see where I was going."
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He sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm going to be pretty useless for a while." He admitted with a frown on his face.
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"I don't think they are going to keep me much longer. They put me on a concussion protocol, despite me insisting that I didn't hit my head going down. That's evident by the injuries on my hands. Idiots." he growled the last word.
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He kissed his cheek and then settled back against the chair.
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He sighed and closed his eyes. He was still tired despite the drugs that they had been giving him. Thankfully, he was no longer dosed up with anything powerful, he could already feel the affects fading away and knew that he was most likely going to have a bit of withdrawal. He just had to try to not take it out on John.
There were things he still didn't know about Sherlock's past.
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