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In a rare show of chivalry, Sherlock held the Criterion’s ornate, heavy door open for John as the two escaped from London’s classic display of springtime showers. John ducked in and gave a friendly wave to the doorman who gave a terse nod in recognition. He disappeared into the cloakroom closely followed by Sherlock who ignored the doorman entirely as though he were nothing more than another sculpted pillar. Within a few minutes, Sherlock was immaculate and presentable in his usual attire. He was finishing the last buckle of John’s harness, adjusting the tension so it spread evenly across the straps without any slack. This particular ritual was one he savoured, observing John’s reaction to each buckle, watching him slowly sink into submission. They both let out an identical sigh as they shed their outer selves and slipped into the comfort of their established roles. John gave Sherlock a shy smile and brushed off an imaginary speck of dust from Sherlock’s shoulders.
He felt ready and checked the polish of his boots, even with the knowledge that he had meticulously worked on them after his PT session that morning. Never mind that Sherlock watched him so intently as he did so that John even took out his gun and hid his smile as Sherlock stared. One thing led to another and they ended up with John bent over the table next to his gun, the scent of gun oil and masculine emission mingling in the air. The side of his mouth turned up ever so slightly at the memory, recalled by the slight twinge in his rear that his Dominant naturally noticed and huffed satisfactorily. Sherlock, of course, was resplendant in his suit with crisp white shirt and creases painstakingly ironed into the front of his cobalt trousers. John knew how tricky it was to get such perfect creases since he was the one who had to iron them. Looking at his Dominant now though, the effort had been worth it. Still, Sherlock drew heads of every available submissive in any room he walked into, and even some unavailable ones much to the chagrin of their own Dominants. John always felt the tiniest stab of jealousy whenever anyone shot Sherlock bedroom eyes but Sherlock only had eyes for him and barely noticed the attention.
The club wasn’t busy, it being a weeknight and most clientele had regular jobs with regular hours to attend to. It didn’t take long to find their favourite spot, one that afforded them a modicum of privacy whilst also allowing them both a generous view of several exhibition spaces in addition to the general mingling area. Sherlock knew John liked to watch the different interactions, they often swapped surveillance details at home while John cooked, and Sherlock could enrich him with stories that made him laugh or scoff in disbelief in equal parts. Being a quiet night, there was little to observe. A few regulars gave a polite nod to Sherlock but gave him a wide birth all the same. Only one couple occupied an exhibition space, John didn’t recognise either of them, but they looked very new. The submissive seemed almost bored by her would-be Master’s attentions, the man fumbling with a cat-o-nine tails in a far too gentle way. John had to look away, the second-hand awkwardness of the situation off-putting. Sherlock, of course, had an entirely different idea. He tapped John on the shoulder to stay put before stalking over to the couple. John could just hear the baritone voice over the music.
“She is bored. She wants it harder. Hold it like this. No, like this.” Sherlock moved the young man’s hand to grip the handle tighter and flexed his wrist to show him how to flick it properly. “Then, arm back, flex the wrist as you come down and aim for her buttock. Better.” The blond man in stiff new leather pants brought the whip down, landing just below the curve of her behind, yielding a surprised yelp followed by a satisfied sigh.
“Thank you, Sir!” Sherlock rolled his eyes; it was as he had guessed, a submissive trying his hand at Dominant. Some habits were hard to shake, he supposed.
“Never call another Dominant ‘Sir’.” He rebuked over his shoulder before returning to his comfortable chair and waiting submissive.
He had scarcely sat down for a half hour, Sherlock in a velvet-lined armchair and John kneeling comfortably on a matching cushion when they were approached by a man in his mid-40s dressed in a well-worn halter harness and weathered jeans.
“Master Sherlock?” John hadn’t been concentrating, his mind elsewhere, but he was suddenly brought back to focus on this daring submissive. Given that it was rare for a submissive to approach a Dominant who already had a submissive at his feet and collared, this man’s business must be important to him.
“Speak,” Sherlock answered in a snipped tone, acutely aware of others listening to the odd conversation.
“Thank you, Sir. I know this is highly unorthodox. However, I know the Captain.” John’s head jerked up, raking the submissive’s face for anything he might recognise. While he was comfortable within himself with his choices, and his new lifestyle, John was resolutely not comfortable with his choices becoming public knowledge. His family would certainly never know, even if he did choose to introduce Sherlock as his partner, which he was still very much on the fence about. Greg, naturally, didn’t count. And besides, he was fully aware of Sherlock’s involvement in the lifestyle prior to John’s journey. The closest his parents would have come to ropework with another person would be mum tying up dad’s shoelaces after he indulged himself too much at Christmas dinner.
“Do you indeed? And pray, what do you intend to do with that information? You understood and must have signed the non-disclosure agreement when you gained your membership here. Even speaking to me like this about Captain is very close to violating it.” Sherlock leant back in his chair, fingers steepled as he took in the balding man with the beginnings of a paunched belly from excessive alcohol consumption, assessing him with more patience than he usually would exhibit. John was managing against all odds to stay silent, keeping his mouth firmly shut but staring up at the man, challenging him to state his business and leave.
“No Sir, sorry, you misunderstand!” The nervous man wrung his hands in apology and wiped his palm across his sweaty forehead.
“Speak!” Sherlock snapped at him, his patience wearing thin were it not for John’s hand pressed against his calf, urging him to be still.
“I was his patient once. I only saw him the once, Sir, but I know it is him. Dr Watson?” He lowered his voice as he spoke John’s real name and title and spoke directly to John, who gave a slight nod of confirmation. Before he lost his nerve, he continued. “I just wanted to ask him to look at something for me, Sir..”
“Go and see a regular GP; Captain is my submissive and isn’t here to serve you.” Sherlock dismissed him with a hiss and shook his head, but John squeezed his leg and tilted his head with sharp eyes at the clearly uncomfortable man. Discerning John’s meaning Sherlock rolled his eyes; his submissive was too caring for his own good. “Exactly what is it that you can’t take to a regular GP?” Realising he wasn’t being brushed aside but actually considered, the submissive smiled.
“It’s the back of my leg, a broken welt that I think is maybe infected, Sir?” Sherlock pieced it together, understanding now why the man favoured his weight more on one leg.
“I see. And you are afraid of how a Doctor would react to see the rest of the bruising.” The man nodded, fiddling nervously with the red, braided cord around his wrist and flicking his gaze between Sherlock’s jacket and John’s eyes.
“Permission to speak, Sir.” The would-be patient was surprised to hear John’s voice, but Sherlock had been expecting it.
“Granted.” His tone was one of someone who was considerably put upon frequently.
“May I meet this submissive in the bathroom to inspect his wound and suggest treatment, Sir?” John really did want to help, he missed his professional calling, and while Sherlock was able to satisfy almost all of his needs, this was one area that John felt was lacking. After what had happened at his former clinic, John had resigned from his position and hadn’t needed to seek another position since all his financial needs were met. But it was a niggling thought that came to him in the quiet hours of the day when Sherlock was busy with clients or out, and John found himself alone and twiddling his thumbs. That need to be useful, to have a purpose outside of his relationship with Sherlock.
“I doubt you’ll leave it alone if I say no, hmm? Go on then.” John hid a smirk as Sherlock swatted his backside while standing gracefully up from his knees.
“Thank you, Sir. I’ll be back in a minute; this won’t take long. I’ll make it up to you.” Sherlock watched his submissive and his former, well, present patient walk through the other patrons towards the Sub’s lounge, where the bathroom reserved for them was located.
It had been more than twenty minutes, and Sherlock grew impatient. Surely an infected welt shouldn’t take that long to assess and recommend treatment? He stood up, stalking towards the doorman at the entrance to the submissive’s lounge. While the doorman had nothing on Sherlock’s height, he was at least twice his weight in muscle and blocked the entrance as Sherlock approached.
“Sorry, Master Sherlock, you’re not permitted in here.” His voice was gravelly but authoritative, not a natural submissive then. Definitely not Dominant either. Sherlock briefly debated how interesting it would be to take him apart and see just what made him tick but dismissed it as quickly as it came.
“I know that.” Sherlock snapped, stopping short of the man’s personal space. “My submissive, Captain, went in there more than twenty minutes ago and has not returned. Go and retrieve him; we’re leaving.” The doorman looked as though he were about to request that Sherlock use basic manners but thought better of it and disappeared into the lounge, returning almost immediately.
“Well? I can’t help but see you’ve returned alone. Where is he?” The man was about to reply when John appeared, smiling and rubbing hand sanitiser thoroughly between his fingers.
“Where the bloody hell have you been?” Sherlock growled at him, leading him towards the exit by his elbow, but John was in too much of a good mood to be deterred by his Dominant’s disposition.
“Sorry, Sir. Turns out there were quite a few submissives in a similar situation. I saw quite a few backsides with some nasty leavings. Really need to educate the Dominants that used them; they are either not cleaning their implements or are not providing sufficient aftercare.” Sherlock bristled at that. He hated the idea of Dominants in this club of all places, ignorantly mistreating the submissives.
“Indeed. Perhaps that should be the theme of our next ‘show and tell’.” John swallowed visibly at the thought of being used as a demonstration so that his backside looked like some of the ones he had just been attending.
“If that’s what you think is best, Sir.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at the apparent cheek and threw John’s coat at him as they reached the cloakroom.
“Don’t start with me, Captain.” He growled a warning, but John simply laughed and shook his head.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir.” They travelled amiably to the street, John hailing a cab now that he looked more presentable, at least on the outside.
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John had assumed that was the end of his impromptu medical session until several nights later. He was supervising the sausages in the pan, filling the kitchen with the mouthwatering scent of apples and pork, when their doorbell rang. Sherlock yelled at him from his study to answer it and ‘tell them to go away’. John just rolled his eyes, flicked the tea towel over his shoulder and quickly checked his phone for any client bookings he could have missed as he trotted down the stairs. Opening the door, he found himself momentarily speechless with surprise, the greeting dying in his throat. Molly cleared her throat awkwardly, and John shook his head as though to clear it before dropping his gaze deferentially.
“Ah, um, Mistress Adler, what a surprise! Please, do come in.” The Woman herself was on their doorstep, Molly standing silently next to her with a friendly smile. Here with good news, eveidently, that eased his anxiety at seeing the Woman here. Still, there was something distinctly unnerving about her that just set him on edge, and he was keen to see her go. “We weren’t expecting guests, I was just cooking dinner, actually. I’d invite you to stay, but we don’t have enough sausages, but I could rummage around for some more, and I’m sure….” John rambled as they climbed the stairs but fell silent as their doorway darkened and Sherlock’s form materialised in it.
“Good evening. To what do we owe this great pleasure? Or intrusion, depending on how you want to look at it?” John rushed past him to rescue his sausages that were beginning to burn and stick to the bottom of the pan. Sherlock ignored him. Instead, the two Dominants seemed to be sizing each other up in an entirely silent conversation.
“Well, isn’t this just adorable? The tea towel and everything, you basically have yourself a house pet. The only thing he’s missing is the white lace apron and pinafore.” The Woman’s gaze took everything in, from the dining table with their two places already set to the two armchairs in the lounge with obvious evidence of the men’s presence littered around them.
“I expect you’re visiting for a reason, so spit it out.” Sherlock found himself growing impatient with the intrusion; it felt almost as though she were trespassing on the private life he and John had built together. An intrusion into their safe haven and altogether unwelcome.
“As it so happens, what I’ve come to speak to you about concerns your house pet. Shall we sit? Tea, Captain.” Without waiting to be invited, she pulled out a wooden chair and sat down, Molly kneeling at her side without hesitation. John stifled the retort that immediately sprang to his mouth at the order for tea, reminded of Holmes Senior’s predisposition for ordering him around as well. Making quick work of the tea, he returned and served both the Dominants at the table. Unsure where to sit, he flicked his eyes toward Sherlock, who stared at the ground next to his chair. Like that was it? So be it. The Woman was occupying his usual seat, and since this seemed like official Criterion business, he supposed it made sense that the rules at the club would carry over to here. At least while The Woman was present. Molly flashed him a quick smile and a tiny wave of her hand in acknowledgement of company.
“So, it turns out that Captain here has made a name for himself and is a much-requested commodity.” The Woman’s eyes bored into the top of John’s skull; he swore to himself he could feel it, cold and prickling down the back of his neck and willed himself not to look up.
“Is that so?” Sherlock placed a calming hand at the nape of his neck, its warmth comforting and anchoring John until he released the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. “I don’t share my toys, Adler; you know that.”
“As much as I’m sure some of the Dominants would love nothing more than a hired evening with Captain, that isn’t our business tonight.” The Woman enjoyed the tight grimace on Sherlock’s face, savouring it briefly before moving along. “Turns out that a few nights ago, he set up an impromptu clinic in the Submissive’s Lounge and treated several submissives with the club’s first aid kit whilst also doling out advice to the doorman about what to look out for during sessions between newer Dominants in order to protect their submissives from harm. Isn’t that right, Captain?” Sherlock squeezed his neck again, and John coughed out a “Yes, Mistress.”
“I take it that you don’t want that happening at the club? Understood. Captain will refrain from extra-curricular medical activities in the future. He’ll be appropriately disciplined for overstepping his bounds. Is that all?” The Woman chuckled and sipped her tea.
“On the contrary, Sherlock. I am proposing a business venture. A clinic. At the club. A clinic for submissives by a submissive.” Sherlock stared blankly at the Woman who continued before he had the chance to weigh in. “Molly has been listening to what has been discussed in the lounge recently. Molly?” Molly looked as though she would rather not speak to Sherlock at all but cleared her throat, focusing on John instead of Sherlock’s feet.
“It’s just that, well, it is a topic that is widely spoken about in the Sub’s lounge. The need to have a doctor who is involved in our lifestyle, who understands what activities we undertake and don’t question the marks it leaves on our bodies. Who won’t file a police report at brands or bruising or a, a, chastity cage.” She blushed furiously at that and shifted uncomfortably. John’s eyes immediately darted to the short skirt she wore and what might be under it. He had assumed chastity cages were purely a male accessory but quickly realised his lack of knowledge about what the lifestyle entailed for women. “Someone we can ask questions without judgement, who can do bloodwork for our contracts and order routine STI checks. Who better than you?” This was clearly the end of her prepared spiel as her mouth snapped shut, and she stared resolutely anywhere except the other three people in the room.
“I see.” Sherlock paused to turn this idea over in his head. As Sherlock deliberated, John was delighted but tried to keep emotions from his face. “Captain, your thoughts?” He was almost surprised to be involved in the decision but answered immediately without a second thought.
“I want to do it, Sir. Perhaps, once a week? That wouldn’t interfere with your clients’ schedules and we could run it during the day when the club is quietest.”
“Well, that’s settled then. Captain can run his clinic on a day that suits you, weekly, for a small sum. Let’s say, $50 an hour?” John blinked at the Woman’s words; he hadn’t expected to be paid for this service. He had been more than happy to volunteer his time if only to be able to practise his craft again, but he felt Sherlock’s hand firmly press down, quelling any verbal response from John.
“That is hardly decent compensation for a doctor’s services. $120, or you can find yourself another practitioner.” Sherlock finished his tea, his eyes locked onto the Woman’s in the challenge but if he were after an argument, he would not find it here. It seemed that the Woman was satisfied merely to have acquired the good doctor’s services and was willing to pay the exorbitant amount for a simple GP with discretion.
“Agreed. The Criterion will naturally cover the cost of your services, Captain; the submissives will not be charged. Text me to sort the details, Sherlock. We’ll leave you to your sausages.” She left just the slightest pause before the last word; an eyebrow quirked at the two men before tapping Molly’s collar and leaving their apartment without another word.
“Well.” John breathed out, rising to his feet and sitting in his chair, still warmed by The Woman’s occupation.
“Well, you have just acquired a job, John. Make sure you organise clients around that time, so it does not interfere with your duties here. I expect the house to be maintained as it is now and for you to mind your manners when you are at the Criterion in my absence. Some Dominants do not take kindly to submissives in positions of power and may try to intrude on their submissive’s appointments.”
“That is something I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I don’t think Dominants should be allowed in the clinic; it should be in the submissive’s lounge and only for the submissive in question. Only then will they feel free to say what they need to say. Right?” He stood up to serve their dinner, scooping the sausages out of the pan and lining the plate with roast potatoes and broccoli.
“I imagine you will come across submissives being abused from time to time. Will you report those involved parties?” Sherlock had expected John’s request for privacy, not surprised that confidentiality would be a top priority.
“Well, I can let you know. Then you can get them removed or blacklisted or whatever it is your brother does to people who piss him off.” Sherlock had to chuckle at that.
“If my brother made everyone who pissed him off ‘disappear’, then I’d be a missing person a thousand times over.” John had to laugh at that as he sat back at the table, placing their plates in front of them and tucking into slightly overdone, somewhat crispy sausages.
“Thank you for saying yes, Sir.” His eyes twinkled, he was clearly happy with this outcome, but he wanted to show Sherlock how grateful he was. John was genuinely excited to start this clinic, a chance to be a meaningful member of society again, to help people who had limited options and be a friendly face, a confidante.
“You’re welcome, John.” Sherlock was pleased, despite the minor inconvenience that the disruption would cause. It wasn’t as though he was sharing John the submissive, he was sharing John’s skills from his former life, and it would keep John satisfied with his current lifestyle choices, namely Sherlock himself.