On reflection, bringing Sherlock to a Sainsbury's for shopping was not one of my brighter ideas, but it had seemed like such a good idea at the time. It was his card we were using after all, and I thought that perhaps if he saw how easy it was, he might be persuaded to try it on his own sometime.

I was quickly disabused of the idea of letting Sherlock loose in a supermarket by himself, by his tremendous delight in the contents of the butcher's case—the cow brains, pig's feet and tripe that it contained. It had clearly never occurred to him that such items could be locally purchased for experimentation. He also asked the butcher to find someone else to touch our meat as he, the butcher, clearly visited prostitutes on a regular basis and might be unclean. So no meat for awhile then.

To my horror I would turn to ask if he preferred oatmeal to Weetabix and whether he thought he could handle making regular oatmeal, or should I buy him instant, to discover him disappeared, in pursuit of some couple to tell them that one of them was a serial adulterer and the other should get away—it was far kinder now than later. I felt as if I were dragging a six year old rather than a 34 year old man except that I had no fear of a pedophile grabbing him, just someone punching him in the jaw. I had one nice old lady tell me how kind it was of me to be a minder to the autistic. And that's what I felt like. At one point I actually offered him the chocolate animal crackers to eat as we walked about to appease him.

He was deeply concerned with the trolley, particularly when I told him that he could not stand on the end as I pushed it as we weighed roughly the same and he was nearly six inches taller than I and it was going to capsize if he kept it up. At that he dropped to his knees declaring the design 'rubbish' and that it should have been cantilevered and perhaps a diamond shape on the wheels might be better. I had a horrible feeling that he was going to dump out the shopping and start removing the wheels then and there.

However, when I suggested that perhaps he could push it for a bit, to test drive it from the proper end, he discovered that he could take off on it like a scooter by leaning over and counter balancing with his upper body. Which he gleefully did, shouting over his shoulder that he hoped the shop would let him take one home as it would be so useful for carting body parts back from Bart's. That earned some stares, let me tell you.

I ran after the flying figure—all Ichabod Crane on a shopping trolley—and caught up with him in the tea aisle where he was quite transfixed by the range on offer. I slid up behind him to tightly press against that lovely arse, so that what I was doing was hidden from the other shoppers.

I quickly slid my hand between his silk clad legs to cup his balls firmly, my thumb running over his arsehole, making him suck in his breath.

"Sherlock, I will take you home and do anything that you ask—"

"Even that one thing that—"

"Yes, even that, but only if you are very docile and walk beside me pushing the cart quietly until the shopping is done and then help me carry the bags home. The quicker we do this, the quicker we can go home. Do you understand?" I ran my thumb in a tight circle with a slight push making him shudder and lean over the cart for a moment as he nodded, before I took my hand away and moved back.

"Good, now let's go." I had a feeling that the shopping wasn't going to be put away for sometime.