Summary: Est. John/Sherlock. Sherlock unknowingly said something revealing at a crime scene. (Before or after he was discussing his and John's sex life?) One shot.
Warnings: mention of past childhood sexual assault.
Disclaimer: not mine.
Originally posted at LiveJournal: 23 January, 2011
"—he's surprisingly flexible, given his shoulder injury. Then he did that thing with the tongue—"
"Sherlock," John snapped, ears reddening. "Please shut up."
"What's wrong, John?" Sherlock looked at him innocently, but his eyes danced with humour. "Isn't it social convention to boast of one's own sexual prowess? Isn't it even more flattering for me to do that on your behalf?"
"Well, yes," John sighed and rubbed at his face. "But generally it's meant to be in a private setting with friends."
"By your definition, I'm doing it right."
John made a face and said, "Standing around a dead body is hardly the time or place."
"It is a private setting though," Sherlock pointed out. They were in a small room with only Lestrade and Donovan—and the body, too, if you could count that.
"This isn't really quite how I thought we would tell the others about us."
"Better here than anywhere else," Sherlock reasoned blithely.
"No, Sherlock; it really isn't." But even as he said it, John's grin could split his face.
Lestrade decided to step in then. He said in a slightly strained voice, "Sherlock, I'm glad you're finding John a—" he fumbled for a second trying to find the right words, "—satisfying partner, but please, get back to the case."
"Satisfying is hardly an apt description," Sherlock said as a small smile quirked his lips up. "I mean, he's literally the first person to succeed in proving I have a sex drive. And they've been trying for a long time—for at least twenty-two years. It is an anomaly that I don't understand!"
There was a pause as what Sherlock said sunk in. It went a little longer than the aftermaths of Sherlock's shocking deductions because everyone was doing the maths again, trying to see if there was a mistake there.
Strangely enough, it was Donovan who first spoke, her voice low and cautious. "Who was trying when you were thirteen?"
"Twelve," Sherlock corrected offhandedly, finally crouching down to observe the corpse with a little more clarity. "And he was my violin tutor."
Silence fell for long enough that Sherlock looked up, catching John's stunned and slightly horrified gaze. Sherlock frowned and asked, "Did I say something inappropriate again?"
"Sherlock," John said softly. "Were you..."
"Were you sexually abused as a child?" Lestrade finished when John seemed unable to say the final words.
It was almost tragic how confused Sherlock looked when he faced them, brow furrowing as if presented with something complex to puzzle over.
"No," he finally answered, shaking his head. "No, sexual assault is when it's done without consent, when they force the victim—"
"Doesn't sound to me like you wanted it," Lestrade said grimly.
"I didn't." Sherlock's tone was starting to get irritated, like he was too busy to answer such trivial questions. He pulled out his sliding magnifying glass and peered closer at the body. A clear sign that he felt questioning time was over.
"Then why don't you think it was abuse?" John asked regardless; his jaw tight and his fists clenched by his sides.
Huffing, Sherlock stood and said, "He said he just wanted to touch. That if I let him, he would give me the sheet music to the harder pieces. It was a fair enough trade. He didn't hurt me, though it was an uncomfortable experience. I only learned later he wanted to see sexual arousal. Which brings me back to saying John is the first person to do that."
"Christ, that is not right," muttered Donovan, her eyes wide. From the looks of it, she had taken a few steps back.
His head snapped over to her, and Sherlock growled, "I assure you: homosexual relations are perfectly natural—"
"No, Sherlock, I wasn't talking about you being gay with John. That's fine; better than fine, really," Donovan quickly cleared up. "It's just what happened to you as a kid. That's just... messed up."
John, who had been quietly seething during Sherlock's detached declaration, asked in a very no-bullshit tone, "What's your tutor's name? I think I need to pay him a visit."
"You hardly need to worry about me being unfaithful with a man I haven't seen in years, John," Sherlock commented with a wry smile, fondness in his eyes.
"What?" John spluttered. "That's not what I meant at all!"
"Regardless of what you meant, the murderer is a tall woman, six feet at the very least with a fondness for Chanel No. 5. Close to the family—oh! " Sherlock cut himself off mid thought and ran out of the room, shouting something about gold jewellery.
Lestrade, Donovan and John still stood around the body, not quite sure what to say. The air was rather humid but everyone felt a chill run up their spine.
"I want to hunt down the bastard and feed him his balls for breakfast," John stated in a cold voice without preamble.
"I agree," Donovan said quietly. "Sherlock can be a bit of a jerk, but no one deserves that."
Clearing his throat, Lestrade started, "We can set up something to look—"
He was interrupted when three phones chimed in with message tones simultaneously.
Everyone received the same text from a blocked number:
Victor Trevor had been taken care of
several years ago. Please do not exert
yourself looking for things better left
buried. Your concern is noted.
A/N: Donovan's mistake is not because she is stupid, but because I feel that she would not be as familiar with Sherlock's age as the other two.
Anyway, I hope this was a decent enough fill.