Title: A favour
Author: Foxy-badger
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Implied!Sherlock/John, Implied!Sherlock/Irene
Genre: angst, slash (M/M), drama, hurt/comfort
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 454
Summary: While Sherlock is plucking the violin, John and Irene bargain about what she will or will not do to Sherlock.
Disclaimer: Story is mine. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong to Sir Conan Doyle. BBC Sherlock to the BBC. No profit made. Just for fun.

'Is he always like that?' Irene sighs with boredom as she stands by the window of 221b Baker Street.

'Always,' John nods as he puts his coat on. 'Listen – I have to go out for a while. Could you look after him for me?' He asks as he points at Sherlock, who is in a deep trance, plucking his violin with his long spider-like fingers, pondering over whatever is on his mind right now.

'Of course,' she says as she turns her back to the window. 'When will you be back?'

'Not sure. I'm going out with a— girl you see,' he stammers awkwardly.

'I see,' Irene says and her eyebrows rose suggestively. 'A girl, you say?'

'Yeah – could I talk to you for a moment?' John asks, obviously trying to change the subject. He points towards the kitchen and Irene walks past him. She turns when she reaches the fridge and eyes John with great interest.

'Can I – ask you a favour?' the doctor asks.

'Depends on what it involves,' Irene says and crosses her arms.

'Him,' John says and gestured towards Sherlock who is still absent-mindedly staring into space while plucking his violin.

'Maybe I'm asking too much but could you, possibly, stop playing him and, well – sleep with him?' John's cheek turns bright red and he looks into every direction except Irene's.

Again, Irene raises her eyebrows.

'That is a very serious favour, doctor,' she says and the corner of her lip curls. 'Why would I do that?'

'Because – well, I think he never has – had anyone; a girlfriend or a boyfriend. And he obviously fancies you,' John starts to stammer again

'Does he now?'

'Yes – well, he was rather heartbroken when he thought you were dead. So – if you could just – you know. I won't be back for a while, so er—'

'Why don't you do it yourself?' Irene suggests.

'M-me?' John stammers. 'I-I told you; I'm not gay – and I'm not sure if he would—'

'I think he would,' she says and raises her chin in the air. 'I think he'd love to lie in your arms.'

'Yeah – but I'm not – gay, you see.'

'Are you really sure about that, darling?'

John nods.

'Pretty much, yeah,' his eyes meet Irene's and for a long time, they just look at each other. Irene tilts her head down, her chin pressed against her chest and eyebrows raised.

It takes John a lot of effort to speak again.

'Don't tell him – promise me you won't.'

'I won't,' she agrees, and shakes her head reassuringly. 'On one condition.'

'What's that?'

'That you'll sleep with him – because I won't.'

The muscles in John's jaw tighten and he turns and leaves the flat.