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The Prey	By : amandalee Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3756 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The authors do not claim ownership to Sherlock or any of its characters, and we make no money from writing this.

Chapter List
- 19
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A/N: The following is a flashback scene, included as a break from the horrors. :)

Chapter 20

2010

"Johhhhnnnn..."

Sherlock's voice, though not frantic, sounded concerned nonetheless. John was beginning to decipher the level of immediacy in Sherlock's various tones of speech, and he figured at present his reaction time was not important, just yet anyway.

"Right this moment," the doctor muttered, not bothering to move an inch.

After I finish this page of my book...

"JOHN."

Rolling his eyes, John shut the hardcover book with a snap and stood up from his chair. He felt like a parent trying to get some sleep while his child demanded a glass of water. Though he would have rather not bothered to reply at all, he knew Mrs. Hudson would rather not have to hear Sherlock screaming like a brat for the next two hours.

"Yessss, Sherlock?" he said, his voice nearly a hiss as he waited at the top of the steps. His friend was nowhere in sight, likely either in his own bedroom or the toilet.

"I require assistance," was the answer the older man finally got. Now that he had garnered his assistant's attention, clearly Sherlock no longer needed to shout.

Bathroom then, John thought. He had heard Sherlock return roughly an hour ago and not heard from him until now, but since the eccentric, quirky genius oftentimes ignored him for great lengths of time without announcing his presence - except when he needed something - John had not thought too much about it.

The doctor in him couldn't help wondering if Sherlock had somehow gotten himself injured whilst trying to solve his current case. If so, it had to be out of the ordinary if he was asking for John's assistance, as the pig-headed detective had been known to sit around with second degree burns, heavily bleeding cuts, and even fractured bones without making a peep.

"Sherlock, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" John felt forced to ask before entering the bathroom. He decided he would take his friend to the A&E if he deemed it necessary, regardless of what the great detective himself said.

"No, it's nothing like that. I'd rather not explain it to you through a door. Why don't you come in and see for yourself?"

John, suspecting he might regret this, did his friend's bidding without any further questions. He had expected Sherlock to be bleeding all over the bathtub, attempting to reset a dislocated shoulder, or perhaps even a broken nose after having his face refurnished by some thug.

Anything but the sight which greeted him.

Sherlock stood in the center of the bathroom with his trousers and underwear around his ankles, hands on his hips impatiently, as though this were a common occurrence. Perhaps it had been in the past. John very nearly considered feeling sorry for Mycroft.

Even with Sherlock standing naked from the waist down, with his todger out and about like a store window display, John had become rather used to strange behavior from his friend by now. He merely gave the sight before him a brief glance and cleared his throat.

"Does this have to do with you needing my assistance?" he asked.

Sherlock only pursed his lips, giving him a look which questioned his partner's intelligence.
"If this is beyond your capabilities..."

"No, no!" John interjected, holding up his hands defensively. "Just making sure. So... how did you reach this... dilemma in the first place?"

Whatever the dilemma was, anyway...

"As you know," Sherlock replied, "the London police force constantly tries to deter any progress I attempt of solving cases, as much as DI Lestrade insists otherwise."

John found his friend was being a bit harsh on Greg Lestrade. At least the detective inspector tried to help them on occasion, and he seemed to genuinely have faith in Sherlock's genius and capabilities, unlike some other members of his team. Still the doctor remained silent and waited for the younger man to further explain.

"Thus, if I am to make any breakthroughs, sometimes I have to hide evidence from them myself. Sometimes, this means I have to procure it in secret, even smuggle it out of the crime scene."

As the realization dawned on John, his eyes widened. "So..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, likely to avoid John's gaze, and crossed his arms. "SO... I've been trying to remove said evidence myself for the past fifty-three minutes with no such luck."

Slowly the truth began to dawn on John, even though it was somewhat difficult to comprehend.
"So you stuffed it up your backside?" he said incredulously, and before he could restrain himself, a high-pitched giggle had escaped his throat as well. John realized that laughing at Sherlock's predicament had been a huge mistake when he saw the younger man's countenance change from impassive to fuming.

"A man's freedom is at stake here!" Sherlock snarled, and the doctor suspected only the dropped trousers kept him from lunging at John with intent to do harm. "Unless I can retrieve this airplane ticket in one piece, an innocent man named Harry Dunham will face life imprisonment for a crime he did not commit. Do you, John Hamish Watson, want to explain to his wife and children you could have helped exonerate him but chose to laugh instead?"

"I'm… really sorry, Sherlock," John managed to say, and he could literally feel his face and ears taking on a scarlet hue. "But whatever possessed you to think this was a good idea to begin with?"

"Anderson insists on checking my pockets," Sherlock grumbled irritably. "It was the only place I was sure they wouldn't check. Trust me, if I'd had a vagina, I would use that instead. No danger of things disappearing up that route."

"Uh huh…" John drummed his fingers against his thigh. "And you've tried to retrieve it yourself? With your, umm, fingers?"

"Would I be asking for your help if I hadn't?"

The doctor sighed, knowing this would be a tough nut to crack. "Then put your pants and trousers back on, Sherlock. I'm taking you to the A&E."

Sherlock did not look surprised at the conclusion, but he was annoyed nonetheless.

"That's the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear, you know," he said, speaking in a condescending and disappointed tone. "Even if I wanted to go to A&E - and I DON'T, mind you - do you think I'd willingly subject myself to that?"

John sighed. Yes, he knew Sherlock too well to have expected him to concede to allowing anyone else to know that he a.) stole evidence and b.) got it stuck up his asshole. A normal person would never admit to something like this, let alone someone like Sherlock. After all, he had his pride. Most of the time.

And he could not get his cases solved when he was getting found out and possibly subsequently arrested.

"I take it that's a 'no', then," John said.

Sherlock glared at him, nostrils flaring. John restrained his laughter this time.

Closing the door behind him, John entered doctor mode. He instinctively washed his hands at the sink, asking Sherlock to get on his hands and knees for best visibility, and opened the medicine cabinet. Fortunately the pen light was still within, not having disappeared for one of Sherlock's countless, unexplainable experiments like so many other objects in the apartment. He also removed a set of tweezers, considering that if Sherlock could not remove the evidence with such spidery fingers, then John's own stubby digits had absolutely no chance.

He knelt down on the floor behind Sherlock and neither said anything. They had reached a phase in their friendship where most events were not incredibly surprising, and even though some moments were still a little uncomfortable - such as now - both knew there was no room to spend time on the awkwardness.

Spreading the cheeks and taking a look, he frowned after a few seconds. "I might have to get the speculum," he confessed. And then an amusing thought occurred to him. "Otherwise, I'll be losing the penlight just as easily."

"You'd be a shitty doctor if you did," Sherlock said with a scoff, still retaining all of his usual arrogance despite the humiliating pose he was in. He chewed briefly on his bottom lip, not wanting to admit the possibility that John might fail in recovering the small rolled up plastic bag containing the airline ticket, and what the consequences were if he did. It left Sherlock with two other options: the public humiliation of disclosing his problem with the A&E, or the even greater humiliation of asking his brother for help.

Both of those options made him shudder in revulsion. John had to find a way.

"Have you tried squatting and pressing with all your might?" the doctor asked, finding himself a little too mesmerized by the smooth, ample globes of Sherlock's backside. How was it possible for a man so thin to have an arse like that? John felt his blush return and wondered what he was thinking, poking at his friend's orifice without surgical gloves. He was a medical doctor, a professional, and Sherlock had come to him, confided in him, as a patient with a serious issue namely a foreign object lodged in his colon.

John had always held very strongly to the ethic of avoiding all sexual connotation when working on a patient. There was hardly anything worse than a doctor taking advantage of his position when dealing with the sick and injured. It didn't change the fact that as a red-blooded and not-entirely-heterosexual man, he found his flatmate's body incredibly attractive, but he simply had to overlook such matters in his current role as a physician.

"Using abdominal pressure to force it back out, and all that tripe? Yes, for eight whole minutes and it didn't work." Sherlock sounded so testy and bad-tempered that John suspected he was not receptive to further "unnecessary" questioning from his "clueless" friend. It was better to head straight for the main event.

"This isn't the right place for rectal exams," he said. "I'll need you on your back with your legs elevated. Ideally in stirrups, but…"

A flush of heat passed through John's body as he realized just how suggestive his words had been, but he quickly regained his composure, making a mental note to get a pair of surgical gloves.

Hurrying to his own supplies upstairs, he removed a pair of latex gloves, as well as a container of Vaseline lubricant and a cardboard case. Within the case was a small, transparent, tube-like device.

"There you are," he muttered, returning down the steps and to the toilet, which was currently empty. Of course. Sherlock had - not surprisingly - thought ahead about the requirement of elevation. Stepping out of the bathroom, the older man glanced into the bedroom, where Sherlock was laying on his back on the bed. At either side, he had stacked several pillows for when his thin, spread legs needed to be lifted.

John felt a tingling throughout his body at the sight, but he quickly stamped out the thoughts of what Sherlock's position suggested and returned to his mindset as a doctor. Pulling on the gloves, he then removed the sterile tube and showed it to his partner.

"I've managed to find a disposable speculum," he announced. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Thank god," the detective retorted. "I was about to have a nap whilst I was waiting."

Ignoring Sherlock's spite, John knelt back down in front of him and dipped his finger into the Vaseline. From the looks of his partner's backside, lube had already been applied during attempts at removal, but applying more could not hurt.

"I'm just going to apply some lubricant to you here," he explained, his instincts as a medical professional making the delivery of his words gentler. Sherlock, however, was not impressed.

"Enough with the bedside manner," he snapped. "Just get on with it."

John shut his eyes to obscure their rolling. Man's freedom hanging in the balance, he reminded himself.

"Fine," he said, inserting a slick, latex-clad finger. Sherlock barely seemed to respond, staring at the ceiling, impatiently waiting for the evidence to be retrieved.

John had performed a prostate exam more times than he could count, and though he did not specialize in proctology, he was exceedingly familiar with the procedure of looking into a man's rectum. It was quite amazing what kind of problems army men sometimes got themselves into. Removal of objects deliberately inserted into the anus had ranked high on his list of doctor's duties.

At least Sherlock seemed uncommonly relaxed about the whole business. John didn't think he'd have any problems inserting the speculum, but it was custom to ask the patient if they desired the use of a local anesthetic.

"Alright, Sherlock… this might feel a bit strange, perhaps even painful," he began, not sure if he was supposed to look at his friend's face or his hindquarters. He decided on the latter, pretending to be intently focused on the task at hand. It was certainly better than letting Sherlock deduce the other thoughts so plainly written on his face.

Like wondering how Sherlock's delectably pink asshole would look - and feel - stretched around his cock.

John wanted to slap himself. These thoughts were unacceptable. His task here was anything but sexual, and besides, his was his friend. His best friend. Sherlock had made it very clear that he had no such interest in John during their first day of acquaintance. Hadn't he?

How was their friendship, not to mention partnership, going to survive if John flushed and had to try clear his head every time Sherlock said something even mildly suggestive? Or licked his lips? Or paraded naked through the flat, acting as though that was the most natural thing in the world?

"I could apply some lidocaine gel, if you want, to numb the tissues," he murmured while he busied his hands with coating the glass speculum with a generous layer of Vaseline.

The detective sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. "Just get on with it!" he groaned, and John was able to observe a slight muscle twitch in his outer sphincter, mirroring the one in his face whenever he expressed annoyance. John would have laughed had he not been so focused.

"Alright, here we go," he said, and he inserted the tube, albeit gently. Despite knowing the level of apathy Sherlock was capable of, John still felt a slight surprise at just how little his friend responded. Even though he did not have the same skills of deduction his partner had, John was not completely sheltered from Sherlock's private life. He wondered just how much of the detective's numbness to the situation came from years of sexual experience or simple meditation to ignore the sensation, escaping to his "mind palace," as it were.

Penlight in his mouth as the speculum was set in place, John took a close look and thought that perhaps he could see the much anticipated evidence. Replacing the light in a free hand, he looked closer, but could only make out the hint of something reflecting the glare of the penlight.

"I think I see it," he stated. "You would have had to have put it in a plastic bag, wouldn't you?"

Sherlock only made a small noise to confirm.

"I'm definitely going to need the tweezers for this," John said. "You really wanted to keep this away from Anderson, didn't you?"

"I was overzealous, I admit it," Sherlock retorted, annoyed. "But I hadn't meant to shove it so far up."

A thought occurred to John when he heard the reply. "How exactly... did you manage to procure this thing in the first place with everyone all around you?"

Sherlock glanced at him. "Very carefully."

John finally allowed himself another chuckle.

"Actually, I had it in my pocket first and excused myself to another room. Anderson did throw suspicion on me once I came back out, but sure enough, my pockets were empty."

John gave another small laugh, readying the tweezers and carefully going in. From the looks of the bag, it had been just out of reach even for Sherlock's long, thin fingers.

"I'm curious," he said, hearing the sigh of impatience from his friend. "How does it feel? With this thing stuck so far inside?"

"It doesn't really feel like anything," Sherlock said. "I knew it had gone too far in because I couldn't feel it. No chafing, no… You've never experienced the feeling yourself, then?"

John felt his ears heat up. "Never had anything stuck up there, no…" he murmured, going in with the tweezers. His hands were absolutely steady; a treasured quality in an army surgeon.

"You've done this before, though. I can tell." The detective suddenly giggled and a tremor went through his body, causing his insides to contract and John to lose his precarious hold on the small, rolled up plastic bag.

"Sherlock!"

"Of course you have," Sherlock continued, undaunted. "Army chaps are some of the filthiest, most perverted kind. And being stationed in a place like the Afghan desert, I'll bet some of them resorted to rather desperate measures."

"You're right. Some of the objects I found were quite… unconventional."

"What was the strangest case you've had to deal with?"

John did a quick browse-through of his time as an army surgeon before answering. "There was this bloke from my regiment," he then said. "He had a habit of pleasuring himself with various household objects. I believe it served him rather well until something got stuck."

"Oh my!" Ripples of laughter passed through the younger man's supine body, and John was forced to withdraw the tweezers out of fear of accidentally hurting Sherlock. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and exhaled sharply.

"You really need to keep as still as possible if you want me to do this. Sherlock, are you listening?"

He held back a groan as Sherlock continued through his giggle fit.

"You do realize," he said, "that if you're not careful, you might just clench hard enough to break the speculum. Inside you."

"Please," Sherlock argued. "I doubt that would happen."

"Would you still want to risk that, though?"

Sherlock gave a long sigh in an attempt to end his giggling, allowed one final bark of laughter, and was silent once more. John both welcomed and dreaded the silence. Though it granted him a bit of concentration, the absolute quiet also felt uncomfortable. In a sense, distraction would have helped to keep his mind from wandering to those damnable thoughts he had earlier, of wondering how Sherlock would feel if the doctor's hand was up inside him for different reasons, how the sensation of the detective writhing around his fingers might feel...

Nervously clearing his throat again, he carefully reached inside. "Now stay very still," he finally said, "because I believe I've got it."

"By George, I think you do," Sherlock sneered. "Don't worry about how rough it might be, just pull it out."

John was not sure if his friend had meant to choose words with such a raunchy double-meaning. His flushed face and ears still burned with embarrassment nonetheless. His grip on the bag firm, he carefully wiggled it loose first, to prevent tearing the plastic casing. Ignoring the impatient drumming of Sherlock's fingers against the bed, he gently pulled until the evidence was within the speculum, allowing him a better hold of the bag, and removed it in its entirety.

"Finally!" Sherlock said as he reached for the removed object, not once considering that he still had a large glass tube still inside his rectum. He understandably winced as he tried to sit up.

"Careful!" John pressed Sherlock back down onto the bed and handed him his coveted evidence. "Here. Occupy yourself with it while I remove this."

John was grateful that the speculum came out without traces of fecal matter on it. Surely even Sherlock Holmes had to take a shit sometimes just like regular people, no matter what he liked to tell himself. Although considering his infrequent intake of food…

As soon as his rectum was once again empty, Sherlock bounced up to place the recovered evidence almost reverently in a glass jar. John tried not to stare at his round, pale ass hanging unashamedly out of that purple shirt he seemed to be wearing more often than not.

"Remind me to tell Harry Dunham to thank you," he said, eyeing the object inside the jar like it were some rare historic artifact of infinite value. "I believe you've just secured his freedom."

"You're not going to inform your client about this particular part of the adventure, are you?"

"Mr. Dunham did not hire me; his wife did," Sherlock replied distractedly. "And don't worry, this stays between us." He gave another throaty chuckle. "If only to keep Anderson from learning how I managed to smuggle the evidence out of the building despite having searched me."

If he finds out, he might know where to look next time… John thought, and the notion was enough to make him join in on the laughter. Then something else occurred to him; his friend was till naked from the waist down.

"Err, Sherlock…"

"Yes, John?"

"If you're done with activities involving your backside this evening, maybe it's time to put your trousers back on?"

Sherlock turned his head to glance at him with a sly smile. "Now why would I do that?"

John grimaced. His partner was clearly trying to get a reaction out of him. Feeling his ears heating from the blush, he knew the attempt had worked.

"In fact," Sherlock said playfully, "perhaps our little operation might have been more uncomfortable than I was letting on. I may need some sort of massage to set myself right again."

John would not even bother replying. In fact, he would outright refuse if need be. He simply shook his head, walking away to wash his hands and dispose of the equipment they had used to remove the evidence. He looked back once more before leaving the room and could have sworn that Sherlock had arched his back, causing his rear end to protrude just a little higher in the air. The heat now to the point of overwhelming, he hurried out the door.

The glass speculum was made to be discarded after one use, but John still felt the need to clean it beforehand. Partly, he needed an excuse to stay away from Sherlock for a while, and God forbid Sherlock decided to be even bolder and join him in the bathroom, likely to use the toilet just to bother him. The bugger always demanded attention.

The real debate that now bounced back and forth inside John's head, however, was whether Sherlock's behavior was a simple attempt to tease his assistant or a genuine flirtation. And if the detective's intent was the latter, John had to decide whether he should be worried or welcome the attention.

TBC...
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The Prey