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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
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Chapter 5

There was nothing more Sherlock could deduce from the parking spot that Sarah used to occupy - the near-week that had passed since her disappearance had obliterated practically all traces of her in the public area - and Bobbi announced she would return to her trailer, claiming she needed some time by herself to "digest the news".

"Back to where we started, wouldn't you say?" John said, sighing, as Sherlock continued to stare off into the distance, his face slack and absent. The doctor knew that look; when Sherlock looked like that, he was fully inside his 'mind palace' and not receptive at all to outer sensory impressions.

"I wouldn't say that," Sherlock replied, two whole minutes afterwards. His head twitched; a weird tic the detective sometimes displayed when an idea hatched inside his brilliant mind.

"Why do people come here, John?"

"Uhh... to be naked with other likeminded people, I guess?" John offered.

"Exactly. I believe it's called social nudism, or naturism. A belief that nudity, when the weather permits, allows the person to live in greater harmony with nature."

John raised a questioning eyebrow. "You seem to be adapting to it rather well."

Sherlock shrugged. "I'll do what's necessary to blend in. This is no different. But Sarah... What if coming here was not enough for her? Her exhibitionistic streak might have eventually demanded something riskier... like the risk of being seen naked by someone outside the grounds of the resort."

***

After she was told that she had been a great help and that they would contact her if they found out anything further, Bobbi Ferguson went on her way, with some slight resignation.

“Right, then,” Sherlock announced quietly. “Now we…” he trailed off as he turned to address John, realizing the doctor was no longer by his side. In fact, John was already walking down the main road.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

John turned to face him. “The agreement was that I assist you with questioning Ferguson. And we’re finished questioning.”

“The agreement,” Sherlock corrected him, looking quite cross as he advanced, “was that you help me today on investigation.”

John gritted his teeth before answering. “I am on vacation, Sherlock! This was supposed to be just Mary and I, if you’ve conveniently forgotten.”

“But isn’t this better than what you had originally planned?” Sherlock argued. “You were going to that dreadful little motel in the middle of a slum town!”

“And this is any different?!” John snapped, his voice loud enough for anyone to hear within a twenty yard radius. “You don’t get it! I thought you did, but clearly you don’t. This was my time away from everything! No emergencies, no cases, and no YOU.”

Sherlock did not outwardly react, if anyone else had seen his behavior, but John had been assistant to him long enough to pick up on a few mannerisms. The detective’s otherwise motionless face twitched just under the eyes, and he swallowed. He had been taken aback by John’s outburst.

“This is your case, not mine,” John said, glaring. “If the case really is that important. Why are you out here, really?”

Sherlock looked confused and, John realized, a smidgen hurt. Immediately John regretted his harsh words, even though it still puzzled him sometimes how profoundly ignorant Sherlock was of normal human emotions. Subtlety and hints were wasted on him.

"We're partners," Sherlock said, his voice quiet and subdued. "This is what we do."

"One week, Sherlock. That's all I asked for. It's not like I was going away forever. I just wanted a small breather."

"Away from me." Bitterness crept into Sherlock's voice and he averted his eyes, the small muscles around his jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth.

John knew he had to choose his words carefully so as not to walk directly into Sherlock's trap. Inexperienced though he was at emotional manipulation, Sherlock seemed to know how to guilt trip his best friend and flatmate.

"Come on, I didn't mean it like that. Unless you've noticed, we do live together as well as work together. It would do us both good to spend some time apart."

"Technically, you work at the surgery," Sherlock said. "Very long hours, I might add. And you spend most of your free time chasing after women. Women who don't even want you. I wonder why you bother."

John reacted as though he'd received a physical blow to the gut. Sherlock always knew where it would hurt the most.

"That's not fair, Sherlock. You were the one to pull away every time I tried to approach you."

Despite their vigorous and sometimes downright aggressive sexual romps, Sherlock shied away from every attempt by John to initiate emotional intimacy. He rarely touched John out of bed and did not appreciate being spontaneously touched. On the rare occasions that he did allow it, his body was stiff and coiled as tightly as a bedspring. Sherlock also preferred to sleep alone, claiming that he could not relax properly with another body beside him, and thus always withdrew to the sanctuary of his own bedroom after a session between the sheets.

Sherlock reached up to place a long, cool hand against the doctor's cheek. His skin was smooth and dry, without calluses. Besides working on his science experiments, Sherlock had not done much manual labour in his life.

John had to fight not to lean into the touch. "Sherlock, stop it," he warned. "This is inappropriate, I have a girlfriend now."

“She’s not right for you,” Sherlock insisted, refusing to take his hand away. “It’s not a good match, the two of you.”

“Neither were we,” John reminded him. “We never made it past the sex. And I’m sorry if what we had was enough for you, because it wasn’t enough for me.”

Sherlock’s lips tightened into a thin line for a moment. He finally took his hand away.

“We’re good for each other as partners,” John said. “And friends. But that’s all.”

Sherlock backed away, almost looking betrayed. He averted his gaze and gathered his hands into fists. John did not suppose he would be punched for whatever reason, but Sherlock had always been unpredictable in the past.

“I’m going to go look for the car,” he said, his voice low and even. He simply turned around to leave.

“Sherlock,” John called after him. “Sherlock, wait!” He was genuinely surprised when his partner actually obeyed.

“When you did… all this,” he gestured at their surroundings. “Be honest. When you came along and changed our plans… was it really for the case? Or was it to disrupt my time with Mary?”

"Of course it was for the case!" Sherlock shouted back. "Don't flatter yourself, Watson!"

The detective stomped off, letting out an occasional curse when something on the ground dug into the soles of his bare feet. John sighed, rubbing at his temples to stop the impending headache from erupting.

Sherlock only ever called him by his last name when he was angry with him. Even though he knew that the scolding had been justified, John did not like falling out with Sherlock. While he was sure that they would soon be on speaking terms again, Sherlock was known to hold grudges for a very long time; his relationship with Mycroft was a good example of that. John was not even close to knowing what had caused the rift between the brothers, and since neither was willing to talk about it, it didn't seem like he'd ever find out.

John wondered if he should have gone with Sherlock despite his reservations, just so that he could extract the detective from a sticky situation, should one arise. Then again, Sherlock had already disappeared from his field of vision, and John did not want to chase him down, like a puppy dog following its master.

Besides, he had promised to meet with Mary at the indoor pools after their talk with Bobbi Ferguson. Would his girlfriend be there already, waiting for him to show up?

Realizing he had forgotten a towel, John hurried back to the lodge to retrieve one. The resort expressly forbade wearing swimsuits, but he would be obscuring himself with both his towel and his robe.

At least I thought to wear sandals, he thought.

Opening the door to the indoor pool, John was hit with the strong smell of chlorine. Not that he was surprised. In a nudist resort, it made sense to maintain as high of a hygiene statute as possible. It was supposedly the reason people could not wear bathing suits when using the pool or hot-tub. Even so, enough stories of people contracting horrendous infections from public Jacuzzis had put him off to using them, chlorine levels or not.

Fortunately, luck was in his favor. Most of the resort-goers were using the outdoor pool and enjoying the warm weather and sunny skies. At the most, two men were entering the sauna at the far end of the indoor pool. Otherwise, the pool itself was empty, save for one. Mary was swimming the length of the pool, and as ordered by resort etiquette, was quite naked. She might not have had the most fit of forms, but she was still in much better shape than any of the women John had seen ever since entering Avalon. John found himself smiling at the sight of her body as she awaited his arrival.

True, he had sensed a certain uneasiness in her – though not nearly so pronounced as his own – when the group first checked in, but she had adapted very well.

Approaching the pool’s edge, he grinned as she finally noticed him and swam over. “Come in,” she urged him. “It’s lovely. And as you can see, barely anyone else around.”

He chuckled nervously. At least there was that. And no Sherlock. In fact, he was uncertain if Sherlock even knew how to swim. There were surprisingly many menial tasks that the genius did not know how to do, and had no interest in learning.

Mary tilted her head, now upright and treading water. She gazed up at him with slight confusion. "Aren't you getting in?" she asked.

"Yes... Yes, of course." Knowing that he could not enter the pool wearing the robe, he finally discarded it, but not without a certain amount of hesitation. Mary had never seen him naked before, and his insecurities regarding his recent weight-gain weighed heavily on his mind, more than figuratively speaking.

He quickly dove in headfirst and resurfaced next to Mary, playfully poking her side. She squealed in a mixture of delight and terror, and was quick to deliver a jab of her own to his ribs. John was glad she had mostly missed the soft part of his paunch.

He had to admit, though: the water was close to heavenly. Obviously it was a place for the nudists to socialize, rather than exercise, and had thus been adjusted to suit their needs.

"So, tell me. How did it go? And where's that pesky friend of yours?" Mary asked.

“Pesky doesn’t begin to describe him,” John admitted. “We questioned the client and, uhh…” He lowered his voice on the slight chance that the men in the sauna could hear him, however slight that chance might be. “Investigated her trailer.”

Mary smirked and played along, whispering back. “Why is that such a scandalous thing suddenly? Oh wait, let me guess… you broke in, didn’t you?”

“Technically Sherlock broke in and I followed him inside,” John said with a sly smile.

Mary chuckled and gave him a little kiss on the nose. “He’s a very bad influence on you.”

“Admit it, you like a bad boy from time to time,” John said with a laugh.

“Most girls do,” she agreed. “But we also like someone dependable. You have that too.”

“Most of the time,” they both said at once.

They proceeded to swim together, back and forth. They both swam at a relatively similar pace, though Mary was just a little faster.

“We also took a look at her former parking space. Not much there, though, not to my surprise.” Reaching one end of the pool, he gripped the edge. “Sherlock and I had a bit of a row.”

“Uh oh,” Mary lingered next to him. “What this time?”

“He wanted to go find the missing woman’s car. I said no. After all, I had you waiting for me. And I’d rather be spending time with you as our vacation dictated instead of going on wild goose chases with someone who tagged along just to make me miserable.”

Mary smiled at the man’s devotion to her, but then her brow knit with worry.

“But suppose something did happen to her…?” she asked.

“If she did, Sherlock can find out easily, and without my help.”

The woman smiled. “If you say so.” She leaned forward and their lips met. John eagerly carded his fingers through her wet hair, kissing her back.

Mary's smooth, sleek body rubbed against his own underneath the surface of the water, and the contact predictably brought forth a familiar stir of arousal in him. His cock twitched with interest, accompanied by warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach which quickly spread downward.

Coupled with the slight embarrassment was also a strong sense of relief. He could evidently still get excited without thoughts of Sherlock... Oh drat.

Mary did not notice the sudden stiffening in his body, or she mistook it for something else. Encouraged by his initial response, she pressed even closer and gave him several open-mouthed kisses as one of her hands discretely snuck downward to investigate. Her touch made John twitch as though he'd been burned. Suddenly this all seemed like a very bad idea.

"Mary..." he admonished and caught her hand. "Not here... This is supposed to be a family friendly resort!"

She gave a high-pitched giggle and continued to fondle him. "Sweetheart, there's no one here. We can do whatever we want."

John decided to use a bit more force to still her roaming hand and simultaneously withdrew from the embrace. "Not here, Mary. We could get arrested."

Mary pouted for just a moment, but she knew John was right.

“Or at the very least, get kicked out,” she added. “And then where would we stay?” She played with a wet lock of John’s short hair as she cuddled close. “An abandoned shack in the woods? I think not.”

“Considering Sherlock, it might not take anything done by us to be forcibly removed,” John remarked, trying very hard not to squirm. Part of him was constantly saying over and over in his head that Mary did not care how he looked, that she liked him just fine despite the extra pounds. But another nasty part of him gave him the urge to dash for his robe or towel as soon as he was so much as halfway out of the pool. He hated the way his belly pressed against Mary before anything else on his body did.

Thankfully, a distraction arose. Turning their heads at the sound of laughter, the pair saw the two men exiting the sauna. Mary grinned and swam back to the pool steps.

“Come on,” she said, rising from the pool and grabbing her towel.

John looked over to the doorway, then back at Mary’s smiling face. The nasty little voice came back for just a moment, but he ignored it.

“Oh… okay,” he replied, following her out of the pool, though he was quick to wrap his towel around himself.

Peeking inside, Mary grasped John’s hand. “All to ourselves,” she announced gleefully. “Let’s go!”

Much like how the chlorine had taken John aback when he first entered the pool, the sudden wave of heat within the sauna was a surprise, though John had expected it all the same. Already Mary was spreading out her towel and reclining on a bench. Not one to look as though blasé about any activities, John undid his own towel and took a seat next to her, although he put his arms in front of his torso, as an awkward attempt to obscure his stomach.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I feel really comfortable here," Mary said. "That's crazy, isn't it, but after ten minutes without any clothes, you kind of forget that you're naked. We're all equals here. I like that."

"The... facilities are well-maintained," John offered in a feeble attempt to add to the cheerful atmosphere. He could sadly not say that he was very comfortable being seen without clothes. It would have been a blatant lie. The only aspect of coming here that pleased him was the fact that the bill was going to Sherlock.

John's throat was getting uncomfortably dry, and he suspected that the heat of the sauna was not the only reason. Though he knew it was silly, he couldn't help but believe that Mary found his physique lacking in many respects. At 5'6'' with a compact build, John had never been what most people considered classically handsome, but during his army days, he had prided himself on being naturally muscular and deceptively strong for his size. Now a layer of fat covered his previously well-defined body. Sherlock never missed an opportunity to poke fun at him for his expanding waistline, the verbal jabs sometimes accompanied by physical ones. To the detective, picking at other people was just as natural as it was for normal people to pick their teeth.

John glanced down at his form, disgusted at the rolls which formed whenever he sat down. Then his eyes moved lower to the bushy nest of brown curls which surrounded his manhood, short and thick like the rest of him, now completely soft. He hated the way his pubic hair concealed nearly half of the shaft, making it appear even smaller. He should have at least thought to trim it down a bit.

“Speaking of comfortable, how about Sherlock?”

John looked up, jarred out of his sour thoughts by his girlfriend’s voice. “Pardon?”

“He seems perfectly at ease going naked,” Mary answered with a small laugh. “Not that I blame him. He’s not terrible looking, body-wise. And such a cute little bum for someone so thin.”

John felt a slight lurch in his stomach at the remark. Even though Mary clearly did not like Sherlock, she still found him pleasing to look at. Did she think vice-versa about John, that she loved him as a person but found him unattractive?

Mary was still finding the notion of Sherlock naked amusing when she looked up at John, who seemed to be stuck in another world.

“You know I was just joking, right?” she said with a gentle nudge of her hand against his side. John winced and managed a smile, but it was a lousy one.

“Was I too forward?” she asked.

John blinked, not fully understanding. “How so?”

“Just a short while ago,” Mary explained, sitting up and facing him. “In the pool, you seemed very tense. And it’s not that I was cross with you about getting intimate in the water where we could get in trouble. I just don’t want to go into this with the wrong impression.”

Her arms wrapped around her folded legs. John glanced at her and watched a rivulet of perspiration travel lazily down her neck and in between her breasts.

“I thought maybe you had been wanting to initiate something between us, but… lately, I’m not so certain anymore.”

John sighed, embarrassed. “Listen. I care about you. And I would love to go to bed with you at some point during this trip. So please, don’t think that I’m brushing you off. Far from it.”

"Why do I feel a "but" coming on...?" Mary asked, her previously jovial face clouded with worry. John hated himself for letting his insecurities affect their relationship negatively, but he also knew that there was no hope for them unless he was honest; or as honest as he could bring himself to be, anyway.

"There is no "but". I really do want to." He swallowed nervously, trying desperately to re-moisturize his suddenly parched throat. What he was about to say was one of the most embarrassing things that could happen to a man, but Mary needed to be reassured that the problem was his, and his alone.

John had been suffering from occasional erectile dysfunction ever since he returned home from Afghanistan. He knew that his problems were psychological rather than physiological, since he had no trouble getting - or staying - hard when he masturbated, and the doctor he had consulted about his fears confirmed the diagnosis. His performance issues were due to a mental lock-up, probably a lingering result from the trauma he had undergone during his military service.

He could remember the two pathetic attempts at sex with his previous girlfriend, Dana. The first time he had managed to become erect, but came prematurely after less than a minute, and the second time he had stayed as flaccid as a snake with a broken neck despite repeated oral and manual attempts at stimulation from Dana. She had broken it off with him two days after that fiasco, her explanation the usual: she liked him a lot, but they were too different and not right for each other, and would be better off as friends. She did not state his performance issues as a cause for the break up, but when John looked into her eyes, he saw pity, as clear as day in them. Not that he could blame her. Pity was not a basis for a relationship.

John had returned home after midnight, drunk from the four or five beers he had consumed at a pub. The alcohol had dulled his senses, but it could not still the turmoil in his heart.

Sherlock was, from a single look in his direction, able to deduce the outcome of the evening and gleefully shouted deductions from his small laboratory set up on the kitchen table, until John could not take it anymore and retreated, wordlessly, into his bedroom. He had prepared for a lonely, sleepless night in misery, but sometime later, with John still wakeful, Sherlock crept into the bed, naked, all lips and hands and cock, blissfully silent except for occasional gasps and groans. John had welcomed the contact, clinging to Sherlock while the detective fucked him, and almost-crying against his long neck. His own cock had kept up, despite the multiple beers, and he came practically in tandem with Sherlock.

Hands over his face in frustration and embarrassment, John desperately tried to get the words out.

“It’s alright,” Mary gently insisted. “Simply tell me.”

“I have… issues,” John finally said, his voice feeling weak from the dry throat. He felt a hand touch his bare knee, and when Mary spoke again, her voice was quiet, but even.

“What kind?”

“Ugh…” John rubbed at his face. “Must I say it? Thanks to my service in the Middle East… it’s… difficult when I have sex.”

“Do you get stage fright?” the woman asked.

John sighed. “That’s one way of putting it. Oh, Christ… I would have preferred to have gotten over it by now, but…”

“Well, it’s not really something one gets over right away,” Mary said, edging a little closer. “If this is an issue involving your mentality, it’s going to take time no matter what. The human brain is fully capable of betraying its owner at any time, after all.”

“I know,” John replied, taking one hand away and simply rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I just… I figured I would be over it by now.”

He was not looking at Mary, so when she leaned in and kissed his cheek, he was a little surprised. When he looked at her, she was smiling. Perhaps the heat was getting to him, but he was almost sure he was looking at a genuine smile, not some pitying forced one.

“I guess it’s something we’ll have to work on then. If you’re patient with me, I’ll be patient with you.”

John finally returned the smile, though his was sad.

“You don’t have to, you know,” he stated. “You can still back out if you want.”

Mary playfully slapped him on the shoulder, though the blow was a little harder than usually delivered, and John gave a yelp of surprise.

“You dolt!” she said. “Of course I won’t back out. I didn’t come all the way out here just for sex, you know. I actually like you!”

John itched to ask the question, "but do you find me attractive?" Yes, he was overweight, short, and had bags underneath his eyes which blatantly told of his years as well as the harrowing ordeals he had been through. One could read about it on his face like a road map. Sherlock had said so once.

"I really like you too, Mary," he said instead, placing a clumsy arm around her sweaty, naked back. They briefly rested their foreheads together, and John felt somewhat at ease for the first time during the trip. He was glad not to have been faced with immediate rejection, but he still worried about her response to finding out the true nature about his relationship with Sherlock.

Until now she had not had reason to view the supple-bodied detective as a sexual rival, and John was certain that such a reveal would add further hostility to their already tense relationship... assuming Mary even wanted to continue seeing him after that.

The resounding bang with which the sauna door suddenly flew open made them both jerk in their seats and hastily pull away from each other. For a moment, John almost expected a member of the staff barging in on them to say that their behaviour had been noticed and would not be tolerated at a family friendly resort. The person, however, was Sherlock.

"John, I've been looking all over for you! I've made a huge breakthrough in our case. You'll have to come with me at once to review the evidence."

He quickly spun on his heel, ready to exit the sauna, when it occurred to him that John had remained seated and made no move to follow. His face took on a look of exhilarated desperation, bordering on mania.

"John, COME ON! Right now!"

Though it was fairly obvious that Sherlock had not been in the pool, his hair was soaking wet, his normally voluminous curls sticking to a forehead practically dripping with sweat. The glistening sheen which covered his entire form, added to the bright red color of his face, neck and shoulders, indicated that Sherlock had exerted himself to the point of exhaustion. He also seemed to have completely forgotten about sun block.

The mere sight of Sherlock, as well as his ridiculous interruption, left John and Mary only staring blankly at him. In his hand was a small bag closed with a zipper. Though it was mostly a blur due to how quickly it moved about in the detective’s hands, John could make out that it was likely a camera bag.

“This is what might solve the case utterly,” Sherlock said, speaking as though to ignorant children. “Now if you’ll just come with me…”

He dashed back out again, only to collapse just within the couple’s sight. John bolted upwards while Mary made a peculiar surprised shout, and they both hurried over. As annoying as Sherlock was, they did not want him passing out and hitting his head, or falling into the pool.

Sherlock sat on the tiled wet floor, legs splayed out like a dropped marionette with his head in his hand, looking dazed but otherwise unhurt. John was uncertain if his partner’s flushed face was from exhaustion or simple sunburns.

“Are you alright?” Mary asked him as he tried to stand on wobbling legs. John turned towards the small walk-in shower behind them and noticed something that might work to their advantage.

“There are seats in the shower stalls,” he said, putting his arms under Sherlock’s. “Uuup we go! “

Unsteady, the detective still managed to get to one of the shower stalls with John’s help. While Mary used the adjacent shower on her own, John remained with Sherlock and made sure he did not slip off of the seat. As a plus, this ensured that he was able to rinse off the sweat.

“I don’t think I required a shower, seeing as I didn’t use the pool or the sauna,” he remarked.

“Oh, stop whining,” John muttered. “Now what was it you were just dying to share with me?”

“In the bag,” Sherlock replied, waving to the item on the floor just a few feet away.

"What's that? Where did you find it?" John asked, hesitant to leave his friend's side, but nonetheless very curious about the item Sherlock had brought with him. Fortunately the bag had been dropped far enough from the showers not to risk getting sprayed, but there was no way of knowing if it had been otherwise damaged.

"Camera..." Sherlock said, panting and making dramatic gestures with his hands. "Sarah's... Found it... by a trail. Pictures..."

"Alright, easy now," John said, wanting to prevent another fainting incident brought on by Sherlock getting up too quickly. The younger man's breathing and heart rate were both elevated, which, together with the obvious dizziness, were signs of dehydration. Sherlock's only known fluid intake today had been a cup of tea for breakfast, and that was over six hours ago. On top of that, John was unsure of whether or not Sherlock had slept last at all night. He had slept just over five hours, and by the time he got up, Sherlock had clearly been awake for a while, bustling with energy.

Good God, no wonder his body could not keep up. John felt a stab of guilt knowing that Sherlock would likely not have gotten to this stage if only John had come with him.

The doctor's diagnosis was confirmed when he watched Sherlock lean forward to catch some of the shower drops on his tongue. The medical man in John responded in a flash, reciting the Latin names of at least ten pathogenic micro organisms that could potentially be found in the water.

"Sherlock, no! Don't drink that!" he snapped. "It could be bad for you."

"I'm thirsty," Sherlock argued.

"We'll get you something to drink in just a minute." John watched as the long, lean muscles in Sherlock's limbs began to shake, and he realized Sherlock was in danger of passing out again. He had to be rehydrated, quickly.

"Sherlock, will you be able to walk?" John asked, placing his arm around the detective's back to encourage him to stand up.

“I’m not a child,” Sherlock snapped drowsily. His voice sounded resentful, and John wondered if in his ill state he was remembering something from the past. “Of course I can stand. Walking…”

He trailed off as he rose to his feet. Wobbling for a moment once more, he put a hand to his forehead. For a second, John expected him to swoon.

“Come on,” John said, grabbing the camera bag and then placing an arm around Sherlock’s back. “We’ll deal with this at the lodge.”

“How is he?” Mary asked, walking out of the stall next door. She glanced at the state of her boyfriend’s partner and gave a rather defeated look.

“He’s going to need some help back to the lodge,” John said, his tone almost apologetic. Mary rested her hands on her hips as she watched the pair hobble towards the door, but she finally hurried over to them, grabbing the camera bag, towels, and John’s robe, allowing him a better grip on Sherlock. John was starting to lose count as to how often he felt like garbage towards her.

TBC...
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The Prey