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She's the Boss	By : deklava Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2346 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock and do not profit financially from this work.

Chapter List
- 1-She's the Boss
- 1
"Are you sure they'll let me in?" Sarah hesitated. "This is a men's sauna. Eve was never created as far as the blokes in here are concerned."

Sherlock sniffed before responding in his 'You're an idiot' voice. "When I tell them who I am, they'll let me bring in a bloody harem. Relax."

"Really? You're a bath house legend, are you?"

"No, but Mycroft is."

Sarah didn't doubt that Mycroft Holmes was some kind of legend. She'd never met the man, but Sherlock appeared to loathe him with that intensity that always underlies fear, and if anyone could make Sherlock Holmes uneasy he had to be the British government, or bigger.

Sarah nodded and kept walking. She had promised John that she'd keep Sherlock in line while he was at the medical conference in Edinburgh, and the only way to do that was keep the detective fucked silly.

Tonight's excursion was the result of an extended conversation between John and Mycroft. She had been given the address and knew what was expected of her- the same merciless performance she gave whenever she, Sherlock, and John had their weekly romp- but the logistics upon arrival were still a mystery. If Sherlock knew anything more than she did about what was in store for them, he was hiding it well.

The man in the cashier's booth frowned a bit at their approach. Sherlock drew some bills out of his wallet and stuck them through the hole in the Plexiglas. "Two."

The cashier did not touch the money. "Sorry, sister," he said to Sarah. "Men only."

Sherlock pressed his face to the barrier. "I'm Sherlock Holmes," he said coolly, "and I think your manager knows my brother Mycroft quite well." He nodded toward Sarah. "Doesn't she look like a man to you now?"

Manicured hands grabbed the money while the cashier's eyes widened in recognition. "She's got the best-developed pecs I've ever seen, Mr. Holmes. Go right in. It'll be an honor. Any of the blokes in there get pissed off, they gotta deal with it, right?"

"Obviously," Sherlock drawled, before muttering, "Stupid."

Sherlock and Sarah pushed through the heavy double doors. The young man at the coat check blinked in surprise when he saw Sarah, but kept his mouth shut and exchanged their coats for yellow tags.

Men in T-shirts and jeans emerged from a hallway to the left, carrying duffel bags and joking with one another. When they saw Sherlock, they paused as a group to gaze appreciatively at his pale, classy appearance. Sarah's curvy figure, which had been squeezed and zipped into the red leather dress John had bought her at the Pleasure Chest, drew a more varied reaction. A couple of men looked annoyed, more appeared confused, and some seemed delighted.

One muscular specimen with a shaved head smiled in real admiration. "You go, girl."

"I'm hoping to come, actually."

The small group laughed and continued toward the exit. Sherlock snorted. "Tacky banter, Sarah? Very undignified. You don't have to entertain people like that."

"I suppose not. But YOU do. And you will soon." She took his arm, digging her nails so deeply through the purple silk shirt that he'd be marked for days. Sherlock shuddered and caught his breath so sweetly that she almost came from the sense of victory alone.

She propelled him down the hallway, her high heels clicking noisily on the tile floor, and entered the locker room at the end. Her hand lowered and they paused in the doorway, staring at the excess of male flesh everywhere. Men in towels, underwear, or just plain birthday suits sat on benches or stood in front of open lockers. The smell of wet cement, male perspiration, and damp clothing made the air so heavy you could feel it.

Conversation ceased when Sherlock and Sarah appeared. She glanced up at the detective: he was swallowing heavily and his feverishly bright eyes wandered across the manscape, lingering on muscles that gleamed with sweat or shower droplets.

Since she hadn't been supplied with a script (and Sherlock would have said that scripts were boring anyway), Sarah let the raw sexual energy in the room inspire her. She was an exhibitionist, and proud of it.

"Sherlock," she said imperiously, walking over to an open locker, "take off your clothes and put them in here."

His face was impassive, but she could sense the arousal emanating from him as he obeyed. The detective's slender fingers quivered a bit as he bent over and pulled off his boots, giving everyone a perfect view of his arse. Then he removed his purple shirt, exposing his lightly muscled chest, unbuckled his belt, and slid his trousers off. He didn't remove the leather collar around his white throat though- that stayed. Always.

"Fold everything before you put them in the locker," she ordered.

He did, with a fastidiousness that made her wonder why he let the Baker Street flat fall into such disarray. When he stood before her clad only in silk boxers that did a useless job of concealing his growing hard-on, she commanded, "Kneel and hold your arms out."

He obeyed, keeping his eyes down. The room was so silent you could have heard a water drop explode. Sarah opened her bag, took out the handcuffs, and secured his wrists with two metallic snaps.

"Now look at me, you bitch."

Sherlock lifted his chin and locked his eyes with hers. She read their message clearly: Please DON'T be gentle. Well, since he asked so nicely...

She slapped his cheek hard enough to leave a red mark. His cock jumped, and so did the onlookers...out of their skins. A few men grabbed their gear and crept out looking shaken. Most, however, stayed.

Sarah's knickers were soaked. Unable to wait any longer, she sat on the bench, parted her thighs, and said hoarsely, "You fucking know what you have to do. Be quick about it."

Sherlock bent forward, lowered her knicker elastic with his teeth, and buried his face in her. He sucked and licked her like he'd been trained to do, drawing out so much lubrication out that his cheeks and chin slid wetly about. While he worked away, one man with an attractive, boyish face and a weight-lifter's body approached them. A towel was wrapped loosely around his hips.

"That looks fucking pretty," he said huskily, rubbing his crotch and staring at Sherlock's rotating behind. "No offense to you, sister, but your friend's got a hell of a cute arse."

"You want it?" she smirked. "Roll on a condom and take it. Screw the bitch. He's a slut, likes nothing better than to be handcuffed like this and stuffed with hot cock."

"Yeah?" The guy put his other hand on that silk-covered butt. "Is that so, pretty boy? You like a good, nasty fuck?"

By way of response, Sherlock reached to the side and yanked the man's towel off, revealing a rigid nine-incher. When his long white fingers encircled it and began pumping, someone groaned, "Oh, YEAH." Feet slapped wetly on the tiles as the circle of onlookers became tighter. Sarah could feel warm breath on her back and shoulders.

"I'm Jeff," the man said. "Fuck, you're hot." He tore Sherlock's boxers off, letting the detective's dripping erection and shaved balls hang free. Another man came close enough to caress his back. Sarah didn't want to come just yet, so she slid her arse along the bench, beyond Sherlock's reach. She always enjoyed watching the detective get taken roughly by John- a roomful of horny men would be a rare treat.

"Nice cock, isn't it?" she goaded Sherlock, who was staring longingly at Jeff. "Go on, then, suck him off. Jeff, don't hesitate to make him choke a bit. He likes to feel it."

Sherlock extended his neck and closed his full lips around Jeff's cock. He sucked and slurped like a backstreet whore, dark curls bouncing as his head bobbed. His chained hands clasped Jeff's thighs, the link between them rattling loudly.

A handsome blonde youth who reminded her faintly of John strolled up and dealt Sherlock's backside a sharp slap. "Bet that arse is nice and tight." He glanced at Sarah. "Mind if I check him out?"

"By all means," she grinned.

The young man picked up a discarded bottle of lube, slicked the fingers on one hand, and shoved a wet finger into Sherlock's impossibly tight hole. The detective groaned around the dick in his throat and arched his back, silently pleading for more. A second finger was introduced. When it slid teasingly over his prostate Sherlock shuffled his knees further apart, and nearly slipped. Sarah noticed that his dripping cock had created quite a mess on the tile floor beneath. He nearly let go of Jeff's dick, forcing the other man to grab him by the hair and hold him steady.

"Keep sucking," he ordered. "You're so fucking good at this... bet you practice every day."

"He'd practice every minute if his Master would let him," Sarah said.

"Master, huh? No wonder he loves this- he's dripping like a fucking faucet."

Before Sarah could answer, large hands snaked under her armpits and clasped her breasts through the leather dress. The bench creaked as the unseen fondler sat behind her and drew her backward until she was leaning against a warm, fully clothed body. Expensive cologne tickled her nostrils and she could feel waistcoat buttons pressing against her spine. She tried to see who had possessed her so confidently, with such easy entitlement, but her head was pressed firmly against his chest and his chin bore down, holding her in place.

"Nicely done, Dr. Sawyer," a deceptively soft voice purred in her ear. "It's like you know Sherlock almost as well as John and I do."

Surprised but feeling safe, she closed her eyes and let those magic fingers tease her nipples through the red leather. A warm tongue darted into her ear, raising goose bumps. Sarah shivered in pleasure and whispered, "Who are you?"

Before the man could answer, Sherlock looked in their direction. His eyes widened and he jerked away from Jeff's cock with a wet popping noise.

"Mycroft!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "What are you-"

Mycroft.

Sarah squirmed, trying to loosen the iron grip so that she could turn around and see Sherlock's often-derided 'arch enemy' for herself. He wrapped one arm tightly around her shoulders, keeping her immobile against his chest, and used the other to pick up an umbrella and prod Sherlock's nipple with it.

"I don't believe Dr. Sawyer gave you permission to stop, Sherlock," he said.

"No, but I wasn't-"

Mycroft's voice deepened. "Don't make me order you."

Sherlock scowled. He opened his mouth to reply, but after glancing at Mycroft, Jeff grabbed a fistful of his curls and muffled his intended retort with hot, pulsing cock. Sarah felt Mycroft hum with approval against the back of her head.

"That's the one thing always guaranteed to shut him up and make him compliant," he whispered to her. Then, in a louder voice, he said, "Go on, gentlemen. My brother is yours to use."

Two naked men hurried to a cupboard, grabbed armfuls of thick white towels, and tossed them onto the damp floor. They exchanged sly winks with Jeff and the blond youth, who stepped away from their moaning fuck toy. Together they lifted Sherlock bodily and tossed him into the soft depths of the towel pile.

"Oh God, YES!" he cried as more men closed in around him. Scores of brawny hands ran over his pale body, massaging and teasing his nipples, arse, and cock. "Fuck me now! I want all of you! Fuck me until I can't take any-"

Sherlock's throaty pleading broke off when Jeff seized his hips and pushed a slicked, latex-covered shaft into him. His limbs crumpled beneath him, and only a sturdy grip on his hips kept him in position. He was gasping for breath when the blond stud crouched in front of him, raised his chin, and pushed into his eager mouth. Sherlock took it all and sucked hard, eyes fluttering in ecstasy as his arse got a rough riding from Jeff. The locker room was alive once more with shouts of "Come on, you're going too easy on the slut!" and "Give it to him harder!"

Other men sat on benches, rolled condoms over their erections, and started some hot action of their own. This was so wild: a post-Roman orgy in a Soho bathhouse. Sarah, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of unadulterated pleasure, reached down to touch herself again. Mycroft's strong fingers closed over her wrist.

"Let me," he said. Before she could accept or refuse, she was lowered to her back on the bench and quick hands pushed her dress up past her waist. Mycroft maneuvered between her open thighs: Sarah had a quick visual impression of a tall, immaculately dressed man who was older and heavier than Sherlock but still had that Holmesian aura of dangerously high intelligence. Then his head lowered, and his mouth and hands were assaulting her in the hottest way imaginable.

Sarah's back arched when his teeth scraped gently against that sensitive spot just beneath her navel- the spot that she thought only John ever knew about. While his fingers dug into her hips to anchor her to the bench, he ran his warm tongue down her belly to the soft curls that surrounded her quivering pussy. She went limp, whimpering and begging, when he poked teasingly at her wet folds.

"Mr. Holmes, please..."

"Please what, Dr. Sawyer? Please do more of this?" He released her hips, slid his broad thumb into her vagina until it was coated with her juices, and began massaging her throbbing clit. "Or maybe more of this?" He ran his index finger teasingly along her wet folds before pressing it against her arsehole. When she bucked her hips after skilful pressure was applied to her clit, his finger sank deep inside her body.

She was trapped. If she lifted her pelvis, her swollen clit met his lubricated thumb. When she lowered it, his finger penetrated her arse further. His other hand was pressed firmly against her bare stomach, preventing escape... even if she'd wanted to try it.

He was even better at this than John, and he'd only known her less than ten minutes. Under ordinary circumstances, she would find him terrifying.

Like most people apparently did.

She looked to the side, and saw Sherlock watching her. His cheeks were hollowed with the force of his sucking and a different man was ploughing his tight arse so roughly that his hips jerked with each inward thrust. When their eyes met, Sherlock shuddered with obvious bliss and raised his cuffed hands to fondle another man's waiting cock and balls.

She squeezed her eyes shut and moaned as Mycroft's lips replaced his thumb on her clit. He sucked on it with enough gentle pressure to drive her insane before moving lower and thrusting his tongue into her. Sarah wailed as her pussy and arse were teased and penetrated relentlessly.

Next to her, Sherlock pulled his mouth off of yet another eager cock and began shaking and groaning. The audience shouted encouragement and one man crouched down to grasp the detective's leaking erection. A few quick and masterful strokes later, Sherlock was screaming his release and hot semen splattered on the towels beneath him. While he convulsed, additional male voices joined his, and several sweating onlookers jerked off all over his face, hair, and smooth white back.

The detective was still riding out the orgasmic aftershocks when Sarah felt her own internal muscles begin to quiver. She arched her back, buried her fingers in Mycroft's hair, and ground her pussy against his regal face until her orgasm erupted. This one was the most intense she could ever recall having, and turned her into a babbling, crying mess.

Sherlock, in the meantime, had been dragged to his feet by two more men, who held him upright while everyone else ran their hands over him. When fingers plunged into his arse and slid along his cock, he quickly became erect again. Too sated to move or even speak, Sarah watched with heavy-lidded eyes as the orgy was moved into the adjacent shower room. She couldn't see the activity from her current vantage point, but the hissing water and hoarse shouts confirmed that Sherlock was no one-orgasm pony.

Mycroft tugged her skirt hem over her still-shaking thighs before bending down and lifting her up in his arms. His lips were slightly red, but otherwise he looked perfectly composed, as if he'd spent the last twenty minutes reading correspondence instead of using his mouth and hands to take her apart.

"You can wait for Sherlock in my car," he said, shifting her briefly so that he could hook his umbrella handle over his wrist. As he carried her out the fire exit door into the drizzly London night, he added, "Compliments of John Watson, Dr. Sawyer. You promised him that Sherlock would get what he needs, and I promised him that I would take care of you."

She smiled at that. John was in for a reward indeed.

"Anthea….make Sarah comfortable, won't you? I'll be back in a few with my brother, and we'll carry on with the next segment of the evening."

"Of course, sir."

Next segment? Sarah's eyes shot open as Mycroft handed her over to a curvy young brunette in pinstripes. Instead of trying to help her stand, this Anthea woman slipped surprisingly strong arms around her shoulders and behind her knees, and carried her toward a waiting Audi.

"Mr. Holmes won't be a minute," Anthea said politely as she positioned Sarah on the leather upholstery and secured the seat belt. When her perfectly manicured nails lingered over Sarah's still-rigid nipple during the buckling-in process, Sarah grinned widely despite her weariness. She had a sneaking suspicion that when Mycroft returned with Sherlock, the fun would begin again….
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She's the Boss