aftercare

[riding_crop]

She texts him at half past noon, so that he's had time to sleep in if he needs it, but will probably be awake.

What channel are we watching, Sherlock?

Because he'd laughed, so she considers it a promise.

Comments

[seesobserves]

The response comes in under a minute. He's been keeping the phone nearby.

ITV1+1. Kyle's on.

Not for much longer at this hour, but it's a start.

[riding_crop]

Irene tunes in, then turns it down just far enough. She settles down on her favourite chair, with tea and muffins with jam, tucks the blanket about her legs, and presses 'dial' on his number.

Really, aftercare can be just as enjoyable as the scene itself, in the right circumstances.

[seesobserves]

Sherlock is just turning it on now himself. He'd spent most of the morning in bed. Not sleeping, just lying still. Only managed to get himself up once John had gone, leaving the flat empty.

He'd spent the next hour and a half puttering around in his own way. Showered and got dressed, even though he had no particular plans to go anywhere. A shirt covers up the marks on his arms better than a dressing gown would have. Had a tea, flipped through the paper for anything of interest. Then he'd stood at the window with hands folded behind his back, watching London go by until he'd got her text.

He picks up. The programme is just barely audible in the background.

"John thinks something's wrong."

[riding_crop]

"He's very intuitive, when it comes to reading people."

Irene admits, sipping her tea with a small smile she knows he'll be able to hear in his voice.

"He can probably tell that something is different, at the very least. How are you feeling, though?"

Because when people talk about the opinions of others, it's been her experience that what they really want is to be asked to express their own.

[seesobserves]

Different, he could say, but it would be a somewhat obvious answer. And a little too direct.

"Shower took care of the itching." Just as she'd said it would. He can still feel the worst of the marks, though, especially where they're touched by his clothes. Slightly warmer than the rest of his skin.

"It's been quiet here." And he hasn't minded. Not as much as he might have, otherwise. There's another brief pause while he considers the television.

"She's never going to quit drinking."

[riding_crop]

"I bet you feel that steel wool, though- I always forget how nasty it is."

A light giggle. She does no such thing, obviously, but it's sometimes nice to play innocent. Especially knowing he isn't foolish enough to believe a word of it.

"She's saying she's found Jesus. Don't believe faith saves, do you? She does look sort of inebriated right now, though, doesn't she? She'd have to be, to match that blouse to those shoes."

With something of a disapproving tsk.

[seesobserves]

"Exactly. She can't even commit to a basic colour scheme, never mind her husband. Not holding out high hopes for religion."

He stays still in his chair, except for the fingers of his free hand twitching slightly on the armrest.

[riding_crop]

"I bet she's sleeping with someone in her congregation, and that's what has her so devoted. She obviously doesn't love him any more... tell me his secrets, Sherlock."

Prompting, while she sips her tea. She can see a few, but she's nothing at reading people compared to him. To Irene, the man looks uninteresting at best, annoying at worse, with his grey wool, cheap shoes and clammy looking hands. Vanilla as can be.

[seesobserves]

Sherlock watches and observes. There's a nice long moment where the camera is fixated on the man. He only needs a few seconds.

"He's a construction worker, but he hasn't been working for a few weeks at least. He's been losing weight, losing sleep, fighting headaches. Could be signs of just about any sort of sickness, but given how much of a burden she's been and the fact they haven't mentioned anything about hospital bills, I'd say garden-variety depression.

"He wants out of the marriage but he won't admit it. Keeps fidgeting with the ring, like he's thinking of taking it off. Still he's making an effort for the children. Shows he's not too intelligent. Growing up in that household will be a nightmare, especially since he himself is no saint in terms of fidelity. He's been flirting with a member of her extended family. I expect they'll be announcing that in a minute."

[riding_crop]

"You're positively radiant, Mister Sherlock Holmes. You could take a girl's breath away." Irene purrs. "And I want to shackle you to my wall and flog you until you're black and blue and can't remember your own name, or do anything but scream mine."

Because she's never really expressed her appreciation of his talents in particularly Johnnish ways, has she? Must keep true to form.

At that moment, Kyle announces another secret, a hidden camera capturing something 'so shocking you'll never believe it!' Precisely as predicted.

"Cousin, aunt, or niece do you think?"

[seesobserves]

She can probably picture his expression. What she may or may not be picturing is the way one corner of his mouth tightens at her proposition.

"Oh, if it's this shocking, gotta be the niece," he tosses off.

[riding_crop]

Niece it is, though Irene almost misses it, because she's honest to goodness laughing. So hard she upends her saucer off it's precarious position on the arm of the chair when she picks up the teacup. The little plate rolls away, a few drops of tea splash, and the dominatrix slash blackmailer is still giggling like a bit of a schoolgirl.

"Oh dear."

[seesobserves]

Sherlock stays quiet, listening to the sound of the plate falling and rolling, the previously unfamiliar sound of her laughter.

After a moment, he marks it down as a positive. He's caught her off guard, even if the reaction was unexpected.

"Surprised?"

[riding_crop]

She muffles the last of it with her fingertips, taking in a deep breath and letting it out as almost a hum of delight, tickled.

"A little. The after-scene... wobbling, shall we say, can get to both parties." She's been a little bit giggly all day. "The poor niece. Having the bad judgement to flirt with an uncle, in a family of such exhibitionists."

[seesobserves]

"The population of England is a parade of stupidity and bad judgment. Programmes like these only serve to shine a spotlight on that fact."

Wobbling. Good word for it. Sherlock hasn't been showing it much, even once he was alone, but there have been... moments.

[riding_crop]

"Speaking of bad judgement, I owe you a very sincere apology." Gently redirecting away from the television program. "I believed we were... going to bed, I suppose, with a kinky overtone or two. Touching you, even undressing you completely wasn't something I should have done without explicit consent."

Because she sort of feels responsible for making sure he's all right, going forwards in this, and she's decided that means making sure he has some of the tools he'll need to bottom safely. That means not letting what happened become normalized, at all.

[seesobserves]

Sherlock suddenly has to swallow to fight back a rising impulse to start crying. It comes on incredibly quick, astonishingly so, and he barely tamps it down.

The shower. That was where he'd lost his grip for a while. The water had washed his face clear faster than the tears would come. Even if anybody had seen, they probably wouldn't have been able to tell.

Audibly, the only sign that anything's amiss is a quick inhale after the pause. He's been holding his breath.

"I was stepping into your world. Your rules." A short pause. He should clarify. "The clothes weren't an issue."

[riding_crop]

"If only I'd realized that. I'm very glad you safeworded. You did exactly the right thing."

The breath is confirmation, not that she'd needed it. His reaction yesterday had been serious enough.

"And I'm sorry. I never meant to do anything that would sincerely distress you, and I should have checked to be sure we were on the same page. That was my responsibility."

The danger, really, of playing like this after coming so very close, after hurting each other so very badly, after dilated pupils and a pulse taken in front of a fireplace. Still, she knows she should have known better. Though it scares her, faintly, to say so.

[seesobserves]

Danger indeed. Sherlock hadn't been able to separate those moments from what they'd been doing yesterday, in the beginning. He's still having difficulty.

"You said," he took a breath, quiet and controlled. "Distress - was normal. Afterwards."

[riding_crop]

"It is. Especially when one partner is new, or if the scene touches on something particularly trying. Have you eaten anything today?"

Sitting up a little.

"If there's nothing in the flat, I'll order you delivery myself."

[seesobserves]

He hasn't.

Problem.

"Excuse me." Smoothly, Sherlock sets the phone down on the armrest and stands up, walking to the threshold between the sitting room and kitchen. He stands there a moment, tears running hot tracks down both sides of his face.

He didn't mute the phone. That would take extra time and look all the more suspicious. She should still be able to hear the television going in the background.

He makes certain to keep himself quiet. Back of his hand pressed to his mouth, at one point, to stop a sob from crawling out.

[riding_crop]

She puts her own phone on speaker as she heads upstairs, abandoning the television in favour of moving to dress. Jeans, a blouse, simple 'real world' clothes she normally disdains.

Irene won't actually charge Baker Street until his voice is back on the line. Dealing with bottom drop when you've accidentally blurred a boundary, it's important to ask for permission before further inserting yourself in your play partner's life, but Lord, he makes her want to storm the place, with his silence.

She doesn't actually know just how bad it is on his end, but she's imagining the worst.

[seesobserves]

He moves to the fridge once the worst has passed. It's not empty. Milk, cold chips, leftover Chinese. A foot in a plastic bag. Sherlock grabs the chow mein. The silverware drawer rattles.

He sets himself down in the chair again and calmly flips the phone to speaker.

"I'm here."

[riding_crop]

"Could you stand a little company? I'll bring something delicious. I can answer any other questions you might have."

Snatching the phone back up, switching it off speaker and pressing it to her ear. Irene is careful only to let the tiniest bit of worry creep into her tone, though the fact that she's calling at all should be indication enough.

"Only if it wouldn't make things worse."

[seesobserves]

Sherlock sits there and chews cold noodles while the tears dry on his face and the wife on the television barks a half-censored diatribe at her husband.

God. He's pathetic.

"You're the one with experience in these matters," he reminds her, and stabs a shrimp. "Tell me your interpretation."