Chapter Text
“Are you done yet?” Sherlock asked somewhat less then patiently. He had gotten dressed in his usual suit but didn’t bother putting the suit jacket back on. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and was now pacing the room in anticipation.
John finished up with the documentation of Sherlock’s physical exam and finally turned around to face his flatmate, “Yes, I’m done. Would you like to go over my findings then?”
“No. I already know your findings. I could tell you word for word what you’ve written. Now, it’s your turn. Disrobe please.” He flashed John that fake, wide smile that he gave when he wanted someone to do his bidding.
“Right to the point then, yeah?”
“No point in dawdling.”
“Down to my boxers though, right?”
“No, what for?” Sherlock looked abashed. “We’re both adults here.”
“That wasn’t the tune you were singing ten minutes ago was it?”
Sherlock looked guiltily away for a moment. “Well, that was …”
“That was you, I know.” John shook his head and stood, pulling his jumper up over his head, folding it and placing it neatly on the counter. “I’m stripping off down to my boxers.”
“I need to see you, all of you. I want to see all of your reactions. No matter how embarrassing they might be. It’s paramount to the Work, John. Sexual reaction is the most important because it is by far the most common motivator for crime.”
“Sherlock, great detective that you are, should probably be able to deduce weather or not I get a hard on especially since I’ll just be in my pants. Not really much in the way of camouflage, is there?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
John stared at Sherlock expectantly until he realized the man would have no sense of chivalry in regards to John’s modesty and would not think to give John a moment while he undressed or even turn around while he did so. John sighed deeply and pulled his t-shirt up over his head. “You could at least turn around, you know.”
“What for?” Sherlock’s gaze became pointedly fixated on the scar to John’s shoulder.
John turned his shoulder away and felt the rise of color in his cheeks. “Not a pretty sight, I suppose.”
“Can I see it?” Sherlock took a step closer.
John met his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, you’ve had to have seen a bullet wound before.”
“Not yours.” He cleared his throat. “Not healed ones.”
John looked pensive for a moment and then nodded once, quickly and stood up straight. His gaze focused on a point somewhere over Sherlock’s shoulder.
“You are embarrassed about this marring of your flesh. You don’t leave your shirt off very often, not even after you leave the shower or when it’s very hot, not even when you are with a woman. You hide it as though it is a nuisance or a reminder of a person you no longer see yourself in or a painful past. I see it as beautiful.” Sherlock reached out a tentative hand to touch it. “It’s …”
“Sherlock?” John was stunned on the look of pure adoration in Sherlock’s eyes. He seemed like, well John didn’t know what he actually seemed like, but Sherlock didn’t do emotions. Maybe a bit of frustration, possibly fury with the world at large for not providing him with a locked-room murder at least once a week, but this was something different he hadn’t ever seen in the man.
And then it was over. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Sherlock had said in his usual automated manner and then ordered, “off with the trousers,” followed quickly by a “please” and that fake, wide grin again.
“You’re really not going to turn around or anything then?”
Sherlock shrugged dismissively as if the question didn’t even warrant a response.
With the patience of a saint, John resigned. “Sod it,” he whispered to himself. “Nevermind,” he stated to his friend as he reached for the button on his trousers. Finally in nothing but socks and his boxers, John reached for the gown.
“No.”
John raised an eyebrow and looked at Sherlock. “No? No what?”
“No gown. I allowed your boxers which are, frankly, ridiculous. Why would anyone choose to wear an undergarment with so much extra room made of starched cotton material with absolutely no elastic properties whatsoever? They bunch up under your trousers and do not allow any support at all to your penis and testicles.”
“My penis and testicles are just fine, thank you very much.”
“Yes, I can see that for myself since I can quite clearly see your glans hanging out the bottom of your right pants leg.”
“Jeezus, Sherlock!” John scrambled to adjust his pants a bit to cover his cock then grabbed the gown and with snappy movements of finality, he definitely put the gown right on.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Modesty is dull.”
“Except when it’s your own, I suppose.”
“I’m not modest.”
“You’re right,” John agreed in the interest of moving on. “Let’s get on with it. My stethoscope is on the desk.” John hopped up onto the exam table.
“Won’t be needing it.” Sherlock grabbed a thermometer off the counter with a flourish and presented it to John. “My research indicated the most accurate temperature is a core temperature.”
John grabbed the thermometer from Sherlock’s hand, “you’re not sticking that in my bum,” he explained in no uncertain terms and then placed it correctly into his own mouth closing his lips around it and glaring at Sherlock.
“You’re not cooperating.” Sherlock accused.
“You’re being an arse,” John mumbled and then removed the object after he heard the digital beep and handed it back to Sherlock.
Sherlock huffed before he turned and flicked the light switch, surrounding them both in darkness. John was just about to ask what the hell he was doing but then he heard a click and a small, bright torch was being shined into his face and Sherlock’s hand was on his head holding his eyelid open.
“Easy.” John warned. “You don’t have to hold them open. I can keep my eyes open myself.”
“Fine.” Sherlock’s grasp eased but he kept his hand on John’s head while he continued to move the light in John’s eyes one at a time.
“Can you see the pupil of my right eye when you put the light into my left one?”
Sherlock put the light into John’s right eye and looked at his left one. “Yes.”
“Take the light away for a moment and then do it again.” After Sherlock did as he was instructed, John continued. “The pupil in the right eye will obviously constrict but the left eye has to as well even though the light isn’t in that one. It’s a sign of brain damage if they’re not equal to each other.”
“Hmm.” Sherlock grumbled noncommittally. He turned and flipped the light switch back on and John felt a firm grip on his chin pulling his jaw downward. Soon he found himself with a wooden stick shoved into his mouth.
John pushed at Sherlock’s arm and disentangled himself from the contact spluttering and spitting. “What the hell?”
“John, will you stop being so resistant. You’re making it impossible to examine your uvula.”
John held up his hand still trying to get the nasty taste of the tongue depressor out of his mouth. He sighed, “why do you want to see something so mundane? It can’t be a topic you run into during your work?”
“Lots of people die of anaphylaxis, John. The upper airway is completely constricted due to swelling. I just wanted to see what a healthy one looked like.”
“Yeah, but you’ve seen loads of bodies that didn’t die from that. You’ve seen their airways then.”
“None that have the movement of their muscles intact so I can properly visualize. Honestly, John, if I have to explain why I’m doing everything I’m doing, this is going to take all day.”
“Fine, fine, but just … can you stop …”
“Treating you like a lab rat?”
“Yeah! A bit, yeah.”
Sherlock nodded. “I can be … gentle.”
“Ta.” John raised the tongue depressor in front of his face and offered it back to Sherlock. Place it gently toward the back of my tongue but not too far back. Hold the torch up and shine it in the back of my throat. It’s not uncommon to trigger the gag reflex so go quickly.”
Once the wooden blade was in place and John was saying “aaaahhhh” for as long as he could, Sherlock shined the light in and explored. “Fascinating,” Sherlock finally said just before he pulled back and stood up straight. “Hmm.”
John moved his tongue around in his mouth attempting to get rid of the grating feel and taste of wood on his tongue. “Blah … I hate that.” He watched Sherlock toss the stick into the trash bin. “Hope that was good for you,” John deadpanned.
Sherlock gave him a scowl and turned back toward the counter for his next instrument selection. John breathed a sigh of relief when it was just the reflex hammer. They spent the next several minutes with Sherlock gently tapping John at certain joints anticipating the correct responses. Some he performed absolutely correctly and others John would guide him in the right direction. Sherlock pulled out other various instruments applying them in different ways checking for different automatic responses, which, apparently, John had provided with a “fascinating” response.
“Lay back, please.” Sherlock instructed and John complied quickly enough. “I am going to gently pull up your gown, John.”
John giggled. “You’re such a wanker,” he said as he put both arms behind his head and leaned back, relaxed. Sherlock seemed to be getting the hang of touching an actual human and he seemed to be innocuously fascinated with simple reflexes so John felt more at ease as the time passed.
He felt warm hands at both of his hips which then hooked into the waistband of his pants and Sherlock instructed him with a stern “hips up please.”
John grabbed for the elastic and the only vestige of modesty he had left. “You’re taking off my pants? Why?” He tried not to sound all Victorian virgin about it, but it might have had an air of squeakiness to it.
“We’ve been over this, hips up.”
“Sherlock?” John said with a warning.
“I promise I’m not going to do anything more invasive than you’ve done to me. I just want to visualize the cremastor reflex.”
John rolled his eyes. “Fine,” and he lifted his hips off the table as Sherlock dragged his boxers off and tossed them aside.
“Just as I suspected,” Sherlock declared.
“Suspected what?” John tossed his gown back down as he felt Sherlock’s assessing gaze focused strictly on John’s cock.
“The size of your penis, of course.”
“What? Sherlock you can’t say things like that, for God’s sake!”
“No, you can’t say things like that. I’m not a physician. I can say whatever I like and I’m pretty sure we knew going in that my bedside manner might be a bit lacking. You have a substantially sized penis. You are a short man with a history of authority and no trouble bedding women. You don’t spend your money on the latest fashion or fancy sports cars to make up for the size of your genitalia, you walk with the stature and command of a man who has it all, therefore…”
“Big cock, yeah, I got it. Ta. Don’t hear that every day from your flatmate.”
“Shall we continue?”
John leaned back once more and closed his eyes allowing Sherlock full rein. It was a bit humiliating with all of his bits presented but no more so than a full physical had been he supposed. “Just so you know, I definitely draw the line at rectal response,” John said, grateful he hadn’t forced the issue of a prostate exam on Sherlock if he was going to play tit for tat.
“Fair enough.”
John felt the graze of Sherlock’s fingertips across his right upper, inner thigh.
“Nothing happened,” Sherlock sounded petulant.
“Wait for it.”
“Ah! Oh, that is fascinating. It’s like a swirling fingerprint!”
John wasn’t sure he liked the thought of Sherlock comparing his rising testicle to a fingerprint, but that was probably an apt description. Much bigger scale though, thank you very much.
“My research states that this reflex is much more discernable when the person is standing up.”
“It is,” John confirmed.
“Will you stand, please?”
John stood and held his gown to the side as Sherlock pulled up the stool and sat down just in front of John, eye level to John’s hips. He repeated the light graze of fingertips to John’s other thigh and watched in fascination as the other testicle slowly rose. John thought it was amusing to watch Sherlock so wrapped up in the rise and fall of the sensitive skin surrounding his bollocks. It made him think about those who have shared his bed in the past and how they would explore each other languidly after the heat and frenzy had worn off, but he supposed Sherlock hadn’t had many lovers to just explore and notice different things about the delicate areas of the body. At least he hadn’t noticed any lovers since he’d started living with the man. Not for the first time John found himself wondering about Sherlock’s sexuality. They hadn’t really talked about it since that first night where he had made it perfectly clear that women weren’t his area and that he was married to his work.
“Haven’t you ever taken time during pillow talk with someone to just explore them?”
Sherlock looked up, stunned. “Is this something one does during ‘pillow talk’?”
John let his gown fall. “Oh, I guess … well that’s sort of,” he sighed. “Not between us, of course, but it kind of reminds me of that. You know, being touched, being kissed or licked or bit or whatever, and then just watching what happens to the skin?”
“No, I don’t know.” Sherlock suddenly stood surreptitiously pushing his palm into his groin as he turned away. “Not my area.”
“Sherlock, are you…”
“Back up on the table,” Sherlock instructed quickly, cutting John off mid-sentence. “Please.” He had turned toward the counter seemingly searching the contents for something. He was breathing deeply, quickly and after a few moments he turned back toward John without any instruments in his hands. John thought that was an awful lot of searching for nothing.
John had done as instructed and waited. When Sherlock was at his side once more, he asked, “you okay?”
“Certainly. Why wouldn’t I be?” He lifted John’s gown again and began pressing his fingertips into John’s abdomen just as John had done to him.
“Do you know what you’re looking for when you do that?” John asked.
“I don’t know what you are looking for when you do that, aside from the obvious, liver borders, lumps, masses, and etcetera. I know what I’m looking for though.”
“What is it you’re looking for then?”
Sherlock did not answer but continued to palpate the lower belly.
“You’re trying to recreate what happened to you earlier, aren’t you?”
Sherlock huffed.
“Sherlock, I’m not going to get an erection from you examining me.”
“Why wouldn’t you? You said it happens all the time.”
John pushed his gown back down and rose up on his elbows. “Yes, yes I did.”
“Well does it or does it not?”
“Sure … for some people,” he finished lamely.
“You think I have a medical kink.” Sherlock squinted his eyes, shooting daggers at John.
“Sherlock, it’s all fine …” John abruptly halted his attempt to soothe his flatmate when said flatmate made a sudden turn and dashed out of the room, grabbing his coat as he went.