vulgarweed:

I’m SO sorry! Smacked a wall of writer’s block last week.

For @missdaviswrites, who wanted Sherlock at a con. I had just finished reading Laura Antoniou’s amazing The Killer Wore Leather: A Mystery, and I used to work my old newspaper’s booth at International Mr. Leather years ago, so I decided to interpret “con” thusly:

From Bad to Vers

“It’s all so…specialised,” John said quietly. “I mean, nothing wrong with a bit of rough…” (he cleared his throat). “But all these…labels. Categories. Bears and puppies and bootblacks, oh my.”

“That’s one of the aspects I’m finding most fascinating,” Sherlock said with a pointy little smile. “I admire the precision.”

They’d barely bothered with cover, considering that the murder of the current Mr. Universal Leather titleholder was already a media sensation. NSY had chipped in to present Sherlock with a black leather version of that stupid hat before metaphorically slapping his arse and sending him off.

Even roaming the vendor room had been sexually-charged enough that Sherlock and John had taken refuge in the relatively-neutral t-shirt booth. Bear. Cub. Puppy. Fuckpig. Daddy. Top. Bottom. Vers.

Sherlock’s eyes scanned where John’s eyes lingered longest, and he made sure John knew it. “Good. Me too,” came the subsonic murmur. John was looking forward to making sure he’d understood it right.

“OH!” Sherlock yelled, looking at the con schedule. “Must run. It’s almost time for the recovery meeting.”

“You need a meeting? Right now?” John asked. The thought of Sherlock 12-stepping made him shudder, even though these people might know how to handle him.

“No, but our killer does! Amyl nitrate!” John stood briefly abandoned by the suspension demo as Sherlock bolted.