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Darin counted the drops of the chlorophyll-rich liquid as he released it from the pipette into the beaker. The electronic security lock on the lab door whirred, and the door banged open.
Sherlock sashayed into the Baker Street lab. “Honey, I’m home!”
Darin smiled without looking up. “Six, seven-” he counted pointedly so Sherlock would get the hint.
“Use an electronic pipette,” Sherlock told him.
“-eight,” Darin finished, setting down his equipment. “I would, but they seem to be missing. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Hmmm,” Sherlock stared up to the ceiling, looking like a guilty teenager.
Darin laughed. “Stop being adorable. How was Amsterdam?”
“Excellent. I was able to prove the innocence of my clients. It was quite clear, once I went undercover, that sex workers wouldn’t have had the opportunity to leave the Red Light district during the time the murder was committed. Furthermore, when I Investigated Mr Van Gelderen’s office, it was obvious from the carpet wear that it is an inside job...”
Darin held up a hand to stop Sherlock. “Wait. Undercover?”
“Certainly. Oh don’t look at me like that. I was acting.”
“Uh huh.”
“I just had to pose in a window,” Sherlock said dismissively. “John was there to discourage assignations by showing up and ‘hiring’ me.”
Darin blinked. “You’re telling me John was your John.”
Sherlock shrugged. “Yes…”
Darin looked at his watch. “It’s early. I think I fancy some day drinking.”
Sherlock huffed. “I know you're not jealous, stop it.”
“Acting,” Darin chimed.
Sherlock smiled and pulled something out of one of the voluminous pockets of his Belstaff. “I did bring you back a gift.”
“Really?” Darin stretched a square of cling film over the flask and snapped off his gloves.
Sherlock placed a satin drawstring bag on the lab table. Whatever was inside made a slight clink. He looked smug.
“Huh. Should I try to guess what it is first, like you do with your presents?” Darin smirked.
“I don’t guess,” Sherlock pouted.
“What could possibly be about 18 centimeters long, and come in a discrete satin pouch from from the Red Light district?” Darin winked.
“Just open it,” Sherlock rocked back and forth, impatiently.
Sex hadn’t been smooth sailing when they had first met. It had taken several rounds of negotiations, angst and adjustments until they had settled in. The reward was that Sherlock was finally comfortable, and their ‘honeymoon period’ had no signs of waning, even now they were living together and legal partners.
So Darin picked up the bag, excited to see what new erotic toy was inside, and what kind of hands on ‘experiment’ Sherlock had dreamed up to go along with it. It was heavier than he expected, more than your standard silicone plug. He untied the knot on the drawstring, and slid out an unusual pink glass dildo.
Darin gawked at the object in his hand. “What the hell?”
Sherlock’s smile dropped in disappointment before he could cover it up with hauteur. “You don’t like it? It’s the highest quality. My client took me to the very best shops to select something for you.”
Darin turned it over in his hand. It was gently curved, and coiled into a ring at the base, so one could keep a good, safe grip on it. Besides the rather alarming shade of pink, it was covered with a series of ridges on one side and bumps on the other.
“Sherlock, while I am happy you and your sex worker friend remembered the importance of a base, um…”
Sherlock frowned. “The other stimulators you have are smooth, I thought something textured could add some interest.”
“It’s not that. It looks like...well...a decapitated tongue!”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, you can’t decapitate a tongue.”
“You know what I mean!”
“It doesn’t look anything like a detached tongue. I can show you.”
“Sherlock Holmes, don’t you dare walk towards that freezer!” Darin yelped.
Sherlock let out a suffering sigh. “You see but you don’t observe. It’s a tentacle. Obviously.”
Darin turned the toy over in his hands. “All right, I can see that. I’m not judging, but why?”
Sherlock shrugged. “It’s a flexible appendage?”
Darin set the dildo down on the table with a click. He started to giggle and pressed his hand to his belly as it grew into a full chortle.
“I researched it. Tentacles seem to be all the rage in Japan. You like shibari, which is also from Japan...why are you laughing?" Sherlock snapped.
“You want to fuck me with sashimi.”
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem very sanitary.”
Darin howled, tears in his eyes.
Sherlock looked wounded, and snatched the toy off the table. “Fine. I’ll get rid of it.”
Darin took a gasping breath. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You have to stop using the internet as your primary reference for sexuality.” He pressed his lips together tightly, trying to suppress his laughter.
“My feelings are not hurt,” Sherlock insisted, but his puppy dog expression begged to differ.
"To be honest, the idea of a tentacle bugs me less than something that looks like a decapitated tongue."
“Detached,” Sherlock corrected, over enunciating for effect.
“Let me see it again,” Darin held out his hand, and Sherlock gave the toy back to him.
“It’s warmed from my hands,” Sherlock observed. “My client was very clear on the virtues of borosilicate glass for intimate play. It cleans up easily, it can be warmed or chilled.”
Darin considered the tentacle again more thoughtfully. “Chilled?”
“So she said.”
“Oh, in that case...sod it,” Darin flashed Sherlock a filthy smile. “Let’s give it a go.”
Sherlock clapped his hands together. “Excellent!”
“Meet me upstairs. Don’t forget the tongue.”
“Tentacle.”