Sorry for the wait. Enjoy!
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Sherlock turned from John, a memory popping into his thoughts. Rummaging about his room, he stopped dead in his tracks. Where is it? He thought desperately. The last time he had seen it was at age thirteen. Sherlock slunk over to his book shelf, pulling books out and tossing them behind him. Finally-after 30 to 40 books had been horribly mistreated-, he spotted it; a torn dark navy book, about the size of his palm labeled "Mermaids". Plucking it off the top of the shelf, Sherlock quickly opened and scanned it's contents. He turned back towards John, and within three strides was back at his side. John's eyes snapped to Sherlock's and then down again, obviously fearful. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Oh please, I'm not going to torture or kill you," said Sherlock as he set down the small book on a night stand to John's right, "I wouldn't get to experiment with your obvious water to land transition ability. Only a fool would kill you, and I am no fool."
John nodded, hesitantly relaxing a bit and scooting his back up to the head board of Sherlock's bed.
"Now," Sherlock began, grabbing one out of the three biles off the night stand, "for the fun part."
He held a bile up to John's mouth.
"To start easy, I will need a spit sample."
John raised his eyebrows. Sherlock rolled his eyes again and heaved a sigh.
"Spit. Here," He emphasized the "here" by pressing the bile up to John's mouth. It was John's turn to roll his eyes. He hesitated before spitting into the clear bile. Sherlock eagerly capped the sample and set it on the nightstand.
"Next, a hair sample," Sherlock announced, grabbing a loose hair off the top of John's head. He secured the hair in another bile, placing it next to the one with spit, and turned back towards John with a raised eyebrow.
"And finally, a semen sample."
John scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.
"Sea-man? Isn't that a man at sea?"
"No, John. Haven't you ever..." Do fish people wank? If they do, why is this barely adult sitting here and wondering what he's talking about?
"Haven't I ever what?"
Sherlock sighed again. John was hopeless. Sherlock drummed his fingers on the nightstand, planning how to go about this. He looked back down at John, who was staring intently up at him.
"Can you show me whatever 'it' is?" John asked. Sherlock darkly chuckled.
"I don't think you want that," he said, walking over to his desk and leaning against the table.
"Yes I do," John replied, sitting up. Sherlock's trench coat slipped off his body. Sherlock eyed him, mentally checking off the pros and cons of several choices. He knows perfectly how to explain it, however, he doesn't feel at ease with this situation. Sherlock needs the sample and if the subject doesn't know how to do something for the process, who better to show them than himself. Damn. This is going to turn out badly.
Sherlock sighed, his choice finalized, and walked over to his nightstand. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a bottle of oil and a small towel. Sherlock held them up to show John.
"Do you want me to do it to you or show you?" He asked John. John bit his lip.
"You first," John quietly replied. Sherlock nodded curtly, walking to the opposite side of the bed. He sat down and began to undress. Shoes, socks, shirt, trousers, and finally pants; he didn't want anything to be stained. Sherlock turned back towards John, who was now breathing heavily and had his pupils dilated. He laid next to John, setting the towel to his left, but keeping the oil in hand. Sherlock looked back at John, raising an eyebrow.
