Chapter Text
"So what do we have for tomorrow?"
"A threesome, M/F/F, oral, double penetration, sex toys, with a side of dirty talk and lots of cum over faces and tits. Girl-on-girl action too. That stuff sells well."
John Watson whistled through his teeth. "Sounds exhausting."
"You've shot more than that." Sarah Sawyer smiled at her cameraman. It wasn't the norm for a woman to be the director of a rather successful porn film studio - she certainly hadn't counted on making a career of it, John knew for a fact that she'd been to medical school, just like him - but she had recognized early on that sex sells, and she figured that she could do as good a job, or better, by being behind the camera instead of in front of it, and she'd be able to take care of the girls in the bargain.
"Yeah, but it never ceases to amaze me. And the plot?"
"Such as it is," Sarah laughed. "Well, a plumber comes in to check the pipes in a flat shared by two hot girls..."
"...and he ends up snaking the pipes," finished John. Yes, he knew about that trope. "Okay. And we're shooting this, how?"
"It's in the Lizzie and Carol series, so like a home video, with a handheld camera so you can get right up close to the action. I want wet and filthy close-ups of penetration, John. And you'll be on voice-over as the guy friend who's helping them with their blog, exclaiming how hot they are every now and then."
"Wouldn't I want to join in?" asked John, teasingly.
Sarah gave him a knowing look. "You might. We're using Sherlock Holmes for the plumber, you know."
It shouldn't have bothered him that Sarah knew about his little crush. He wasn't exactly discreet - Hell, he couldn't be discreet, what with his job involving filming Sherlock Holmes in almost every filthy pornographic scenario imaginable. Sarah, at least, was good about it, refraining from pointing out the obvious tent in John's trousers as long as he kept the camera steady. As far as she was concerned, little inconveniences like that came with the territory of shooting porn for a living. She had in fact confided to him once, during a Christmas party liberally doused with alcohol, that she didn't blame him one bit as Sherlock was sex on long, gorgeous legs, and that she actually had to lock herself in her office sometimes after shooting his scenes, so that she could spend some quality time with a dildo or her fingers (John had actively prevented Sarah from getting any more drinks thereafter, and had ridden with her in the taxi back to her flat to make sure she made it home). Still, her having pointed it out yesterday made him uncomfortably self-conscious, and he fussed over his appearance before heading to the set, even if it wouldn't have mattered if he'd gone to work in a tea cozy.
Today's location was 221B Baker Street, an actual flat which the landlady let them rent for their films while it was still tenant-less. Mrs. Hudson had been an exotic dancer in her day, and, though she never looked in while they were working ("Not at my time of life, dears."), she occasionally brought up trays of tea and biscuits for the girls between takes. Sarah raised her eyebrows at John when he came upstairs with his equipment.
"A bit keen, are we?" she said.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," said John crisply, taking the camera from his bag.
"It's just that I could smell your cologne from across the road, that's all."
"Oh, for God's sake, Sarah, it's not that bad." He sniffed. "Is it?"
She laughed. "I'm just having you on, you silly. It's fine. Really. You're so cute when you're flustered." John was saved from having to reply by the flat door opening behind him. Sarah's attention immediately diverted to the new arrivals. "Hello, girls! Lovely as always!" And she launched herself on them in a flurry of brisk, friendly efficiency.
"Hi, Irene, Molly," said John, smiling at the two of them over Sarah's shoulder. He'd worked with them before, and they often worked together, either as lesbian lovers or as two parts of gloriously dirty threesomes (or more-somes). The last film they'd done was an office fantasy where the strict boss - Irene - seduced her shy new secretary - Molly - and took her hard on her desk in her glass-walled office.
"All right, John?" smiled Irene, her grey eyes taking in his smart jacket and shoes. She was a sharp one, and with her personality it was hard to cast her in anything but a domineering position (though in one of her more memorable films, she'd turned out to be badly in need of discipline herself). "So, Sarah, tell us how it's going to work."
"Well, just like it said in the script - you've read it, right?"
Molly nodded. She was a cute little thing, given to floral prints and sensible shoes, and if John had met her anywhere else, he wouldn't for a second have believed that she worked in porn. "Two flatmates, one plumber, lots and lots of sex," she said. She was also the sort of girl who was given to religiously reading scripts and manuals beforehand. "And a random male friend behind the camera who doesn't get involved."
"That's it in a nutshell," agreed Sarah. "You know how we play it, ladies: Molly, you express interest first, but Irene's the one who makes it happen, okay? And she does this by--"
"Shoving Molly onto the kitchen table, pulling her panties down, and eating her out while the plumber is under the sink. When he looks up, I ask him if he'd like a taste." Irene laughed. "I know the drill."
John phased out while Sarah went through the finer points of the plot, such as it was, with her actresses, using the time to adjust the settings on his camera. They were a small outfit, after all, albeit a prolific one, and Sarah didn't often call in other people to work lighting and sounds. This film was going to be the latest installment in one of their more successful series that revolved around two horny flatmates, Lizzie (Irene) and Carol (Molly), and their voyeuristic male friend of debatable sexuality who stayed behind the camera. So far the girls had had sex with each other, Carol's Boyfriend, Lizzie's College Professor, a Policeman under hastily explained circumstances, and a Female Personal Trainer who'd come to the flat to teach them yoga. Sarah had told John that she wanted them to do an airline pilot and an air hostess eventually, but she was still trying to figure out how they could shoot the film on an actual plane.
While Sarah briefed the women and made sure they knew where the caches of lube and condoms and sex toys were placed, John noticed that her eyes were constantly going to her wristwatch, and he couldn't help checking the time every few seconds as well: Sherlock Holmes was running late.
"Bloody prima donna," he said, sympathetically, as Sarah finished talking to Molly and Irene and started staring at the door as if she could will her actor to appear behind it if she tried hard enough.
"Bloody gorgeous prima donna, you mean," said Molly, with a giggle.
Irene gave her an even look. "Oh, honestly, Molly. You'd think you'd never worked with the man before."
"I'm allowed to enjoy it, aren't I?"
The other actress rolled her eyes. "Fine, love. Sarah," she said, turning to the director, "we can start without him, can't we?"
So saying, she shrugged off her coat. Irene often came to the set dressed for her roles, once famously going commando under an ankle-length coat. Today was no exception. Under her coat, she was wearing short denim shorts and a white top so sheer that her nipples showed through the material. For good measure, she undid the top two buttons of her blouse, and looked at Sarah for approval.
"Good girl, Irene," said Sarah approvingly. "Let's have your hair in a French braid, please, I want to have a clear view of your face, especially when it's got Sherlock's cock in it."
"I'll do it a bit messy, okay?" murmured Irene, obediently turning to face the sitting room mirror, hands already twining in her dark hair.
"Molly sweetheart, don't change a thing," instructed Sarah, tucking a strand of hair behind Molly's ear. "Let's say that you just came home from your shift at the hospital. Just put on a skirt instead of those slacks, easy access, you know."
Molly ducked into the kitchen to change, which John found charmingly ironic, seeing as they were all going to see her stripped to the skin later on. Sarah turned to him then. "I don't need to tell you what to do, John. You're brilliant."
"Actually, you do tell me what to do. A lot," John pointed out.
"And you follow brilliantly." Sarah beamed at him. "Just ad lib into your mike when I give you a nudge."
They were about to start, Irene and Molly sitting at the kitchen table, ready to tell their friend Bill all about how their kitchen sink had clogged up and that they'd called a plumber to fix it, when the door to the flat flew open with a bang.
"None of the cabs would take me," announced Sherlock Holmes by way of greeting and explanation.