fandomhigh | The Science of Sexuality, Monday

Fortunately for both the students and John this week, there were no anatomically correct drawings of the subject on the board. If only because Sherlock couldn't be bothered to deal with this part of the subject matter.

"Today," John said, trying desperately not to look horribly stereotypically English and uncomfortable about it all, "We'll be discussing, ah, forms of... engaging with your partner that don't involve penetration, making the risk of accidental pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases smaller than in regular intercourse. We'll... be going into the anatomy of it all next week. This week, we'd like you all to sit down and discuss how, er, viable you find these forms of copulation."

Save him, Sherlock.

John was an utter coward about the silliest of things.

"Since we are aware that the majority of you will no doubt engage in sexual activity these are, as previously said, the safer alternatives. The safest being phone sex. Or texting, or 'cybersex'. As your desired partner is not with you, there is little to no chance of exchanging bodily fluids," Sherlock said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Beyond that, there is heavy petting and frottage. Both of which are what you disease infested little monsters seem to do instead of dancing."

He was just so kind!

John was a doctor. He was fine with the essentials of all of this; he just wasn't built to speak to a group of teenagers about it. Still, he was going to try it. "The latter still comes with its fair share of risks, of course," he said - look, that, he was comfortable talking about - "Especially in the case of such conditions as herpes and genital warts. Also keep in mind that even a stray drop of fluid can lead to a pregnancy, meaning that this is not an excuse not to wear a rubber."

"Even more risky of the forms of 'safer sex' are interfemoral intercourse and mutual masturbation," Sherlock continued as though giving a lecture on the properties of blood on different fabrics. Which he had done once, much to the annoyance of DI Lestrade.

"Interfemoral meaning between the thighs, but without penetration." John had a feeling there was a certain zone of zen for this manner of lecture that he just couldn't reach. "Increasing the risk of possible pregnancy, as well as forms of STDs that involve some contact with the sexual organs." There was a reason he was terribly glad Sherlock had decided to go without the drawings today. They could leave the drawings to the internet, thank you. "Likewise for mutual masturbation. I suggest you make sure everything is as sanitized as it can be."

At least they weren't bickering today?

Somehow that was what got Sherlock to grin. "Or you could end up like one unfortunate fellow in Clerkenwell." It was a distinct possibility that only one person in the room got the joke.

The mildly uncomfortable expression on John's face vanished to make place for amusement that was really only barely contained. "And having your-- liquids-- tested--" he tried.

At which point he lapsed into a brief, sedate burst of ~~giggles~~ chuckles.

Dear lord, were they both ~~giggling like schoolgirls~~ chuckling? "Now, John, that was a perfectly standard test."

"Yes--" John said, attempting to get his snickering under control, "So that's-- today's lesson-- don't wind up in a position where you need a standard test--" He pressed his palm to his mouth. "...Sherlock, we're teaching." They shouldn't be giggling while they were teaching.

John coughed. Yes. Let's get to it.

[[ academic terminology for sexual acts behind the cut. Open, have at! ]]

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"Are you done with yours?" she ~~whined~~ asked.

She was THISCLOSE to making both of them tinfoil hats and asking them to wear them during class, just to see if it would make the headaches stop. Or just to provide herself with amusement. With Emma, it was 50-50.

Because that was oh so likely to happen. "Problem with the lecture?" He drawled, giving her a look that questioned her ability to walk and breathe at the same time.

"Not a single problem with the lecture," she replied brightly. "However, I always heard that if you can't discuss sexual acts without giggling, you probably aren't mature enough to be having it in the first place."

"You believe we were laughing at the subject matter?" Sherlock asked with an amused snort.. "And here I made the unfortunate assumption you had a brain. Thank you for correcting that grave mistake."

"No, you were giggling about someone that you probably shouldn't have even mentioned, if you follow anything like patient confidentiality, and giggled at double entendres," she sighed with her own roll of her eyes. "I already have to hear that one-" sorry, Nathan, but you're loud. "-which makes it hard enough to focus."

Look, if YOU could hear some of the people in here, you'd bang your head on the table too, Sherlock.

"Judgment from a teenage girl. I haven't a clue how I'll survive," Sherlock replied, amusement never leaving his face. Because, really, this was hilarious. "Tell me, Ms Frost, do you always incorrectly assume to know more than your teachers or am I a special case?"

"Do you always assume we're incorrect?" She asked cheerfully. "I could download all of Doctor Watson's brain if I wanted, and added with the experiences of other people... yes. I would know more than my teachers."

"I simply - usually - like coming to class and learning the in the mundane fashion. I'm told it will help me relate to my peer group. Supposedly."

Well, she could probably download his brain. It would take a lot of time, to do it with the training she had now, but Emma would bet Kerrigan could show her a few tricks.

"And I'm sure you would enjoy the rounds if nightmares from Dr. Watson's experiences in Afghanistan," Sherlock replied disdainfully. "You know very little for someone who claims otherwise, Ms Frost. You read minds like books, as a child would. Safely removed from realities of life beyond your little frame of thought. Perhaps you would feel more comfortable removed from class if can not handle yourself with the thoughts of your classmates and teachers."

Oh goody, an older male in a position of authority trying to pretend he knew anything about Emma.

This could not end well.

"You're assuming I haven't already experienced them," she retorted, dropping the cheer for a flat tone. "I can't block people when I'm sleeping. Everyone's nasty little traumas all mixed together into my unconscious mind, and if I wasn't so good at repression I'd be a gibbering wreck."

"So hopefully you'll pardon me if occasionally I wished I could put tinfoil hats on people or desire my professors to stop giggling like loons. Can I handle myself? Of course, or I'd be in a mental institution. But I do not find it far-fetched that I wish my fellow students and teachers could maintain an attempt of civilized and adult behaviour during one of the few classes I'm actually interested in."

Sherlock simply smiled, shaking his head. "And since you're not a 'gibbering wreck,' as you put it, that would imply you have some measure of control," he replied. "So, are you simply choosing not to because you can't bear to ignore the sordid little details of your classmates' lives so that you feel more in control of your own life? Or because you want the attention?"

...Sherlock was possibly the person least suited to working with teenagers. Ever.

"And, if you were curious, the joke my colleague and I were laughing at was in regards to a murder investigation."

That totally made nothing better.

"Yes, because joking about a murder investigation during class is very mature," she replied, rolling her eyes. "How would you like it if someone cut off your hands? That's how it feels if I manage to turn it off completely; like being dunked in a sensory deprivation tank."

"If you prefer, I can turn it off by changing my form, but I assumed you'd find it more disruptive to the new students to have me sitting here and glittering rather than me just wanting to light them on fire with my brain."

Ah, always good to be spot on.

"Do that then," he replied with a grin. "It would work perfectly, don't you think? Saves us all from your theatrics."

"Right," she drawled, mentally tugging until the change rippled over her skin. It still wasn't easy to trigger consciously, but she was getting better at it. "This isn't theatrical at all."

She'll go sit in a sunbeam just to spite you, Sherlock. See if she won't.

"Ah, yes. Much less noisy," Sherlock replied, walking away.

The Science of Sexuality, Monday

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