A/N: A fill I did for the kink meme prompt "Ok, so I would LOVE it if someone would write a fic where Sherlock has to pole dance for a case and he's AMAZING at it and everyone is like "wtf *droooooool*." Johnlock is prefered.

Here is some inspiration. Except more revealing and more seductive hip movements.

www . youtube watch?v=1lmejPu2CPk&list=UUPM5sNchEyWuDUYqySJm5dA&index=6" from jennybot221

I used a move or two from this video too—www . youtube watch?v=9d4AhF11POg

(Just erase the space before and after each period in the links to get to them :} )

Lestrade appreciated Sherlock's help with cases, of course he did. Sherlock caught criminals for free and Lestrade got to say it was under his supervision that justice was served—what could there possibly be to complain about?

Except that a particular rapist turned murderer had been targeting male pole dancers at gay dance joints along the same street for the past few weeks, with three victims who had been sexually taken advantage of before their early death and one whose boyfriend had busted in before anything could progress further than some ropes tied around the wrists and ankles. Once a general description of the perpetrator had reached the insane consulting detective, Sherlock claimed to know the next date of abduction, the place the man would choose for his hunting, and a sure-fire plan that would undoubtedly lead to the man's arrest. The only thing was, and Lestrade didn't want to complain but really, Sherlock's plan included him posing as a pole dancer and the man had zero sexuality whatsoever.

Though, despite his disbelief in Sherlock at all catching the eye of the criminal, he was generally certain Sherlock could figure out who the man was from those in the crowd. So here he was now, seated next to one John Watson watching gay men pole dancing and waiting for Sherlock to come out and get through what would undoubtedly be an alien performance before pointing him to the man deserving of his cuffs. It was perhaps the most awkward thing he'd ever done in his life.

He had tried a few times to start a conversation with John as he liked to think they were at least very friendly acquaintances, but John seemed absorbed in watching the guys on stage and he felt a little out of depth. Lestrade was by no means a homophobe, one of his best friends a few years back who had been killed on duty had been gay, but there was a difference between knowing a man favored the same sex and watching the same man eye up guys when he sat across the table from you. So he just sat and waited.

There had been only a few performances until Sherlock stepped out and Lestrade was completely baffled. Usually the consulting detective took every effort to cover up his body, but the pale skinned man who stepped out on stage wore only a tight pair of dark blue shorts (if they tiny piece of cloth could even be called such) and a light dusting of fine blue glitter across his shoulders and chest, just enough to catch the eye momentarily without distracting from his whole body. Sherlock truly had no reason to hide, and though his body was a bit on the leaner side of healthy, he still was relatively well muscled and, Lestrade was secure enough in his sexuality to admit, quite beautiful. John turned to give Lestrade a quick grin before looking back at the stage.

A song started up which he had never heard before, but that was not unusual as he didn't listen to music with such heavy beats. What was unusual was that Sherlock seemed completely a part of the song and its sensual tones. Not one to dally, Sherlock walked in beat to the pole, firmly grasping it at shoulder height and slowly dragging one of his legs up the pole in a way that looked nearly obscene with the smoldering look his bedroom blue eyes gave the crowd.

Slowly, with a smooth grace no one could have guessed he possessed, Sherlock lifted his remaining leg off the ground and away from his body so he straddled to pole, then letting go with his hands he bent back until his spine rested against metal. He looked like a study in lazy lust.

Grabbing the pole again, this time where it connected to the floor, he leisurely brought his legs down from above him to back on the stage. Lestrade let out a low whistle at the control it must have taken. Sherlock did a sweeping sort of splits, his legs spreading out and moving forward to again wrap around the rod while his torso moved like a sensuous wave starting from the chest and traveling down to his hips until he was again standing straight.

Lestrade started to loose himself in the thudding of the song and the story Sherlock told with his body. When his lithe body was swung up by steady hands and flipped upside down, spinning around the pole deliberately and letting go more until only one leg and the pressure of his body kept him from falling as he arched rapturously back in what Lestrade would call vulnerability, except that he looked too strongly passionate to get hurt. More seductive hip movements and amazingly acrobatic feats painted a picture of love and lust that Lestrade hadn't even known Sherlock could understand, let alone express.

When the song ended, Sherlock walked off the stage, though not towards the back like the other dancers had. He walked forward into the cluster of tables dead center of the establishment. Lestrade observed him leaning forward to press his flat chest against a thicker blond member of the audience to speak in the man's ear, and Lestrade had no sexual issues with the slight tightening of his pants. The consulting detective looked nearly androgynous in the dark of the room and Lestrade would be damned if Sherlock wasn't moving like walking sex.

Sherlock led the man by his tie in the direction of the back rooms, which was also (not quite so coincidentally) was the direction of Lestrade and John's table. When the two were within reach, John leapt up to secure the man from running and Lestrade put cuffs on the plump wrists.

"You positive this is our man?" Lestrade asked just to confirm, as Sally excited one of the back rooms to join him in handling the obese man.

"Yes, quite certain, though you only have to ask that last man and his boyfriend to confirm the face—"

He was cut off by a kiss from John, and Lestrade couldn't blame the doctor.

As Lestrade and Sally escorted the presumed rapist/murderer off the scene, Lestrade found himself thinking over and over that John was one lucky man.