[He lays there trembling, eyes closed, hair plastered down to his forehead with sweat, trying to slow his breathing. His wrists are red from pulling against the restraints, but fortunately her experience with this kind of thing means he hasn't been hurt and his circulation hasn't been cut off. Even when his hands are free, he stays completely still for a moment, just breathing.]
[Then Sherlock opens his eyes slowly and reaches down to unzip his trousers. He squirms out of them and his briefs with a complete lack of self-consciousness--what does it matter if she sees him naked now?--cleans himself up a bit with them and then kicks them over the side of the bed.]
[Slowly, gingerly, he rolls over on his side with his back turned to her, drawing his long legs up so he's in a fetal position. His back is still pale and unmarred, in stark contrast with much of the rest of him.]
no subject
[Then Sherlock opens his eyes slowly and reaches down to unzip his trousers. He squirms out of them and his briefs with a complete lack of self-consciousness--what does it matter if she sees him naked now?--cleans himself up a bit with them and then kicks them over the side of the bed.]
[Slowly, gingerly, he rolls over on his side with his back turned to her, drawing his long legs up so he's in a fetal position. His back is still pale and unmarred, in stark contrast with much of the rest of him.]
[He needs time to process.]