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Training Sherlock

Chapter Text

Sherlock’s mind was ablaze as he watched as certain Dr. John Watson settle down onto the sofa. Sherlock had apparently been recommended to the doctor by a number of friends, after complaining that the men he dominated provided him with little to no challenge. Mr Holmes was notorious in the area as a born submissive, whom nobody had ever been able to control. So, on a crisp Thursday afternoon, John had made his way to 221B Baker Street, to see just what all the fuss was about.

Sherlock could tell that he was being scrutinized, that his every feature was being meticulously examined by the man in front of him. There was a stillness in the room that brought a chill to Sherlock’s naked body as he knelt there, waiting. A tiny part of his all-too active brain was pleading, begging, ‘Don’t antagonise him, don’t think about anything, stop thinking”, while the rest of it continued to chatter endlessly, obsessively processing information at an unthinkable rate. Sherlock felt heat rush to his face as he remembered how many times he’d watched men slam the door in his face, tired of his inability to switch off, to sit still. So many times he’s been unable to control himself, unable to be the dull little subs they desire. It makes his chest ache with overwhelming frustration; he can’t seem to find someone who can actually dominate him, who can make that powerful mind stop in its tracks.

Perhaps this one will be different. As he looks at the man sitting there, it’s all he can do not to roll his eyes. He’s about a head shorter than the men Sherlock is accustomed to, and his eyes are gentle, his attire casual. Sherlock fidgeted continuously as his impatience grew. He wanted to get up, he needed to DO something, be somewhere, anywhere. He was sick of kneeling in front of this idiot, he just wanted to put some clothes on and get to the lab, he was SURE that there was a correlation between the Cuban cigars found in the man’s pocket and the depth of the brand mark on the body’s arm, if he could only just...

“Stop.” The command made Sherlock’s eyes snap back to the doctor, who had fixed him with a stern gaze.

“You’ve been kneeling there for all of thirty seconds, and already you’re itching to get up.” Sherlock frowned. Thirty seconds, surely that’s not right?! He was certain that he’d been kneeling there for an hour at least, each second dragging on as he’d considered in how many different ways this situation was a waste of his time.

“I don’t think....” he started, but was cut off immediately.

“It wasn’t a question. Do not speak unless spoken to.” Sherlock couldn’t help but shift irritably where he knelt, his fingers tapping impatiently on the wooden floor. John’s eyes narrowed.

“Hands behind your head, and keep them still.” Sherlock obeyed instantly, but in a matter of seconds, his fingers began twirling in and out of his curls, and scratching at imaginary itches. His brow furrowed as he considered whether some part of him was deliberately testing John, experimenting with the doctor’s tolerance.

He was vaguely surprised to watch the doctor leave the sofa and walk over to the umbrella stand. But a wave of recognition washed over him as he watched John retract a particularly thin cane from the stand, and bring it back with him. Once he had settled himself again, John commanded Sherlock to crawl further forward, until there was only a foot of space between them. He looked down at Sherlock with a patient expression.

“I told you to keep your hands still. You disobeyed me Sherlock, didn’t you?” Sherlock squirmed and nodded quickly, disconcerted by the intensity of John’s gaze.

“Answer me, Sherlock.” Something inside him jumped at the commanding tone in the doctor’s voice, and he quickly obeyed.

“Yes, Sir.” John nodded.

“Ask me to punish you for disobeying me”. Sherlock hated having to ask, it made him feel so vulnerable. He stared insolently back at the doctor. John’s eyes widened and Sherlock could sense the frustration radiating off him. This was the point where most Doms lost interest, confused with trying to control a sub who seemed to simply detest being submissive, and left to find someone a little less testing . As John got up from his seat, Sherlock closed his eyes. He counted the footsteps as reached the door, and he heard the clunk of the cane being replaced. He waited for footsteps to thump out onto the landing, but was surprised to find that instead, the footsteps returned, and John Watson sat back down.

“Look at me Sherlock”. Sherlock opened his eyes and stared.

“I won’t punish you until you ask me to. But do you know what I’m going to make you do instead?”

Of course he knew, from the tone of John’s voice, from the tensing of his shoulder muscles, from the shade of pink that coloured the tips of his ears. Of course he KNEW.

But still, he shook his head. “No, Sir?”

John leant back more comfortably into the sofa and folded his arms.

“I’m going to make you sit there. I can tell how much you like it down there”.

Sherlock felt anger shoot through his body. This buffoon had NO idea what it felt like to sit there, as your mind rushes through thousands of pieces of information, reminding you of all the opportunities you’re missing, all the useful, interesting things you could be doing. No, he was NOT going to sit there and waste another minute. He scrambled off of the floor, resistance pulsing through his very core. However, John seemed to have predicted this reaction, and stood up with him. John pointed a finger towards the floor and said in a dangerous tone “Down.” After a pause, the natural submissive in Sherlock obeyed. When he was in his kneeling position again, Sherlock automatically put his hands behind his head. At this, John smiled.

“Good boy. Now stay like that for me”. And Sherlock did. Sherlock Holmes kept his position. He kept in that same position for a staggering, record-breaking 15 seconds, before his willpower wore off and his brain went into overdrive again. His fingers started twitching in his hair, agitated. John remained patient.

“Keep your hands still for me, Sherlock.” Sherlock blushed, and forced his fingers to stop moving. This time, this time he would do better for John.

And so it went on. Sherlock would manage to keep position for a little longer, and each time he moved, John would tell him to keep still. Each time, Sherlock would feel a little more proud, and his brain would chatter a little less. And each time, John would be there, concentrating only on him, not reading the paper or staring out the window. He just sat there, his eyes fixed on Sherlock, as if nothing else in the world mattered more to him than ensuring he kept still. To be stared at so intensely, with such deep interest, made a warm sensation spread across Sherlock’s lower abdomen, and he felt his cock swell slightly with each minute that went by.

Sherlock managed to keep still for 30 minutes. And during those 30 minutes, he couldn’t help but think that what he wanted more than anything else, was to be praised by John again. It had felt surprisingly wonderful to be “good” for once. His cock was now obviously hard, and Sherlock felt a mixture of humiliation and desire at this fact. He needed a distraction.

“Sir?” he nearly whispered, looking up through his curls curiously at the doctor.

John smiled a little and beckoned him closer again. Sherlock removed his hands from his head to crawl on all fours towards the doctor, before returning to his position.

John put his hand gently underneath Sherlock’s chin. “What is it, Sherlock?”

Sherlock swallowed thickly, the hand resting under his chin forcing him to keep eye contact.

“Sir, would you please punish me, for disobeying you?”. John smiled proudly down at him, and the warmth in Sherlock’s chest seemed to spread further down into his stomach.

“Yes, Sherlock, I will. Stay here and don’t move.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock obeyed, and watched in silence as John retrieved the cane once again from the umbrella stand and brought it back to the sofa. Upon sitting, he asked Sherlock to hold out his hands.

Sherlock could feel panic rising in his chest as he watched the cane warily. He put his hands out in front of him, but found it impossible to stop them furling back into fists. It was as if his body already knew how much it was going to hurt, and so was trying to prevent the inevitable.

Patient as ever, John commanded “Keep them flat for me, Sherlock.” The detective frowned in apprehension but obeyed, forcing his fingertips to flatten.

“Good boy”, John praised, and raised the cane to strike Sherlock’s hand across the palm. But Sherlock flinched, and curled his hand up. He was very worried about this method of punishment. Other Doms had managed to tie him down and cane him, of course. But this punishment required Sherlock’s absolute co-operation. John would not be able to strike him unless Sherlock allowed it. And the submissive man’s brain just didn’t seem to be able to allow this.

Sherlock could see that John was holding back a sigh. But the doctor was clearly not one to give up. Looking Sherlock straight in the eyes, he said calmly, “Keep your palm flat for me, Sherlock. You’re to have six stripes, three on each hand. I want you to thank me for each stripe and then ask me for the next one. Do you understand?”

Sherlock breathed deeply through his nose. “Yes, Sir”, and stretched out his fingertips.

The first stripe landed on his left hand, and left a stinging line straight across his palm. Sherlock hissed in pain through his teeth, and used every ounce of his self-control not to get up and run away. He was born a submissive, he knew deep down that he did deserve to be punished for disobeying a Dom, but it just stung so badly! He looked up at John with hurt in his eyes, looking for comfort. All he saw in John’s gaze was sternness, and a look of expectation. Sherlock quickly looked back down at his hand and said shakily. “Thank you, Sir, may I have another?” The second stripe landed, about an inch up from the last one, and just as painful. Sherlock whimpered before quickly thanking John and asking him for the next one. John landed the third stripe skilfully, so that it hit diagonally across his fingertips, ensuring that the whole of his hand stung like crazy. Sherlock yelped and felt tears start to prick his eyes. Every muscle in his body was taut with self-restraint.

Through gritted teeth, he almost-shouted “Thank you Sir, may I have another?”. John moved to his right hand, and made a deep welt which mirrored the first stripe on his left hand. It really stung, and the first few tears escaped and rolled down Sherlock’s blushing cheeks. He sobbed as he asked for the next one, and as it struck, he yelped and pulled his hand away.

John quietly commanded him to replace it, but Sherlock violently shook his head. John’s eyes darkened.

“Do you want me to add more, Sherlock?”. Sherlock shook his head even more, fear in his eyes.

“Answer me.” John warned. Sherlock shouted “No, Sir! Please...”
“Then do as you’re told, Sherlock!” It was the first time John had raised his voice, and Sherlock found himself quickly outstretching his hand again. He unfurled his fingers at a painfully slow pace, and sobbed for several seconds before whimpering “Thank you, Sir, may...may I have another?”.

The final strike again landed diagonally across his fingertips, searing his palm with a stinging pain that just didn’t want to go away. It wrenched an outpour of emotion from the Sherlock, who for the first time, had asked for and taken a punishment. His right hand stung, but his left hand had now subsided into a sort of sore warmth which felt quite nice. He felt so wanted, so proud of himself for finally acting like the sub he was supposed to, and so pleased at having found someone who could actually discipline him. He moaned “T-hhank you, sir, I’m s-sorry, sir.”, and John pulled the crying man up onto his lap. Sherlock’s legs straddled John as he rested his head on the doctor’s shoulder, sobbing loudly.

John rubbed his back soothingly, and repeated a mantra of “Good boy, good boy...” until the detective’s tears subsided into sniffs. He then rested his hands on the tops of Sherlock’s pale thighs and pushed him back gently, so they were face to face.

“You’re forgiven. You did so well, Sherlock.” He said, smiling gently

Sherlock was clearly incredibly embarrassed, and couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you” John emphasized this with a sharp slap on Sherlock’s thigh, and the sub looked up with a gasp.

“You have a lot of bad habits, Sherlock, and I’m going to tell you right now that I won’t always be this patient. I expect you to remember what you’ve learnt today, and understand that should you fail to behave yourself, you will be punished.” Sherlock squirmed, his cock beginning to throb again as John fixed him with that intense stare. He couldn’t concentrate on John’s lecture, and he found himself concentrating solely on stopping himself from grinding the doctor’s leg.

John stopped talking, and was now just staring at him, with a look of utter disbelief.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” Sherlock hesitated for a second, before deciding lying would only make it worse, and replied guiltily that no, he hadn’t. John sighed.

“Right. Back on the floor then, in the same position as before.” As Sherlock reluctantly slid off of his warm lap and back onto the hard wooden surface, John leant over the side of the sofa and retrieved a bag, which he put on the seat next to him.

“Ask me to punish you, Sherlock”. The detective did so through gritted teeth, still entirely uncomfortable having to ask for something that would ultimately result in his own humiliation.

He explained to Sherlock “I know you’ve had a lot to take in today, but I simply cannot allow this behaviour to slide. Turn around, put your hands behind your back, face against the floor and your legs spread.”

Sherlock did so without complaint, shame washing over him at having disappointed John. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little resentful at being made to assume such a vulnerable position. His arse was presented beautifully from this position, and his inability to see John made him slightly wary. He felt soft fabric being twined around his wrists, pinning them to his lower back. He felt John’s breath send tingles of pleasure all the way up his spine. He thought of nothing but the sensation of John’s every touch; his mind incredibly clear, every inch of skin sensitive from his state of prolonged arousal. In this position, he had no way of accessing any form of friction for his aching cock, and Sherlock wondered vaguely if he was going to get to come at all today.

Chapter Text

Sherlock gasped into the floorboards as he felt a fingertip brush against his puckered opening. He heard the pop and squelch of lube being squeezed out of a tube and rubbed all along John’s meticulous hands. The finger returned, much damper, and began rubbing in firm circles over Sherlock’s hole, causing him to squirm with anticipation. A sharp smack to his left buttock halted his movements, and Sherlock could only gasp as he felt the finger finally slid into the opening, making him arch his back in pleasure. The ring of muscles contracted and relaxed constantly for a few seconds, but the calm praise from John forced Sherlock to relax, and soon a second finger joined the first. Sherlock’s cock was now throbbing desperately, needing just a little more to push him over the edge into orgasm.

John began working the fingers back and forth inside Sherlock, who was now moaning and whimpering with pleasure. John administered another sharp slap to Sherlock’s gorgeous arse when the detective started trying to fuck himself on John’s fingers.

The doctor leaned forward until his mouth was an inch from Sherlock’s ear.

“Bad boy, Sherlock, this is a punishment”. Sherlock whimpered and stilled his thrusting hips with a huge effort. John tutted and slid his fingers almost all the way out, before pushing them straight back in. Sherlock’s breathing hitched and he emitted a low and guttural moan of pleasure which was mixed with the sore and sensitive burn of being stretched. Sherlock moaned louder as the two fingers separated from one another, scissoring inside his arse in an infuriating fashion that made Sherlock’s hip buck.

John tutted again and spanked Sherlock for the third time. “No, Sherlock. Bad boys don’t get to come.” Sherlock’s eyes shot open and the detective whimpered pathetically at the implication of John’s words. Surely, surely John would let him come...wouldn’t he?

Sherlock was so busy worrying that it came as a surprise when those fingers quickly slid out to be replaced by something much colder. The cold, wet pressure nudged against Sherlock’s opening before slipping in slightly. The object then seemed to widen, and Sherlock had to force himself to relax his muscles in order to accommodate the stretch. It stretched him wider until it rounded off, and settled inside him. It was big enough to be vaguely uncomfortable, and gave Sherlock the feeling of being almost too full. The glass butt-plug was now settled snugly inside his arse, and John watched with satisfaction as Sherlock squirmed around it.

“It’s not going anywhere, you know.”

Sherlock huffed petulantly at this remark, but stopped moving. He didn’t like this at all.

John smiled knowingly. “Turn around for me, Sherlock”.

He did so very reluctantly, sitting upright onto his heels and then turning rather awkwardly so he was back in position, kneeling in front of the doctor. John cocked his head to one side curiously, watching how the conflicting emotions danced in Sherlock’s eyes, and yet his face gave no signals of anything but neutrality. That would have to change, he mused, as he stared at the man in front of him. John could tell that Sherlock felt deeply embarrassed about the situation; his normally alabaster skin tinged with pink. His erection had withered considerably in such a short space of time, and those all-seeing eyes flickered across everything in the room apart from the man in front of him.

“Look at me, Sherlock”. Those pale eyes continued to flicker for several seconds, before reluctantly landing on John.

“Have I got your attention now?” John said, a slight tease to his tone

Sherlock visibly bristled at this, and looked down at the floor, shifting his weight slightly.

“That was a question Sherlock” John said warningly.

Sherlock sighed audibly “Yes Sir, you have my attention”. The edge to his voice was deliberately petulant; he was not a man to be made fun of.

“I don’t like your tone, young man”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and lolled his head backwards, as if John’s opinion on tone was really the most exasperatingly inconsequential thing in the world.

John couldn’t escape the feeling that Sherlock was provoking him, which he was confused by. For someone who seemed to detest being dominated, the detective seemed to be going all out in order to provoke John into taking further action. So if he wants to provoke me, John thought resolutely, I’m more than willing to play along.

“You’re acting pretty tough for someone with a butt plug up their arse...” the doctor remarked casually.

Sherlock’s head shot back to stare in disbelief at the other man, before staring at the floor, the tips of his ears now a shade of violent pink.

“Are you embarrassed, Sherlock?” The detective squirmed, but nodded. John tutted.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“...Yes, Sir”. John nodded slowly.

“Why are you embarrassed?” Sherlock looked at him for a second.

“Even with a brain like yours I would assume the answer to that question is obvious, Sir”. The Sir was clearly sarcastic, and for someone who was naked and kneeling on the floor, Sherlock’s voice carried off as if he was addressing a crowd of slow-witted peasants.

The doctor leaned forward until there were only a few inches between the end of his nose and the end of Sherlock’s. His eyes were cloudy and when he spoke, his voice was dangerously low.

“And for someone with a brain like yours, you seem remarkably incapable of following a simple set of rules. In fact, for someone with a brain like yours, you seem surprisingly incapable of doing anything apart from landing yourself in even more trouble.” Sherlock’s smirk faded, and John could see an indication in his eyes of nervousness.

“There’s a line between pretending you don’t want to be dominated, and being impossible to dominate, Sherlock, and you’ve got your toes across that line. I’ve heard about you. I know about all the Doms that have restrained you, fucked you raw and then just left you, because they couldn’t stand it. I know all about the Doms that have walked into this room, and been so confused by you that they’ve left before they even sat down. But I’m no fool, Sherlock. I may not intellectually equal to you, but I sure as hell know your game”.

Sherlock swallowed, looking utterly blank as he stared at John. John was still gazing steadily at him, his voice low and measured, each word said clearly and slowly so that they seemed to float in the air before sinking into Sherlock’s skin.

“Your problem is your inability to switch off. You need to be controlled in order to stop thinking about things. Being dominated also satisfies your desire to be the centre of attention, to be the only thing that someone is concentrating on. But your exasperation for other people makes you incredibly frustrated, and so you act out against them. And this is where people get confused, because they start to doubt whether you actually desire punishment, or if it’s all some part of an experiment, or if you’re just deliberately trying to piss them off.” John smirked at this point.

“Basically, Sherlock, they give you far too much credit”. Sherlock frowned up at the doctor, who had now leaned back into the sofa, and was looking at him with deep satisfaction.

“..T-too much credit?....”

“Do not speak unless spoken to Sherlock” John snapped. “But yes, too much credit. See, they believe that this is all you trying to provoke them as some kind of psychological investigation. When really..” John leaned forward again for emphasis. “When really, you’re just a little brat”.

Sherlock opened his mouth indignantly to reply, but John raised his hand to indicate silence.

“Do you know what happens to naughty brats, Sherlock?”

“N-no, Sir?”

John smiled. “Oh I think you do. Guess”

Sherlock swallowed thickly. “Do they get..umm. Do they get punished, Sir?”

John’s smile widened. “Correct. So, let’s see... You deliberately provoked me, you didn’t answer my question properly, you were rude to me and you spoke without being addressed. That’s four. So, you’re going to have four punishments, and you’re going to ask for each of them. Understand?”

Sherlock felt horrible, but quickly replied “Yes, Sir.”

“Good boy. You can ask to be punished whenever you choose, but I suggest that you don’t ask for more than one in the same day, bearing in mind your reactions to today’s punishments”

Sherlock looked very worried, so John took his head in his hands.

“Sherlock. I don’t want you to be scared. I know you’ve never had to do anything like this before, but I think you’re going to be much better at it than you think. I want to help you, to make things right for you after so many years of wrong. But you have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Sherlock was looking at him with such intensity, his eyes glowing. “...Sir?”

John smiled slightly “Sherlock?”

The detective closed his eyes briefly “I... I think I’d like one of my punishments today?”

John nodded. “You have to ask for it, Sherlock.”

The kneeling man squirmed slightly, then took a deep breath.

“Please will you punish me, Sir?”

John smiled again. “Yes, Sherlock, I will.”

Chapter Text

“ Get up off the floor, and come and stand by my right side”.

Sherlock scrambled up from the floor, looking very nervous and clearly aware of what was going to happen next.

John untied the bonds around Sherlock’s wrist, and took hold of his left hand. “Sherlock, you don’t need to try and provoke me into punishing you to get my attention, and I hope this spanking teaches you that. Lay across my lap, please”.

Sherlock lowered himself onto the doctors lap, putting both palms flat against the floorboards. He felt John shift underneath him to accommodate the weight, and then gentle fingertips rubbing soothing circles along his back. There was a pause where John seemed to be considering something. He swung one of his legs over the backs of Sherlock’s, essentially pinning the detective in position.

A hand stroked Sherlock’s arse gently, and then trailed in between his cheeks to push a little on the end of the butt plug. Sherlock gasped at the pressure, and moaned as the hand slowly began to twist at the plug. The slight burning mixed with Sherlock’s arousal, and he whimpered slightly when the hand stopped and replaced itself on his left buttock.

John patted him gently. “You don’t have to count.” Sherlock gave a mental sigh of relief at this, so much so that the first slap came as a complete surprise. The sharp sting made him gasp, and he wriggled slightly in his position. This was the only reaction he had time to give before the next smack landed on his other cheek. John’s hard hand rained down on Sherlock’s arse with very little space between spanks, and very quickly Sherlock began to feel like his backside was on fire. He whimpered and wriggled as the spanks fell with stinging force, his body clenching around the buttplug that was still lodged firmly in his arse. John gave no lecture, his entire concentration focused on spanking every inch of Sherlock’s arse. It was when he moved down to administer sharp slaps to the detective’s creamy thighs that he really got a reaction. The man moaned loudly and flung his left arm behind him. But rather than using it to protect his stinging arse, he instead simply grasped onto the fabric of John’s shirt, clenching it in his fists as he whimpered desperately. John could feel his cock throbbing at the sight of Sherlock’s now gorgeously pink and squirming arse. He was incredibly hard and pretty desperate for release, but knew that he needed to teach the detective a lesson if they were ever going to get anywhere.

John took hold of Sherlock’s hand and interlocked their fingers, before pinning his arm to the base of his back. Sherlock’s other hand was now clinging to the doctor’s ankle, and as John returned his spanks to the fleshy underside of Sherlock’s arse, the submissive began bucking quite violently in John’s lap.

“Please please please, ah! Fu-ow!”

John paused, shifting his legs slightly to accommodate Sherlock’s incessant squirming, which had now turned into haphazard thrusting against his leg. John removed his hand from Sherlock’s grasp and reached underneath to stroke the detective’s hard cock. Sherlock whimpered and thrust instinctively into John’s hand, desperate for friction. He moaned pathetically as he felt John’s fingers slide down his length right to the base, where he began to squeeze.

John tutted “What did I tell you earlier Sherlock?”

Sherlock whimpered “You said bad boys don’t get to come, Sir”

John traced patterns along the detective’s abused flesh, amused at how such a light touch made Sherlock gasp and moan. He administered another spank, making him jump.

“That’s right. But..” John paused to thread his fingers through Sherlock’s unruly hair and stroked the back of his neck. “If you take these last twenty without any squirming or shouting, I’ll let you come. If you move or speak without being spoken two, we’ll start again. Understand?”

Sherlock nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir, please...”

The first slap landed without ceremony, and Sherlock gritted his teeth as the sting sunk into his flesh. It was going to be a lot harder than he anticipated keeping quiet. The next 9 landed in quick succession, and every muscle in Sherlock’s body was tensed in the effort of not moving, and he could feel beads of sweat trickling off him. His arse was now horribly sore, and the constant throbbing pressure of his cock caused by John’s squeezing meant that with each spank, Sherlock’s mind screamed at him to try and wriggle free. As the next 5 landed, Sherlock sucked in his breath through his teeth, not trusting himself enough to open his mouth.

John’s hand was aching, but he really needed to hammer his point home. His next spank landed much harder, and Sherlock did jump slightly, but John simply couldn’t bring himself to make him start over. He could feel Sherlock tensing even further, waiting for John to tell him that he’d moved, and that they were beginning again.

But those words never came. Instead, another slap landed, just as hard as the last. Sherlock was close to drawing blood from his lower lip by biting it so hard. Only three more to go, he thought.

John spanked him again “What have you learnt from this punishment, Sherlock?”

Sherlock had to take a deep breath before replying. “T-that I shouldn’t provoke you to get attention, Sir”.

John landed another slap “Do you have anything to say to me?”

Sherlock was past embarrassment by this point, and hung his head as he sobbed

“I’m sorry, S-sir. I’ll be good, I promise! Please...”

John landed the final spank quickly. “Well done Sherlock, good boy. Get up for me now”

Sherlock pushed himself off of John’s lap and with a little help, ended up straddling the doctor again, his abused arse settling between the gap in his legs. Sherlock rested his head on John’s chest, and mumbled a desperate “thank you” into the fabric. John pushed the hair out of the detective eyes and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Sherlock looked up in surprise, only to have John grasp him under the chin and pull him into a deep kiss. He moaned as he felt John’s hand travel down to the butt-plug and twist gently, before slowly and carefully removing it.

John halted the kiss and pushed two fingers in between Sherlock’s bruised lips. The detective sucked them all the way down to the knuckle, his tongue swirling in circles around them, coating them in warm saliva. He never broke eye contact for a second as he eagerly took the doctor’s fingers in his hot wet mouth, his hands grasping and rubbing at the fabric that covered John’s thighs. John retrieved him fingers from Sherlock mouth and pushed them gently into the detective’s gaping hole. Sherlock gave a shuddery breath as they slipped inside him, burning a little. His head lolled against John’s shoulder and he moaned in delight as the doctor began fucking him with those meticulous fingers.

“Please please please, Sir! I-I need...”

“You want to come, Sherlock?”

Sherlock whimpered and jerked violently as those fingers brushed his prostate

“Please, fuck, let me come. I want to come so badly, please let me come”. Sherlock was almost close to tears, desperate for release.

John leaned forward and whispered gently “Go on then, come for me”. And with that, he released the base of Sherlock’s cock and began pumping up and down the shaft, while his fingers pushed against the detective prostate. In a matter of seconds, Sherlock’s body was wracked with the most powerful orgasm he had ever experienced. A white blankness flashed over his eyes and for several seconds, he was entirely lost and encased in his own euphoria. The world around him was obliterated, and for the tiniest moment, not a single thought crossed the great man’s mind.

Chapter Text

It's been three days. Sherlock's arse is no longer blushing pink, but he still feels uncomfortable when sitting down too quickly; it brings back the memory of an open palm raining down on his sensitive flesh. As he kneels on the floor, waiting for John's arrival, he can feel a bubble of excitement growing at the pit of his stomach. Over the past 72 hours, in the back of his mind Sherlock had felt an increasing desire for punishment, for submission, for John. The doctor and he had agreed to keep their arrangement freelance for the time being: John was certain that Sherlock would not be able to cope with John taking control immediately. Sherlock had agreed, reluctantly, and was now ready and waiting for John to return, every fibre in his body poised as he waited; kneeling on the wooden floor of his apartment. He listened to the short but firm buzz of the doorbell, the chatter of Mrs Hudson and John conversing, those highly polished shoes making their way up the stairs and onto the landing. And there he was. Just the same as their previous engagement, John Watson stood staring down at a kneeling and naked detective.

The shorter man settled on the sofa, and beckoned Sherlock towards him with a smile. The detective crawled forward and sat up slightly, resting his hands in John's lap and looking up at him. The doctor pulled him into a short, chaste kiss, and brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes, letting his other hand drift delicately along the detective's collar bone, the tanned hand contrasting beautifully against Sherlock's alabaster skin. Sherlock was desperate; his mind had been a constant barrage of thoughts since John had left three nights ago; an endless spiral of facts and theories that he had never considered overwhelming before. But now he knew what it felt like to think of nothing but the happenings of a single moment, he found himself yearning for it, needing it to stem the constant flow of thoughts. He needed his distraction.

He looked up at the doctor, trying to tell him what he wanted through eye contact, so that he would be relieved of the embarrassment of having to ask for what he wanted. He cleared his throat and wriggled, highly uncomfortable.

John frowned. “What is it, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head and looked away. The doctor’s hand came under his chin and forced the kneeling man to look up, their eyes meeting.

“I asked you a question, Sherlock”
Sherlock’s eyes closed for a second as he let John’s voice sink into him, the warning tone stirring his cock and making his breath catch a little.

“Sorry, Sir.” The words tasted horrible in his mouth, and the room seemed terribly hot and overwhelming. The detective squirmed again, feeling the desire to get away starting to grow inside him. His hands tense and tried to push himself away. John let go of his chin and instead took hold of each of his wrists.

“Uh uh uh, we’re not going through this again today Sherlock. You clearly want something, so just ask. There’s really no point in being embarrassed at this stage”.
Sherlock blushed at the implication made in the last sentence, but didn’t make a comment. He was confused by himself. For the past few days he’d thought of nothing but begging John to punish him as soon as he walked in the door. But now that the doctor was here, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
John was less tolerant today. His grip on Sherlock’s wrists tightened ever so slightly, and Sherlock could see a slight blush of agitation had risen up his neck and along the tops of his ears.

“I’ve warned you about provoking me, Sherlock, or didn’t you learn your lesson?”

“No, no I did, Sir” Sherlock replied hurriedly, his nerves starting to get the better of him.

“So you’re just looking for another spanking then?”

Sherlock cringed. “No! Well I suppose theoretically I just, damn it, pleasemayIhavemynextpunishmentnowSir?”. Each word stumbled over the last, but Sherlock was still proud at having said those words in that order aloud at all. He thought it might never have happened.

John grinned and leaned back a little, loosening his grip on the detective’s wrists so they were almost holding hands.

“Could you repeat that please, Sherlock? A little slower this time.”
Sherlock gritted his teeth and repeated his request, watching John’s amused expression with abundant resentment.
John leaned forward and kissed the detective on the forehead, before replying.

“Yes Sherlock I will punish you, this time for...oh yes, for not answering my question properly.”

The doctor paused for a second, considering something, before returning his gaze to his submissive.

“How good do you think you can be, Sherlock?”

The detective frowned. “Umm... very good, Sir?”

John looked deep in thought. “Hmm. We’ll see. But for now, I want you to kneel with your legs spread wide open, and your hands behind your back”. John smiled. “Like we practised”

Sherlock snorted internally at the ‘we’, but did as he was told, vaguely wary of what was going to happen, and what exactly he would need to be so good for.

He watched with sharp eyes as John went to his bag and pulled out lubricant. The doctor walked back towards Sherlock and knelt in front of him, squeezing a little lubricant from the tube and spreading it evenly over his right hand. Then, resting his left hand on the top of Sherlock’s thigh, he used his lubricated hand to pick up the detective’s semi-hard cock, stroking firmly along the shaft while looking intently for a reaction in Sherlock’s eyes.

The submissive’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise, a gasp escaping and being followed quickly by a soft moan. His brows were furrowed and he searched John’s eyes for some idea of his next move. John continued to stroke him slowly but purposefully, a small smile playing on his lips.

“You don’t like answering my questions, do you Sherlock?”

Sherlock swallowed, trying to gather words together and attempting to ignore his own arousal.
“N-no, Sir.”

“And why’s that?”

Sherlock felt himself blush, a deep desire to squirm settling underneath his skin.

“They’re... embarrassing, Sir”

The detective was now completely hard, and finding it difficult not to thrust into the doctor’s hand; he was going infuriatingly slowly. John smiled further as he watched the frustration grow in Sherlock eyes.

“I see. But you were more than willing to answer my questions when you were over my knee. Why was that?”
Sherlock whimpered as the hand on his cock increased in pace slightly.
“B-because I was embarrassed already, Sir”
“Embarrassed because you were being spanked, or because you enjoyed it so much?”
“Both, Sir, both.” The detective was moaning loudly between words, panting a little. John slowed down a little again, and Sherlock’s impatient hands almost went to his cock to jerk himself off.
“Hands behind your head Sherlock! Don’t you dare think about touching yourself” John chastised, although he had to admit, he hadn’t expected the detective to last that long at all.
Sherlock’s eyes were closed, his mouth pressed into a firm line as John’s hand ran horribly slowly up and down his throbbing cock, teasing him with feather-light touches.
John continued his lecture, loving how tense Sherlock was becoming, how his legs were still spread perfectly, how he’d blushed and squirmed but still answered every question. It was a beautiful sight.
“You said you’d be a good boy for me, Sherlock. Keep those hands away, or you’ll earn yourself another punishment. And you don’t want that, do you?”
Sherlock shook his head vigorously. “No, Sir”
“ don’t want to be spanked ever again?”, John teased. At this point, the doctor suddenly started pumping Sherlock’s cock hard and faster, amused at how the detective jumped, moaning and trying desperately to answer coherently.
“Uh! N-no, Sir! No, yes Sir, I – Oh God I don’t know, Sir, please...”
John tutted, but couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “I need an actual answer, Sherlock”.
Sherlock’s hands were fisted in his curls, his mouth unable to shut, his whole body glowing from desire. His thighs tensed and relaxed constantly as he tried to keep in position.
“Yes, fuck, I do want to be spanked again, Sir, just, please, uh!”
John chuckled. “Ask before you come, Sherlock.”
The detective growled throatily as he heard this, his shoulders shuddering.
“God, please, may I come, Sir?”
John stopped. Sliding his hand to the base of Sherlock cock and squeezing, he tightened his grip for just a moment before releasing his grip entirely. There was a split second of absolute silence, the situation computing in Sherlock’s heat-addled mind, the confusion clear on his face. John leaned forward until his mouth was level with Sherlock’s ear and whispered. “No.”

Part one of Punishment two. Sherlock has the worst yet to come.. pun intended. Poor thing. Part two should be up soonish, so review review review!

Chapter Text

John smiled as Sherlock's eyes flew open, indignation flaring in his pupils.
"What's the matter, Sherlock?".

The detective was panting heavily. "Please let me come, Sir, I need -"

"You need what I give you. Deep breaths for me now".

John watched as his submissive complied, noting the clench in the detective's jaw. He wondered how long it would take before the frustration became too much for him.

They remained in silence for a while, Sherlock's slowly steadying breath the only sound in the room. John watched as the glow of Sherlock's skin receded slightly and the thickness of his cock depleted. He waited patiently until Sherlock's shoulders had stopped shaking before leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss; the man barely responded. John traced an idle hand down Sherlock's torso, pausing to rub the pad of his index finger lightly across one of his nipples. Sherlock's breathing hitched at this gentle touch and a quiet noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan caught in the back of his throat. John took the hard pink bud between his fingers and twisted firmly, his own cock throbbing with desire at the whimpers his actions produced. He did the same again, and Sherlock's whole body jumped, but he made no effort to try and force himself from the doctor's grip. In fact, John was sure that Sherlock was pressing his chest into his hand, a silent request for more.

"Are you enjoying this, Sherlock?"
On the detective's failure to reply, John took both nipples in his hands and twisted, hard, forcing an answer out of his submissive.

"Fuc-yes, sir".

"Good boy" John murmured. "Do you want to come, Sherlock?".

Nodding frantically, the detective replied, "Oh God yes, please sir...". His voice was cracking and he emitted a guttural moan as one of John's hands moved to his aching cock. Lube was an irrelevance of the past, and John began fisting Sherlock's hard length at perfect pace, his eyes gleaming.

"How badly do you want it, Sherlock?"

"Please god don't stop, please sir - I need to come, I need to -fuck!"
"But this is a punishment, and bad boys don't get to come..."

Sherlock's eyes were squeezed shut, half sobbing. "No, god, please I've been good, I'll be so good, just..."
"Don't you dare come without permission, young man."

John was amused at how desperate Sherlock had become, how he had been reduced to begging, and how his behaviour was so far from its usual self that it seemed a different Sherlock Holmes entirely was kneeling in front of him.

"Fuck sir, please may I come?"
John shook his head but didn't stop the movements of his hand.
"No, Sherlock, don't come. It will be worse for you..."

Sherlock shook his head, moaning incoherently. "It won't be worse, it can't be-". His mouth remained open but no words escaped. His whole body stilled as his orgasm took hold, cum spurting onto John's hand, the feeling of release almost painful from his prolonged state of arousal. After a few seconds, his eyes slowly focused in on John, whose face was a mixture of anger and amusement. He held up his cum-stained hand to Sherlock, who looked at him with pleading eyes.

“ I told you not to come" he lectured. "Lick my hand clean".

Sherlock's pale skin was a bright pink and his stomach swirled uncomfortably as he reluctantly obeyed, licking the tepid fluid from John's palm. He felt dirty and a little repulsed at himself. John was still looking at him with half-amusement.

"I told you it would be worse if you came , Sherlock..."

With that, John grasped the detective’s spent cock and swiped his thumb roughly over the overly-sensitive head. A shock of pain wracked through Sherlock’s body, and he struggled to remove himself from John’s clutches. His position entirely forgotten, both hands came down and pushed against John’s shoulders, his legs trying to force himself up and away.

“Fuck, don’t!”

John had predicted this, but instead of trying to force Sherlock back into position, he started pumping the detective’s sore cock, sending shivers of horribly uncomfortable electric into Sherlock with every move. His spent cock was sensitive to even the lightest touch, and John’s manhandling of it was utter agony. The submissive stilled, the pain clear on his face, seeming at a total loss of what to do. His hands clenched, grasping at John’s shirt, his breaths short and sharp, hissing in through his teeth.

“Don’t! Ah-let go! I can’t...”

John slowed a little, but continued to idly stroke along the shaft, paying special attention to the extra sensitive head.

“Too much for you, Sherlock?”

Sherlock could barely speak, shuddering and trying to squirm out of John’s reach, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Y-yes too much! Stoppleasestop”.

John administered a particularly aggressive stroke, and Sherlock yelped, hissing in pain and desperately pushing against the doctor, although his predicament had weakened his strength considerably, and John simply ignored it.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve been addressed properly in a while, have I?”

Sherlock growled loudly, frustration and panic clearly setting in.

“Sir!Stopsirpleasefuckyou’rehur-Oh God, stopfucking...”

John’s fingers continued to stroke relentlessly along Sherlock’s cock at an agonising pace. He had Sherlock exactly where he wanted him, begging and pleading, almost at his absolute limit. The doctor was aware of the time constraints of this punishment: Sherlock would eventually get hard again, so he needed to finish up and get his point across before it turned into a game of how many times Sherlock could come in the space of an hour. He’d save that for another day.

“I think the swearing needs to stop, too, Sherlock. Naughty words shouldn’t come from such a pretty mouth, understand?”

“Yesssirsorrysir. It’s too much – I can’t” Sherlock was beside himself, past anger, past frustration. He’d never felt so helpless, so in pain, and all at once. “SirIreallycan’t,please, I can’t!”

“Yes you can, you have to. Back in position, Sherlock, and stay there until I’m done with you.” Beads of Sherlock’s sweat and tears were dripping onto the floor, and the submissive shook his head violently, panic in every syllable “Ican’tdon’t make me..”

John was merciless. “You asked me to punish you, Sherlock” he reminded him. “This is what you wanted, so do as you’re told.”

Sherlock’s legs slowly spread, his hands untangling themselves from John’s shirt at returning to their place at the back of the detective’s head. He looked at the doctor, his eyes filled with hurt and something that vaguely resembled hatred. His teeth were tearing and grinding against his lower lip as he forced himself to stay still.

John was impressed. Still stroking, he looked at his submissive.
“So, what have we learnt today, Sherlock?”
He waited patiently while the detective collected himself, the resentment growing in his eyes.
“T-to answer your questions, Sir”

“That’s right” John continued. “Anything else?”
The blush in Sherlock’s cheeks rose. “N-not to come with permission...Sir”.

The doctor smiled. “Correct. And I’ve decided that I’m not going to tolerate your embarrassment anymore. Next time you take forever trying to ask me something, I’m going to make sure it’s as embarrassing as you seem to want to find it. Understand?”
Sherlock stifled a growl. “Yes, Sir”.

“Good boy.” And with that, John released Sherlock’s cock from his agonising grasp. The detective immediately gasped for air as if he’d been holding his breath for hours. His whole body relaxed and he pulled his legs out from their kneeling position, and laid down on the vaguely damp floorboards, eyes squeezed shut. John sat and watched the rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest as his breathing pattern returned to normal. The detective lay very still, his body seeming oddly long when stretched out on the floor, and did not move.

After half an hour of silence, John assumed he had fallen asleep, and began to rise off the floor to leave. Just as he straightened up, a long pale arm reached out and grasped gently at his ankle. Without opening his eyes, Sherlock addressed him.

“I moved.”

For a second, John was entirely confused. Sitting back down, he took Sherlock’s hand in his own.

“I’m sorry?”

Sherlock turned his head towards the doctor and opened his eyes.

“I laid down. I’m not supposed to move unless you say so, but I did, and nothing happened. You didn’t do anything. Why?”

John sighed, brow furrowed, tracing patterns on Sherlock’s hand as he considered the question.

“It was pretty cruel, what I did to you. You were at breaking point, and I was sure that one too many orders and you might... well. I think in light of the severity of your punishment, your disobedience could be forgiven under the circumstances.”

Sherlock nodded slightly, before turning his head back towards the ceiling.

John cleared his throat, concerned. “Just out of curiosity, how was it?”

Sherlock smiled thoughtfully. “Horrible. Not being allowed to come wasn’t so bad – merely frustrating. But, continuing to touch me post orgasm... I never ever want to do something that deserves that punishment, again.”

John chuckled, a teasing tone in his voice “Well, you did disobey me several times during the punishment. So, technically, shouldn’t I start the punishment over?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he stared at the doctor, as if trying to deduce how serious the man was being. “But sir...please, no!”

John laughed and let go of Sherlock’s hand in favour of returning to the sofa. “I think that would kill you. But I’m definitely using that punishment if you come without permission ever again. Seem fair?”

Sherlock huffed and sat up, crawling towards John and climbing onto the sofa with him, his head settling on John’s lap. “I don’t think fair’s the right word for it, personally...”

John took hold of one of Sherlock’s nipples and twisted, and the detective yelped in surprise.

“That’s enough backchat from you, young man.”

Sherlock wriggled uncomfortably and mumbled a rather pathetic apology under his breath, distracted by the soothing sensation of John’s fingers threading through his untamed curls absentmindedly.

“Sir..?” Sherlock started casually. John mmm’ed in reply, seeming far more tired than perhaps the detective thought he should.

“Did you mean what you said? As in, you’ll deliberately make me feel embarrassed if I act embarrassed when asking for something? Is that right?”

John shifted slightly underneath Sherlock and frowned. “Yes, Sherlock, I meant it. There’s no reason for you to be embarrassed about being submissive, and so when you act in that way it makes you seem...ungrateful. And I simply cannot allow that behaviour”.

Sherlock sniffed. “You simply don’t allow ANY behaviour, Sir”.

John sighed. “I’ve told you before, Sherlock, you have some terrible habits”

Sherlock smiled, a glint in his eye. “But I’m improving?”

John grinned back, a little sleepily. “We’ll see...”.


This chapter somehow ended up a bit fluffy, but I kinda like that their relationship is developing on an emotional level as well as a sexual one. To those who have noticed that John hasn’t actually gotten off yet...perhaps this will be addressed in the next chapter?

Please review, what were your thoughts on post-orgasm torture? I thought it was an appropriate deterrent for coming without permission, but I’m also aware of huge step between a firm spanking and masturbation torture....oh well. Hope you enjoyed it!

Chapter Text

Sherlock heard the door of 221B clink open, and waited for the exchange between Mrs Hudson and John as the doctor made his way upstairs. However, Mrs Hudson remained silent, and the footsteps that progressed up the stairs were much slower than usual. Arriving in the doorway, John had his phone pressed against his ear, and was wearing an expression of total confusion.

“...Excuse me? I don’t think...well I’m sorry to hear that but I’m sure he-well yes, but I’ve actually only been with him did you get this number?”

John listened to the rant in his ear, and padded towards the table, where Sherlock sat reading the morning’s newspaper. He looked up at John and gave him a quick smile. The doctor snorted – he knew he was in trouble, then.

“Sorry? No I’m not laughing at you. But surely you understand there’s nothing I can do? He’s not a dog, madam. I can’t be with him day and night, I’ve only known him for – neglecting..? Right. Yep. Sure. Yes, it will be dealt with. You’re welcome, goodbye.”

John clicked a button on his phone, then folded his arms.

“Guess who that was?”

The detective smirked and carried on reading the newspaper. “I don’t need to guess. Obviously it was that woman from Hampstead with the missing daughter. You know the house is fascinating, really distinct black marks-

“Yeah, I don’t need details. I assume you’ve deduced why she called me?”

Sherlock shifted in his chair and moved the paper closer to his face “Haven’t the foggiest...”

The doctor snorted. “Well, let me clear the mist for you. She called to tell me that last night you broke into her house, upturned her study, wandered into her bedroom, told her you needed to borrow some of her paperwork, and then left. Sound about right?”

From the folds of the paper, the detective mumbled his assent.

“She then proceeded to tell me that this is my fault and that I’ve clearly been neglecting to, and I quote ‘teach you right from wrong’. I’d like to point out that only yesterday, I sat in a meeting with you and Inspector Lestrade, where he explained that you’re not supposed to search people’s houses of your own accord, and you actually need a warrant. But of course she didn’t want to hear that, because she’s a bit busy, trying to clear up the state you left her house in.”

Sherlock threw the paper down on the table. “How ungrateful. I’m on the verge of a breakthrough, and that paperwork is vital!”

“You can’t just break into people’s houses! You should have just got the police to deal with it.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “The Police are a bunch of morons. The only useful thing about them is their ability to arrest people, and if you think for one moment that I’m going to allow those idiots to try and find something that I found in under 20 minutes, you are mistaken.”

“That’s not the point, Sherlock, you’re supposed to let people do their jobs. And how do you think I feel being called up by some random lady and being told that this is my fault? She accused me of neglecting you, said I’m clearly not giving you enough attention. I don’t even know how she got hold of my number!”

“I assume when she reported me to the police this morning, Lestrade forwarded your number to her. Our arrangement is hardly private information – even Anderson knows.”

John sighed, exasperated. “You can’t do stuff like this anymore, it’s embarrassing.”

“Well I’m sorry I’m such an embarrassment to you. I’m obviously just an inconvenience to your otherwise enriched and deeply fulfilled lifestyle, and I can see that taking time out of your oh-so busy schedule to see me is proving incredibly difficult. You’re simply much too overworked to even think about paying attention to anything other than – oh wait, what exactly is it you do?”

All this was said via the mirror that sat just above the mantelpiece, and Sherlock watched John’s reaction through it, not quite confident enough to turn round and look at the actual thing.

John smiled gently to himself, then looked towards Sherlock. The smile faded.

“Strip.” He said simply.

The detective paused, and turned slowly to face him. “I’m sorry-?”

 “Don’t make me wait!” The doctor barked, settling down on his favourite part of the sofa. He watched with satisfaction as Sherlock fumbled with his buttons, a look of nervous anticipation on his face.

When he had dropped his last sock onto the pile of garments on the floor, John let him stand there awkwardly for a second, enjoying the blush that settled on the detective’s cheekbones and the way his fingers and feet twitched and moved constantly as he waited to be instructed.

John stood up and took Sherlock by the hand and led him towards the far corner of the room. He gestured for the submissive to kneel, and he did so immediately. Looking up at him, John could see the recognition in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Yes, it’s very familiar, isn’t it? You can keep your hands by your sides – you’re going to be here far too long to be able to keep them behind your head.”

The doctor curled a fist in Sherlock’s hair. “I swear to God Sherlock, I’m at breaking point, understand?”

“Yes, Sir” Sherlock half-whispered. His throat was dry and itchy and he felt hot and uncomfortable all over. He just wanted to be hurt, punished, and then forgiven. The idea of just sitting and waiting in the knowledge that John was so angry was horrible.

John released his hair and walked away, only to return a few seconds later. Not daring to turn or look, Sherlock simply felt the cold leather slide round his neck. He felt John put pressure on his head to encourage him to lean forward. A buckle was tightened and fastened at the nape of his neck, and John silently pulled Sherlock’s head back up to look at him.

The black of the collar contrasted beautifully with Sherlock’s creamy skin, and John smiled.

“Perfect.” He said gently, before walking towards the pile of clothes on the floor and picking them up, turning to admire the view of Sherlock’s muscular back, and the gentle dints of his spine right up to where the collar settled, half covered by gentle curls of hair. As he walked towards Sherlock’s bedroom, he wondered vaguely whether the submissive knew what was coming, and prayed that the detective would behave, for his own sake. 

Chapter Text


The doorbell. The harsh sound sliced through the silence at Baker Street, and Sherlock jumped. He heard John get up and his footsteps patter down the stairs. The door opened; a pause for shaking of hands, Sherlock guessed, the deep rumble of two men conversing travelled up through the floorboards. Sherlock noted the size ten feet of their guest, the deep pitch, the obvious rustling of an expensive suit. His eyes closed briefly as he made a silent prayer. Please, he thought, please let me be wrong.


John was no detective. But as he entered the room and glanced at Sherlock, he knew the submissive had guessed who it was. The stiffness in the detective’s back, the rigidness of his arms, the obvious clench in his jaw.


“Have a seat, Oscar” John said, gesturing towards the sofa. “I was surprised when I got your call the other day..”


Oscar chuckled in his seat, glancing over at the man in the corner before returning his gaze to John.


“Anderson rang me, told me that Sherlock Holmes had found himself another Dominant. And when I heard that you two had been together for more than 24 hours, I just had to come and see for myself.” Again, the man’s gaze returned to Sherlock, a look of slight amazement in his eyes.


John laughed. “24 hours? I’d heard the rumours, but surely that’s stretching it a bit?”


The guest shook his head slowly, his smile fading a little. “I’m serious. I couldn’t do anything with him – no one could. To be honest, in the end I figured it wasn’t really worth the effort.”


The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Well, he certainly poses a challenge.”


Oscar laughed again, and out the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock stiffen.


“Challenge?! That’s one way of putting it I guess. You’ve got to be barking to put up with that sort of behaviour. In the end, I just bent him over that table, fucked him and left. And I’ve got to say – it wasn’t worth the taxi fare.”


John gave the man a strained smile, trying very hard to stop himself from punching the smug bastard in the face. He glanced over at Sherlock, although due to the angle he was entirely unable to read any kind of facial expression. He was a little surprised the detective had stayed where he was.


John turned his attention back towards Oscar, who was now staring at the back of Sherlock’s head with deep interest.
“Looks like he’s still getting himself into trouble” he said, nodding in Sherlock’s general direction.


John shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle. Don’t you get bored when they’re obedient all the time?”


“Since when has Sherlock Holmes been obedient any of the time?”


John grinned. “Err...right now, maybe? Sherlock, come over here. Oscar wants to see you.”


The doctor watched as Sherlock turned, slightly awkwardly, and crawled his way across the floorboards to the centre of the room. His cheeks were a little red, but there was no sign of resentment or reluctance in Sherlock’s expression. He seemed to be keeping his embarrassment under control, and he kept his face perfectly neutral, looking only at John, as if trying to ignore Oscar’s presence entirely.


Oscar, meanwhile, was watching with awe and perhaps amusement as the detective stopped in the middle of the room, on all fours and waiting for his next instruction.


The guest looked over at John. “Have to admit, he is beautiful.”


John nodded, but kept eye contact with his submissive.

“Come right to me, Sherlock, don’t be shy.” The detective obeyed, crawling further until he ended up kneeling between John’s legs, looking up at him. The doctor gave him a smile, and pushed a hand through his thick black curls, pausing to gently run his thumb along Sherlock’s earlobe. He was a little surprised when the detective turned his head to nuzzle further into his hand, looking up at John with lustful eyes.


Oscar looked mesmerised. “Jesus, is this the same guy?”


John smiled. “I guess he just needed a little more than a quick fuck.”


Oscar raised an eyebrow, an edge to his voice. “I guess so. Mind if I...?”


John nodded again, giving Sherlock a reassuring look. “Of course. Go over to Oscar, Sherlock, he wants to have a proper look at you.”


Sherlock looked unsure, but did as he was told, crawling out of John’s legs and in between Oscar’s. The doctor noted the wariness of Sherlock’s gaze, and the ever-so slight stiffening of his limbs as Oscar began stroking up and down his arm.
The guest slowly trailed a hand up to Sherlock’s neck, pushing two fingers in between the collar and Sherlock’s skin to feel the thickness of the leather. He smiled and removed his fingers, trailing them further up and into Sherlock’s hair, using it to move the detective’s head left and right.


Sherlock had no idea how he was feeling. He was thankful for John not revealing his misdemeanours to Oscar, for being so gentle despite his obvious anger. He even had to admit; he quite liked being shown off in this manner, especially to someone who had so openly deemed him as a hopeless case.


But at the same time, it was hard not to cringe away from Oscar’s hot and heavy touch, especially with John watching. He’d grown used to John’s meticulous, quick fingers, and everything else seemed rather blunt and clumsy in comparison. Still, he let the oaf manhandle him, curiously watching the slow change in John’s facial expression. He seemed to be trapped between lust and jealousy, and it wasn’t helping that Oscar was practically bursting through his trousers with arousal.


After a few minutes of mumbling under his breath, Oscar turned towards John.


“He always was gorgeous. You must have the patience of a saint to keep him though, I bet he’s rarely this accommodating.”


John smiled and shrugged. “It’s worth it.”


Oscar turned back towards Sherlock, watching for a reaction. “...I’d love to see you punish him.”

Chapter Text

John bristled visibly. There was a definite challenge in the other man’s tone, the request clearly designed to out Sherlock as entirely incapable.

“Well that’s up to him. If Sherlock wants to be punished, he has to ask”.

Oscar narrowed his eyes for a second, then grinned. “So... he knows at some point he’s going to have to ask for punishment, it’s just up to him how long he drags the waiting out for. Clever.”

John made a non-committal noise and motioned for Sherlock to come to him. The submissive obeyed quickly, glad to be out of their guest’s ham-fisted grasp. The detective surprised even himself with his affection, resting his head on John’s knee and stroking lazily at one of his ankles, closing his eyes as he felt the comforting sensation of John’s hand in his hair again.

Stroking Sherlock’s curls back from over his face, John looked over at Oscar, and in a casual tone asked, “If I were to punish him in front of you, what would you like to see?”

Sherlock didn’t move, but John could tell he was now listening far more intently.

“Good question. Uh...the riding crop, I think. I think it suits him, don’t you?” Oscar laughed, watching as John tried to control his temper.

Sherlock raised his head off of John’s knee and looked at Oscar, a glint sparkling in his moonstone eyes. “Sir” he said, turning towards John.

The doctor frowned. “Sherlock?”

“Will you punish me, please?” John almost fell off the sofa. There was no blush, no stumbling over words or looking at the ground. As pleased as he was, John couldn’t help but feel slightly uneasy. As much as he believed in Sherlock, he just wasn’t sure if he would be able to take it without disobeying. The doctor’s mind briefly went back to every previous punishment; and in each one Sherlock had moved, or spoken without permission or sworn or generally forgotten his place.

On the other hand, who was John to deny his submissive the punishment he had asked for so nicely?

“Yes, Sherlock, I will. Bend over the coffee table, with your hands flat on the glass and your legs spread.”

John had almost forgotten about Oscar, who was now watching Sherlock intensely as he did as he was instructed. Everyone in the room was very aware of how exposing Sherlock’s position was, and John felt a claw of possessiveness clenching in his stomach as he watched Oscar’s gaze move down to between Sherlock’s legs.

John plucked the riding crop from the umbrella stand, and moved to Sherlock’s right side.

“Oh and John” Oscar added, as the doctor began planting his feet. “Please don’t make him stay completely silent. I want to hear him.”

John looked towards Sherlock, who was staring straight down through the glass of the table, his expression one of pure concentration.

“You don’t have to count, and I don’t want to hear any actual words from you unless they’re ‘Thank you, Sir’. Understand?”
Sherlock paused and grinned. “...Thank you, Sir?”

Oscar laughed loudly, and John rolled his eyes, silently praying that that was the last smart comment Sherlock was going to make whilst Oscar was in the room.

Pulling his hand back, John took a breath and aimed.

The doctor could practically hear the sting as the leather pad of the crop came into contact with the soft flesh of Sherlock’s backside. Sherlock gasped, but made no other noise, and his arms almost gave way as the shock of the first strike rippled through his body. Still, the submissive stayed where he was, readjusting his hands slightly so they were wider apart. Deciding it best not to drag this out, John landed the next strikes in quick succession, leaving very little time for each one to sink in properly.

Sherlock gasped as the strikes landed, unable to catch enough breath to even think about saying anything. He braced his hands against the table and squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to ignore the growing sting of his arse. He could feel Oscar staring at him, his gaze boring into Sherlock’s skin hotter than the smack of the crop. He hated knowing that someone was watching him, but at the same time he was reminded of the disbelief in the other man’s voice, his sheer refusal to believe Sherlock was anything other than a hopeless case. He was hungry to prove him wrong.

The doctor kept going, leaving about an inch-square where the crop struck each time. He moved methodically down to the tops of Sherlock’s thighs, trying not to moan aloud as he heard Sherlock yelp. His erection was making his jeans tight and uncomfortable, the gentle gasps and growls that escaped Sherlock’s lips not helping matters in the slightest.

He moved further down, being sure to cover every inch of skin in red checked patterns down each leg, paying special attention to the back of Sherlock’s knees, which from the noise it made, sounded as if it stung like hell.

Sherlock lip was in tatters from biting down all sort of horrible insults as John continued his onslaught on the detective’s body. Sherlock had assumed that the pace would eventually slow down, but if anything, it seemed to be getting faster. No sooner had one strike landed, the next would land on the other side, not allowing any time for the sting to subside into the gentle throbbing that Sherlock enjoyed so much. As the strikes started working their way back up his already reddened legs, Sherlock’s moans of pain reached a new volume. His legs were threatening to wobble, and as he stared at glass in front of him, he noticed the reflection of the doctor, who was now growling with what the detective guessed was a mixture of exertion and arousal.
By this point, John had completely forgotten Oscar’s existence. His arm was aching, his cock desperate for release, and the noises Sherlock was making were sinful. He’d moved all the way back up to Sherlock’s arse again, which was now covered in raised and reddened flesh, and landed five more strikes as hard as he could. Sherlock’s arm wobbled as he yelped at the intensity of each blow.

John threw the implement to one side, grabbing Sherlock by the back of his collar and pulling him away from the table. Once they were face to face, John barked at Sherlock to kneel, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers as he did so.
A dazed Sherlock obeyed, his cock growing hard at the intensity of John’s gaze on his tear-stained face. Before he had time to register anything, the head of John’s thick, hard cock was pushing against his mouth, and he opened wide, looking up to watch the doctor groan as his cock passed through Sherlock’s wet lips.

Both hands curled in Sherlock’s hair, John didn’t wait for his submissive to adjust and thrusted straight into Sherlock’s mouth, growling as the hot, wet cavern engulfed his aching cock. His hips jerked forward as he fucked Sherlock’s mouth, the detective’s tongue swirling across his tip, all the way down his length, leaving John as a groaning wreck.

“Good boy, take it all for me....ah, Jesus, look at me, there’s a good boy...Christ!”

The intensity of the stare combined with Sherlock’s moans and hums around his cock meant that it didn’t take long before the doctor came, the sticky liquid jetting straight into Sherlock’s mouth and making him cough and splutter in surprise. The orgasm shuddered through John’s body, his hands fisting hard in Sherlock’s hair as he pulled out of his mouth.
As John regained control of his limbs, he clumsily tucked himself back into his jeans, before bending down to where Sherlock was kneeling to capture his lips in a messy kiss. He could taste his own bitter cum on Sherlock’s tongue and lips, enjoying the sound of the detective trying to catch his breath each time their lips parted.

“Wow.” Oscar murmured. Both men jumped, and turned to stare at their guest.

“Oh my god, I-“ John started, but Oscar interrupted with a laugh.

“Forgot I was here? I noticed. Don’t worry about it, I still managed to satisfy myself. You have incredible aim, you know.”

John cleared his throat awkwardly, standing up and taking a step forward to where Oscar was now standing, hands in his pockets. “Did he, uh, meet your expectations?” he asked.

Oscar looked down at Sherlock, who had one arm hooked around John’s shin and was watching the exchange with a rather smug expression.

“As much as I’d like to wipe that smirk off his face, I have to admit I thought he would break after the second strike. So I supposed he exceeded them, really.” The guest smiled and reached out of his pocket to shake John’s hand, before walking towards the door.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr Watson. And as for you, Mr Holmes” Oscar paused, nodding in Sherlock’s general direction. “I would suggest you don’t piss this guy off too much, he might just lose that saintly patience of his.”

With that, he left, leaving only the echo of his expensive shoes on the floorboards, and the familiar clink of the front door being shut.

There was a moment of silence, as John looked down at the top of Sherlock’s head, who was now drawing random patterns onto the shiny leather of the doctor’s shoe. He nudged the detective with his knee.

“Hey” he said gently. “ you want to sit on my lap for a bit?” Sherlock nodded, and waited for John to get comfortable before crawling up and onto his lap, his legs straddling John’s and his head rest against the doctor’s chest. John hugged him close for a while, before moving down to stroke along Sherlock’s sore and gently burning arse. The detective murmured and moaned in John’s ear as his hands squeezed the abused flesh.

“Ow” he muttered, squirming in John’s lap. John chuckled, as despite the complaining, he could feel Sherlock pushing back into his hands.

“You set the bar today, Sherlock. Now I’ve seen you can actually do exactly as you’re told, I won’t need to pander to your little tantrums anymore.”

“I was proving a point!” Sherlock whined.

“And how well you proved it. And despite everything, I’m really proud of you.”

Sherlock sniffed. “How comforting.” John tutted and delivered a sharp smack to the detective arse, causing him to moan and wriggle, complaining loudly.

“Well, you’re the one that asked for it, Sherlock” John reminded him. “Funnily enough, I wasn’t actually planning on letting him get off on you after what he did to you – but you were set on showing off...”

Sherlock smirked. “Your jealousy is hilarious. And might I ask what I was punished for today? You never actually specified.”
John readjusted himself to Sherlock’s weight before replying. “Today, you were punished for ever letting that absolute bastard anywhere near you. I can’t believe that git has been inside you.”

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open. “So that doesn’t even count? I still have two to go?!”

John grinned. “Oh, and I think you earned another one today, didn’t you?”

The detective glared. “You’re a sick, sick man, John Watson.”

Chapter Text

No matter how many times it happened, the doctor was sure he would never get tired of this moment. There was he, sitting on his favourite part of the sofa, legs spread apart in a casual gesture of dominance. His eyes never flickered from the body kneeling in front of him, drinking in every square inch of Sherlock’s exposed skin. For a moment, the two men simply read each other; the body language, frown lines, the shadows and highlights in their pupils, the flickering of their eyes. Judging, guessing what the next move would be. In the short amount of time Sherlock and himself had known each other, John had quickly become accustomed to the tell-tale signs of Sherlock’s moods. In the same way, Sherlock was perfectly aware of what John wanted from him from the moment he settled on the couch. And so, for first couple of minutes before one of them broke the silence, they would simply watch. For John; it was perfection.

But today, something was wrong. Sherlock was... different. His eyes weren’t flickering across John’s features, they were downcast. His fingers drummed agitatedly against his thighs, his pale skin wasn’t brightened by nervousness or excitement. It was as if a cloud had descended over him, rendering him unreadable. The agitation seemed to crawl across Sherlock’s skin, making the muscles jump underneath his flesh. He shook his head then tipped it to one side, as if attempting to make the thoughts fall out of his head through his ears. The doctor’s mind wandered back to their first meeting, comparing the movements. No, John was sure the detective had only been mildly irritated then. What was sitting in front of him now was the mess of a man who was trying to suppress something.

The doctor waited, feeling the slow rising of tension in the air, until Sherlock snapped.

“Don’t just sit there! Fuck me – choke me to death for all I care – just, something, ANYTHING. You have to make it go away!”

John sat up abruptly. Eyebrows furrowed, he paused for a second to note the change of colour in Sherlock’s eyes before responding. “I’m not – Jesus, I’m not going to choke you! Make what go away, what are you talking about Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s hands flew to his hair, grasping the black curl in his fists.

“The NOISE. Can’t you hear it, the noise John!!”

Stumbling to his feet, Sherlock leapt over to the sofa, grabbing the front of John’s jumper and pulling him forward.

“It’s driving me insane! I was wrong, so stupidly, unbelievably wrong. I didn’t – SEE it – I couldn’t – My God, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!”

John Watson had suffered through warzones, battles, injuries that left scars that were more than skin deep. He’d seen shell shock at its worst, and witnessed the psychological unravelling of many a level-headed man.

But this was on a whole new level of terrifying.

On the surface, however, he maintained control. Wrenching his jumper from Sherlock’s grasp, he clasped his strong hands around Sherlock’s wrists.

“It’s ok- stop shouting- it’s ok. Just, take a deep breath for me – that’s it – good boy.”

Gently, John manoeuvred the shaking detective off of the sofa and back onto the floor.

“Sit there for me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock shook his head rapidly.

“No – It won’t stop, please! – I can’t just sit –“

“You can and you will, Sherlock.” John interjected. “Just concentrate on me. I want you to sit there, just like that. Nothing else, just sit and focus on me.”

Sitting back down, John pushed up the sleeves of him jumper, and wiped his sweating palms on his jeans. He watched as Sherlock closed his eyes, the nerve in his eyelids twitching and jumping, evidence of the internal battle that he was fighting. As he sat there, John’s own thoughts began to consume him.

He didn’t know what, but Sherlock had been wrong about something, and he was desperate to be punished for it. It pained John to think that in the mind of the man sitting before him, being wrong somehow equated to misbehaviour. And it hurt him even more to think that he couldn’t give Sherlock what he wanted. There was no way he was going to punish someone for being wrong....

Out of no-where, the doctor was dragged back to the surface of reality. For a moment, he blinked and frowned, confused as to what had shaken him from his thoughts. And then, he noticed it. The sound of fingers tapping idly on the wooden floor.
The words formed on John’s lips without any need to engage his brain, an immediate reaction to the familiar sound.

“Hands behind your head, and keep them still.”

John didn’t bother watching as Sherlock obeyed. Instead he entertained himself by counting the 3,4, 5 seconds until those longs fingers began twisting and twirling in his black curls. A thought occurred to him.

He let his gaze drift across the room, pointedly focusing on everything but the man in front of him, and speaking in an almost-bored manner.

“Do you remember what happened last time you couldn’t keep your hands still?”

He heard Sherlock swallow thickly.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Really? Enlighten me.”

The air seemed to tighten as Sherlock became agitated. The doctor could sense the submissive’s desire for attention growing, the need to be spoken to rather than at, to have John’s eyes only on him.

“Y-you caned them, Sir”

John inspected his own hands at this point, rubbing at an imaginary smudge on his nail.

“That’s right. Did it hurt?”

Sherlock growled an exasperated “Yes, Sir”, which trailed off into a whimper.

John smiled to himself. Any moment now...


John raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look up. “Yes, Sherlock?”

“Please – could you look at me?” The note of desperation in his voice spoke volumes, and John was quick to respond, looking up to make instant eye contact. He watched the small signs of relief flash across Sherlock’s face; the smallest of smiles tickling the sides of his mouth.

“This better?” John asked quietly, silently noting the stillness of Sherlock’s hands.

The detective nodded, replying in an almost whisper “Much better, Sir.”

And John wasn’t sure if he was just talking about the eye contact, or the clearing of his mind. It amazed the doctor to think that simply by concentrating on John’s orders, the inner-workings of the detective’s brain were forced to shut down, leaving only Sherlock’s innate need to obey. Then again, John found Sherlock pretty amazing in any case.

“Good boy. Come here” the doctor said, beckoning the other man forward.

Sherlock did so, crawling forwards until he was knelt between John’s legs, looking up at him. John ran both hands through the detective’s curls, enjoying how Sherlock responded with gentle moans of pleasure.

John pulled Sherlock towards him a little and leaned forward, so their lips were almost touching. He smiled gently at his submissive, before closing the gap. The kiss was unlike any they had shared before; not stolen by John in a moment of passion. It was tentative and delicate, their lips barely brushing at first, Sherlock leaning in to keep the contact and opening his mouth in a clear request for more. John deepened the kiss, one hand moving round of grasp the back of the detective neck, the pressure he applied summoning as gasp from his submissive. The doctor took advantage of Sherlock’s open mouth, tracing his tongue over the detective’s thick lower lip before biting down, drawing a whimper of surprise from the other man.

Sherlock’s arms snaked around John and clasped at the back of his neck, John’s own hands moving from Sherlock’s hair down to his waist, pressing his thumbs into the sensitive gaps at the side of his angular hips. In one swift movement, the doctor broke the kiss and pulled Sherlock up and onto his lap, where the detective promptly began nuzzling into the doctor’s warm jumper.
John wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s waist and pulled him in tighter, loving the sensation of Sherlock’s warm body against his own. He rubbed Sherlock’s back in random circles, and as he did so, the submissive seemed to almost melt into him, snuggling deeper against his chest.

John let the comfortable silence hang in the air for a while, before nudging Sherlock gently with his shoulder. The detective looked up at him, his eyes bright.

“Mmm?” he mumbled softly.

John gently stroked the curls out of Sherlock’s face, and planted a light kiss on his forehead.

“Are you going to tell me what all this was about now?”

The detective wriggled uncomfortably.

“I – overlooked something in a case. A vital detail, in fact. It was so brilliantly clear, so blindingly obvious, staring me right in the face the whole time.” John could feel Sherlock starting to tense up as he spoke, frowning as he picked at the weaving of the doctor’s jumper.

“That moron Anderson ended up pointing it out to me. Made my entire theory redundant...made me wrong. Stupid.”
John tightened his clasp around Sherlock’s waist.

“Well, you can’t be right all the time. It was just a mistake, people get things wrong. It’s human”

“Yes, but when I get things wrong, murderers walk free. It’s a little different.”

“Even so, you can’t let yourself suffer for it. You’re the one winding yourself up, making all that noise happen because you won’t let it go.”

Sherlock shrugged feebly.

John continued “To be honest, for a moment back there I was absolutely terrified. I don’t want to have to go through this every time you make a mistake, but I will if that’s what you need from me.”


John was startled by the question, having almost forgotten that Sherlock possessed the ability to speak at all. He pondered for a moment, listening to the detective’s breathing, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest against his own.

“Because I care about you.”

Sherlock smiled softly into John’s jumper.

“Lucky you.”

John laughed at the sarcastic edge to the detective’s voice.

“Yeah” he said. “Lucky me...”

Author's note: YEAH YEAH. I know, it’s fluffy as hell. I’m sorry. New chapter up in the next couple of days, if anyone still reads this drivel.

Chapter Text

“Please” was the only word to fall from Sherlock’s lips, as he settled himself over John’s lap, arse upturned and waiting. No prelude, just a simple request; that one syllable laced with such subtle emotion that it told John everything he needed. The doctor had been a little surprised by Sherlock’s sudden movement, shifting slightly to accommodate the new weight on his legs. He knew from instinct that he wasn’t required to say anything; he was simply the means of the detective’s release. In every sense of the word.

John’s finger ghosted along Sherlock’s spine, while the other squeezed and pinched at the soft, supple flesh of the detective’s buttocks. He raised his right hand and let it fall right in the centre of Sherlock’s left arse cheek, relishing the wriggle and gasp of the man underneath him. The doctor rubbed gently at the spot he’d just struck, before giving the same treatment to the other cheek. He spanked methodically along Sherlock’s exposed arse, delighting in the ripple of the peachy flesh and the squirming of the detective’s thighs. He drew each spank out, taking time to knead the abused spot before landing the next, just to watch Sherlock’s reaction.

A hand grabbed John’s ankle, whilst the other braced itself against the floorboards. Eyes squeezed shut, Sherlock wallowed in the aftermath of each spank, hissing at the initial sting and moaning at the sore burning that was left in its wake. His cock was trapped between John’s legs, the friction caused by the doctor’s jeans as each spank jolted the detective forward burning wonderfully.

There being no lesson alongside the spanking, John felt obliged to take his time, pausing to observe as the red handprints that bloomed across Sherlock’s cheeks subsided into that glorious shade of dusky pink. He paid special attention to Sherlock’s thighs, loving how with each slap, Sherlock would buck and yelp, before pushing his arse back into John’s hand, silently begging for those calloused palms to remain in contact with his blushing skin.

John pulled his hand away, and waited. He could feel the tense in Sherlock’s body as he waited for the next blow, and then the slow relaxing of his muscles as he realised John had stopped. Sherlock paused for a second, and then began thrusting his hips with full force against John’s legs, rolling right into the doctor’s thighs in a bid to allow his cock the friction it desired. He couldn’t help the desperate whimpers that tumbled from his mouth; perfectly aware of how desperate he looked and sounded, but simply too aroused to care.

It was certainly a sight, and a deep growl escaped from John’s throat as Sherlock rutted unashamedly against him.

“Look at you, squirming all over my lap. You really love the attention, don’t you?”

Sherlock whimpered loudly, obviously incensed by John’s words but a little too needy to say anything that might get him into trouble. The amused tone in the doctor’s voice made something in the pit of stomach flutter, and made his skin blush with arousal more than with embarrassment.

“Well, you’ve got my attention, Sherlock. What is it you want?”

Sherlock swallowed, closing his eyes. “More, Sir. Harder?”

John chuckled lightly and combed his fingers gently through Sherlock’s hair.

“But this time you’re going to count and thank me for each one, aren’t you?”

Sherlock nodded fiercely. “OhGod-yes Sir!”

John released the detective’s flesh, and brought the flat of him palm crashing down on Sherlock’s left cheek. Sherlock yelped at the force of the blow.

“Ah! One, thank you Sir!”

“Fu-t-two, thank you Sir, Jesus! Three thank you Sir....”

By the 10th spank, Sherlock was almost bucking off of John’s lap, gasping and panting between thank-you’s. John’s leg was beginning to ache from Sherlock’s sharp hips thrusting into him with such force, and so he paused for a moment, much to the disappointment of his submissive.

“Oh, God no don’t stop, please...“

John couldn’t stop himself from grinning at Sherlock’s desperation. The doctor had never seen him like this before, entirely unencumbered by his own reservations, and simply enjoying letting someone take control.

“I’m not stopping, just moving you so you can’t beat my legs black and blue with your shifting around. Stand up for a second.”

Sherlock did so shakily, seemingly incapable of moving his limbs normally after being over John’s lap for so long. His face was bright pink, hair clinging damply to him forehead from exertion. His eyes glinting, tongue licking a wet trail along his bottom lip, he held onto the doctor’s shoulder with one hand, grasping the collar of his jumper just to maintain some kind of contact.
John tugged at his wrist, but instead of laying him across both knees, he pulled him over his left leg only, so that Sherlock ended up with his long leg’s straddling John’s, his cock resting along John’s thigh. He rested his elbows in the gap between the seat cushion and the back of the sofa, and buried his face in his hands, all too aware of how this new position spread his arse cheeks wide apart.

John used his left hand to spread his abused cheeks even wider, splaying his fingers against the burning flesh. He delivered a sharp smack to the newly exposed and usually unreachable flesh, and Sherlock reacted immediately, uttering an indignant cry and removing one hand from his face to try and grab at John’s.

“Hands in front of you, young man!” The doctor barked, and Sherlock quickly obeyed, moaning as he did so. There was something about the tone of John’s voice that intensified Sherlock’s arousal beyond the realms of pleasurable pain. His cock was throbbing against John’s thigh, and a growl escaped his throat as John dragged an idle finger along his spine all the way down to between his legs, before spanking the same spot as before; once, twice, three times.

“Uh, fuck!” Sherlock hissed as a sore heat began to build.

John tutted, and administered a slap to Sherlock’s sensitive thighs.

“What have I told you, Sherlock?”

The detective closed his eyes briefly as he let that commanding tone settle in the pit of his stomach.

“You said I shouldn’t swear, Sir”

John mmm’ed and delivered another sharp slap.

“You’re paraphrasing. I know you remember exactly what I said. Repeat it for me.”

Sherlock squirmed in discomfort, and tried to bury his head further into his hands, and said nothing.

“This could easily turn into a real punishment, Sherlock”, the doctor warned, drumming his fingers impatiently on Sherlock’s slightly arched back.

The detective made a petulant whining sound, making it clear that was not the outcome he was hoping for.

“Do as you’re told, then, and we’ll carry on.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, cringing at the way the words tasted in his mouth.

“You said ‘Naughty words shouldn't come from such a pretty mouth’, Sir”

“Good boy.” John smirked as he rubbed his hand soothingly along Sherlock’s buttocks, before suddenly landing several spanks to each cheek in quick succession. The detective gasped and wriggled at the sudden onslaught.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” John demanded, without slowing pace.

Sherlock was now rutting erratically astride John’s leg in frantic thrusts, panting as he ground his hard shaft against the firm denim-clad thigh beneath him.

“Uh God yes !” Sherlock replied, his voice shaking. He was so, so close.

As if reading his mind, John barked “Don’t you dare come without asking, young man!”

“Oh God, p-please let me?” Sherlock moaned into the back of the sofa. His nerves were in tatters, his arse was raw and stinging, and the maddening friction of John’s jeans was bringing him right to the edge.

“Please let you what?” the doctor teased.

Sherlock growled in frustration, hitting the back of the sofa with a balled fist.

“Fucking hell, you know exactly what!!” he shouted, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain the sobs that were threatening to escape from him.

It was with these words that John stopped. Sherlock felt the doctor’s body tense for several seconds, before relaxing again. He heard the deep intake of breath that wobbled slightly as John attempted to suppress his irritation.

Sherlock knew he was in trouble. “Please, I just-“he started

“Enough.” John interjected. Gently, he pushed a hand between his own thigh and Sherlock’s torso and lifted him up, seating him on the floor.

Sherlock hissed as his burning arse made contact with the horribly uncomfortable floor. He watched the other man with wide eyes, trying to make out the emotions that danced behind his eyes. As the doctor rose off of the sofa, Sherlock’s immediate instinct was to reach out and grab the hem of his jeans.

“John-“Sherlock was clearly nervous, and a little dazed at such a spontaneous change of events, and looked as though he though John might be leaving him.

John watched the detective’s face contort in confusion and pain. Trust Sherlock to immediately assume he was leaving without a trace. Despite everything, Sherlock still didn’t seem to be able to acknowledge that John wasn’t going anywhere – no matter how badly behaved he was.

The doctor crouched down and prised Sherlock’s hand off of his ankle.

“Stay here, and think about what you did wrong. I’ll be back in under a minute.”

John walked towards the door, looking back to see Sherlock staring at him, with a look of mild apprehension on his face.

“Under a minute” the doctor repeated. “You can even count it if you like.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock didn’t count – but he did listen. He heard those footsteps tap down the stairs. He waited for the front door to click. But instead, he heard the footsteps turn towards Mrs Hudson’s door. He heard the tap of knuckles on the door, the clicking of the lock, the chatter of two people, the rustle and clacking of cupboard doors being opened and closed. He heard a mumble of gratitude and a higher pitched chirrup of you’re-welcome. He heard the footsteps come back up the stairs, and he watched as John sat back down.

“Well,” John asked “did you count?”

“No.” Sherlock stated defensively, looking steadily back at the doctor.

“Why not?”

“Time is irrelevant.”

John smiled. Sherlock Holmes possessed the incredible talent of being able to make someone feel inferior, even when sitting in front of them naked and semi-hard with a thoroughly spanked arse.

“Interesting point...” John began, before reaching into his pocket, and pulling out a small, plastic object.

“Can you tell me what this is, Sherlock?”

Sherlock frowned. “.....a peg.”

“Correct. Or a clothespin, whichever you prefer. I just borrowed it from Mrs Hudson. You and this peg are going to be firm friends when we’re done, I think.”

The submissive’s eyes narrowed slightly. “How so?” he said nervously.

“Well” said John, sliding off the sofa and kneeling opposite the detective. “You’re obviously finding it difficult to stop swearing, and so I think this will help. Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue please.”

Sherlock was dumbfounded, and just stared at the doctor for a few moments. As realisation struck, he felt instantly unwell. “No, John, I won’t say a word, I promise!”

“I know you won’t, that’s the point.”

“No, I mean, we don’t have to do this, I can be quiet!”

“Obviously not.”

Sherlock could see that he was wearing John’s patience thin, but he knew that thing was not going to feel nice, for both his tongue and his pride. He moved ever closer to the doctor, and placed his hands on the front of John’s shirt.

“Let me show you” he pleaded, looking imploringly into John’s eyes. “I don’t need help, I can be good all by myself. Please, I’ll be good!”

John could feel his resolution slipping. Sherlock looked almost child-like; hair falling into his wide eyes, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. He even sounded like a little boy, trying to worm his way out of a punishment.

The doctor shook his head, trying to shake the doubt from his mind.

“You and I both know that eventually, you’re going to have to take this. It’s just up to you whether you want to do it now, or sit on the floor being ignored for a few hours before asking for it.”

Sherlock was not in the best of moods to receive such logical advice.

“But I don’t want to!” the detective moaned, thumping one of his hands against John’s chest. It was quite incredible how quickly he changed temperament, swapping from positively angelic to a petulant toddler in under a second.

The doctor sighed. “Sherlock-“he began, but was interrupted almost immediately.

“No! You’re being totally irrational about this. In fact, this whole thing is entirely your fault anyway, you provoked me!” It was obvious that even he didn’t believe a word he was saying, but having been denied the release he needed, Sherlock felt the world was entirely against him. He was even acutely aware that he was landing himself in more trouble, and this seemed to make him even angrier.

“You denied me a basic human NEED, and yet I’m in the wrong? Purely for saying a word? You baited me into saying it, you teased me when I was at my most vulnerable, and –“

“Stop.” John growled, and Sherlock did so immediately.

“You have two options. You can sit with this clothespin on your tongue for as long as I see fit now, or you can ask for it later. But know that if you decide to prolong it, there will be consequences.”

“And, pray tell, what are those?” Sherlock asked.

“I’ll wash your mouth out with soap, beforehand and afterwards.”

The detective couldn’t quite believe this turn of events. He knew it was going to hurt quite a bit, but it was the horrifically embarrassing aspect of the punishment which make him so unwilling.

“You have 3 seconds to show me that tongue or you’re going over to the corner. 3-”

Sherlock pouted, and whined pleadingly.

“2-“ John warned, and his submissive reluctantly stuck out his tongue.

“Wise decision.” John said. Pressing down on the tails of the clothespin, he moved the peg forward so that Sherlock’s tongue sat between the plastic jaws, and let go of the end.

Sherlock’s lips closed around the foreign object momentarily, before he opened his mouth again, eyes wide with shock, and yelped. The heat seared across his tongue, the pressure from where the peg clung creating a horrible throbbing worse than Sherlock had imagined.

The detective was already in tears; the ache of the peg felt so odd and heavy on the end of his tongue. His erection now entirely soft, and at that moment the detective wanted nothing more than to be anywhere where John wasn’t.

John he ran a hand down the other man’s smooth chest in a comforting gesture, but Sherlock tensed up immediately and arched his body away from the touch. His tongue ached heavily and saliva gathered in the dip of his tongue before spilling down onto his chin, and running thickly down his chest, leaving him feeling mortified. But John was persistent. Still he ran his hands over Sherlock’s resisting body, his eyes wandering curiously over every inch of skin as if seeing it for the first time. Under such scrupulous attention, it difficult not to respond.

John pressed gently at the sensitive spot just above Sherlock’s hip bone, before moving up to capture a hard, rosy nipple between his finger and thumb. The detective made a needy little sound but refused to look at him, directing his attention towards the floorboards, eyes downcast. The doctor pinched Sherlock’s nipple fairly hard, enjoying the momentary rise of the submissive’s whole body, and the gasp and moan from his open mouth.

Sherlock looked disgusted at his own reaction, and squirmed, trying to writhe away from John’s hands.

The doctor suppressed a chuckle.

“Wow, you really aren’t happy with me, are you?”

The detective frowned deeply and turned his head further to the side.

John tutted.

“I’m warning you, young man, sulking is definitely not going to help. I could make this a hell of a lot worse – is that what you want?”

Sherlock gave him a disbelieving look, but then shook his head.

“I could make you go down to Mrs Hudson and show her what we’re using her clothespin for?”

Sherlock made a whimpering sound and shook his head violently.

John kept his gaze firm, and suppressed his smile. Teasing Sherlock was slowly turning into his favourite pastime. It was also pretty effective in forcing his submissive to actually behave himself.

“Now that I think about it, that’s a brilliant idea. Come on, I’ll get your collar and we’ll go and show her, shall we?”

The doctor stood up – and immediately felt Sherlock grab hold of his ankle, curling his arms around John’s leg until he was practically hugging it. Pleading, teary eyes stared up at John as his submissive shook his head frantically, making a noise and sounded somewhere between a whine and a sob.

John kept up the pretence, cradling the back of Sherlock’s head with one hand.

“You don’t want to?”

Sherlock cranked up the volume, and cried into the leg of John’s jeans, seemingly trying to burrow his head into the fabric. He knew crying made John weak at the knees, out of sympathy and arousal, so it was the best way to get out of something that the doctor hadn’t truly set his mind on...

“Are you going to be a good boy for me, then, and stop sulking?”

Sherlock sniffed and looked up at him, nodding weakly.

John gently detangled himself from Sherlock’s limbs and sat back down.

“Alright then – we’ll stay here.”

The doctor couldn’t help but grin at the detective, who was wiping the tears from his face and looking excessively pleased with his impressive performance. John wondered how badly it would affect Sherlock’s mood if he was told that actually, John had been bluffing all along.

Perhaps best not to mention it. Especially now that he had a quiet and obedient submissive sitting in front of him.

John resumed his game of playing with Sherlock’s skin, enjoying the sensation of the soft, supple flesh beneath his fingertips. Sherlock now leaned into the touch, moving onto all-fours without request, and making small pleased noises each time the doctor’s meticulous fingers brushed a sensitive spot. His arched back curved deliciously, the dips in his spine and the jutting blades of his shoulders making for a chiselled piece of marble, as opposed to flesh and bone. His tongue was still hurting, but by now he’d grown accustomed to the weight of it, and John’s possessive hands were providing a pretty good distraction from the pain. The spanking from earlier had now subsided into a gentle glow that felt warm and sensitive, but not uncomfortable, and he could feel his cock getting thick and full under John’s undivided attention.

John was deliberately keeping his hands no further down than Sherlock’s naval, missing out the entirety of his bottom-half. He could head his submissive’s moans grow louder each time he let his fingers glide down to the detective’s lower back. He moved his hands around to Sherlock’s hips, and immediately heard a delicate growl escape from Sherlock’s mouth, and felt the subtle thrust of the hips beneath his hands.

John gently pulled Sherlock up into a kneeling position, and looked at him. There was a dull blush along the detective’s cheekbones, and he was a little breathless.

The doctor reached forward and held his submissive under the chin firmly, and delicately pulled the clothespin from the end of Sherlock’s tongue. The detective yelped as the blood in his tongue ran back into the right places, causing and intense throbbing that was even more painful than when the clothespin had been there. Until that moment, he’d never realised it was possible for your tongue to feel sore.

“Oww.” He said weakly.

John was looking at him with a stern expression.
“No more naughty words, understand?”

Sherlock squirmed at the doctor's choice of words, but hurriedly agreed.

“And the next time I hear you swear, you can go down and ask Mrs Hudson for a peg yourself.”

Sherlock’s blush deepened.

“Why can’t we just keep this one up here?”

John smiled. “Because that wouldn’t be as embarrassing for you. Speaking of which, you can run the tap over that peg and return it now.”

Sherlock bristled. “...what?”

John repeated himself, in the same casual manner as before, looking pleased at the detective’s shocked expression.

“B-but I’m....” Sherlock gestured at himself.

“Naked and hard?” John offered. “I know. Probably should have thought of that before you swore at me.”

The detective was close to another tantrum. “PLEASE don’t make me do this – haven’t you humiliated me enough for one day? I’m sorry I swore but my tongue really hurts and I won’t do it again.” Crawling over to John, he placed both hands on John’s chest, just as he had done earlier.

“Please. I will do anything not to do this right now.”

John raised his eyebrow.

“You can do it tomorrow if you like. But be sure to ask Mrs Hudson for a bar of soap whilst you’re down there.”

Sherlock glared. “Is it your greatest ambition in life to witness my embarrassment as often as possible, before I inevitably die of shame?”

“If you don’t like it, you should try harder not to be so naughty”

Sherlock growled.”Christ, don’t use that word, I can’t stand it!”

John smiled. “Yeah I noticed; I think I’m going to start using it more often. Off you go!”

The detective grabbed the horrible piece of plastic and ran down the stairs, bursting through Mrs Hudson’s door with the intent of flinging it at her. However, the room was Hudson-less. On the work-surface stood a folded piece of paper, with the submissive’s name written in a hurried scrawl on the front. Sherlock dropped the peg onto the counter and picked up the note.

It read:

Just leave it on the counter, dear.
- Mrs H.

Sherlock wandered back up the stairs, note in hand. As he entered the room, John gave him a knowing smile.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The submissive thrust the note at John’s chest and whined as he curled up on his lap.

“You didn’t tell me she wasn’t going to be there!”

Chapter Text

Sherlock was feeling deeply unsatisfied. Sitting in John’s lap, tongue still aching, and his arse glowing from the events which had occurred that morning, he was feeling all-too aware of how delicate the balance was between getting what he wanted, and getting nothing of the sort. He felt agitated at somehow having indirectly prevented his own orgasm, and embarrassed at how badly he had received his punishment.

And that had left him with an unhappy feeling at the pit of his stomach. He wanted to hear John tell him how good he was – he wanted to earn his moment of relief, and he could. All he had to do was ask.

John looked down at Sherlock with a smile. The detective seemed to be having an internal battle with himself, and the doctor could sense from the tensing of his submissive’s limbs that he was bracing himself to ask something. Sherlock closed his eyes for a brief second, before untangling himself from John’s warm arms and settling onto the cold wooden floorboards.

The familiar rush of blood to his face accompanied the usual attempts to force the words out of his mouth as Sherlock’s brain struggled against his natural born instinct to ask for what he needed.

“P-please will you punish me, Sir?”

“Yes, Sherlock, I will.” John said, smiling reassuringly as he noticed the apprehension begin to form in the detective’s eyes. “Go and sit in the corner for me.”

Sherlock did so immediately, crawling along the floor to the corner at the far right of the room, dreading how long he was going to have to sit there for. As soon as he was settled, eyes adjusting to the wallpaper, Sherlock felt the swirling thoughts at the back of him mind start to nudge their way forwards.
Focus on John, he thought. Just stay still and be good for John.

Behind him, the detective heard nothing but John’s breathing and shifting. He listened closely, and could hear the ticking of the doctor’s watch, the noise of the traffic outside, the bustling of passers-by as they made their way down the length of Baker Street. Sherlock listened as John got up, his footsteps wandering into the kitchen. The rustling of fabric suggested that as he walked, John was neatly rolling the sleeves of his shirt up until they settled in the middle of his biceps. The detective dared not look round – besides, he hardly needed to. He listened as John began opening the lower cupboards; checking the contents of each one before moving onto the next. Sherlock heard the castors of the drawer turning as it opened. There was the sound of a rolling object and a clunk as it hit the edge of the drawer. This was accompanied by a quiet mutter of triumph by John, who picked up the item and set it down on the counter, before resuming his rummaging. After about a minute of searching through various drawers, John opened the fridge, and there in the butter compartment, found what he was looking for, and brought the items back into the living room.

A candle and a box of matches, according to Sherlock’s deductions.

The matchbox slid open, the contents shifting around from the movement. A match was plucked from the top of the pile, cardboard rubbing against cardboard as its cover as it was closed. The hiss as the head of the match was scraped along the edge of the match, the ever so tiny pop as the friction set it alight. The gentle, momentary sizzle as the wick of the candle basked in the heat of the match, and was set alight also. The sound of John exhaling loudly to extinguish the match, the subtle smell of smoke rising up into the air. Footsteps.

John set the lit candle on the mantelpiece, just inches into Sherlock’s peripheral vision. From where the detective sat, the light seemed to hover just above the candle itself, as if suspended. The candle was thick in circumference, white, and scentless. John’s footsteps retreated back to the sofa. Sherlock waited, unable to move his eyes from the bright glow of the candle. He was nervous.

After a few minutes, Sherlock judging time based on the progress of the melting wax of the candle, he heard John’s voice from behind him.

“Sherlock, stand up and bring the candle over to me.”

The detective wobbled slightly as he stood, his legs feeling a little odd from kneeling so long. Picking up the candle with one hand, Sherlock turned and walked towards John slowly, ensuring not to spill any of the liquid wax that had formed in a pool around the flame.

As he approached, John held his hand out to take the candle, gesturing to the floor with his free arm to suggest Sherlock should sit. The submissive did so, frowning delicately. He watched in fascination as John outstretched his free arm. The arm holding the candle was raised, high, so there were a couple of feet between one arm and the other. The candle was tipped, slowly and gently, until the molten wax slipped from the candle and fell onto the inside of John’s outstretched wrist. The doctor then set the candle down on the floor, away from harm’s reach, and waited, arm still outstretched.

“I have to check it’s safe.” John said, in response to Sherlock’s expression, which had gone through the stages of confusion, realisation and then more confusion in less than three seconds.

Sherlock looked up at him in shock. “And is it?”

John smiled. “Perfectly. Look.”

The doctor sat forward a little and peeled the drying wax from his wrist, revealing slightly pink, but otherwise unharmed flesh beneath it. Sherlock stared at the little mark for a while, before asking:

“Did it hurt?”

“You’re about to find out. On all fours facing the mantelpiece, please.”

Sherlock obeyed, hearing John slide off the sofa and kneel behind him. The detective was sweating, and a little shaky, but reassured that if nothing else, he was safe. And besides, John had barely reacted to it so surely –

“Ah!” Sherlock gasped as the first drip of wax onto his exposed back took him by surprise. The splash of the hot liquid landing was incredible, and sent tingles of shock all the way up the detective’s spine. The flesh where the wax landed initially felt incredibly hot and sensitive, and he felt like all his nerves were on edge. He half wanted to get the fluid that was slowly solidifying on his skin off as quickly as possible, but there was something about the heat’s slow subsiding that made his cock swell.

“Is it okay?” John asked. The doctor was already half-hard watching Sherlock reaction, gasping and wriggling as the wax landed on his flawless skin. But burning his submissive was definitely not on his list of priorities; the detective would not thank him for first-degree burns.

“Y-yes, sir” Sherlock managed to stammer, but no sooner had the words left his mouth than he felt more wax make contact with his skin, lower down this time, dribbling down his lower back. He gasped and wriggled, a moan escaping his lips as hot wax slid down over his arse and just about reached the tops of his thighs. Unconsciously pushing back, he was rewarded with the feel of John’s hard cock pressing against the inside of his jeans, the bulge settling between his creamy thighs momentarily, before the doctor used his free hand to grab his submissive’s hip, pushing him back into position.

Sherlock moaned at the loss of friction, but a particularly large splash of hot wax dripping right across the width of his arse stopped any further complaints. It was a strange sensation to feel some wet wax dribbling along and across his body, while other parts of his flesh were stiff and tight from the cold and hardened wax that had been fluid only moments ago. The detective squirmed and moaned loudly as some of the molten liquid was spilled onto his sensitive shoulder blades.

“Mmm, thank you...” the words barely registering in his head before they escaped from his lips. A sharp smack to his arse was followed by a hand in his hair, pulling his head back.

“Thank you, what?” John growled, his tone gravelly and harsh. He pushed his hips in between Sherlock’s thighs, the heat from the detective’s arse and his gasps of shock and delight making the doctor’s erect cock ache with need.

“T-thank you, Sir” Sherlock panted, pushing back into the front of John’s jeans, desperate for contact with the warm and firm denim.

“Good boy. Look at you squirming all over the place, you want more?”

Sherlock deduced from John’s tone that the only correct answer was the one he gave:

“Mmm, please sir!”

“Turn over for me.”

The detective did so, the wax on his skin feeling odd against the wood as his back made contact with the floor. The flesh underneath the wax was starting to feel incredibly sensitive, and it definitely hurt – but in a wonderfully good way. John used his free hand to spread Sherlock’s thighs wider, and warned him to keep as still as possible.

Surprisingly, watching the wax fall from the candle and onto his skin didn’t actually make it any less of a shock, and Sherlock still felt a jolting sensation run all the way up his spine. The wax landed perfectly onto his left nipple, and he yelped as the sensitive pink bud was engulfed by the hot, white wax of the candle. He couldn’t help but squirm as his skin became a little too sensitive, the wax feeling uncomfortably hot for those couple of seconds before it cooled into a nicer heat. But if John noticed, he didn’t mention it. He was groaning under his breath at every noise that escaped from Sherlock’s mouth, and his eyes were dark with lust, his pupils blown out.

The submissive whimpered as John hovered the candle teasingly a couple of feet above his right nipple.

“Beg for it, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s hands clenched at his sides involuntarily, and he blushed furiously.

“Please” he whispered, mouth dry. “Please, I want this – I need this, Sir.”

John growled, and gripped the inside of Sherlock’s thigh with his free hand as he let the candle wax splash over his submissive’s hard nipple. The detective whimpered noisily, but stopped almost immediately when he noticed John leaning to his side to place the candle at a safe distance. The indignant pleas not to stop were just forming on Sherlock’s lips when a sharp slap connected with the sensitive inside of his thigh.

“Ow!” Sherlock moaned, the sting contrastingly oddly with the uncomfortable heat of the wax drying on his nipples. John’s hand rained down all along the tender insides of both his thighs, pink hand marks showing up immediately on every part of the sensitive flesh. Sherlock bucked and squirmed at this sudden onslaught, his cock remaining full and thick despite some of the strikes landing a little too close for comfort. The sting was starting to put him over the edge, making the detective intensely worried about asking to come; it hadn’t exactly worked out in his favour earlier on.

When John stopped, they were both panting with exertion, and Sherlock had closed his eyes in what looked like an attempt to regain some control over his body. John’s erection was pushing painfully against his jeans, and he wanted nothing more than to have his release right there and then. But Sherlock’s needs would always come before his own.

Sherlock opened his eyes as he felt John’s weight shift, and watched as he retrieved the candle. He watched as the doctor’s arm hovered along Sherlock’s body until he settled, about three feet above the detective’s pink and stinging thighs.
“Oh God” Sherlock gasped, covering his face with his hands. “I-“

John ran his free hand lightly over Sherlock’s abused thigh, who in turn tried to writhe away.

“Hands away from your face, Sherlock. I want you to watch.”

His submissive complied.

John stroked a line along Sherlock’s thigh. “Sensitive?”

He nodded, breathing deeply. “Very, Sir-“


The detective whimpered, his hands clenched at his sides as John tipped the candle at a snail’s pace, dragging the moment out until Sherlock just wanted to scream at him to get it over with.

Finally, Sherlock felt the splash of hot liquid on his raw and sensitive thighs. The heat was infuriating, and he writhed and squirmed under John’s lustful gaze, moaning in pain as the wax dribbled along his thighs and frighteningly close to his cock. He felt the pressure of John’s free hand gripping his hip to stop his movement, and he stilled as much as he could.
John waited until Sherlock wasn’t moving quite as much before drizzling the hot wax along his other thigh. Blowing out the flame, John didn’t even wait for the wax to start drying before he began stroking along the length of Sherlock hard and thick shaft.

His submissive was a complete state of emotions.

“Uh!” he moaned as he felt the gentle contact of John’s fingertips along his cock. “Oh please please let me come, Sir?”

“Do you really think you deserve it?” John teased.

“I’ve been good, please!”

“But you were so badly behaved this morning....”

Sherlock was almost sobbing, his hands in his hair and his eyes squeezed shut with the effort of trying to think of anything that would stop him from coming before he was allowed.

“Oh God, please!” he whimpered. “I’m sorry I was naughty but I want to come so badly, please Sir, I want it so much”

John almost laughed at Sherlock’s word choice, but decided he’d been on the edge for far too long.

“Come for me, then.”

Relief was momentary for Sherlock, before John’s hand pumping up and down his cock, and the sting of his thighs and the sticky heat of the wax and the doctor’s predatory stare overwhelmed him. His whole body shook as his orgasm took hold, and the familiar white blankness crossed his mind for several seconds, making him completely oblivious to John.

John wrenched his belt out of his jeans, unzipped his fly and pulling out his thick and aching cock, which he began pumping with his own shaking, sweating hand. He watched as Sherlock’s orgasm took hold; seeing the man’s beautiful body writhe in its release pushed him almost over the edge.

Whilst Sherlock was still revelling in the aftermath of his orgasm, John pulled him into a kneeling position with a growl. Standing up, he grabbed the back of his submissive’s head and ordered him to open his mouth. Seeing the detective staring up at him, looking so gorgeously filthy and sated was enough for John, and he came right into Sherlock’s open and waiting mouth.
Once the white space had left his eyes and he could see again, John tucked his spent cock back into his jeans, and collapsed onto the sofa, breathing deeply. Head in his hands, he took a few moments just to organise his thoughts, before looking at Sherlock. The detective was frowning at the bitter taste in his mouth, and panting heavily, eyes closed. Most of the wax was still attached to him in various places, but parts were peeling off from the sweat and movement. His stomach was covered in his own come, and his hair was damp with sweat. He looked exactly as John thought he should – blissfully used.

“How are you feeling?”

Sherlock glanced at him through half-closed eyes.

“Good....but absolutely disgusting.”

John chuckled. “Good. In that case, now’s the perfect moment for you to finish your corner time.”

The detective eyes flew open, and he simply stared at the doctor for a few seconds.

John couldn’t stay serious for long. “..I’m joking, Sherlock.”

Sherlock let out a sigh of pure relief, smiling despite himself.

“That is not funny.”

Chapter Text

Oww!" Sherlock stamped his foot on the floor indignantly as the searing pain flamed up in an angry red strike across the backs of his thighs. His arms were in danger of caving in to the weight of his upper body as he leant on them to support himself when the force of the cane's strike drove him up onto the tips of his toes.

John tutted disapprovingly. "That's not the reply I was looking for, so I guess we're starting again."

Sherlock head hung between his shoulder-blades as he growled through gritted teeth, every muscle in his body tense from trying to stay in position. He was seriously regretting asking for another punishment just days after the last one – but he was desperate to get them out the way, so they would stop playing on his mind. They were a heavy burden that made him feel guilty whenever John was being particularly playful with him.

Sadly, John was not in a playful mood. Sherlock heard the swish of the cane fly through the air, but it somehow still came as a shock when the wood connected with the crease where the tops of his thighs met the curve of his arse. He yelled out in pain:

"Argh! One, thankyousirmayIhaveanother?"

The next strike landed a couple of centimetres above the last, John meticulously aiming each strike slightly further up than the last to ensure a nice, even coverage.

The burning sting of the stripe make Sherlock's entire body shudder, and the room felt too warm and incredibly uncomfortable. His legs were shaking with the effort of trying to hold him up, and he couldn't see through the tears forming in front of his eyes.

"Oww, Christ, two! Thankyousir – m-may I have another?"

Again, the swish of the cane was followed swiftly by the searing sting of pain that felt like it was cutting right through his flesh. He hated how uncomfortable the wood of the cane felt against his soft and supple skin, and how concentrated the area the cane covered was. The leather of the riding crop had stung and left little red marks in its wake – but Sherlock could feel the marks for the cane raising up into distinguished welts that he knew were going to make sitting down uncomfortable for several days.

"OW! Three. Thankyou sir. May I. Have. Another?" Sherlock spat the words out, each syllable laced with spite and resentment. It did not go unnoticed by the doctor.

"Watch your tone, or we'll start again."

The detective growled in contempt, but said nothing else.

"You asked me to punish you, Sherlock" John reminded him. "You should be grateful to me. Or at least pretend to be."

Rage flared up immediately inside the submissive, and despite being perfectly aware of the dangers of arguing, especially in his rather sensitive position, he simply couldn't hold his tongue.

"Grateful?" he spat, the two syllables laced with incredulity. "I would love to see you try and take this, and see how grateful you act. It's an interesting part of the dynamic that you and your kind never suffer any great pains, isn't it?"

John stopped. For a couple of seconds there was no noise but the heavy panting of the detective, who was refusing to look at the doctor and seemed to be trying to glare a hole through the coffee table. When John spoke, his voice was the kind of even and calculated that made Sherlock incredibly nervous.

"Stand up and face me, please." Sherlock did so, but as he faced John his anger melted away, and was replaced by unease. John's eyes were cold and stern, and without a word, he held the cane out for the detective to hold. He took it, a look of confusion in his eyes, but said nothing.

John began to undress. He stepped out of his shoes, and took off his socks, folding them as he did so. His shirt was unbuttoned and folded with the same precision as the socks. When the doctor starting sliding his belt out of the loopholes in his jeans, Sherlock became a little bit panicky, but the belt simply joined the pile. It was only when he undid the button on his jeans that John broke the silence.

"I don't need physical discipline, Sherlock, because my mind works in a different way to yours. Whether you like it or not, you subconsciously seek forgiveness and approval through physical means of submission." Unzipping his fly and slowly stepping out of his jeans, John continued to lecture a very worried looking Sherlock.

"I'm patient with you. I'm fair to you and I never, ever, take advantage of you. That's what is expected of me." John was now slowly folding his jeans into a neat pile, place them on top of the shirt and socks. Sherlock was blushing with embarrassment and shame, but couldn't help realising that this was the first time he'd actually seen John without a shirt or jeans. He was more tanned that the detective, and his body was shorter and broader. The muscles in his arms and chest were well defined, and it seemed to Sherlock that even the doctor's body seemed more dominant than his own. He tried to keep eye contact as John's thumbs slid into the waistband of his underwear, but it was incredibly distracting.

"Obedience, respect and gratitude is what is expected of you. And clearly, you're incapable of all three. I'm going to show you exactly how to behave, just this once." John slid his boxers down over his thighs, his shins, over his feet – and threw them on the pile. He looked steadily at Sherlock.

"And you will never question my authority again." The tone of his voice seemed the make the entire room a lot colder than it had been before, as if a chill had swept through the usually slightly too warm room.

The doctor pulled his submissive to one side, and bent over the coffee table, spreading his legs to a shoulder-width apart and placing his hands on the glass, his elbows locked straight. Looking through the glass he said simply:

"Six of your best, please."

Chapter Text

The detective simply stood there, still blushing furiously and completely out of his depth. He would have assumed this to be a joke, a test of some kind... but John looked deadly serious. A strange, uncomfortable feeling was swirling at the pit of his stomach as he just looked at the doctor's perfectly still body, waiting for him to dish out the punishment he'd been in the middle of receiving.

He stared at the cane in his hand, and then back at John. The submissive felt like John was deliberately showing him up, like the doctor believed that he was capable of playing both parts, and Sherlock was capable of playing none. The detective felt a sort of swelling in his chest as his competitive instincts and anger flared up inside him.

Show me how to behave will you, he thought as he planted his feet a little more firmly on the floor, We'll see about that.

Taking aim, Sherlock raised his arm and brought the cane down with significant force onto John's bare flesh, barely noticing the doctor's calm but long intake of breath. Just as with the detective, the force of the blow brought the doctor up onto his toes, but as he took the strike, he exhaled evenly.

"One, thank you Sir, may I have another?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth and landed another strike, this time mentally acknowledging the inhale of breath a few seconds before the stripe landed. John's exhalation hissed through his teeth, but in the same, even tone he counted again:

"Two, thank you Sir, may I have another?"

The detective felt something like irritation sweep through him. He wanted John to break, just to justify his own reaction to the punishment to himself.

His third stripe was even harder, and the bright red mark bloomed almost immediately across John's arse. Sherlock didn't have the doctor's incredible knack for precision, so the welts criss-crossed wonkily across each other. The marks were raised and angry, and yet John's tone was still perfectly sincere.

"Three, thank you Sir, may I have another?"

John inhaled carefully, and exhaled steadily when the fourth strike landed. Of course, it hurt like hell. It felt horribly wrong, and every fibre in his body was telling him that this wasn't his place, and he should get his submissive under control NOW. A searing pain ripped across the tops of his thighs as Sherlock's aim accidently went a bit lower than previously. He could tell from the declining lack in accuracy of the strikes that Sherlock was getting angry at the lack of reaction, and that satisfied him a little.

"Four, thank you Sir, may I have another?" he asked, and heard a quiet growl of irritation from the detective.

As the strike landed, John exhaled as before, and repositioned his sweating hands on the glass slightly, but made no other movement.

"Five, thank you Sir, may I have another?"

He wasn't any more tolerant of pain than Sherlock, it was simply that he was in no way emotionally attached to what was happening. John understood it that, when Sherlock was punished he went through a whole spectrum of emotions, all at the same time. Denial that he needs punishment, resentment towards John for causing him pain, anger at himself for allowing it, embarrassed to know that he needs it, guilty for having done something that deserves punishment, anxiety about how much it might hurt, relief at being dominated, confusion as to why he was relieved, not to mention the constant surge of processing information that he was trying to suppress. The detective went through more emotions during a punishment than most people do in an entire week. Therefore his sometimes rather sensitive reactions were a consequence for how vulnerable he felt about needing someone; needing discipline.

The final strike landed, the searing pain making John's voice wobbled a bit as he exhaled.

"Six. Thank you, Sir." He said, straightening up to look at Sherlock. The detective was out of breath from exertion, and his blush was still prominent on his cheekbones. His eyes were glistening as he stood awkwardly in front of John, just staring at the cane in his hand as if he'd never seen it before. He looked completely lost, and horribly out of place.

John let him stand there silently whilst he re-dressed, aware of the fact that Sherlock in his 'enthusiasm' had probably seriously bruised him. Sliding his shoes back on, and buttoning the last holes on his shirt, the doctor straightened up and faced his submissive.

Stepping closer, John simply stated two words, command laced in every syllable.

"Never. Again."

His voice dry and cracking from trying to hold back tears, his submissive whispered his compliance. When John held out his hand for Sherlock to give him the cane, it was with relief that the detective returned it to him. It had come with so much power that he had no desire for. Before that moment, he had always had longed for the control which he so resentfully relinquished to others. But the weight of that cane had been heavy, made worse by the fact that Sherlock knew John had done nothing to deserve what he got, and still acted better than he ever had. He felt incredibly sick and unwell, guilt building up inside him with every second that passed.

"I'm sorry."

"I know. Over the table now, please."

Tears spilled down Sherlock's face, and panic started setting in. Usually, when he apologised or admitted being wrong to John, the strange tangle of emotions went away, almost immediately. But John's cold, detached tone was scaring him.

"-Please... please, I am sorry – tell me you forgive me?"

The doctor seemed to be struggling against every instinct that told him to hold Sherlock close and tell him everything was ok. Instead, he pointed towards the table.

"Don't make me wait."

The detective flinched like he'd been slapped round the face, and bent over the glass table, his silent tears dripping onto the transparent surface. He so used to John's constant reassurance, explanations and guidance; always spoken to, rather than spoken at. He was terrified at the thought he might have lost it all.

"Six strikes. Count each one and thank me." John ordered. There was a slight pause as he watched the tears drip onto the table. Sherlock's posture was tense and rigid, and his fingers were curled into half-fists. The doctor lost all his ability to act detached at this point – and automatically placed his free hand on the small of his submissive's back.

"If you tense up, it's going to hurt more" he said, rubbing his thumb lightly in small, soothing circles over Sherlock's skin, feeling the muscles jump as the detective tried to relax.

The room was quiet as John waited, as he had done almost every day since they met. He waited to feel that moment where Sherlock would bring his guard down – the moment when John felt like it was okay to carry on. The relaxing of his shoulders, the loosening of the muscles in his arms and legs, the slower and gentler rise and fall of his ribcage; that was Sherlock's consent.

John took a step away from his submissive, in order to get the right angle. But, for some reason unbeknown even to himself, he couldn't let himself move his free hand away from Sherlock's back. Planting his feet, he said: "Ready", rather to himself than to the detective, and landed the first strike.

Sherlock cried harder as the cane struck across his already marked backside. Gasping for breath through his tears, he began:

"One" – and was surprised to hear that the word not only came from his mouth, but also from John, who was also looking vaguely confused at himself. Sherlock quickly finished the rest of his sentence, unaccompanied, and made some effort to stop crying. But as the next strike landed, Sherlock found himself sobbing just as much as before.

"Two" they said together, before Sherlock managed to sob out his thank-you's. As the next two strikes landed, the same pattern repeated with John counting off each strike alongside his submissive. The detective felt like the doctor wanted to get them over with as much as he did – like he was somehow affected by each strike he gave out. As the fifth stripe landed, Sherlock yelped, and flung back his hand to grasp the palm that was still lying firmly on his back. John threaded their fingers together and held his hand tight.

"Five" they said, before Sherlock added a shaky "T-thank you Sir, m-may I have another?"

As the final strike landed, and they uttered the final number; Sherlock heard the clatter of the cane fall on the floor and John pulling him up, and towards the sofa. Half-blind through the constant barrage of tears that were still falling, the submissive somehow ended up on the doctor's lap, shaking and repeating apologies over and over again.

John just held him. One hand in his dark curls and the other rubbing circles on his back, his own throat feeling closed up and dry as he let Sherlock cry into his shoulder.

"It's okay," he said thickly "You're forgiven, it's over now."

Sherlock was finding it hard to string a sentence together.

"I-I didn't mean to make you so angry, I was just, I didn't know it would, what I'd always – I suppose I've always assumed this to be a waiting game."

The doctor frowned. "Waiting for what?"

The detective looked up at him, his face pink and tear-stained.

"Waiting for the moment when you realised I'm a lost cause."

John stared at him with wide eyes, dazed. Before he could let this sink in enough to form a reply, Sherlock continued:

"There is something wrong with me, I'm .. I'm a freak. I can't – I can't allow myself to depend on anyone... in case they give up and go away. If you expect nothing of anyone, you're never disappointed. So, I try to do things right for the most part – but by refusing to trust them, you, it makes everything harder."

The detective turned to look at John properly, swallowing hard as he forced the words out.

"But now it's too late – and I've become...complacent. I realised earlier that I've let my guard down, I've ended up... needing you. I...I need you, John."

The doctor held Sherlock's head in his hands, looking at him with eyes filled with anger and bewilderment.

"What have they done to you?" John stopped speaking as his anger overcame him. Anger at men who didn't know how to care for someone who was scared of what they were. Men who made Sherlock feel even more out of place than he already did, men shouldn't have been allowed to even look at Sherlock, let alone touch him. When he thought of what might have happened... it made John's skin crawl.

The doctor swallowed thickly. "You're not the lost cause in this, they are. And it's never going to happen again, I promise. I'm not going anywhere."

A silent tear rolled down Sherlock's face as he stared back at John. He took one of the doctor's hands away from his face and held it in his own, and closed his eyes as John leaned forward and gently kissed him, pulling him closer. As their lips parted, John brushed a strand of hair out of Sherlock's face.

"My beautiful boy."

Chapter Text

Sherlock counted the passing seconds by the ticking of John's watch, hidden beneath his flannel shirt. He could feel the pulse in his temple, and the beating of his heart in his ribcage. As he breathed in gently through his nose he could feel his chest expand to accommodate the pressure of his filled lungs. The detective could feel the muscles in his thighs tense and relax, and knew the knuckles in his long toes has gone white from being pushed against the floorboards of the Baker Street flat. He could hear John's steady breathing, and feel that warm and unflinching gaze drinking in the sight before him.

All these things he could sense, and yet he could not see.

There was no blindfold; it was by Sherlock's own will that he banned himself from watching what was in front of him. The doctor had walked in moments ago, and demanded Sherlock close his eyes. As he did so, the detective had felt the ever-so subtle tingles of panic creeping up into his stomach, up his ribcage, squeezing around his chest and grasping at his throat. John had put him in a corner before, and thereby limited his ability to see. But this was different. This was a complete surrender of his most heightened ability; his powers of observation.

Submerged in his attempts to keep calm, the detective had neglected his other senses, and flinched as he felt a hand touch his face lightly.

"It's okay," John's voice soothed, as his hand stroked delicately along Sherlock's cheekbones. "It's alright - just try to relax for me".

Sherlock tried. He was overreacting, he thought to himself, breathing shakily in and out. It seemed ridiculous that he was so highly strung about having his eyes closed – especially as that was his natural reaction whenever he was particularly aroused. The muscles in his shoulders jumped and the air around him seemed to become thick and hot as he wound himself up, internally berating his own idiocy.

The hand grasped him firmly under his chin, and John's voice had changed to one of gentle warning.

"Calm." The doctor said simply, frowning to himself as he concentrated on the tense lines of the detective's body. He'd known Sherlock wasn't going to like this exercise, but he needed to help him finally let go and allow someone else to take control. For some people, a command such as this would be average; uninteresting. For Sherlock, it was a battle of wills.

"Good boy..." the doctor continued, as the detective's breathing slowed a little. He released Sherlock's chin and slowly traced a gentle line down his submissive's slender neck, his fingertips kissing the detective's flawless skin with no real intent. "Beautiful, aren't you?"

A small smile snagged on the corner of Sherlock lips at these words, and he allowed John's voice to wash over him, concentrating on the light touches on his skin, and feeling of John's eyes on him. The hand brushed along Sherlock's chest, and he felt the doctor lean in and place a kiss in the gap between his collarbone and his shoulder blade. The sensation of lips on his warm skin made the detective shiver, and it took a lot of strength not to grab John and kiss him over and over.

The doctor's curious hand continued its descent down Sherlock's body, pausing to trace circles around the detective's hard, pink nipples. He smiled at his submissive's intake of breath, and his automatic reaction of leaning ever-so slightly towards the doctor's touch.

"Don't move." the doctor teased, trapping one raised nipple between his thumb and index finger and pinching. Sherlock moaned lightly under his breath.

"Mmm, sorry Sir."

John laughed, placing his other hand on Sherlock's thigh.

"Christ, aren't you well-behaved today?"

The detective smiled briefly, allowing the praise to wash over him and settle in his stomach. But his expression soon changed as a hand slide up and down his inner-thigh. His mouth opened slightly as quick fingers teased the sensitive flesh with feathery touches, and he tensed his muscles in an attempt not to spread his legs wider. Now that his inhibitions had faded, John's touches were becoming more arousing, and Sherlock had no issue with being as good as gold as long as such treatment continued.

The doctor, witnessing the slow blush creeping into Sherlock's cheeks, the slight hardening of his cock, his open mouth wet with anticipation, was relieved to see the detective relax under his instruction.

"Tell me what you feel, right at this moment" John said, pressing his fingers deeper into the flesh of Sherlock's thigh with one hand, whilst the still toyed with the detective's hard and rosy nipples.

The command clearly threw Sherlock off completely, and the blush in his cheeks definitely changed from arousal to awkwardness as he struggled for words.

"Warm, Sir?" he said, frowning slightly and trying to ignore the embarrassment flaring up inside him.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" John teased, before licking a wet strip across Sherlock's sensitive nipple, and then tugging at the reddening flesh.

Sherlock moaned and forced himself to stay still.

"Telling you – I'm telling you, Sir. Warm and, and aroused and sensitive and a bit nervous."

"Why are you nervous?" the doctor asked, using both hands to spread Sherlock's legs further apart and sliding both hands along the detective's inner thighs – alternately caressing and pulling at the sensitive flesh.

Sherlock was panting now, his cock hard and full between his spread legs and his eyes squeezed shut with the effort of keeping his hips still.

"B-because it's hard to keep still, and I'm nervous that if I move, you'll punish me."

"I will." John growled, his own cock pushing against his jeans as Sherlock's lust-laced words tumbled from his wet, hot mouth. "And you don't want that, do you?"

"No, Sir, please don't!" Sherlock exclaimed, his breathing heavy as he kept incredibly still. His body was yearning to reach out and touch John, or thrust into the hands that were deliberately ignoring his hard and aching cock. He had thought that at some point he might grow used to being denied immediate release, but it was just as frustrating as it had been the first time.

"Do as you're told and I won't have to." John said plainly. "Let's try and take your mind off moving, shall we? Let's see...tell me why you love being spanked so much."

Sherlock visibly cringed, and moaned unhappily.

John's hands pinched hard at the skin just centimetres away from Sherlock's throbbing cock, and the detective whined indignantly.

"Ow! Uhh, b-because it's intimate and I l-like feeling you underneath me. I like how you talk to me and when you make me count..."

Sherlock stopped at this point as thoughts of John's hands landing stinging marks across his pink and squirming arse threatened to send him over the edge. The doctor noticed.

"Keep going, and don't you dare come without permission" he ordered, all-too aware that the harsh tone of his voice would drive Sherlock even further towards the edge.

"Oh God – I, I love how it feels. The way it stings and turns sore, so I feel like your hands are still on me for hours afterwards. I suppose I love it because you have to concentrate on me, a-and because I know what my reactions do to you. I love being able to show you how much I enjoy your control over me..and...and I love how good it makes me feel."

"Good boy," John praised, but at the same time he removed his hands from Sherlock's body. Hearing his submissive talk about control struck a chord with the doctor.

"Open your eyes, and tell me what will make you enjoy my control over you more, Sherlock. I want you to feel that good as much as possible."

The detective's breathing slowed as he took this in. His initial frustration at the loss of contact had swept away as John's words sunk through his skull. The light in the apartment felt oddly bright as he opened his eyes, and it took a moment for Sherlock to readjust. Looking pensively at John, he considered every detail that he had collected over the weeks and weeks of their relationship. Sherlock thought about the first moment that the doctor had put the submissive in his place. He thought about the first moment they'd touched; he remembered vividly John's hand underneath his chin, forcing him to keep eye contact. He thought about John; the intensity and purpose with which he carried out every single task; his ever-interested gaze; his meticulous hands; his unyielding patience. And finally, Sherlock considered himself. He thought about how ashamed he'd been about his circumstance, how embarrassed he was to even ask for what he needed. He thought about those punishments that dragged on forever simply because of his constant failure to obey; all those occasions where he had suffered for longer than necessary because he couldn't accept that he was not in control. He thought about that horrible moment when John had thrust control upon him put him right in the doctor's shoes and made him do the exact thing he'd always thought he was born for. Thinking on this, was the moment when he came up with his answer for John.

"I don't want to ask to be punished anymore." he said cautiously. Sensing the doctor's exasperated reaction, the detective continued hurriedly –

"And not because it makes me uncomfortable. I think I've passed that stage. I don't want to have to ask because I want it as soon as I've earned it. I want you to reprimand me, and punish me as soon as I disobey you."

Sherlock was staring intently at John now, who was looking back at him with a furrowed brow, processing every word with deep concentration.

" Right now in fact, I'm all too aware that I still have one more punishment to go, and I just want it over and done with. And I don't want that control. I think I'd enjoy your control over me more, if I felt like it was real, rather than me asking for it."

There was a silence where the doctor sat back on his haunches and stared at Sherlock, as if trying to assess whether he was being genuine. But the detective looked incredibly serious, and John couldn't help but shake the feeling that his submissive was right. Turning over the options in his mind, he made a decision.

"Okay," he said finally. "I understand. In the future, you will have no choice over when I punish you, and I will punish you as instantly as I think is appropriate for the situation. Agreed?"

Sherlock smiled with relief and agreed.

John smiled back at him, and raked his finger through his submissive's hair.

"Let's get this last punishment over with then, shall we?"

Chapter Text

"Stay where you are." John commanded, standing up and turning towards the sofa, before kneeling down to open the bag he always brought with him. Its place by the side of the sofa had remained the same throughout all his visits. The high whine of the zip, metal against plastic, rang out in the quiet apartment, and the doctor plucked the item he needed from the depths of the bag, turning with it towards the detective to gauge his reaction.

Sherlock stared at the implement in John's hands for a moment. Roughly 16 inches long, the devise had a long black handle and attached to that was a long, thin triangle of thick plastic, bright red in colour. He could see that at the tip there were two gold-plated contacts protruding slightly, jutting out from where they seemed to loop back inside of the nose of the devise. Sherlock had seen this sort of thing before; designed and tested for safe, repeated use on anyone who was perhaps in need of disciplinary correction. However, despite knowing full well the uses for such a devise, the detective had never actually experienced it before, nor had he actually seen it be put to use. The bright red, accusing end of the toy was not doing much to reassure him that it would tickle.

John smiled as a look of recognition swept across Sherlock's features. It was a relief to know that at the very least, Sherlock knew what it was, and hadn't reacted adversely to it. Still, he had to be sure.

"Know what it is?" he asked, holding it out further in front of him, and watching with interest as Sherlock leaned back slightly to maintain the greatest amount of distance from the end of the toy.

"It's a static electricity administrator, Sir." Sherlock replied, attempting an air of indifferent knowledge, but finding it hard not to stare warily at the implement and its proximity in relation to him.

The doctor laughed. "Most people call it a 'zapper', but I think I prefer your terminology. Sounds a little more intimidating. Is it safe for me to use it?"

Sherlock nodded, his concentration still very much with the business end of the devise. At this point he was wishing very much that he had some kind of condition that would prevent him from being allowed to endure electric stimulation. Alas, no such luck. Noticing Sherlock's apprehension, John stooped to capture the detective's lips in a gentle, reassuring kiss. Sherlock's entire body relaxed and he sighed appreciatively at the warmth of the embrace, revelling in the firm but pleasurable pressure of John's lips against his own.

The doctor halted the kiss and pulled away, his free hand under Sherlock's chin as he looked down at his submissive, who had moaned quietly in discontent as their lips parted.

"This is about you doing as you're told, without hesitation. It's about knowing that you might not want what I give you, but trusting me enough to acknowledge that I'm giving you what you need."

John's fingers trailed up to Sherlock's face to stroke along his prominent cheekbone, his touch delicate against the detective's warm skin.

"I will never, ever harm you, Sherlock. Do you understand?"

The submissive assented, his eyes now fully preoccupied with staring at the lips that hovered just in front of him, parted and open as John spoke at a firm and steady pace. He wanted desperately to reach up and pull the doctor into him, to have those lips firmly planted against his.

John smiled. "Good." With that, the doctor walked over to the couch and sat, motioning with his free hand for Sherlock to crawl between the gap in his legs, as was his usual spot. Sitting between John's knees and staring up at him with a mixture of desire and apprehension, John thought of how many times before they'd sat exactly like this. He was sure he would never get tired of it.

Leaning forward, he kissed his boy just as he had done moments ago, whilst his free hand slid slowly round to the back of Sherlock's neck and up a little into his hair. The hand holding the implement moved carefully until his elbow was resting on his thigh, and the nose of the toy was inches from Sherlock's body, aimed roughly towards his middle.

He waited for the moment when he could feel the detective's lips part and his guard come down, where the space between his thighs widened and his breathing adjusted. It was at this moment that the doctor pressed his finger to the button on the side of the toy, and closed the gap between the gold contact and Sherlock's exposed flesh.

The detective yelped as the device made contact with his body. The electric shock shot through him for only a second before it was gone altogether, but combined with the loud cracking noise the implement made, and Sherlock complete shock at the moment it struck, it had huge impact. He immediately pulled away from John lips as soon as he felt the jolt through his body, and found he could do nothing but stare for a moment.

John waited for Sherlock to recover for a second before settling back into the cushions of the sofa.

"Come here, Sherlock. This time no matter what happens, I want you to keep kissing me. Understand?"

The detective nodded immediately, swallowing thickly. Ah. Here was the predicament, here was the lesson. The end of the toy was still pointed directly towards Sherlock's front. From the way John was now sitting, in order for Sherlock to kiss John, he would have to lean towards the very thing he wanted to avoid, in order to enjoy the pleasure of the doctor's lips on his.

Hesitantly, Sherlock kneeled up and leaned forwards, his hands trailing up the outsides of John's thighs. His whole body was tense; knowing the tip of the device must be centimetres away from him. And yet, he wanted to do as he was told, to please John. As he closed the gap between John's lips and his own, he tried to ignore everything that didn't involve kissing John. The doctor's tongue licked a hot wet line across Sherlock's bottom lip, kissing him with varying pressure, forcing him to relax and enjoy the moment before –


Sherlock yelped again as the contacts touched him, this time just below one of his nipples, and he momentarily cringed away from the kiss. As he hurriedly forced his body to resume the kiss, he realised that the noise of the toy actually far surpassed any pain incurred by its contact with his skin. It was the noise, and the sheer shock of not knowing when it was going to happen, that made it scary.

And John was so good at catching him out. As they kissed, the detective tried to sense where the doctor's hands were, to measure to proximity of the devise from his body. But John would wait, and leave it right to the moment when Sherlock's body would relax, where he thought that maybe it was over, before touching it to his submissive's sensitive flesh.


Sherlock cried out a mumbled some kind of muffled plea into John's lips as the implement sent a shock into his hip, but although the shock made him jump, he didn't pull away. The kiss shared between him and the doctor was becoming frantic, fuelled by Sherlock's desperation to ignore the thousands of impulses in his body that were telling him to get as far away from the implement and its owner as quickly as possible.

John growled in approval at Sherlock's gasping breaths, the way his hands were running up and down John's thighs in invisible patterns. His free hand sliding down his submissive's back, he applied enough pressure to encourage Sherlock off of the floor and onto his lap, closing his thighs slightly so the detective could wedge one of his legs in the space between John's thigh and the edge of the sofa. In this position, far more of Sherlock's incredible body was at the doctor's disposal.

Pressing down the button at the side of the devise, John tapped the gold contacts against Sherlock's chest, waist and thigh in quick succession, his cock throbbing as his submissive writhed on top of him, thrusting into John's lap as he moaned and whimpered incoherently between frenzied, messy kisses in an attempt to evade the unforgiving tip of the toy, without disobeying his instructions.

Sherlock's body was at war. John's biting, passionate kisses, the friction of his jeans against the detective's highly sensitised skin and the deep growls of arousal and possession that escaped from John's parted lips were turning Sherlock into a lusting, sweating mess. John's free, roaming hand was drinking in Sherlock's skin with its fingertips, caressing the spots of skin which the metal had just made contact with, before curling round the detective waist and pulling him closer, forcing him to spread his legs wider so that their hips ground together.

And yet, the jolting sensation of metal on skin, electricity coursing through his body momentarily, forcing him to cry out, to shock him in every sense, was almost unbearable. It forced him to choose obedience over every other impulse, took every inch of his submissive soul and wrung it out. His hair slick with sweat at the effort of ignoring the cries of his own body, and his hands clutched desperately at the front of John's shirt, as John's teeth teased at his swollen lips.

Suddenly, John was pushing at his chest, forcing them apart, where they sat panting for a second, staring back at each other.

"Good boy, Sherlock. We're almost done now."

Sherlock made no sound, but it was obvious from his shifting around that he wasn't happy that his contact with John's lips had been interrupted.

"I want you to watch." Sherlock's movements stopped immediately, and his gaze immediately fell to the toy still grasped in John's hand.

"I want you to watch," the doctor repeated. "And I want you to let it touch you. I don't want you to move. Can you do that?"

Sherlock looked from the toy and back at John. Actually watching the thing move towards him and letting it make contact was very different to suddenly feeling it through your body without any way for you to prevent it. But he wanted this punishment to be over as quickly as possible, and so the detective nodded tentatively.

John smiled at Sherlock's response and directed the tip slowly towards his submissive's nipple, watching his facial expression to gauge how it was affecting him. As the tip drew nearer to flesh, Sherlock frowned deeply, and began making a low whining sound of apprehension. When the nose of the device was millimetres away from Sherlock's skin, the detective instinctively cringed away from it, shaking his head feverishly.

"Sorry!" he said immediately, looking at John to discern how irritated he was. "I didn't mean to, I just-"

"Shh, don't speak," John interjected. "Just do as you're told. Don't. Move."

Again, the end of the toy moved slowly towards Sherlock's chest, inching further and further towards his skin at an agonising pace. The detective's lips were pressed into a thin line as he watched it moved towards his, his brain screaming at him to move.

The devise cracked loudly as it came into contact with his chest, and Sherlock yelled as the shock shot through his body. There were no lips on his to distract him, no biting or caressing to minimise the impact of the shock. It was raw, harsh, and made the detective yearn for John's hands to caress him, kiss him better.

"Good boy" John said with a smile. "You don't like this one, do you?"

Sherlock looked coyly through his lashes at the doctor, panting a little. Ignoring the devise in John's hand, he leant forwards so that their lips were tantalisingly close. Head tilted slightly to one side, he seemed to regard the doctor with curiosity.

"Some components are not so bad." He murmured quietly, his searching eyes wide with innocence as his hands played delicately with the fabric of John's jeans, tracing the outline of his belt buckle with an idly extended fingertip.

The doctor's free hand trailed along Sherlock's exposed thigh, grinning as the detective gasped gently at the touch. In his current position, the submissive looked a lot like a cat, purring appreciatively as he is stroked by his owner. This was big change from Sherlock's usual demeanour, which was often desperate or indifferent.

As Sherlock's hand came in particularly close proximity to John's crotch, the doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Are you trying to distract me, Sherlock?"

The detective looked at him with hurt in his eyes, brow furrowed, clearly displaying his outrage at such a cynical suggestion. But under the gaze of the doctor, his expression faltered, and he didn't manage to look away in time, before John spotted the small smile spread across his lips.

Alright, John thought to himself as he looked upon his eager submissive. I'll play along.

NOTE: Sorry about all the extra chapters and incorrect chapter numbers, sometimes doing admin on my phone gets confusing! I think I've fixed everything now.... <3

Chapter Text

Setting the toy down on the spare sofa cushion to his right, he used both hands to knead the flesh on the detective upper thighs, pulling the skin taut and forcing a moan of anticipation from Sherlock, who paused from his stroking.

"I think you're trying to tease me, aren't you?"

The detective shook his head, his hips thrusting upwards into the air as the pressure on his splayed thighs made his cock beg for contact. John raised an eyebrow, his thumbs sliding into the incredibly sensitive gaps just on the underside of Sherlock's pubic bone, and rubbing gentle circles onto his skin.

"Use words, Sherlock. Are you teasing me?"

John's warms hands were so close to his cock, rubbing maddening circles over his most sensitive skin and encouraging Sherlock to thrust upwards into thin air, rather than grind downwards into tangible denim.

"No, Sir. I think you're teasing me" Sherlock said a little breathlessly.

John hummed, as if considering this notion.

"Hmm, no, I don't think so. I think this would be teasing you –".

John's hands suddenly changed position, one capturing Sherlock's hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the other sliding round the detective's hips and rubbing a single digit across his entrance, the consequence for Sherlock being that he couldn't get enough pressure on both hands at the same time. The submissive moaned as his arousal increased, as John held him just off of what he really wanted.

"This is how I like you, Sherlock. Frustrated, desperate. You'd come from grinding thin air if I let you. Wouldn't you?"

Sherlock whimpered as John's growling voice sent shivers down his spine. He felt unabashed at his own blatant desperation, too hard to care, too close to do anything to make it stop.

"Oh God, yes Sir" he moaned as his forehead lolled against John's shoulder. "Please-"

"Mmm, such a good boy," The doctor praised "Tell me what you want, Sherlock."

The detective looked at John, his pupils blown out from arousal, his breaths short, sharp and panting. When he spoke, his voice was edged and needy.

"Please" he whispered. "I-I want you inside of me. I've waited so long..."

You and me both, John thought, holding back from coming at the mere suggestion of taking Sherlock for his own. He'd been careful, hadn't even mentioned the blatantly lacking aspect of their sexual relationship. He had wanted to hear it from Sherlock's lips first. And my God, that sound was delicious.

"Are you sure?"

Sherlock nodded, his breathing relative shallow as he looked at John with desperate eyes. Untangling himself from John's arms, he stood up, ignoring the shake in his legs as the doctor's scorching gaze drifted over his entire body. Holding out his hand, the detective cocked his head to one side, looking the picture of innocence. John wondered how it was possible for someone to change expressions so quickly.

Taking Sherlock's outstretched palm, John allowed himself to be led past the kitchen, and a little along the landing towards a door he had not yet been inside. Upon entering Sherlock's bedroom, which was surprisingly neat and orderly, the detective dropped John's hand and looked towards him, clearly awaiting instruction.

"Go and kneel on the bed, facing towards the bottom, and towards the edge." John stated calmly, watching as Sherlock complied, before moving to stand in front of him. The doctor ran a hand through his submissive's hair and smiled reassuringly.

"You're my beautiful boy, aren't you?"

Sherlock's "Yes, Sir" was whispered and a little breathless.

Leaning forward, John captured the detective's lips in a kiss that was firm but gentle. Only when he felt Sherlock lean into him with passion to equal his own, did he worry the submissive's bottom lip with his teeth, forcing a gasp from that delicate mouth that reminded John of just how hard he was.

Sherlock whimpered a little as John's lips left his, but his expression changed to that of rapt attention as he watch the doctor bend down to untie his shoelaces. Toeing the brogues off of his feet, John's undressing was just as meticulous as everything else about him. Sherlock's hadn't paid much attention to it the first time he'd seen the doctor's undress, but now watched with a keen gaze as John slowly unveiled his flesh to his audience. He took his time, but not to seduce, rather simply because everything was neater that way. He took out everything from his trouser pockets and placed them carefully on top of his shirt, before rolling his jeans down and deftly stepping out of them. Unlike Sherlock, who when in rare moment he had been wearing clothes to undress from, had torn his clothes off and flung them hurriedly on the floor, Dr Watson was the perfect example of a man completely at his own ease, and entirely in control.

Naked, John stepped towards Sherlock and kissed him with a bruising force, pushing him down onto him back and further up the bed as he did so. Moaning with each breath, the detective's skin felt incredibly sensitive as John's body moved against his, tanned and strong. He gasped as John's lips moved down to his neck, sucking and biting on the flesh, leaving small bruises, marks of possession, on his marble skin. Soon, there was a trail of these bites following John's lips all the way down to Sherlock's shamelessly spread thighs. John licked at a spot of skin right on the inside of the detective's thigh, smiling as his submissive writhed and moaned desperately, his hands fisting into the sheets beneath him. John bit down, gently, and Sherlock stilled immediately, his moans dying in his throat as the sound caught in his chest. John kissed the mark he'd left with a smile of satisfaction.

"Good boy. On your hands and knees for me."

John took delight in watching how eagerly Sherlock rolled over, resting on his shins and placing his elbows into the surface of the duvet so his back arched deliciously. Feeling the doctor's hand trail up the back of his thigh, he couldn't help but press back into the contact and was rewarded with the sound of an amused chuckle from behind him, and a curious hand sliding over his hip and stroking teasingly with his cock. John's hips were pressed against him now, and Sherlock could feel the doctor's hard cock resting between his cheeks, unconsciously rutting against him.

The detective whined as John leaned down and pressed kissing across his shoulder blades, pausing every so often to bite and suck a love bite onto his favourite places, working his way down in the same fashion as he had on Sherlock's front. When he reached the base of his boy's thigh, John pushed him forward slightly, pressing a warning hand to the back of Sherlock's neck as a note to keep his face buried in the covers, and his arse well-presented. Sitting back onto his knees, he removed the teasing hand from Sherlock cock, and spread the detective's arse cheeks, licking a long wet line across the submissive's entrance with his tongue.

Sherlock gasped into the covers, his fingers clenching even into the blankets as John licked circles around his entrance, stiffening his tongue and pushing firmly inside, forcing the detective to relax his muscles.

"Sir!" Sherlock exclaimed, that being just about the only coherent word he was able to articulate. Moaning and squealing alternately as John's tongue lapped and coaxed inside of him, Sherlock found himself thrusting into the covers beneath him in a desperate bid for friction.

John stopped immediately, grabbing the base of Sherlock's cock with one hand, and slipping the other through his submissive's hair, gripping tightly. Pulling him up until the detective's back was pressed against his chest, John's lips were just centimetres from Sherlock's ear.

"I thought you'd know better than to rut into the bedsheets like a teenager."

Sherlock whimpered as John's growling voice radiated over his body, his tone gravelly with arousal.

"S-sorry Sir, please...please don't stop."

John's hair fisted in the detective's hair tighter, the sound of the submissive's desperate and needy voice making his cock throb.

"Do it again, and I'll come all over your pretty arse. I'll get mine – and you'll get nothing. Understood?"

Sherlock assented quickly, shivering at the harshness of John's tone. But then the doctor was kissing his neck again, releasing the detective's hard cock and pushing two fingers into his mouth. Sherlock moaned around them, sucking on them as he felt John's hard cock on his back. Lapping at them with his eager tongue until they were slick and warm in his mouth, Sherlock moaned as the fingers were removed, and he was gently pushed back onto all fours.

A warm, slick finger pushed against his wet hole and slid inside, all the way to the knuckle before pulling back out, and straight back in. Sherlock gasped as a second finger joined, stretching him a little wider and curling inside of him, scissoring tantalisingly.

"Uhh, thank you Sir" he mewled into the bedcovers as John's fingers slid easily in and out of him, preparing him gently and carefully. "Please..."

John's eyes were dark with desire and the tip of his cock was leaking a little with pre-come. When he was sure Sherlock was wide enough to take his cock with a little burning, but no damage, he slid his fingers out and positioned his cock by his submissive's open hole.

"Stay still, Sherlock, good boy". He felt the detective pause and relax beneath him, and pressed himself inside, slowly and very gently. He'd decided against using lube in favour of intimate and lengthy preparation, but was obviously aware that it was definitely going to burn a little as he entered. And that's exactly what he wanted.

Sherlock moaned loudly as he felt John push inside of him, stretching him a little wider with a delicious burning sensation that the detective knew would remain for quite some time after, an intimate reminder of John's possession over him. When John was flush up against him, Sherlock heard the man groan with pleasure.

"Good boy, Sherlock, you're so good for me." As if to accentuate this point, he leant over Sherlock's arched back and kissed him on the nape of his neck, send a shiver of electric down the detective's back. Grasping Sherlock's hips, John pulled slowly out until the head of his cock was balanced in the rings of muscle, before pushing back in, firmly but still a little cautiously.

"Oh God, more Sir, please-" No sooner had these desperate words left Sherlock's mouth, than he felt the doctor's cock sliding out and then thrusting straight back into him, his hips against the detective's arse and pulling out again before Sherlock had time to comprehend how it felt.

Building momentum, John growled as moans and whines of blissful pleasure escaped Sherlock's lips in the spaces between gasps for breath. His hips slamming straight into Sherlock's arse with a bruising force, his cock felt so deliciously good inside the detective's tight and wanting hole. The second his hips pulled away he could feel Sherlock trying to push back against him, and it brought him so much closer to the edge.

"I wish you could see how gorgeous you look." John muttered breathlessly, his hips grinding right into his submissive, his hands spreading Sherlock's cheeks apart.

"Uh! Please, let me come, sir – I need to..." Sherlock pleaded desperately, sweat trickling down his back with the effort not to grind down into the mattress.

Panting heavily, John felt himself getting nearer to release as his submissive squirmed underneath him, writhing with pleasure and clearly trying to do anything but disobey him.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

Sherlock's whole body shuddered as he muffled a cry into the bed sheets.

"Please! I want to come with you inside me, Sir I'll do anything please-"His words were thick with need and muddled together as they tripped over his tongue, his whole body tense with effort and his eyes squeezed shut, his shoulders shaking as John dragged the moment out until it was almost unbearable.

"Come for me, then."

As the doctor slammed into him, his cock nudging mercilessly at his prostate, Sherlock's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his breath caught in his chest. He came with an impressive force, white blankness falling over his eyes and mind, and for a few seconds, he was completely still and silent.

For John, the convulsions of Sherlock's body beneath him, the dishevelled and depraved state of his sweating and shaking body was more than enough to send him over the edge. Leaning over Sherlock, he pressed his palms into the bed to stop himself from crushing the man beneath him. Finding his submissive fingers fisted in the sheets, he lay his hands over the top of Sherlock's and closed his eyes as he rode out his orgasm, groaning as he came inside his submissive.

It was a while before either of them moved, both men waiting for their breathing to stabilise, the room to come back into view and get the feeling back into their limbs. John's breath tickled down Sherlock's spine, and the detective felt the doctor gently pull out of him. Caressing Sherlock's shoulders in soothing circles, John waited a few moments before turning his submissive over onto his back, kissing his gently on the mouth and stroking the hair from his face.

"Are you alright?" John asked, concernedly.

Sherlock nodded, his eyes flickering open. Arching upwards, he kissed the doctor tentatively, nervous he might be reprimanded for acting out of turn. But John kissed him back, his hands sliding around Sherlock's ribs to support his back, pulling him closer. If you could be taken care of with a kiss, then that was the kind of embrace they shared. It was slow, and gentle, as if John was worried if he kissed harder, his boy might shatter. The doctor only left Sherlock for moments, as he stripped the duvet of its sated cover, before returning to lay down with the detective curled against his chest.

Sherlock couldn't quite look John in the eye as he spoke.

"Thank you. It's – it's never happened to me that way's never felt like I was supposed to enjoy it."

John carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair, kissing his curls and trying not to let the swirl of anger in his stomach rise up to his throat.

"It's for you as much as it is for me, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded absently at these words, a blank happiness washing over him as he was held in John's arms, whose breathing was now getting slower and deeper. Looking sleepily at his firm and gentle doctor, Sherlock thought it might be time for John to stay at Baker Street, on a more permanent basis.

NOTE: Thank you to Chocolateandcheese, who inspired this chapter.

Chapter Text

Sherlock sighed, and folded his arms. One of his legs was bobbing up and down with impatience, and if looks could kill, Lestrade would have been on a slab in the morgue. Sherlock watched the small amount of saliva building up in the corner of the inspector's mouth as he continued addressing the other man, wittering on about something so obnoxiously pointless that each word seemed to bounce off the detective's skull.

Lestrade paused, and slumped back in his chair. "Look, Sherlock. As part of the police department team, you have to take part in the health and safety lectures. Everyone who sets foot in these offices has to be aware of the guidelines".

Sherlock rolled his eyes "I'm not on your team, Lestrade, I'm a private detective- remember?"

Lestrade nodded. "Yeah but you still keep turning up here, upsetting the receptionist and moving people's paperwork around, so you still have to be present. Security's getting tighter, and we don't want someone suing us for tripping over a bloody laptop cable or something".

Sherlock snorted "Why are you even telling me this? I'm clearly being forced to go whether I like it or not"

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. "Because you don't want to be there, so you're going to be a git until you get asked to leave. You'll interrupt and irritate everyone with your texting and comment loudly about how stupid everyone is for the whole two hours."

Sherlock smirked.

"So" Greg continued, "I made a phone call this morning. And someone has kindly offered to help keep you out of trouble."

Lestrade grinned as Sherlock's smirk faded, and he nodded towards the wall behind the detective. There, through the glass and open blinds, chatting and laughing pleasantly with the previously offended receptionist, was John Watson.

Sherlock turned back towards Lestrade, trying desperately to maintain an expression of neutrality.


The inspector laughed and stood up, gesturing towards the door. "Oh indeed."

Sherlock swept out of Lestrade's office, and made a beeline for John. As he reached his side, Sherlock cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "The conference room is free?"

John nodded smiled warmly at the receptionist, followed his submissive into the conference room, shutting the door behind him and checking all the blinds were down.

"Why are you here?!" Sherlock snapped, whirling round to confront the smaller man.

John frowned, and gestured in the vague direction of the adjacent office. "Inspector Lestrade rang me and said he wanted me to be here to, uh, assist you."

The detective was indignant. "I don't need someone following me around making sure I behave myself!"

John snorted and folded his arms. "Well from what Lestrade said on the phone, it sounds like you do."

The detective rolled his eyes again. "I have better things to be doing than-"

"You think I don't?" John said impatiently. "Look, let's agree to get this lecture over and done with without infuriating everyone, and then we, or I, can go home. All you need to do is sit by me and say nothing for a few hours, and that'll be it."

Sherlock frowned. "I'm sorry, did you just say 'Sit by you'?"

John blinked. "Yes...?"

The detective eyes widened. "No. If you think for one second I'm kneeling on the floor BY you-"

John looked at him, bewildered. "Sherlock, I-"

"No!" The detective shouted, heat rising through his chest, his eyes gleaming with fury. "I'm the intellectual superior of everyone who has ever stepped foot in these offices, how dare you insult me by using a fact of my birth that's beyond my control, to humiliate me in front of people who are already less than accommodating to my position. I won't do it. You know I would have thought you were above this sort of thing, the way you act- "

"Sherlock!" John ground out every letter of the word in a deep growl. John never really raised his voice, so it threw the detective off his rant for a few seconds, and he paused to stare at the doctor.

Breathing steadily, John closed his eyes briefly, the picture of controlled fury.

"I never, ever expected you to kneel. This is your place of work, and you were right when you said I am above that sort of thing. The fact that you assumed that's what I meant, which I didn't, concerns me. And your temper concerns me even more."

Sherlock's breathing had slowed down a bit, and he was looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"To clarify, I meant sit by me, as in sit beside me or next to me. I had no intention of playing those kinds of power games with you here; I had assumed that there was no need to exert my authority over you when we're in public, because you know your place is and I know mine. Was I wrong?"

Sherlock did not hesitate. "No," he replied, looking a little ashamed. "You weren't. I just-"

"Assumed." John finished, his features clouding over as the word rolled off his tongue.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said quietly, approaching John slowly until they were only a few feet apart.

"... This job is my life. I had to do a lot of fighting to be taken seriously by the force, and I'm ridiculed enough without having to be publically controlled by someone else."

The doctor sighed and pulled Sherlock towards him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Kissing him gently on the cheek, John felt himself calm and return to normal.

"I know you'll never put our relationship above your work. Trust me when I say that I understand what you need, and I'm not in this to try and play mind games with you about your worth. Understand?"

Sherlock nodded, pressing John closer to him and ignoring the man's vague attempts to move away.

John laughed shortly. "Come on, we have to go to this thing. It starts in about 15 minutes and I don't want to be late."

The detective trailed a hand down John's back, licking his lower lip as he cocked his head to one side. He looked at John with blazing eyes, the smallest hint of a calculating smile on his lips.

"It's going to be irrelevant – pointless, tedious... especially for you."

He watched as John paused from trying to peel him away, and looked at him, as if trying to judge how much of Sherlock's performance he should believe.

"Because as much as you want to help me, and do the right thing" Sherlock continued, his voice low and hushed as he almost whispered in the doctor's ear, their bodies pressed up against one another so that it was easy for the detective to gently press into John's hip.

"..I know deep down, all you want right now is to have me at home and on all fours, begging for you".

The purr of Sherlock's voice was doing terrible things to the doctor. His resolve was slipping and his willpower fading. Because Sherlock was so horribly right. Swallowing thickly, John began to say something, but as the words were rising in his throat, the detective's lips were right by his ear again.

"You want me on the floor, moaning and squirming because that's what you've done to me. You like me when I misbehave just a little, don't you? When I'm supposed to stay still and silent but I can't control myself... you love to make me sorry."

As Sherlock's hard cock ground into him, the doctor growled and pushed him up against the wall, grateful that the blinds were down. He bit down on Sherlock's lip, drawing from him a whimper of surprise as John kissed him forcefully, his hand suddenly caressing the outline of the detective's cock through his trousers. John's other hand snaked round to squeeze his arse, kneading the flesh so that Sherlock gasped at the roughness of his touch.

Now it was John's turn.

"You think I don't know your game, Sherlock?" he growled, abruptly turning Sherlock round so that his front want pressed into the wall. John pushed his hips right against the detective's arse as he spoke, aware of how his cock must feel so hard and hot, acknowledging how wantonly Sherlock was pushing back into him.

"You're so desperate to get your way, aren't you, you little brat? Do you want Sir to make his bad boy come, Sherlock? Is that what you're after?"

John's tone was so patronising it made Sherlock squirm with a perverse mixture of embarrassment and delight.

"Oh, please, Sir!" he panted, his cock flush against wall as John pressed into him, reminding him of how skilled the doctor was at making him ache with desires that he'd never experienced before.

"Then listen carefully to me." John's voice sent a sudden chill through the air, his tone so deeply controlled and even that it forced Sherlock to stand completely still, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He suddenly felt extremely nervous.

His forehead rested on the wall in front of him as he felt John's lips speak just centimetres from his ear.

"In a moment," the voice said gently. "You're going to tidy yourself up a little, and we're going to go to this lecture, arriving just on time, as it happens. You're going to behave. You're going to be civil." John kissed the detective's ear as his hands slowly slipped away from Sherlock's body.

"..And you're going to stay hard the whole time."

Chapter Text

"...When you are no longer in need of the electrical appliance, be sure to switch it off at the power source before removing it from the wall..."

It took considerable willpower for Sherlock to stop himself from getting up and loudly leaving the conference room at this point. It was at this moment that he deeply wished he wasn't able to retain multiple pieces of information at the same time, so he could have successfully ignored to tedium of the health and safety lecture altogether. He was acutely aware that he wasn't the only agitated person in the room. Everyone in the department was crammed into a space with too many chairs and not enough oxygen. The room was hot and the air was thick from lack of ventilation, because there wasn't enough room for anyone to get up turn off the heating. Plus, the lecturer was so passionately involved in giving his speech, Sherlock speculated any sudden movement from his audience may have led to a minor heart attack.

Sherlock was aware of everything. The heat that was radiating from his long coat, the perfume of the women behind him, the brand of hair gel the man in front of him had used. He knew the women three seats along had been crying only a few hours ago, and that the woman sitting three rows ahead of her had been the cause.

And yet beneath layers of clothing, Sherlock's cock strained against his trousers. Because the true captivator of his attention, were the pictures and memories he was conjuring up of John on him, over him, inside him. The faint smell of perspiration in the air did wonders for his sensory memory, the scent reminding him of John's sharp and deep thrusts inside him, the hitching of his breath as he raised the riding crop to strike the detective again and again. He recalled that chastising tone that sent shivers down his spine each time heard it, how that voice seemed to tease his skin until he felt sensitive all over.

He looked down to where John's hand rested casually on his lower thigh; gentle, innocent, but a subtle reminder to be on his best behaviour. Suddenly, John's palm slid upwards just a fraction, and squeezed with tantalising pressure. When Sherlock looked at him, the doctor's gaze was with the speaker at the front, but the smile on his lips betrayed his intentions.

The pressure was perfect. It reminded the detective of how John would knead and play with his arse after a spanking, simultaneously taking away the sting and leaving a throbbing sensation that made Sherlock whimper. It reminded him of John's hand pressing into the small of his back as they kissed, encouraging Sherlock to grind against him. It reminded him of just how steady the doctor's hands were, how they could change from gentle and meticulous to forceful and rough in a matter of seconds.

John's fingers clenched harder, and Sherlock squirmed in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider to try and make himself more comfortable. This certainly caught the doctor's attention, whose gaze went straight to Sherlock's lap and then to his face. The detective's cheeks were flushed; his eyes were glazed and not really looking at anything in particular. His teeth were biting agitatedly at his lower lip, and John could feel how tense Sherlock's leg was beneath his fingers, as if the submissive was trying desperately not to writhe around enough to receive any unwanted attention.

Subtly, John slid his hand the tiniest bit higher, and let his index finger which hung just on the inside of Sherlock's thigh, rub firm circles into the fabric.

The doctor smirked as Sherlock suddenly sat up a bit straighter. The detective closed his legs and immediately spread them again, so the woman next to him glanced at him, interrupted from her bored stupor. But Sherlock wasn't paying any attention to her. He was thinking about how unfair John was for doing this to him, that it was bordering on cruel that he should be expected to sit there and not make a sound whilst the doctor teased him with touches that triggered him all-too active imagination.

How could he not think about straddling John's lap, naked, as the doctor explored his body with his fingertips, giving him the sort of attention that turned him on so much? The way the doctor's eyes never left him, were constantly focused on his submissive with an intensity that made his admiration obvious. In his mind, the detective recalled John telling him that he was such a good boy, so gorgeous and special, smiling as Sherlock squirmed with delight at being told that he was exactly everything John wanted. He thought of how John's jeans felt so rough against his skin, how good it felt to grind down into John's lap and hear the doctor growl in appreciation. John got turned on just looking at him; got aroused purely from Sherlock's arousal. And Sherlock loved every second.

The doctor was thoroughly distracted. He watched as Sherlock's glazed eyes fluttered shut, his teeth bit down harder on his lip and his hands clenched at the sides of his chair. Clearly, he was doing just as John had commanded, but the doctor hadn't realised just how incredible Sherlock looked when his imagination got the better of him. John knew the detective was sensitive to touch, but his subtle caresses had brought back memories and fantasies that had Sherlock hooking his feet around the legs on his chair, trying desperately not to make a single sound that would give him away. He looked an absolute mess, his legs twitching involuntarily every so often, and his breathing erratic and abnormal. Thankfully, everyone was too stupefied by boredom to notice anything out of the ordinary. John supposed that if they had spotted Sherlock's behaviour, they'd simply assume him to be agitated at being forced to attend the lecture.

So it was only John who got to enjoy the real truth behind the Sherlock's actions. And of course, knowing that the detective was so uncomfortably hard at John's request, the doctor was also in a state of heated arousal. Fortunately for him, no-one was stroking and squeezing his thigh.

Sherlock was now fully submerged in his own fantasies, his mind only just clinging onto the fact that he was in a room full of people. He pictured how angry John would be if he didn't behave, and this brought him back into reality for a few seconds...but then his thoughts drifted to the punishments John would no longer use in serious cases, because Sherlock enjoyed them too much. It was slightly frustrating to know that John would now never consider spanking a real punishment unless it involved things that Sherlock didn't enjoy, like corner-time and not being allowed to move, or come for that matter. He'd even threatened to spank Sherlock in public if he misbehaved, a notion which the submissive felt absolutely mortified by. But now the detective was craving being put over John's knee, desperate to have that feeling of being the absolute centre of the doctor's attention as he was playfully chastised, soundly spanked and kissed better. He loved hearing John tell him how good he looked squirming around in his lap, eager for the next strike the second the last had landed. Christ, he wanted so much to have John pounding his reddened arse, to be taken by the doctor who would always leave it to the last minute to let him come. He'd have to plead and beg for it, and it always made it so much more delicious when he was finally permitted orgasm. He'd feel John's cum slick inside him, his own covering the bed sheet beneath him and he'd feel so perfectly dirty and used – tired and damp with sweat, his arse bruised and sore, and his back aching from arching it...

His mouth open, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut as he felt himself almost on the brink of orgasm. He felt John remove his hand from his leg; the doctor obviously knew he was close. The detective was supposed to stay hard but he didn't have permission to come, and certainly wasn't going to get it. Focusing his mind, Sherlock searched his mind for anything that would help him stave off orgasm. The drone of the health and safety speaker came back into the forefront of his mind, and he found himself just about able to reign himself in, still painfully hard, but controllably so.

"...Thank you for listening, if you have any questions I'll hang back a little as you leave and I'll be happy to answer them for you."

Sherlock said a silent hallelujah to himself as he heard those words, clapping along with everyone else, his leg bobbing up and down impatiently as he waited for people to begin filing out. As Lestrade told them they were free to go, the detective was one of the first out the door, waiting in the much cooler corridor for John, who took forever in leaving.

Finally, John appeared in the corridor, laughing and chatting with Lestrade, who was looking particularly pleased with himself. Sherlock noted how John's smile was a little tight, his laugh a little impatient. It was a relief to know that John wanted to be home as much as he did.

"Was that so bad, Sherlock?" Greg asked jovially, patting John on the back as he did so.

"It's possibly one of the most frustrating experiences of my life." Sherlock commented dryly, catching John's eye and holding back from begging him for sex right there in the corridor.

"Well, you're both free to go now. And John –" Lestrade added as he began walking towards his office. "-keep in touch, mate. We could do with having you around."

John smiled graciously, but the detective noted the strain in his voice as he spoke "Thanks, Inspector."

Turning towards Sherlock, his tone was rather more heated.

"Let's get you home. "

The doctor began walking purposefully towards the exit, nodding at the receptionist as he passed. He was so close to bending Sherlock over any surface available and claiming him in front of his colleagues that it almost frightened him. He needed to get home, and have his submissive naked and begging as soon as physically possible.

Sherlock kept up with his pace, but was unable to keep quiet as they stepped out onto the busy pavements of London.

"I did it." he said plainly, and John immediately understood him, stopping to look at him with wide, dilated pupils. Pulling the detective closer so they could hear each other well enough, John replied in a tone so gravelly it almost made Sherlock come on the spot.

"I know. You were so good for me, Sherlock. And when we get home, I'll do anything you want me to, as long as it concludes in me coming inside of you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Oh God, yes." the detective whimpered under his breath. He'd never seen John so desperate before.


Walking to the edge of the pavement, John was just raising his hand to hail a cab, when a shout came from a few feet away.

"John! John Watson!"

The doctor looked round, his expression one of suppressed anger, and then one of shock. A well-dressed man approached him, carrying loosely in his left hand a leash, which was attached to the collar of a petite blonde woman, who stood expressionlessly next to him. Sherlock walked to John's side, where the doctor immediately took his hand, tightly.

"Doug Simmons...haven't seen you in ages."

Sherlock, despite his desire to ignore this man and go home, noted there was an incredible change in John's voice. It was a tone he hadn't heard before; unease. It made him nervous.

"I know! Let's chat, there's a nice cafe round the corner." The man's voice was harsh and demanding, so obnoxiously loud that when he spoke, several people glanced round to see what the fuss was about. It set Sherlock's teeth on edge, and made him want to jump into the next taxi he saw, empty or otherwise.

John was looking slightly stunned, and his grip on Sherlock's hand tightened. "Right now..?"

"Obviously!" Doug laughed, but it sounded more like a bark. Sherlock hated this man already.

"We'll get these two introduced".

He emphasised this by nodding in Sherlock's general direction, and tugging on the leash in his hand, making the girl it was attached to jolt forwards. The detective watched John wince as the blonde regained her composure.

It was obvious this man was not inviting them to join him, but ordering them to. Even Sherlock could see they had little choice but to accept.

John cleared his throat and attempted a rather thin smile.

"...Lead the way, then."

Doug grinned in triumph, and immediately began walking through the crowd, his submissive tottering along behind him. John kept Sherlock very close to him as they walked.

"I'm so sorry. We'll leave as soon as we can, and then I promise I'll make it up to you...just..." John broke off here to sigh nervously.

"Don't speak to him, don't make eye contact with him. Do not get angry. And please, Sherlock, please don't let him upset you. "

John's tone was imploring, and Sherlock nodded, curious to find out why John was so worried. As they reached the cafe, they saw Doug and his submissive had already taken a seat in one of the booths. John paused at the entrance, took a deep breath and then stepped inside, still clutching tightly to Sherlock's hand.

Chapter Text

Sherlock hated cafes like this one. Designed specifically for Doms to meet and show off their submissives, the booths were big enough for four people, but only contained enough actual seating and table space for two. Thus, Sherlock found himself kneeling opposite the petite woman on the leash, in a cafe reserved for exactly the type of people he wanted to avoid.

John didn't look as if he was faring much better, shifting awkwardly in his seat at Doug spoke loudly at him about how his latest promotion had given him free choice over a number of Subs in the area, and that he was thinking of opening up his own Training House.

"Only had this one two weeks. She's still a lazy little bitch, but we'll get there in the end, won't we, sweetheart? "

Sherlock watched the sub opposite him for a reaction. She gave none; simply replying immediately with a robotic "Yes Sir" that made the detective's skin crawl. He dreaded to think of what marks and scars she must have beneath her tight, black dress. He knew that some people loved to be treated that way, but in that case the sub's eyes were usually dark with lust, with intense determination to please. The blonde's eyes were frighteningly blank.

This girl, Sherlock determined, had clearly not paid for his services herself. More likely, she had a boyfriend or fiancé, who wanted her trained up before they tied the knot – without putting in the effort himself. Training centres were a profitable industry, and were also an option Sherlock had taken into consideration before meeting John. Looking at the girl in front of him, he felt more relieved than ever that the doctor had found him before it had come to that.

Suddenly, he felt John's hand in his hair, stroking him gently. Sherlock was sitting far closer to his Dom than the girl was, and he used his proximity to comfort himself, tilting his head so it rested on the doctor's knee, one hand curled around John's ankle. If John was disapproving of Sherlock's affection, he did nothing to stop it. Rather, it seemed to keep him calm.

"What's her name, Doug?" the doctor asked curiously. Sherlock knew by John's glances towards the girl that he was trying to check her over for any sign of immediate damage, but her long sleeved dress revealed nothing.

"It varies," Doug laughed, pausing to allow a waiter dressed in black to set down a cup coffee on the short table. "Mostly I try not to refer to her as anything".

John flashed a pained smile, his teeth gritted as he held back the anger he felt. Doug had a reputation for being a little too heavy handed with his submissives, and he'd been cautioned more than a few times, for perversions of submissive safety. It seemed nothing had changed.

Doug picked up his coffee and took a sip, glancing down at Sherlock as he did so.

Sherlock could feel the man staring at him, and so concentrated on the shiny brown leather of John's shoes. Recently polished it seemed; old army habits die hard. John's fingers carded carefully through his hair, tucking a stray curl behind his ear and smiling as the detective turned his head slightly, to try and guide John's hand towards his favourite spots.

" Where'd you get him from anyway" Doug remarked in distaste. "Tell me someone's paying you."

Sherlock blushed deeply, the hand around John's ankle clenching tightly. The doctor continued to stroke through his hair, although for a moment his grip was a little tighter, as if warning the detective not to rise to Doug's bait. This man wanted him to show John up, and Sherlock would not indulge him.

"Money has never interested me, as you're well aware" John said pointedly. Sherlock frowned at the implied meaning behind this phrase, and watched out the corner of his eye as Doug shifted slightly in his chair, and snorted in derision.

"My offer still stands." The man stated, taking another sip of his coffee. "We need more people like you – you know, for the slightly more delicate clients"

"Of course." John replied, his tone flat, disinterested.

Doug was still staring at Sherlock, as if silently daring him to return the gaze. The detective kept his eyes on the floor.

"Girly looking thing, isn't he?" Doug remarked. Leaning forward, he clicked his fingers right in Sherlock's face. "What's your name, princess?"

Sherlock recoiled immediately, fury rising in his chest. It had been a while since he'd been treated like that. Before the detective could properly react, John was guiding his head away from Doug's snapping fingers, allowing him to bury his head in the side of the doctor's jeans.

"Don't treat him like he's one of yours, mate. He's mine." John's tone was powerfully possessive, and Sherlock felt slightly better at knowing that the doctor had no intention of allowing this man anywhere near him. The derogative pet name rang in Sherlock's ears as he sat there, making him seethe with silent anger.

Doug raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Sorry, sorry" he said, sounding in no way apologetic. "But can you blame me?"

He set his coffee back down on the saucer before continuing.

"He's so easily shocked by me. It's adorable."

John raised an eyebrow, keeping his tone conversational as he replied:

"It must be nice to witness a genuine reaction... makes a change, I would guess."

Doug glanced at his own submissive as John said this. The doctor felt incredibly uneasy about the tension between the couple; his resentment, her fear. It had been clear to John for years that his 'friend' demanded the impossible from the people he was so exuberantly paid to dominate. Doug desired immaculate obedience, but he also wanted someone to hit. Therefore, he ended up with petrified submissives who would be beaten entirely at random for breaking rules that Doug would make up as he went along. He was desperate to get a reaction from someone whom he'd trained to keep silent.

John's words had clearly got under Doug's skin, as the man cleared his throat, plucked a five-pound note from his pocket and clamped it between his cup and saucer with an air of finality.

"Everything has its downsides, John" Doug said dismissively, standing up and waiting impatiently for his submissive to follow suit. "Besides, I'd take cash over fleeting affection any day."

The doctor stood, and held out a hand to Sherlock, who took it gratefully. Their intertwined fingers locked firmly round each other, and John squeezed the detective's hand gently, a gesture of silent comfort.

"It was good to catch up, Doug" the doctor said flatly "I'm sure we'll speak again soon."

"I'll make sure of it." The man said with a wink, before turning to Sherlock. "Stay good, princess."

The detective's retort was just falling off his tongue, when he felt John's guiding hand on his lower back, leading him towards the exit. John stepped out onto the pavement like a man freed from a long prison sentence, and hailed a passing taxi, opening the door for his submissive.

Slamming the door shut behind him, John looked out the window to see Doug leaving the cafe with his submissive in tow. He looked absolutely furious, and was tugging on her leash even more violently than previously. She practically ran to keep up with him, her head bowed. She was in trouble.

John sighed dejectedly, and looked towards Sherlock, who the perfect picture of a man enraged.

"PRINCESS?! That cretin, how dare he... I never want to see that man again! EVER. And in what universe did you think keeping in touch would be a good way to end that heinous conversation?!"

"You won't have to see him again, I promise." John said soothing, gently rubbing Sherlock's thigh in a gesture of comfort. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, but once he's decided something...there wasn't a lot I could do. You did so well, thank you for putting up with it."

Sherlock seemed to calm down a little at John's words, and curled up next to him, his head leaning on the doctor's shoulder. Home had never seemed so inviting.

"Baker Street, please" he said shakily to the driver. "221B."

Chapter Text

The taxi ride home was in no way a calming influence on Sherlock's mood. According to his rather loud opinion, the driver hadn't chosen the fastest route, and the roads were teeming with so much traffic, that the detective became more irritable by the second.

"Here's something I'd like to know" Sherlock said, suddenly rounding on John. "What did you mean earlier when you said your hideous friend must be aware that you're not interested in money?"

The doctor had been waiting for this question, so his reply was concise and unfaltering.

"Doug has spent a long time trying to convince me to work for the same organisation as him. My potential salary increases each time. Each time, I systematically refuse."

"Why?" Sherlock demanded. "You're not exactly wealthy."

"My army pension may not be worth much, but at least it allows me to maintain my integrity." John said firmly. "I'm not comfortable with training submissives with no emotional attachment."

This still failed to satisfy Sherlock's curiosity.

"How do you even know him? From the cut of his suit and his dirty fingernails, it's unlikely you move in the same circles."

"He was a medical student in the same class as me. He dropped out after the second year, but kept in touch."

"That's lucky, he has useless hands for it anyway..." Sherlock remarked. "He's awful John, why do you associate yourself with him?"

"I don't." John said shortly. "But he has a certain relentlessness about him that makes it difficult to say no. And besides, I might not agree with his methods, but he technically isn't doing anything illegal..."

"But he's an absolute bastard!"

Sherlock's temper was rising again, and the taxi driver glanced at them nervously through his rear-view mirror. "How dare he patronise me like that, I'm far more intellectually advanced than that APE of a man-" But the detective's rant was cut off by John pulling him onto his lap, one hand firmly supporting his back, the other warningly placed on the back of his neck.

"Enough." The doctor said softly, his tone silencing Sherlock immediately. "I know he was patronising, I know he upset you and I know you're angry. But you need to control your temper, because I also know that you don't want me to punish you when we get home. Do you?"

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "No, Sir..."

"You've been such a good boy for me, so patient and well-behaved." John said quietly, the hand on Sherlock's back running gently up and down the detective's spine. "You want me to make sure you get everything you've earned today, don't you?"

Sherlock nodded, his pupils dilating slightly. The anger drained from him almost completely; he was reassured that the pains he had gone through to remain polite would be rewarded. He was excited to find out what John had in store for him, and that was enough to turn his mood from unpleasant to bashfully playful. He fiddled with one of the buttons on the doctor's shirt, and leant forward until his lips were almost touching John's.

"Yes, Sir."

John smiled. "Good." he replied, "Kiss me."

Sherlock licked him lips and grinned, his gaze flickering from John's mouth to his eyes and back again. His arms slid slowly around John's shoulders, his hands meeting and clasping in the middle.

"" He said cheekily, his voice low and laughing as John feigned anger, but couldn't stop himself from returning Sherlock's grin.

"What do you mean, no?!" His tone one of mock-horror, the doctor couldn't help but laugh as the detective giggled at the reaction he'd caused. "Come here!"

The taxi driver, witness to all this, looked into his rear-view mirror to find Sherlock straddling John's lap and giggling uncontrollably as he tried to avoid the kisses the doctor was covering his face in. It wasn't until the taxi came to a rather sudden halt and Sherlock almost fell backwards off of John's lap that the couple seemed to remember where they were.

"Baker Street." The driver said awkwardly, though there was a small smile playing on his lips. The laughter of the two men was almost infectious.

The doctor patted Sherlock's thigh gently.

"Wait for me upstairs."

His laughter subsided to make room for the arousal that was slowly growing in the pit of his stomach as Sherlock flung the taxi door open and bolted across the pavement and in the flat.

Leaving the door open behind him, Sherlock was up the stairs and prowling the floorboards of 221B's living room before John had managed to extract his wallet from his back pocket. His apology to the driver was waved off with a laugh, although the doctor noticed he had no qualms in taking John's rather generous tip.

John took his time in following his submissive up the stairs, closing the door gently behind him and carefully hanging up his coat in the hallway. Sherlock's coat was strewn lazily across the banister at the bottom of the stairs, which John dutifully took and put with his own. The house was silent except for the creak of floorboards as John climbed the stairs in an almost lazy fashion.

Sherlock was sitting on the top stair waiting for him, tapping his finger impatiently on the floor.

"I've been good as gold all day; do you have to torment me further?" The detective said, his palms flat against the floor as John leant over him, muffling his complaints with possessive kisses that Sherlock received gratefully.

"I don't have to," the doctor mused between kisses. "You're just so much fun to frustrate..."

Sherlock moaned against John's lips indignantly, but his hips thrusted upwards to meet the doctor's, and his hand clenched and pulled at the front of John's shirt. A firm hand caught him under the chin and forced him to turn his head, as John licked a long, wet line down the detective's neck. Sherlock gasped as his damp skin was bitten and sucked on, leaving reddish-purple marks on his pale neck. Sherlock's shirt was so ill-fitting that John decided there was little use for it, and wrenched it open with considerable force. Tearing fabric and the gentle clattering of buttons were sounds that seemed so scandalously loud on the hollow landing of 221B, so much so that both men paused for a moment to glance down at the doctor's handiwork.

John spread the split fabric wider, running a curious hand over the newly exposed skin, his touch sending shivers across Sherlock's chest. Smiling, the doctor leant down and bit a mark into the dip right between Sherlock's neck and collarbone, revelling in the moan he drew from his submissive as he did so.

"I'm afraid I've ruined it beyond repair," John said conversationally, clenching the fabric between his fists and using it to pull Sherlock up and towards him. "So it seems silly you're still wearing it, really."

Sherlock's hands were scrabbling for support on the landing beneath him as John held him off of the floor. One of the detective's legs was hooked around the back of John's thigh, and his hips were pressed against the doctor, his hard cock bulging underneath expensive fabric.

John's other arm wrapped itself around Sherlock's waist, helping to pull him into standing. Once upright, the doctor was kissing him with raw desire, while his hands calmly peeled the useless garment off. Clutching it with one hand, John used the other to turn Sherlock around and prod him in the general direction of his own room.

The detective needed no encouragement, although encouragement did arrive; in the form of a couple of well-aimed swats to his arse courtesy of the man behind him. Once inside his room, Sherlock immediately turned back to John and slid his arms around his neck, desperate for more biting, commanding kisses. The doctor did not disappoint, discarding the shirt in his hands onto the bedroom floor, and strategically moving Sherlock towards and then onto his bed without breaking contact. John left a trail of alternately biting and licking kisses all the way down Sherlock's front, enjoying how easily he could bite his ownership into the other man's supple, alabaster flesh.

The detective watched as John undid his belt for him, sliding it out of the loops before dropping it onto the floor. John's hands played with the fabric covering Sherlock's crotch, pressing down and caressing at the hard cock beneath so that his submissive pushed his hips up into him.

"Oh, please Sir" Sherlock murmured softly. "Please..."

John grinned, his hand fiddling with Sherlock's fly momentarily, before his hands left the detective's crotch altogether, and moved to take off his submissive's shoes.

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh despite his desperation, his head falling back onto the mattress. Thankfully, John was obviously becoming a bit desperate himself. Sherlock was naked within a minute, and within another the doctor had joined him, their clothes and shoes in a neat pile at the edge of the bed.

John pushed his submissive's legs wide apart, and licked and bit the insides of his thighs, growling as Sherlock squirmed and moaned under his touch. Turning the detective over, he commanded him to get onto his knees and spread his legs as wide as he could.

A sharp smack landed on Sherlock's arse when he was comfortably positioned, and the detective emitted a low, desperate moan. Pushing back into John's hand, he squirmed beneath the doctor 's touch.

"Mmm, please, Sir, harder..."

John growled at the pitiful wanting in Sherlock's voice, and spanked him thoroughly, leaving bright pink hand marks right across supple skin that got warmer with every strike that landed. The detective made no attempt at self preservation, and was thrusting his hips uselessly into thin air, his hands tangled and fisted in the sheets and he bit into his own arm in an attempt not to whine too loudly.

"No, Sherlock." John chastised, pulling the detective's head back by his hair, growling into his ear.

"I want to hear you. Loud. Are you shy all of a sudden? "

This was followed with a resounding spank to Sherlock's arse, so hard that it pushed him forward a little, and made him more desperate for contact. He was feeling sore and hot, his breathing heavy. His skin was glistening with sweat, and seemed to glow with arousal.

"I'm not shy, Sir." he panted, moaning as another smack thrusted him forwards, John's breathing down his neck sending tingles down his spine. "I'm just trying to control myself."

John growled, the hand in Sherlock's hair tightening. His hand was stinging, so he slid his fingers between Sherlock's thighs and caressed tantalisingly along the length of the detective's achingly hard cock. His submissive whined at the touch and rutted into John's palm, his senses almost overcome at the desperate emotions that were pulsing through him. He'd been hard and needy for most of the day, and now that he was finally allowed to embrace his desperation it was almost too much to bear.

Suddenly, there was no breathing down his back, no heat behind him, and no gorgeous sound of skin being struck by an experienced hand. John had got off the bed, and was walking towards the door.

"Stay exactly where you are. Don't move."

"Sir..." Sherlock whined pitifully. His voice was so filled with suppressed emotion, unrelenting need and almost hurt, that it drove John back onto the bed to capture his lips in a kiss. Sherlock sighed happily, John's hands on his back and in his hair, over his shoulders and trailing down his neck.

The doctor pulled back, his hands firmly pushing Sherlock back into position.

"Don't move."

Sherlock obeyed, reluctantly. He listened to the sound of John's footsteps walking towards the living room, a moment's pause, and then the footsteps got louder and closer. Standing in the doorway, John was holding the items he'd retrieved loosely in his hand. The detective was almost certain he knew what they were, but didn't dare turn his head to look properly. All he cared about was that John's warm skin was against his blushing arse again, the doctor's thick cock settling between his cheeks.

John discarded the other item on the bed and as he leant forward, Sherlock felt the cold, smooth sliding of leather around his neck. John gently pushed on the back of his head to encourage him to move his head down, and fastened the buckle at the back. Pushing his fingers into the gap between the back of Sherlock's neck and the leather of the collar, John growled softly as he felt the detective push back into him.

"Who controls you, Sherlock?" he asked, reaching for the tube of lubricant he'd brought back with him, and gently spreading it onto his hands as he spoke.

"You, Sir." Sherlock's reply was instant, and the words tasted good on his tongue.

A slick finger circled his entrance, making him gasp and whimper into the sheets. His cock was leaking a little, and his body was beginning to tremble.

"Good boy." The doctor said gently, pressing his index finger slowly inside his submissive, his cock throbbing hungrily as the ring of muscles tensed and relaxed for a moment. Sherlock moaned, and tried not to push back onto the doctor's hand.

"You'll be as loud or quiet as I want you to be, is that understood?"

Sherlock nodded fiercely "Y-yes Sir-oh please!"Another finger slid slowly inside him as he replied, and his hips thrusted involuntarily backwards. A smack to his burning backside made him apologise hurriedly, but his words were barely heard beneath the onslaught of constant moans and whimpers that were now flowing freely from his mouth.

"Good boy..." John's eyes were wide as he watched Sherlock become a quivering mess at his touch, at his words. He closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to reign himself in. The black leather around the detective's neck and the red marks covering his arse made an incredibly contrast to the rest of his skin, which was a creamy white save for the purplish love bites that were scattered along his spine. Sliding his fingers in and out of the detective's slick hole he watched as Sherlock's hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically in the sheets, and he writhed as the doctor's fingers scissored inside him.

"Oh, God! Please Sir, I can't wait anymore!" Sherlock's shoulders were shaking with effort as he tried to stop himself from thrusting either back into John's fingers or into the mattress. He was so close to finally getting his release exactly as he'd imagined he just needed John to let him have it.

"You can't wait for what?" John asked, although he was already using his other hand to spread lubricant all over his aching cock. He was painfully hard, his cock leaking with pre-come as he waited for his submissive to say the words that would send him dangerously close to the edge.

"For you!" Sherlock cried weakly, his head lolling between his shoulders. "I need you inside of me, please! Please..."

John growled in primal, carnal desire. Removing his fingers, he lined himself up and slowly pressed the head of his bulging cock against Sherlock's wet and open hole. His submissive could do nothing but silently try and catch his breath as John entered him, filling him up and groaning desperately as his length slid smoothly inside of the detective. Using his hands to spread Sherlock's cheeks wider, John pulled out until the head of his cock brushed the outer ring of muscle, before forcefully plunging back inside, moaning with pleasure as his submissive's tight hole clenched around him. Thrusting in and out, he slid a hand into Sherlock's hair and pulled, so his back arched even more deliciously, and his glistening skin caught the light.

Sherlock finally managed to breathe properly as John began thrusting in and out of him, growling so desperately that it made the detective shudder with desire. A particularly forceful thrust nudged mercilessly at his prostate, and Sherlock squealed as John slammed into his bruised and burning skin.

"Christ, Sherlock, those noises" John panted, his thrusts becoming shallow and haphazard as he felt himself getting closer to orgasm. Sherlock was pushing right back into him, matching each thrust and moaning hungrily for more as the friction of the doctor's cock inside him burned with an amazing heat.

"Oh fu-God, thank you-please can I come, Sir? Please..."

"Not yet, Sherlock, I'm not done with you," John said through clenched teeth, his hand finding Sherlock's collar and pushing two fingers underneath the slightly damp leather.

"Sir, no! Please let me, please.." the submissive's whole body tensed with effort as he tried to think of something that would stop him coming, which was even harder now that John had specifically told him not to; in that commanding, authoritative tone that made Sherlock squirm and blush at the best of times.

"Listen to me," John growled softly, his own desperation beginning to get the better of him. "I'm going to come inside you. And because you're my good little boy, I'm going to turn you over and help you come afterwards. But only if you obey me, and wait a little longer... understand?"

Sherlock moaned a choked "Yes, Sir", and gritted his teeth, concentrating only on staving off orgasm, and trying to ignore the fact that John was thrusting shallowly inside him. The doctor groaned as he came, shuddering as his orgasm took hold, the hand on Sherlock's collar clenching as he felt his submissive shaking beneath him. The doctor used his free hand to lock him arm in place, keeping him from putting the whole of his weight onto the man beneath him. His breath caught in his lungs for a moment, and his limbs seemed weightless, his orgasm long and delicious. As the room began to slowly fall back into place, he placed gentle kisses along Sherlock's back, before easing himself gently out of his submissive. Turning him over, John brushed the dark curls from his face.

"Good boy, good boy..."

Sherlock's face was pink and tear-stained, and he was panting heavily between whines and moans of need. His eyes were wide and desperate and he pulled John closer with a long arm.

"Oh God, please let me come..let me come for you, Sir?!"

John detangled himself from Sherlock's grasp and moved a little further down the bed. Spreading Sherlock's legs firmly apart with his palms, he grinned at the detective's confusion.

"Count up to ten, slowly, and then you can come."

Sherlock growled in frustration, but nodded, frowning and squeezing his eyes shut.

"One.." He said shakily.

Sherlock's mouth dropped open, and he gasped as John's wet tongue slid up the shaft of his cock, before the doctor pushed the head between his lips and sucked him all the way down to the base.

"Twothreefourfive-uh! Christ!" The detective's hand slid into John's hair as he reeled off the numbers in quick succession, panting heavily and biting down fiercely on his bottom lip. The doctor's tongue lapped around Sherlock's cock as he sucked the length, his hands squeezing Sherlock's thighs as he watched the other man squirm.

"Sixseven-umm..eight!" John's pace quickened, and Sherlock practically shouted the numbers at the walls of the flat, his eyes wide as he watched the doctor in disbelief.


Sherlock eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his head slumped against the mattress as he came, his body shuddering with the convulsions of an intense orgasm. The white clarity that washed over his mind was so deep, that it took him a while to come round, his body still shaking a little as the room came back into view. By the time Sherlock was actually able to establish object from human, John was sitting by him, stroking his hair out of his eyes and smiling softly.

"Are you alright?" The doctor asked, trailing a hand down Sherlock's cheekbone.

"Mmm," Sherlock murmured, capturing John's hand in his own and interlocking their fingers. "Thank you. That was...well. Thank you."

The doctor grinned and leaned down to kiss Sherlock's bruised lips gently.

"You were incredible..perfect. Here-" John broken off and began to unbuckle the collar around his submissive's neck.

Sherlock sat up very quickly, looking at John coyly through his lashes.

"This is new, isn't it?" The detective asked curiously, tapping the leather around his neck. "I realised the first time you put it on me. No-one else has ever worn this, although I know you're supposed to use the same collar on each submissive."

John nodded slowly, frowning. "Yes, it's new. And yes, it's tradition to have just the one collar..."

"Then why did you purchase a new one?"

John stopped for a second, just to look at Sherlock. His skin was flushed, his lip had bled from biting it, his hair was a curling mess and there were love bites of all shades of red and purple scattered over his chest and neck.

"Because-" he started slowly. "-Because I didn't want you to think that you were just another notch in my bedpost. You were, and are... completely unique. So, it seemed fitting that you had a collar to suit."

Sherlock took this information in slowly, and crawled towards John on hands and knees, curling up by his side. John's hand automatically carded through his hair.

"In that case... " Sherlock said, "if you'd let me..."

He looked up at John, his eyes wide and imploring.

"I'd like to wear it...Permanently."

Chapter Text

Sherlock was curious. John had moved the last of his rather minimal possessions into Baker Street, and although the doctor had essentially been living at 221B for quite some time, it seemed an important step that it was now official. Sherlock felt more at home than ever, and was comforted by the idea that John would be even more readily available, at any hour. It gave him a sense that he had done something unmistakeably right, that he had developed into a man whom a Dom had no shame in being coupled with. He was John's and John was his, and that thought alone made his mind settle calmly when he began to toss and turn at night. But there was one aspect of this new, official arrangement that had him hugely intrigued. Whilst the couple slept together, apart from when Sherlock was particularly caught up in a juicy murder case, the doctor had still asked to have his own room.

Mrs Hudson had quite happily agreed, and at the time Sherlock had been wrapped up chasing some odd tyre marks around London, so had assented without really listening... But now that he was a little less distracted, the detective found himself wondering what John wanted his own room for. It wasn't as if he had a great amount of things to put in it, and he didn't need a study for anything. In fact, the doctor didn't often step foot inside it, save for retrieving a particular item of clothing or a certain object or bit of paper. Baffled by this request for something he didn't use, Sherlock asked John about it on a mild Thursday morning, the sunlight streaming through the open windows and bathing John's tanned skin in pale yellow light.

The doctor glazed at Sherlock lazily, stroking a stray hair out of his eyes.

"It's good to have space." he said delicately.

Sherlock frowned. "But you rarely go in there. And besides, you have more than enough space."

John nodded in agreement. " I know. But it's important that I have it, and that you do not go in there without my expressed permission. Understand?"

Sherlock could tell from John's tone that the matter was not up for debate, and not wanting to waste the morning sitting in a corner of the living room being ignored, decided he would let the matter go, and see if he could glean more insight when John was less naked and dappled in sunlight.

An opportunity arose only days afterwards. John was out having a drink with a friend - another Dom, by Sherlock's guesswork. He was likely to be a while.

Sherlock hadn't intended on disobeying John. In fact, he'd been reading through case files in the living room, when his mind had drifted to John, and what he might be able to beg his way into if he played his cards right. The detective couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the 'almost-spare room' as he now referred to it, was where John kept more sensitive objects of sexual interest... Sherlock was certain that although he'd never seen so much as a hint of ropes or restraints, it was likely that John had hidden them away somewhere, aware of the detective's dislike of them.

And yet, as he thought about reels of sturdy rope, who might have been constrained within them before, the colour and smell of the fibres... Sherlock became aware that even if he wasn't keen on John using them, a part of him wanted to see them. What else would he find if delved into the chest of drawers, or under the bed? John was caring, loyal, and a little sentimental...would he keep photographs from past relationships? Would they be innocent snaps of them together, arm in arm? Or would they be blurry shots of lithe, lean men tied to bed posts, begging on tiled bathroom floors, writhing on hotel mattresses?

Sherlock found himself standing, dropping the case files he had been clutching as his bare feet moved slowly towards the closed door at the end of the landing. Standing outside, his hand paused in front of the handle. He knew it wouldn't be locked, John trusted that his word was enough to keep Sherlock out. The detective thought about John's warning. He definitely wasn't allowed in.

...But what could John possibly be hiding that would shock or scare a homicide detective? What was so personal that it meant the doctor had forbidden him to enter? For a moment, images of walls covered in tortured, bleeding and beaten men filled Sherlock's mind. He imagined bear traps, whips that could take a man's skin off...and smiled to himself. That didn't seem like John at all.

Grasping the handle, Sherlock twisted it and pushed the door open.

He stepped inside with a little trepidation, looking about for any sign that he had somehow not managed to deduce that John was a raving lunatic. But there was no incriminating evidence to be found. The room was almost exactly the same as it had been before the doctor had moved in. The bed was a little on the small side for a double, and covered in a plain, worn duvet. There were filed papers on the beside cabinet, books from John medical days stacked inside its hollow centre. Sherlock opened the wardrobe, to reveal John's jacket, a suit that looked like it had been worn to a fair few weddings, neatly pressed shirts, a spare pair of jeans. Dropping onto his knees, the detective inspected the drawer at the bottom, which contained running shoes, boots and a pair of dress shoes. Slightly disappointed, Sherlock's eyes were drawn towards the desk at the far side of the room, which had drawers running down one side. The desk itself held a lamp, a few books, and a space where John might put his laptop when it wasn't in the living room. The first drawer contained a number of slightly more interesting items: two pairs of handcuffs and a set of keys. Sherlock glanced over the first pair and immediately recognised them as ones designed especially for the 'play' of being restrained, rather than the actuality. The next set were a black metallic colour and made of far stronger stuff; it took the detective a minute to remind himself of how to unpick them. At the back of the drawer, Sherlock found an item that satisfied his curiosity a little. Black rope, doubled over a number of times and tied around itself into a neat bundle. It was of course, in very good condition, well - made and by the ever so slight fraying at the ends, clearly well used. Sherlock rolled it over in his hands, the texture rough against his skin. He frowned as he thought of how many other men had once felt the same rope tighten against their flesh. Sherlock guessed John had been in two long-term relationships of varying seriousness before Sherlock. Not to mention the submissives he must have played around with, the number of which Sherlock didn't care to calculate. Replacing the rope irritably, the detective moved on to the second drawer. Lubricant, plugs, vibrators; boring. Next.

The third drawer down was considerably larger, and contained within it plates and wires, sticky pads that were sound activated or touch activated, bondage tape painted with metallic paint so it conducted electricity, and of course a power box with a number of dials, that were turned up and down depending on how much pain or pleasure you wanted your submissive to suffer from. Sherlock hadn't even seen some of these objects before, although he could guess what they were for. The doctor, it would appear, had a rather enthusiastic penchant for electricity. A chill swept up Sherlock's spine as he imagined himself hooked up to one of these devices, the voltage jolting painfully or deliciously through his body at the turn of a dial. He had no doubt that he had not yet been exposed to the extremities of John's dominance, and it made him both nervous and excited to think that there was still a lot of room around the parameters of their relationship. Carefully replacing the objects in their rightful place, he slid the drawer shut, and stood stock still for a had been a sound, he was sure, a creak of stairs or floorboards on the other side of the flat. He listened intently, his pulse thumping in his ears. The collar around his neck suddenly felt a little tighter, as if reminding him that he was doing something very wrong by being where he was. Silence.

He stood and moved silently towards the door; if he left now, whoever was in the kitchen wouldn't see him leaving John's room. He'd go back to his case studies, and be particularly obedient when John returned, just to made up for his secret misdemeanours. He opened the door - and almost walked straight into the doctor, who was waiting for him just outside.

Stumbling backwards, he could think of nothing to say as John stood before him, arms folded with a looked of controlled fury on his face.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

There was something else other than anger in his voice... it sounded knowing, was a moment of silence where the detective tried and failed to engage his brain enough to think of something clever to say. How long had John been standing there? Sherlock felt like a child, trapped and guilty with no one to blame but himself.

He was in a lot of trouble.


NOTE: Hello! I'm away for a few days without internet, so I've posted three chapters for your pleasure whilst I'm gone. Enjoy!

Chapter Text


It wasn't often that Sherlock Holmes was lost for words. Glancing up quickly to see if he was still being glared at (which he was), the detective averted his gaze back to the floor, a rather unattractive blotted flush flaring up over his face. His hands were balled into fists at his sides and one foot was crossed over the other. He hadn't felt this little since he was...well since he was little. He felt like a toddler, and seemed to have the vocabulary of one too.

John raised an eyebrow. "You..." he encouraged, moving his hands in a gesture for the detective to continue.

"I w-was... I thought I heard something." Sherlock blushed a deeper red as he heard the rubbish lie come from his own mouth, not daring to look at John's expression.

The doctor was unimpressed. "What kind of noise, Sherlock?"

The detective struggled to sound convincing. It was difficult to draw on his acting skills not only because he had been caught red-handed, but also because he knew John could see right through him.

" Umm... sort of music or something? I thought you might have left your phone in here, so I came in here to check... "

It was possibly the least convincing sentence the doctor had ever heard from his submissive. John took a step forward, revelling in how such a simple movement made Sherlock look up nervously and take a tiny step backwards, frightened to be in such close proximity to the man he'd disobeyed.

"Are you lying to me?" he asked, his voice even and controlled.

The doctor could visibly see the panic on Sherlock's face as he tried to work out what he should do.

"John, please-"

"Address me properly, Sherlock. And answer me." John breathed deeply, trying to control his temper, and also to try and stop the worry that was forming at the back of his mind. It was slightly unnerving to see Sherlock so lost. "Are. You. Lying. To. Me."

What was left of the detective's attempt to navigate his way out of the situation was completely lost at the severity of John's tone. He swallowed thickly, his mouth dry and his palms sweating.

"...Yes, Sir," he whispered to the floorboards. "I'm sorry.."

John nodded, sighing dejectedly. Stepping into his room, the doctor looked about at the small number of objects he owned. He didn't have much. And his lacking in material possessions seemed to, in some ways, equate to a lack of authority. Therefore through the years he had discovered that the best way to maintain his authority was through space. The room he had requested, that Sherlock claimed served no purpose, in fact symbolised the difference between the two men. John could go anywhere in the flat, Sherlock could not. So when John had said it was good to have space, he had not meant physical space, but the notion of space and thereby difference between a Dom and his submissive.

It was difficult for John to accept that Sherlock had disobeyed him, defied him. It was even harder to accept that his submissive had lied to him.

"Take off your clothes, and give them to me."

The hard edge in John's voice meant that as Sherlock obeyed with shaking fingertips, the detective's blush deepened, his vision blurred from tears that were slowly building in his eyes. Carefully holding out a rather uncharacteristically neat pile of clothes for John to take from him, he allowed himself to be led from the room with John's free hand. The doctor first placed the pile of clothes outside of Sherlock's room, before steering him towards the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, he extracted a thick bar of plain white soap. Unwrapping it and ignoring the detective's quiet whines of apprehension, he made Sherlock stand opposite him.

"I don't want to hear apologies, begging, anything. You had your chance to tell me why you were in my room without permission, and you chose to lie to me. I gave you my trust, and you betrayed me."

Tears were spilling freely from Sherlock's eyes as he looked at the man in front of him. John looked worse than angry...he looked hurt. It made him feel sick to know that he'd been the one to put that expression there. He had made everything so much worse than it needed to be, and now John didn't even trust him to speak.

"So, firstly, I'm going to punish you for lying to me. Open your mouth, please."

Crying heavily, Sherlock complied, obeying John's command to hold the dry bar of soap between his teeth. Holding his tongue at the back of his mouth to avoid tasting the soap, he was pretty certain he'd never been more mortified in his life. The fact that he could see his reflection in the medicine cabinet made it even worse, so it was with a small amount of relief that he dropped to his knees at John's request.

"Crawl to the living room, and sit in the corner. Back straight, hands behind your head."

John watched as Sherlock obeyed, his shoulder blades shuddering beneath his skin as he sobbed loudly. It was such a pitiful sight that the doctor was almost embarrassed at being a little aroused. Following behind, he watched the detective take his place in the corner, positioned just as he'd asked. He knew Sherlock wouldn't dare move. As he walked back to his room to set up the next stage of Sherlock's punishment, he wondered how long it would take before his submissive would stop crying.

For Sherlock, every second of his corner time felt like an age. The soap had dried up his lips and mouth, and so eventually his tongue had automatically lapped at the object in an attempt to hydrate him. The taste was so strangely awful, so obviously wrong that it made him gag. He never stopped shaking as he knelt there, his head bent forward a little as he cried continuously out of shame and guilt. Sadly, crying only made him dehydrate more, so his tongue would keep refreshing the lather of soap that was circulating around his mouth. His arms ached and his back felt stiff, but he didn't move. He knew that John wasn't even in the room, and it hurt him more to be in the knowledge that in his current state, he wasn't even worth the doctor's attention. He was being ignored, the worst punishment John could give him. And he deserved every second of it.

After what seemed like days, the detective slowly began to calm down. There was only so much embarrassment and crying that his body could take before he just accepted the situation, and allowed himself to relax a little. He still felt disgustingly embarrassed, but it was more of an acknowledgement that he done something wrong, and he was getting what he deserved. There was a strange calmness about being punished that made him realise that he needed John to do this to him, in order not to be wracked with guilt, bombarded by information.

Eventually, John returned, told him to turn around and crawl to the kitchen, where the doctor took the soap from his mouth and placed it on the sideboard. It took a second for his mouth to close properly, his jaw aching from where he'd been clenching the soap between his teeth. John looked down at Sherlock for a moment, as if trying to decide how he should treat him. He wasn't particularly angry anymore; the hour that he'd left Sherlock for was more than enough time for him to calm down and decide how he should ensure that the situation never occurred again. And although he knew the detective deserved to be ignored, it had been difficult to hear Sherlock's muffled crying from his room.

Pouring a glass of water, he motioned for Sherlock to kneel up. One hand grasping him firmly under the chin, the doctor gently tipped the glass against his submissive's lips, watching as Sherlock swallowed the clear liquid gratefully, despite being obviously embarrassed that it was being done for him. John replaced the empty glass on the counter.


Sherlock nodded quickly, "Thank you Sir."

"Don't ever lie to me again."

John stooped down so they were at eye level with each other. The doctor could tell that Sherlock was finding it very difficult to look at him. "If you can't tell me the truth, it implies that I'm doing something wrong. That either you're too scared of me, or too confident that you think can get away with it. Does that apply to you?"

The detective looked horrified. "No, Sir, you're not doing anything wrong." He said it hurriedly, his brow furrowed as if he couldn't quite believe that something he'd done to John could be misconstrued as a failure on the Dom's part.

The doctor nodded. "Alright then. Oh and one more thing, Sherlock-". He pushed two fingers underneath Sherlock's collar, his voice deeper and quieter than before. "If you ever lie to me again, I'll take this away from you. If I can't trust you, you don't deserve to wear it."

Those words were frightening to hear. Sherlock shook his head violently, tears spilling down his cheeks as he imagined how horrible that moment would be. Everything he had proven himself to be, taken away from him so quickly and so made him feel sick.

John was mildly surprised by such a sudden reaction, but quickly removed his fingers from underneath the leather and stood up. He couldn't allow himself to be comforting, as much as he desperately wanted to.

"Stop crying, Sherlock. It won't happen unless you allow it to. "

The detective always knew he'd really upset John when he heard that tone; brusque, attempted detachment. It was so rare that it came as a shock to him, so contrasting to the doctor's usual caring and concerned demeanour. He did as he was told, and followed John out of the kitchen on all fours. They reached the door of John's room, which had been left open.

There were two square copper plates, attached to the floor with temporary tape and spread about a shoulder width apart. The two plates lay just on the inside of John's room, and were attached to a number of wires which led to a power box, which blinked a red light – standby mode. Sherlock could see that the dial had been switched to 'PRE-SET 01'. Clearly John had recorded a pattern of electric impulses which ran straight to the copper plates on the floor, so he wouldn't have to keep changing the intensity setting on the dial manually.

John stepped inside his room, and took a seat on a chair a clear distance away, facing the open doorway. Commanding Sherlock to stand up, he pulled the power box towards himself so that it sat by one the front legs of his chair.

"This should help you to realise that it's really not worth coming in here, unless I've given you my permission. Place the balls of your feet on the plates, please."

Sherlock complied quickly, thankful that they were currently set to off. The plates weren't big, and so the rest of his foot was planted on the floorboards.

"Don't rest your heels on the ground, Sherlock."

The detective rose up on the tips of his toes, wavering slightly as he tried to find his balance. He felt nervous, worried about what he might be expected to do, how much pain he might be in. The metal felt cold underneath his feet.

"Put your hands on the top of this doorframe, this isn't a test of balance."

Sherlock did so, and for a moment John just looked at him. The doctor couldn't help but pause for a moment to admire Sherlock's body; taut and stretched out, shivering with nerves and blushing slightly. He looked gorgeously concerned, beautifully worried about what was to come.

"I'm sure you know that the plates will be sending electric impulses into your feet. I've already set a specific circuit of impulses that it will run through. If you move your feet, you break the circuit. If you break the circuit, I'll switch it back off, and we'll start again."

Sherlock made a little noise of discomfort, but said nothing else. He watched John's hand move towards the switch on the side of the power box, and prayed he could keep his feet still.

John watched the little light the power box switch from red to green, and sat back to watch.


NOTE: I'm back! Thank you for your comments, I had a wonderful time. However... I'd just like to clarify that if you were looking for something where a character is gently patted on the arse and told to run along, this is not it. If this fic is not what you were looking for, I'm sure there's a fic out there somewhere that suits you just fine. And if there isn't, why not send me a prompt? Rant over, please enjoy :)

Chapter Text

It started with a jolt. The electric pulsed through Sherlock's feet and made his toes curl. The shocks were rapid and unrelenting, and it took a great deal of self control for the detective to stay where he was. He was panting in a matter of seconds, unable to predict the pre-recorded pattern and squealing as the electricity coursed through him. Eyes squeezed shut, he could sense John's gaze on his body as he shuddered and convulsed in the doorway. John had set it so he had time to catch his breath for a few seconds before the impulses started again, but after a few minutes these pauses became shorter and fewer. A particularly long surge of violent electric shot through his body, and after a few seconds, his control wore out, and he lifted a foot off of the copper plate to try and gain some relief. As soon as he moved, there was the sound of the power box being switched off, and John's voice rang out across the room.

"Keep your foot where it's supposed to be, Sherlock."

The detective, panting heavily, mumbled an apology and slowly and very reluctantly replaced his foot. His nerves were on end and his whole body felt sensitive. He couldn't help but growl with frustration as he watched the doctor reach down to switch the box back on. It was no easier to handle despite his ability to remember the pattern; it simply made him tense up more as he counted the seconds before the next shock. It was nothing like his previous experience with electricity. Then he'd been on top of John, kissing and touching him, and he'd felt hot and bothered and so strangely aroused. Now he was a little cold, and shaking and jittery, yelping as the impulse jolted through him and made his muscles feel weak. His entire body was clenched and tense, and oddly more than anything he just wanted John to be near him. The sensation of unbearable electric almost made him feel like a small child who couldn't quite explain what hurt. He just wanted to be comforted until it went away. He looked up at the doctor to gauge his reaction, and immediately a blush began to appear across his prominent cheekbones.

John's gaze was unconsciously intense. His lips parted slightly, he had absent-mindedly leant forward in his chair a little, and was watching with a concentrated frown as Sherlock writhed and whimpered in front of him. His tongue licked a wet line across his bottom lip and his hands gripped his spread thighs. The doctor seemed to be struggling to stop himself from switching the thing off altogether; it made the detective more upset to know that John was as unhappy about punishing him as he was about receiving it. Catching Sherlock's eye, John leaned back slightly, his eyes flickering leisurely across his submissive's entire body before resuming eye contact.

Without warning, the plates beneath Sherlock's feet shot an incredible electric pulse straight through the detective's skin and his mouth dropped open, unable even to make a sound for the first second. It felt like a million pin-pricks, all jolting through his body at the same time – and it wouldn't stop. There was no pause, no break. Sherlock pushed against the doorframe so the balls of his feet were locked right against the plates, disabling himself from moving without considerable force. Finding his voice again, his words were mostly incoherent:

"Argh!Ohmy-pleaseuhhh..." He was loud, inarticulate and mostly just making a lot of noise. It was endless and having to endure it was unbelievable. The feeling wasn't even pain – it was more like a level of uncomfortable that he had never experienced before. When his shouting subsided into growls of frustration, John spoke.

"Why did you come in here?"

Sherlock couldn't believe the doctor was forcing him to answer questions in his state. The electricity in his feet felt so sharp that he was close to moving again and he so badly didn't want to start from the beginning. Teeth gritted and breathing heavily, he had to force every word out of his chest.

"Iwas-argh! Curious, Sir"

John raised an eyebrow. "Did you think I was hiding something from you?"

Sherlock's head leant against his locked arm, sweating and still growling with horrific discomfort.

"Yes and I'm sorry just please-"

"Was it worth it?" The doctor interrupted, his voice rising a little above Sherlock's noise. He could feel himself becoming angry again, heat rising in his chest. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. He'd had a feeling Sherlock would have disobeyed him sooner or later, his curiosity was bound to get the better of him. But he had so wanted his submissive to be able to accept his authority naturally, without questioning the reason behind it.

"No Sir!" Sherlock stammered out, his voice desperate. He was beginning to reach his limit, the constant electricity making staying in place so unbearable that it was becoming hard to breathe.

"Do I have to get a lock? Do I have to physically keep you out so I know you'll obey me?" John could sense Sherlock was almost there, his legs were shaking quite badly and his voice was strained. His muscles would soon relax automatically, and he'd fall through no fault of his own. The doctor just needed a few more seconds to get his point across.

"No! Please I want you to trust me" Sherlock's voice was shaking and hoarse, his words spilling in a hurried mess from his lips. "Please..."

The electricity stopped, as instantly as it had started. The circuit had run its course and switched off automatically. It took the detective a few seconds to realise, given his state, but then John's arms was around his waist, pulling down a little to encourage him to place his heels back on the floor. It felt odd to stand properly, the balls of his feet sore and aching. Sherlock was grateful for the arm around him – he wasn't sure he would have kept his balance otherwise. Panting heavily, the detective rested his head on John's shoulder.

"Shh, it's alright. Good boy..." The doctor soothed, using his other hand to grasp Sherlock's arm and prise his fingers off of the door frame. "Let go, it's over. You're forgiven."

His arms hanging limply by his sides, Sherlock felt completely drained. Mumbling apologies into John's neck, he could feel tears welling in his eyes and a lump rising in his throat.

John stroked the back of his head gently. "Are you okay?"

The detective nodded, but there was still panic in his voice. "I don't want you to put a lock on the door," he mumbled tearfully. "I'll stay out, all by myself, I promise!"

"Shh, it's okay, don't get upset." John was more than aware that Sherlock could easily unpick a lock in a matter of seconds. It was obviously the principle of it – the notion that John didn't trust him.

"No lock for now. But you need to understand that you must obey me. Regardless of your curiosity, or anything else for that matter. You are under my control, and you do as I say, understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Sherlock replied, his arm reaching round his own waist to interlock his fingers with John's. The doctor kissed him slowly and gently, before pulling back suddenly.

"What?" The detective asked, a frown forming over his features.

"You've still got soapy lips" John replied with a laugh. "Come on, I'll make a cup of tea."

A few hours later, and Sherlock was asleep curled up on John's lap, breathing deeply and frowning ever so slightly. It was rare sight, and John savoured every second of his submissive's chest rising and falling against his. It was odd to imagine that only hours ago, he had walked up the steps of 221B expecting to find Sherlock nose-deep in a case file and in his 'I-am-oblivious-to-everything' mode. Strange, how easily his own plans and intentions would immediately be cast aside depending on the mood of the beautiful and unpredictable detective. And despite the drama it caused... the doctor wouldn't have had it any other way.

Chapter Text

John sat on the sofa, telly on in the background and reading the newspaper with a cup of steaming tea by his side. The flat was extremely quiet, but the doctor doubted it would be so for much longer. Sherlock had travelled up North to solve a case involving cryptic sugar cubes or something, but was now due to return. The case had been a success, and now John was waiting for him to get home, properly under-fed, irritated and seriously lacking sleep. It had only been three days, but the doctor had missed having Sherlock around to chase after. He wanted to be able to greet the detective affectionately, but his submissive was usually unbelievably irritable after a case ended, and would be dismissive and uncooperative for the next few hours at least. From below him, John heard the door of 221B swing open and hit the wall, and sighed. Please, he thought, please by some miracle let him be excited to be home.

Sherlock's footsteps tapped up the stairs, and he walked into the living room looking an absolute shambles. The doctor was almost certain he was still wearing the same clothes he'd had on when he'd left, and his expression was a testy scowl.

"Hi," John said cheerily. "How was the journey?"

"Brilliant." Sherlock retorted instantly "So thrilled to be back, where the most interesting case around is who used the last of the milk." And with that, he turned on his heel and began stalking off towards his bedroom.

John grinned and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, replying calmly:

"I've missed you too."

The detective paused immediately as John's voice followed him along the corridor. Throwing his bag down on the floor, he wheeled round and stormed back to where John was standing, looking absolutely livid.

"Don't. Make. Fun. Of. Me." He shouted, tears welling up in his eyes as he glared at John, his hands curled into fists at his side.

The doctor was in a complete state of shock. Sherlock had never reacted to him like this before. He usually just ignored John for the first few hours and then came wandering out demanding to be entertained. Something was clearly wrong.

"Wh-I'm not making fun of you, Sherlock." John said concernedly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

The doctor reached out and took the taller man's hand, guiding him to sit beside him. The detective completely avoided eye contact, but didn't pull away from John's grasp. He seemed incapable of sitting still, fidgeting and looking extremely uncomfortable. And it wasn't just from the barrage of information that had been slowly building since he'd solve the case.

"...Are you alright?"

Sherlock suddenly pulled his hand away, and nodded quickly.

"You didn't upset me. I'm fine. I'm going to bed."

And with that, he stood up and disappeared into his room, leaving a very confused John sitting on the sofa, trying to work out what on earth was going on. He supposed, heaving himself off of the sofa and gulping down the last of his tea, he'd have to work that one out in the morning. But it looked like they wouldn't be sleeping in the same bed tonight.

At 3 AM, John woke from a dreamless sleep. Staring confusedly at his alarm for a moment, he was about roll over and drift off, when a noise caught his attention. The creak of floorboards outside his room. Footsteps paced backwards and forwards along the landing and back towards his door, pausing for a moment before continuing on again. Throwing off the covers, he went and opened the door. Rubbing his eyes and squinting, the doctor said tiredly:

"Sherlock, it's 3 in the morning?"

The detective stopped short in front of him. He said nothing, and merely looked at John for a moment. It was dark and the doctor was exhausted, but receiving no reply and also noting that Sherlock was still in his clothes from earlier, made him irritated. His submissive's behaviour was so odd and evasive that it was becoming exasperating.

Sighing, John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is there something wrong?"

There was a pause. Sherlock stood there with his feet crossed and his fingers twirling around each other, his head bowed. "...I don't know." He replied.

That was it for John. He wasn't going to waste the early hours of the morning trying to coax something out of the detective – he would tell him when he was ready. For now, it was time to take control of the practicalities. Taking Sherlock's wrist, he led him towards his own bedroom silently. Finding a pair of pyjama bottoms strewn on the back of a chair, he began undressing the other man, ignoring Sherlock's protests that he was capable of doing it himself. The detective fell silent after a while, and used John shoulders for balance as he stepped out of old clothes and into new ones. Pulling down the bed covers, the doctor led his submissive onto the bed and covered him back up again. Sitting on the edge of the bed, John stroked Sherlock's curls out of his eyes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Stay here, and go to sleep. I don't want to catch you pacing around the house anymore tonight. We'll try and work out what's bothering you tomorrow, understand?"


"Yes what?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good boy." And with that, John went back to his own room, to try and get back to sleep.

In the morning, John was in the kitchen making a cup of tea when a hand reached out and interlocked with one of his. Sherlock looked a little better, more rested, but there was still something swirling around in his eyes that John couldn't quite put his finger on. Leaving his mug on the sideboard, the doctor hooked a finger through Sherlock's collar to gently pull him towards him, kissing him firmly. The submissive moaned quietly, his free hand clutching at John's shirt. Suddenly, John's hands moved to around his waist and he found himself being picked up and set down on the kitchen table. The doctor frowned and pulled back from their embrace.

"You've got lighter again."

Sherlock gave him a look of exasperation, but then stopped short.

"John..." he said slowly, his hands fidgeting uncomfortably; his fingers wrapping around each other and twisting. The doctor prised his hands away from each other and took them in his own.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

There was a long pause, and John could start to see the panic rising up in the detective's expressive features. Stroking Sherlock's hands comfortingly, he said gently "You can tell me, it's alright."

"When I was away I... did something. And you're going to be angry and I don't want to tell you."

Oh my God, he's murdered someone, John thought. He's actually killed someone.

"...What did you do?"

Sherlock swallowed thickly. "I was bad."

Well, murder does constitute as bad, but Sherlock's regression into childish vocabulary usually meant it had something to do with disobeying John, not killing people.

"Sherlock, you have to actually tell me what you did, or we can't solve it."

The submissive sighed uncomfortably, a blush rising on his cheekbones.

"The night before last, I was in the hotel after solving everything and I was still feeling really good and the noise hadn't started back up yet and I just really wanted you to be there and then I started thinking about what would happen if you were there and..." Sherlock trailed off, looking incredibly embarrassed and squirming where he sat.

John had to bite his tongue quite hard to stop himself from laughing. A few moments ago, he'd thought he was holding hands with a murderer. Regaining control of himself, he raised an eyebrow.

"And what?"

His submissive looked up at him with a mixture of pleading and discomfort. Sherlock was almost definite that he'd never felt so embarrassed in his life.

"And I...John please, it's obvious what I did, don't make me say it?"

The doctor shook his head. "You need to tell me."

"Masturbated." Sherlock said flatly, getting even redder in the face as he spoke. "I've never...done it... by myself before. I've never wanted to. It's pretty much the only rule I've never broken actually...until now."

"I see."

John could barely speak. Sherlock looked so mortified it was making him laugh. Which obviously he couldn't do because he was supposed to be acting displeased. It was an unwritten rule that a submissive in a relationship was not allowed to masturbate unless given permission to do so, even if John had never specified this rule himself. Whilst trying to fight with all this information, John was also shocked – but not altogether surprised – that Sherlock had never masturbated on his own before...

The detective looked at him worriedly. "I'm sorry. I tried not to but I gave in and I really wanted to tell you because I feel guilty and that's not something I'm used to."

Images of Sherlock tossing and turning in a hotel bedroom, his hand straying to his thick and hard cock suddenly filled John's mind, and his trousers became uncomfortably tight.

The doctor tutted, his hands spreading Sherlock's pyjama-clad thighs wider. Sliding his hand further up, he gently pressed his palm against the bulge of Sherlock's cock, watching as his submissive's mouth dropped open and he gasped at the touch.

"I bet you looked a sight. Rubbing yourself off on someone else's bed sheets because you're too much of a brat to wait until you got home. I hope it was worth it, because it will be the last time you come for quite some time..."

Sherlock's hands were clutching at John's chest frantically.

"Please John..."

"It's time you learnt a lesson in self control, young man. Follow me."

Stepping away, John took his tea and walked into the living room, sitting down on the sofa. Sherlock stood in front of him, his hands twitching nervously at his sides. He complied as John ordered him to remove his pyjama bottoms, and knelt at the doctor's feet.

"Listen carefully-"

"John, please."

The doctor immediately reached forwards and grasped Sherlock by his collar, pulling him further between his legs. "You will not interrupt me. Is that understood?"

Sherlock mumbled his assent.

"You're going to spread your legs in front of me, as wide as you can. You're going to show me exactly what you did to yourself in that hotel room, and explain exactly what you were thinking about. If I tell you to stop, you will immediately put both hands behind your head, and you'll keep them there until I tell you to carry on. You will not break eye contact with me. Do you understand?"

The detective looked mortified. He was pretty certain he was never going to go back to his natural skin tone. He would forever be trapped in a shade of hot and blotchy bright red.

Chapter Text


John raised an eyebrow as he sat expectantly on the couch, his submissive knees splayed on the wooden floorboards. Sherlock's face was glowing pink with embarrassment; the doctor thought it suited him rather well.

"I told you to start. I won't tell you again."

Sherlock visibly shivered at John's words, but his long fingers slowly strayed to his hard cock. His eyes flickered momentarily to the floor, but he quickly remembered the doctor's commands and looked up again. The eye contact was making it so much more difficult for him to speak properly. A small part of him guiltily loved knowing that John's attention was with him and him only, but at the same time it was mortifying to essentially explain his thought process during masturbation.

"I- I thought about you, and that you must be missing me whilst I was gone..."

John snorted, but didn't say anything. As true as it was, it was so like Sherlock to assume that John's life revolved solely around the detective.

Sherlock's fingers slowly slid up his shaft and swirled around the head, his lean fingers teasing himself. As he felt his arousal growing, his mind slowly slipped into what he had imagined in the hotel room that night, and keeping eye contact became easier. He began to look through John, rather than at him.

"I was full of adrenaline – my spatial awareness was a little off, and it reminded me of the way I feel when I'm with you – a little less aware, a little more emotionally involved..."

John nodded, and found that in fact he himself was having huge difficulty in breaking eye contact. He could see Sherlock's hand slowly wrapping itself around the tip of his cock and sliding down to the base. His submissive's fingers were so elegant and lean, it was difficult not to sit and stare.

"...I recalled how sensitive my skin feels under your touch, how raw my lips become when we kiss. I thought about your hands spreading my thighs, the way your eyes gleam when I'm squirming underneath you..."

Sherlock's hand was slowly increasing in pace, and his face was changing from pink with embarrassment to blushing with desire. John was fixing him with such a forceful stare, and he could see a distinct bulge in the doctor's jeans. Between words, the detective began to whimper a little, biting down on his lip and his free hand clutching at his exposed thigh.

"I thought about your breathing sending a shiver down my back as you slowly push yourself inside of me. I thought about how it burns – how much I know you want it to so I can still feel it the next day. I thought about your voice and –"


Sherlock's mind jolted at the words, and he growled with annoyance as he forced his hand to remove itself from his cock. His hands now behind his head, he realised he was breathing quite heavily. His cock was hot and heavy, and he had to bite his lip particularly hard not to shout a number of insults at the doctor.

John nodded as he watched. "Good boy..." he murmured quietly, his voice low and deep.

The detective whimpered. He wished John wouldn't say it in that way; the same way he'd say it during sex or whenever Sherlock was particularly eager to please. The submissive's cock was becoming somewhat conditioned to those words, and it only made his arousal worse.

He watched as John undid his jeans and pulled his own cock from the constraints of his clothes. He made a small noise of relief as his meticulous hand slid over his shaft, and then addressed Sherlock again:

"Carry on."

Now it was the detective's turn not to let his eyes stray to John's thick cock as words spilled from his mouth. As he spoke, he quickly picked up the same speed as before, getting even more turned on purely from John's growls of approval and his primal, scorching eye contact.

"Umm, I thought about your voice and how I'd do anything to make you growl like that. I thought about you tearing the shirt off me on the stairs and pulling me up by it. I thought about being pressed up against a wall adjacent to Lestrade's office, your hands all over me as you whispered in my ear. I thought about how much I just wanted to beg you to do whatever you wanted to me in that room filled with people. I thought about how it's you and only you who can drag from me such explicit reactions..."

John was panting heavily, growling at each sentence that fell from Sherlock's lips. His submissive looked so utterly desperate, his hand now pumping his cock at the same rate as he spoke, his whole body tensing as he lost himself in his own imagination. It was enough to bring the doctor so incredibly close to the edge, pre-come dripping from the head of his pulsing cock as he listened.

"...Oh God, I thought about how unbelievable your mouth felt around my cock, how amazing it feels to have your hands in my hair and on my collar, how tactile you are and how I wouldn't tolerate it with anyone else. I thought about how my body aches after you're done with me, how I shake and cry and how good it feels to beg for what I want and deserve it when I finally get it..."

And for a moment, John didn't hear anything else. Sherlock's whimpering, breathy words combined with his gorgeously exposed position on the floor had been enough to send the doctor's mind reeling into a state of orgasm. For a few seconds, he felt entirely boneless, and it took a few deep breaths for him to remember where he was. His come spread over his hand, he looked down at Sherlock, who was staring at him with his hands behind his head. John's eyes immediately fell to the detective's cock, which looked painfully hard between his legs.

"I didn't tell you to stop, Sherlock."

His submissive whimpered pleadingly, his face bright red.

"But Sir I thought was going to come and I didn't have permission and I told you I was close but you weren't listening and I didn't want to disobey so I didn't know what else to do-"

"Alright, alright" John said with a grin, carefully tucking himself back into his jeans and standing up. "I wasn't listening, you're right, and I'm sorry. You did the right thing."

Sherlock gave him a rather pained smile, his hands twitching in his hair.

"Stay there."

The detective watched as John disappeared down the landing, and heard the tap in the bathroom sink being turned on as the doctor washed his hands. Gritting his teeth, Sherlock trying to ignore the ache of his cock, his mind begging him to make himself come in the seconds before John got back. He'd been so, so close. As he watched the doctor come over his words, Sherlock's mouth had dropped open and he'd had to use his other hand to brace his arms against the floorboards. He wasn't all that surprised that John hadn't heard his babbling pleas, he'd barely heard them himself. But as the notion had wedged itself in his mind, a sudden fear had struck him – that John hadn't given his permission, so Sherlock wasn't allowed his release. And it gave the detective a strange feeling to pleasure to know that his mind was finally beginning to work with him, and to accept that he had to submit. But that didn't stop him feeling absolutely infuriated.

John returned with a rather satisfied grin on his face, which Sherlock couldn't help but feel a little bit smug about. After all, the doctor's orgasm had revolved around the words of his submissive, and that was quite an ego-boost.

The doctor walked over to Sherlock's discarded pyjama bottoms and picked them up.

"Stand up and put these back on then", he said brightly, smiling at his submissive's immediate compliance, but also at the small frown of confusion on his face. "You can go and get dressed, and get back to whatever it was you were planning to do today."

"..Was that my punishment then, Sir?" Sherlock asked.

"Sort of," John said, busying himself with fishing out his laptop from underneath a stack of papers and wandering off with it to the kitchen. He fancied another cup of tea, now that his old one had gone cold. "But mostly it was just to make up for what I missed."

Sherlock had followed him into the kitchen and was now leaning against the counter, his pyjama trousers rather impressively tented from his erection. The doctor turned to him with a smile, and gently pressed a kiss against his lips. The detective reciprocated eagerly, a moan escaping from his throat. He gasped as he felt John's palm pressing against his cock as it had been earlier, pushing himself into the doctor's hand.

John tutted at Sherlock's blatant desperation.

"I wouldn't get too excited if I were you, young man."

His submissive frowned again, whimpering as John's hand was removed from his cock.

"Just because I like to have you all moaning and hard doesn't mean I'm going to actually let you come anytime soon." The doctor smiled at Sherlock's frustrated growl. "Certainly not anytime today anyway...and maybe not tomorrow... I haven't decided yet."

The rest of that day, and the next, were horrific. Sherlock would just about manage to concentrate on something boring or vile enough to wilt his throbbing erection, and suddenly John would be at his side, pulling against his collar and kissing him so hard it hurt. He'd become a mess of begging and pleading arousal, but as soon as he began to grind against John, the doctor would disappear again, with a chastising remark about bad boys not being allowed to come, and Sherlock would be left to try not to punch a hole in the wall out.

In the evening, Sherlock had been rifling through the cupboard under the kitchen sink in search of poison darts when a hand had gripped his belt, pulling his trousers tighter around his arse as several well aimed smacks landed across his posterior. When he'd scrambled up to confront John, the doctor had bent him over the sink and continued spanking him until he'd started crying and rutting against the counter. Then John had rubbed away the sting and kissed him gently, but still refused to let him come. It was beginning to drive him insane.

At night, John had been sweet to him, and Sherlock almost forgot to be frustrated. But in the morning, the detective found himself being stripped of the bed covers and instead covered in biting kisses, with the doctor paying special attention to his inner thighs. He was so angry at John, so painfully frustrated that he wanted to avoid the doctor altogether, so he wouldn't feel the horrible throbbing that he wasn't allowed relief from.

On the evening on the second day, Sherlock was close to breaking point. The detective had walked past John, who stopped him, and moved his collar around his neck slightly to where it should be. And the submissive had given him a pleading look not to tease him any longer. But he suddenly found himself being pulled onto John's lap, being kissed aggressively and his belt buckle being loosened. Squirming, Sherlock tried to pull away, but then a hand was unzipping his fly and pulling out his cock, and John's growling voice was humming against his lips.

"As you've been so good, should I let you come now?"

Sherlock mouth fell open as John began to stroke his aching, throbbing cock. He immediately thrust into the doctor's hand, and was rewarded with one of John's meticulous fingers stroking along his shaft.

"Christ, please, Sir. Let me come, please..." The detective sounded pitiful, so gorgeously desperate as he kissed John's lips ravenously, moaning and thrusting erratically into the doctor's lap.

John's hands began stroking him faster, pumping unrelentingly up and down his cock and making the submissive's breath catch in his chest as his neglected member got the attention it had needed for days.

"Why should I?"

Sherlock moaned in exasperation. He was so close already from hours of aching arousal, and it seemed cruel that John was asking him questions like this now.

"Because I'll never ever touch myself without permissions again, I promise! Sir, I'll be good, I'll be so good for you just let me come for you and I'll show you please, please-"

John growled in approval. "Come for me then."

It only took a few more seconds, and the submissive began convulsing on John's lap, his head falling forward to rest on the doctor's shoulder as he shuddered and gasped, his orgasm being ripped almost painfully out of him. Murmuring lots of things that didn't appear to be relevant or indeed English, the detective took quite a while to come back down, but when he did he felt a huge amount of relief wash over him. He rested limply against John, and allowed himself to be sorted out by the doctor, who was seemingly quite impressed by the orgasm he'd induced.

That night John fell asleep on the sofa with Sherlock curled up next to him. The detective watched carefully for any sign that the doctor was having one of his strange nightmares, but after a while just rested his head against John's chest, listening to his heartbeat. In his sleep, John shifted slightly, and the arm curled around Sherlock's waist pulled him closer. The television that neither of them ever really listened to carried on talking quietly in the background, and Baker Street became very still. In the stillness, Sherlock felt like there was something he wanted or needed to say to John, but he couldn't work out what it was. So, he stayed silent, and let the beating of John's heart send him to sleep.

Chapter Text

Sherlock stood in the kitchen, his dressing gown draped lazily over him as he peered through the eye of his microscope. But he wasn't particularly interested in the blood splatters that lay underneath the glass. John was going out for lunch today, which was incredibly inconvenient because that wasn't what the detective wanted him to do at all. In fact, it was completely the opposite. What Sherlock really wanted was for John to realise how silly it was of him to agree to go somewhere when the detective wanted him to stay at home, and make up for this grievous lapse of judgement by giving Sherlock all the affection and attention that he needed. But he had a feeling the doctor would not be happy is Sherlock put it to him like that, so he'd have to think of something else. Besides, he thought pensively, he could be playful. He could be sweet and persuasive when he wanted to me. He was good at it, and given the right atmosphere, it was one of the best feelings in the world. And John didn't even really want to go to lunch anyway, he was just being stupidly polite. So, on hearing the sound of the doctor's footsteps, Sherlock said conversationally:

"He'll be late and you'll hate it anyway so why on earth are you bothering to go?"

John carried on his search for his mobile phone under the piles of clutter on the kitchen table, and replied in a distracted tone.

"I have to go, I said I would..."

Sherlock took John's mobile from his pocket, and held aloft in one hand, smiling at the look of exasperation of the doctor's face as he did so.

"You don't HAVE to do anything, John. Just stay here...with me. "

The doctor glared across the table at his submissive and held out his hand. "You don't think that's what I'd much rather be doing? Could I have my phone, please?"

Sherlock looked at John with him head cocked to one side, silently reading the doctor to gauge his every thought and feeling. Placing his microscope to one side, the detective slid the phone delicately between his teeth and elegantly climbed onto the table. On all fours, he carefully crawled over a pile of papers, and dipped his head to place the phone in John's outstretched palm. Looking up at John through his lashes, Sherlock watched the doctor shake his head and swallow thickly.

"Sherlock, this isn't going to work..." John said warningly.

And yet his hand reached out to stroke back a stray curl, and his eyes wandered over the perfect skin that was now exposed to him, Sherlock's dressing gown having unravelled further. The detective didn't reply, but simply turned into John's hand and kissed his fingertips. John's thumb brushed against his lips and he kissed it before taking it in his mouth and gently biting down, his tongue lapping against the end. He said nothing as the doctor set his phone down on the table, and allowed his hand to lift up the silk that covered Sherlock's back and slide over the detective's shoulder blades, his skin warm and so familiar under his touch.

"I won't be long, a few hours at most..."

Sherlock nodded slowly. John withdrew his thumb from the detective's mouth and leaned forward, pressing his lips against Sherlock's. The doctor kissed him firmly, his hand roaming across his submissive's body, and settling on the back of his neck. Sherlock's back arched as he lifted his head to kiss John, his hand clutching the doctor's jacket to pull him closer. The detective hummed happily as they kissed, and found he wanted to make John stay even more than before. He always forgot how much he liked being kissed until the doctor's lips were on his and his eyes would close and his breathing would change so naturally that it took him several seconds to notice. He just didn't want that feeling to stop – was that really so selfish of him?

John pulled away suddenly, his expression a vague attempt at firmness.

"It's only lunch, for God's sake."

Sherlock nodded in agreement, but his eyes were still on John's wet and gleaming lips.

The doctor hated that Sherlock was agreeing with him. He hated that he was being so pleasant, it only made him want to stay more. The doctor watched as his submissive trailed a long finger over the jagged zip on his jacket. John stroked Sherlock's cheek thoughtfully.

"Does this mean you'll be especially happy to see me when I get back?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "No. I'll be annoyed because you went and I don't see the point."

"Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. But for now – I'm late." And with that, John firmly planted a kiss on Sherlock's cheek and left, determined not to look back or pause even for a second. The temptation to stay was almost painful. He resolved to make it up to the detective as soon as he got home – regardless of what might happen over lunch.

The door of 221B Baker Street was opened and shut with an almighty bang, which shook the staircase and resonated up to the flat where Sherlock was laying on the sofa, eyes closed. The sound did not surprise him, not did the footfall up the stairs which was much heavier than usual. The detective didn't even bother to open his eyes or raise his head to address the doctor, who he knew was stood angrily beneath the doorframe. It had been roughly two hours since John had left the flat, and in that time Sherlock had felt oddly resentful that John had left him alone to go and see Doug, of all people. Especially since Sherlock had made his opinions on the man so very clear.

"Did you have a nice time?" Sherlock said, still not opening his eyes.

"No I bloody didn't."

The detective shrugged unsympathetically. "I told you it was a stupid idea."

He meant to go on in this manner for quite some time, but instead found his rant halted by a barrage of possessive kisses covering his lips. Sherlock pulled away immediately, rolling off of the sofa and standing arms folded in front of the doctor.


John frowned, and took a step towards his submissive, who in turn immediately stepped backwards. The doctor was really not in the mood for this now, not after everything he'd just heard. He needed Sherlock in his arms and generally all over him if he was to even begin to feel better.


Sherlock shrugged, and swayed gently from side to side, his dressing gown now loosely tied again just above his right hip.

"I don't want you to touch me. I'm angry that you wasted both our time going out when you knew you'd hate it, and now you're in a bad mood because whatever it was you two were discussing, and you're trying to use me to get over it. And I don't want you to."

John simply stared for a second. There was moment of pure tension where both men silently acknowledged that if John wanted to, he could tell Sherlock he couldn't give a toss what he wanted and that would be that. But the doctor wasn't like that. And there was a great deal of truth in what the detective had said. If he was honest, John thought Sherlock was being a bit petulant, but at the same time the detective had warned him that he would be angry if John left. So, the doctor simply nodded slowly.

"Okay. Sherlock, I'm sorry I've made you angry, and I understand that you don't want me to touch you or anything at the moment"

Strangely, it was actually very difficult to consciously not move towards his submissive. It was so much easier for words to sound as sincere as they were when they were whispered in Sherlock's ear, their hands clasped and bodies touching.

"...So," The doctor continued. "I'm going to have a shower, and do some work in my room, and when you're ready to accept my apology, you'll come and find me. Okay?"

Now it was Sherlock's turn to frown.

"Just because I don't want you to touch me, doesn't mean I don't want you to be near me"

Oh bloody hell, John thought exasperatedly.

"Then what do you want?"

In reply, Sherlock simply shrugged. He hadn't really thought this far into their conversation; all he really wanted was for John to feel bad that he'd done something he knew would annoy Sherlock. It was hard to accept that the doctor appeared unperturbed at the prospect of irritating his submissive.

The doctor closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The best and worst part of being a Dom was the control over every situation. The upside was he had the ability to get pretty much anything he needed out of a circumstance. The bad side was that when he opened his eyes, John could see him submissive looking at him, waiting for him to explain what was going to happen next. Sometimes it was difficult to always know exactly what to do. What did Sherlock want from him at the moment? And how could John give it to him?

"Alright." The doctor's voice pierced the silence that had settled in the air. "Come with me."


NOTE: I'm sorry this has taken so long, things have been mad. Thank you for reading, be sure to comment, and please inbox me or leave a suggestion if there's anything in particular you want to see happen in this fic! Love!

Chapter Text

John walked into the kitchen, with Sherlock following behind him. He told his submissive to sit up on one of the counters to keep him out of the way whilst he moved every piece of clutter from the kitchen table and onto random surfaces in the adjoining room. Making a mental note to tidy up properly at some point, it took John quite a while to shift everything. Eventually though, the kitchen table was cleared, and the doctor found a cloth to wipe off any crumbs or coffee stains that had got lost between the endless heaps of paper over the course of the weeks. When he was finished, he turned to smile gently at Sherlock, who looked back at him rather blankly.

"Could you climb onto the table for me, please? And once you're up there, kneel facing me."

Sherlock sighed, but complied, slowing slipping off of the counter and gracefully finding his position on top of the table. Once he was settled, the detective watched John take one of the kitchen stools and set it down so they were directly opposite each other. The doctor sat down, and the couple simply watched each other for a moment. Then, John spoke:

"This game is a very simple one, but I think you're going to like it. The rules are as follows: I am not allowed to touch you, and you are not allowed to speak, unless you want the game to stop. You can nod or shake your head to answer my questions. If I tell you to do something, you will do it. Do you understand the rules?"

Sherlock nodded slowly, but there was the slightest frown in his expression.

"Good... I am truly sorry for upsetting you, you know that?"

A nod.

"And you know I care about you more than anything, don't you?"

The frown on Sherlock's features cleared. He nodded immediately.

"I made it seem as if I thought consciously making you annoyed was not something I should worry about, until it actually happened. That was wrong of me, do you agree?"

A rather more enthusiastic nod. John grinned at this, but continued.

"I'm glad that you felt comfortable enough to tell me that you didn't want me to touch you. And whilst I'm sorry that that's how you felt, I'm proud of you for making that clear, okay?"

A nod.

"And I promise you, I will never make the mistake of not listening to you again. Do you accept that?"

Sherlock nodded again, and gave a small smile. This was the slow and logical process that was so typical of John, and it made the detective feel calmer just to have everything that he needed to hear out in the open, without being expected to reply. It made things so much clearer.

"Thank you. You know it's difficult for me to sit even just a few feet away from you?"

Sherlock's smile widened and he felt suddenly drawn to just watching John watch him. He nodded slowly.

"...You're mine, aren't you Sherlock?" John asked quietly, his tone slipping into a deeper register.

The detective silently agreed, watching the doctor's pupils dilate. His skin suddenly became a little more heated, and he couldn't help but gently lick his lips in anticipation.

"Take that off for me." John commanded, gesturing to the dressing gown that was barely covering his submissive in any case. He watched hungrily as Sherlock peeled the fabric away from his body slowly, and pushed it towards the edge of the table for John to take. Picking it up, John could feel the warmth from Sherlock's skin still clinging to the fabric.

"And now onto your hands and knees, please."

Every slight movement was so flirtatiously deliberate, that John had to ball his fists tight in Sherlock's discarded dressing gown not to reach out and grab the man in front of him. His submissive's fingers gently trailed towards him before Sherlock slowly moved the rest of his body forwards, shifting his weight from one shoulder to the other and finally arching his back and looking up at the doctor.

"Thank you... you're beautiful, aren't you?"

Sherlock didn't really know whether or not he was supposed to react to that. Luckily for him, John continued immediately.

"So beautiful..." The doctor stood slowly, and began leisurely walking around the table, his hand trailing along the edge. He spoke as he moved, watching Sherlock follow him with a turn of his head.

"You're never anything but perfect, even when you're in trouble..."

At this, Sherlock laughed quietly, tilting his head to give the doctor a look that suggested he couldn't believe he was ever in trouble. John smiled affectionately at Sherlock's response, still taking very slow steps around the parameters of the table. He had to concentrate hard on keeping his hands to himself. This was a lot more difficult than he had predicted it to be.

"In fact, when you've done something wrong, I think you get prettier on purpose, just to tempt me into punishing with something you really want..."

Sherlock laughed again, but it was deeper and shorter. John was watching him with primal desire in his eyes now, prowling along the length of the table slowly and deliberately so that he wouldn't miss the way Sherlock looked from any angle. The detective could feel himself getting turned on, heat rising to the surface of his skin and warmth washing over his lower half.

"But I have to make sure my boy gets exactly what he deserves, don't I?"

Sherlock simultaneously nodded and stretched his back carefully, shifting his weight further onto his arms so the muscles underneath moved tantalising beneath his skin. It was a blatant reminder of the delicious contours of his delicately toned body, and John stopped moving completely just to watch. It was so innocent in nature, and yet the doctor was suddenly conscious of exactly what his hands were missing.

"Can you spread your legs for me? Wider... good boy. That's perfect."

The smallest hint of a blush appeared on Sherlock's cheekbones as he mentally acknowledged how exposing this position was. His cock was thick and hard between his legs – John knew how much he liked attention, and this whole game revolved around it. Both men were all too aware that Sherlock was positively feline in his demeanour; stroke him the right way, and he'd purr.

"God, just wait 'til get my hands on you..."

John hadn't quite planned on saying that bit out loud, and immediately glanced at the detective to gauge his reaction. His submissive looked back at him with an expression of perfectly constructed confusion, as if he hadn't any idea what the doctor could mean. It made John all the more desperate. Christ, he just wanted to reach out and feel that alabaster skin beneath his fingertips... His throat tightened. Sitting back down, the doctor rested his folded arms on the table just inches away from Sherlock's hands, and glanced up at his submissive.

"You're mine." he said in voice so low and quiet that Sherlock was on the verge of jumping straight onto him, "And I want you so much that I can't stand it...I have to have you."

The detective's eyes widened.

"You make me so hard just from sitting there – just from teasing me with your eyes and your moans and your smile. All I thought about today was watching your crawl over this table towards me, that look you give me like you're some innocent little virgin who's frightened of giving a hand-job, when last night I watched you grind down on my cock like you were born to it. You blush and cry and it turns me on so much more because I know that despite all your pretty looks, you're just waiting for me to turn you over and fuck you."

Sherlock had only heard John swear a few times in the months they had been together, and he supposed it much be for that reason that the word sounded particularly dirty coming from the doctor's mouth. He made a noise of indignation at this use of a profanity was something which got him punished, and watched as the colour in John's eyes became even darker upon hearing it.

"Oh God, how can I sit here and watch you in this state, given my own state too, and let you whine like that? You look so shocked but I can't bear it any longer. I'm sorry for what I did to you, but I want you, Sherlock. And I'm willing to make it up to you in any way you want, as long as I'm allowed to touch you again."

John paused to glance again over the body of his submissive; there was something so frustrating about being banned from touching that made Sherlock look even more delicious than usual, which in the doctor's opinion, was a rather difficult task to begin with. God, he wanted to do anything and everything with the detective, just for the feel of that perfect skin underneath his fingertips. It was so hard to look at something he wasn't allowed to have, and all he needed was for Sherlock to give him that permission. It was a strange role reversal that made him feel oddly wrong, but at the same time he was adamant that he would respect the detective's wishes.

"Please," he whispered gently. "Let me touch you. Talk to me, tell me what you want."

Sherlock's pupils were so dilated his eyes appeared almost black. The doctor made it sound as if it was imperative to Sherlock's own desires that he let himself be touched again. There was an aggressive desire about John's attitude that was so gorgeously contrasting to his often even and controlled demeanour, and it made Sherlock both nervous and extremely aroused. He loved it when John was rough with him, because he knew deep down that despite the forcefulness that the doctor would use - he cared for Sherlock more than anything. The detective was completely ready to forgive John- but on his own terms. He had to know everything.

"I want you to have me. But I do want something from you first..."

John's look of relief quickly changed to seriousness. "What is it that you want?"

"Tell me what he said to you. What did he say that made you so angry?"

The air in the kitchen seemed to still very suddenly. John's eyes hardened, and his jaw clenched visibly. Sherlock watched him silently; expectantly. Finally, after what seemed to be an age, the doctor spoke:

"He offered me someone. A young man – he showed me a photograph. He wanted me to have him, and money too, loads of it... in exchange for what he called 'a private exhibition'".

John was looking steadily at Sherlock, but his voice was shaking a little from suppressed anger. His fists were clenched, and he was almost spitting each word out, as if they tasted horrible on his tongue.

"He proposed that I would bring you to his Training House - let people watch us together – and them lend you out to them, let them 'play' with you, as he put it."

Sherlock felt slightly sick. He remembered months ago – when Oscar had come back to see his supposed "transformation", and how strange it had felt for someone he'd previously had sex with to run their hands over his bare skin. He recalled how eager he had been to be back between John's legs ...he couldn't imagine how he'd feel letting complete strangers touch him. And letting them watch him and John together? Sherlock detested the very notion – it frightened him that someone other than the doctor would see him that vulnerable. He nodded quickly, his throat dry and cracking.

"...What did you say?"

John looked at him. "I said no, and then I left. I was too angry to do anything else."

"Oh." The detective had known that whatever had been discussed, had not ended well, but it was with a strange relief that he learned John had severed ties with that disgusting man.

"...Can I touch you now?"

Sherlock smiled, and nodded gently. John's hand slid towards him and slowly ghosted over the top of his hand. The doctor leaned closer as his fingers intertwined with Sherlock's, and placed a soft, chaste kiss on his submissive's lips. It was better than anything, and John breathed a sigh of relief at such exquisite contact. Carefully, he took Sherlock's hand firmly in his own and helped him off of the table, enveloping him in his arms where they stood, his hands traversing every inch of Sherlock's torso as he placed kiss after delicate kiss on the detective's lips. His submissive's arms curled and locked around his neck, and his foot slid up and down John's shin in an attempt for even more contact. His head felt light, and he suddenly felt himself kissing the doctor harder, pressing his chest against John and revelling in the feeling of hands that seemed to be on his neck and his back and his waist all at the same time.

"I don't want anyone else", the detective said between hungry kisses. As he spoke, panic or something that felt similar seemed to swell in his stomach, and it seemed so important for the doctor to understand him. He had to understand the way Sherlock was feeling...whatever that was. The thing that made him frightened to let go or pull away even for a second. The thing that made him feel as if he could never quite hold the doctor tight enough. But then he felt John's arms tighten around him, and a hand was stroking through his hair in a way that was so familiar – it felt like going home.

"Shh, it's alright. No-one else, Sherlock, I promise. I promise you."

The detective pressed a kissed to John's lips that silently thanked him a thousand times over. There was no mayhem in the world the doctor lived in. There were simply things that were, and things that weren't – and it was so incredible to know that he was a complete certainty in John's life.

No-one else.

Sherlock's hand found its way into one of John's, and he looked at the doctor with a small smile.

"Take me to bed, John."

NOTE: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA I'm pathetic. The next chapter is going to have to be a piece of absolute filth to make up for this! We are, ladies and gentlemen, very slowly reaching the end of this ridiculous fic, and so if there is ANYTHING you would like to see/read, you better start PM'ing me, before it's too late!

Chapter Text

"John? John. John. John. JOHN."

The doctor covered the front of his mobile with one hand in an attempt to prevent the listener from hearing him.

"Sherlock, I'm clearly still on the phone. Will you stop saying my name, I'm sure it can wait for another couple of minutes?"

The detective rolled his eyes from where he was curled up on the sofa, and watched John leave the living room and walk across the landing.

"But I'm BORED!" he shouted at John's retreating figure. John had been on the phone for ages now, something about sorting their phone bill. It was boring even listening to the doctor endure such a mind-numbing conversation. Suddenly leaping up from his sulking position, he walked down the landing towards the door he was not allowed to go through. He could hear John on the other side of it, patiently explaining that 221B should not be receiving a charge for a landline that they didn't actually have. Who uses landlines anymore anyway?

Sherlock raised his eyes to heaven – and then gently bashed his forehead against the door repeatedly. He wasn't currently in the midst of any case, which meant it was particularly important that John entertain him as often as possible, regardless of inconsequential things like phone bills.

The door opened. John's hand was again covering the mouth-piece of his phone, and he was looking mildly irritated.

"Sherlock. Stop doing that. If you don't find something to occupy yourself with, I will. And you won't like it." He carried on glaring sternly at the detective as he placed his mobile back against his ear.

"Sorry? Yes I'm still here-Jesus!"

John's eyes widened as Sherlock's hands reached out and pulled the doctor towards him by the belt, undoing it deftly as he did so. Craig from BT continued to natter in his monotone voice in John's ear as the doctor watched his submissive unzip his jeans for him, slide a slender hand across his fabric-covered cock. Grabbing Sherlock's wrist with his free hand, John's grip was vice-like.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Sherlock raised an innocent eyebrow. "Occupying myself?"

"Do you really think, oh hang on, – No, not 221C, Craig, 221B. As in Bravo. No, that's okay – do you really think you've got the right to do anything to me without my expressed permission?"

"No, Sir." Sherlock felt sort of guilty about that, but now that he'd got this idea into his head, it had turned into literally the only thing he could think about. His own cock was hardening at the very idea.

"And do you really think I'm willing to let you touch me purely on the grounds that you think you've got nothing better to do?"

"There are other things I could do, but this is what I want. Please."

John stared at him for a moment. Sherlock looked genuinely desperate, and vaguely ashamed of himself. Well, the doctor thought, it would shut him up...and it's not like he'd do badly out of the deal. But he was going to have to re-establish his control. He was going to have to make this game his.

Dropping Sherlock's hand and covering the mouth piece again, John raised an eyebrow.

"Alright. I'm nearly finished filling in this form with BT. If you don't make me come by the time I hang up, you won't get to come today. If you manage it, I'll give you something I know you want. Understand?"

Sherlock looked shocked for a moment, but then nodded quickly, a smile stretched across his lips. God, he loved games. And he also loved winning.

John, put the phone back to his ear, and apologised to Craig, who had been unwittingly asking question after question to the doctor, none of which he'd heard.

Sherlock's lean fingers slid over the now slightly fuller bulge in John's boxers, stroking the outline of the doctor's cock gently, and slowly slipping to his knees. He could feel John's eyes on him, although the doctor was keeping up conversation with the phone bill man rather impressively. There was absolutely no change in his voice, although it seemed to take him a little longer to answer the questions.

"My home telephone number? Well, that's the point, I don't have one..."

Sherlock's fingers became a little firmer, and he slid his palm firmly against John's fabric-covered cock. The friction made John stumble over the last few digits of his mobile number, and Sherlock heard a small intake of breath from above him as he leaned forward and kissed the outline of the doctor's cock through the cotton. His tongue slid across the fabric in a wet line, and the detective felt John's free hand slide into his hair and clench a little.

"...The bill? Oh, um £, the number that comes after ten..."

Sherlock looked up at this, and watched John watch him. His tongue had made the doctor's tented boxers damp, so that the fabric clung a little to John's cock and provided a strange friction that heavily suggested Sherlock's next move. Sliding his long fingers into the waistband, the detective slid the boxers down just far enough, and took John's semi-hard cock into his hand, sliding his palm expertly up the shaft and swirling a thumb over the head. The hand in his hair clenched tighter, and John had to ask Mark to repeat the question.

", she's with Virgin I think...I'm not sure who the, err, neighbours are with, sorry..."

John's cock hardening in his hand, Sherlock made sure the doctor was looking straight down at him, before allowing his tongue to lick a slow line over the head, and then from the underside of the shaft right down to the base.

"Oh my...hmm? Umm, I-I don't know, April the something...Uhh...the 9th"

Sherlock paused for a moment, listening to the man on the other end of the phone talk until he was sure John had just been asked a question. At that moment, he pushed John's cock through his lips and into his mouth, his tongue running around and over the shaft. There was a stifled groan from above him, and the hand in the detective's hair was pushing against him. Sherlock looked up at John and moaned around the cock in his mouth, watching as the vibration of the noise made the doctor's mouth drop open. The submissive allowed his mouth to slide very slowly back John's shaft until his lips created a kind of vacuum over the head, before sucking straight back down to the base again. His pace was a little erratic, but it only made the doctor groan harder, causing Craig from BT to ask him if he was feeling okay.

"What? Oh, no no I'm...oh, god, I'm fine. Yeah, yep, sorry I many questions are left?"

Sherlock moaned harder as he heard John's question, his hands clamping around John's jean-clad thighs and stroking up and down the inside, his thumbs swirling in circles in tandem with the circling of his tongue around the head of the doctor's cock. John was panting quite heavily now, and was clearly far less interested in maintaining composure than he had originally planned.

"Hudson, yes that's...Oh my god, that's right. No! Uhh, no the bill was addressed to Sherlock...Sherlock...Sherlock Holmes...Mr. Yes."

The sound of his name through John's gritted teeth was more than enough indication that John was close, and the noise of it was so delicious that Sherlock could feel his own cock straining against his trousers. John's hand was clenched in his hair so tightly it was almost painful, and the doctor was directing his submissive's mouth with such aggression that Sherlock was finding he had to concentrate on keeping his throat relax.

"...In the next? In the next how many...uhhh, how many days? Yeah that's fine...that's perf-"

John's hand suddenly released Sherlock and locked against the doorframe. Eyes squeezed shut, the doctor's breath caught in his chest as he came into his submissive's waiting and wet mouth, his hips jerking involuntarily. He was vaguely aware of Sherlock's mouth sliding back up to the head, and then the sensation of cool against his spent cock. Taking a few deep and heavy breaths, he felt quite dizzy as he spoke into his phone.

"Thank you... God...err...thanks then..."

Craig's voice sounded like a mixture of amusement and revulsion. "Uhh... call back if you have any further problems, Dr. Watson."

"Will do...thanks...bye."

Feeling satisfied, but also rather mortified, John looked down to find himself diligently zipped back up and Sherlock kneeling in front of him with a smug smile playing on his lips.

"Well, I can never face calling BT ever again...but that was amazing. Thank you."

Sherlock 's grin widened and he stroked gently at the leather on John's shoes

"Thank you for letting me... does this mean I won?"

The doctor smiled and gently stroked Sherlock's cheek with the back of his hand.

"It means I'm going to give you something I know you're after."

The detective wrapped a long arm around John's leg and knelt up slightly, looking up at the doctor with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Sir, are you going to spank me?"

"I certainly am."

John almost laughed – Sherlock looked like Christmas had come early. Kneeling up until his shins were perpendicular to his thighs, the detective clutched at John's jeans and moved his head slightly to encourage John's hand to slide through his hair.



Sherlock paused for a moment, his expression creasing into a small frown.

"What the matter, Sherlock?" John's voice was suddenly laced in cautious concern.

"Err...could you...pretend you're angry with me whilst you do it? Please?"

The doctor's concern immediately vanished, and he grinned.

"Of course. I'll call you in a moment"

With that, John turned and walked back into his room, leaving the door only slightly ajar. Sherlock heard him put his phone down on the table and then walk over to the side of his bed and sit down. There were a few seconds of silence, and Sherlock felt a strange nervous anticipation wash over him. Then, a light but gorgeously stern voice called from behind the door.

"Sherlock, come in here please."

NOTE: Oi oi, you lot. Guess this is another one to tick of the list. More very very soon, and please keep adding more requests, I don't want to disappoint anyone!

Chapter Text

The detective's cock hardened a little more at the commanding tone, and it was with both titillation and trepidation that Sherlock pushed the door open and walked a few steps inside.

The first thing he noticed was that John was a bloody good actor. The doctor sat with his hands on his spread thighs, looking at the detective with an expression of firm control. He looked the exact same way he did whenever Sherlock was in trouble – a calm face with a tightness in his jaw and a little impatience in his tone.

"Close the door and come and stand in front of me."

Sherlock felt a burning sensation across his face, and as he turned to close the door, he was aware a pink blush must have spread across his cheekbones. He paused for a second, just to see...

"Don't make me wait." John barked, and the detective immediately found himself standing right in front of the doctor. Intense warmth was already resonating around his lower half – John looked so stern.

"Clothes off young man, and quickly please, I don't have all day."

Sherlock did as he was told, feeling John's eyes on him and experiencing the guilty pleasure of embarrassment wash over him, especially as his trousers pooled around his ankles to reveal his tented underwear. The doctor raised an eyebrow and his submissive flushed a deeper red, his fingers toying with the waistband of his last remaining piece of clothing. Sherlock looked at John with wide eyes.


"Address me correctly and take those off before I do it for you. Now."

John was silently reeling at how incredible Sherlock was at looking so humiliated at having to undress in front of a man whom he'd seen naked so many times before. He looked so gorgeously flustered – a favoured expression of John's. The doctor watched as his submissive slowly peeled off his underwear and dropped them onto the chair at the side of the bed, along with the rest of his garments.

John took him by the wrist and guided him to his right side. He slid a hand up the back of Sherlock's leg and over the curve of his arse, just to watch the other man shiver, before smacking him sharply on the back of his thigh as a gesture of encouragement.

"Over you go, then."

Sherlock immediately bent over and lowered himself onto John's lap, a very quiet moan escaping his lips as his cock came into contact with the denim covering the inside of John's thigh. Placing both hands flat on the ground, the detective waited as John shifted slightly to accommodate his weight. A hand stroked his lower back.

"Right where you belong..." John murmured under his breath, causing Sherlock's hand to curl into a fist as he resisted the temptation to immediately start rutting against the doctor that instant.

"Are you ready?"

"..Yes, Sir."

That was all the invitation John needed. A sharp smack rang out across the room, followed almost instantly by another. John's calloused palm rained down upon the sensitive flesh laid out before him, and left no time for the sting to subside. He made no comment, nor did he pause for a moment before Sherlock's arse was tinged a dull pink. The detective's feet had scrambled against the floorboards to steady Sherlock's lower half – the force of John's touch had clearly surprised him more than he anticipated. However, he remained rather petulantly silent under the wrath of John's hand, his teeth digging into his bottom lip and his eyes squeezed shut. It was not until he felt the doctor's fingertips pinching at his heated skin that a low growl escaped him, and he lightly stamped the ball of his foot on the floor. There was a moment of silence, where John continued to squeeze the abused flesh of Sherlock backside rather thoughtfully, before his hand pulled back to land a heavy blow right on the detective's sitting spot. Upon hearing not a single noise from his submissive, John grinned and spanked him once more, hard enough to shift Sherlock's body forward a few centimetres. He heard the detective mumble something underneath his breath.

His palm raised in the air, John addressed his submissive:

"What did you say?"

Sherlock squirmed uncomfortably on his lap for a moment – a movement that made John's eyes close momentarily. He loved this just as much as Sherlock...not that his submissive was currently acting in any way grateful for John's treatment of him.

"I said Ow."

John couldn't help but smile at Sherlock's disgruntled tone. He didn't bother replying, and simply spanked the detective a little bit harder, increasing his pace slowly and attempting to ignore the growls of discomfort that Sherlock was emitting. The submissive was certainly doing his best to get a rise out of John, whom he knew was easily angered by bad behaviour.

It was difficult for Sherlock to act as if this 'punishment' was the least pleasurable thing in the world. The sting building on his flesh made his cock ache, and he could feel his hips beginning to thrust involuntarily into John's lap. And yet, the more he muttered under his breath and slammed his hands against the floorboards, the more he could feel John getting wound up at having to discipline him in the midst of his ungratefulness. Because he knew it wasn't long before the doctor would start telling him exactly what he thought of him. And as long as they were only pretending, that was perfect for Sherlock.

A particularly painful smack to his sitting spot caused a sudden outburst from the detective:

"OW! Jesus-" he said loudly, growling irritably and slamming a balled fist into the floor.

"I don't know what you think your little commentary is achieving, but so far you've succeeded in landing yourself in more trouble. Be. Quiet."

John punctuated almost every syllable with a sharp slap to Sherlock's reddened arse, watching as he finally managed to elicit a proper, uncontrollable squirm of arousal from his submissive. Watching Sherlock's pretence of petulance slip was possibly the best part of the whole scenario – seeing Sherlock finally give in and admit that this alone was enough to make him come... it was perfection. But it wouldn't happen immediately.

"But you're hurting me..."

"You. Are getting. Exactly. What you deserve."

John's voice slammed into Sherlock as hard as his hand, and the effect was almost his undoing. John was angry now, his left hand gripping Sherlock's hip to keep him firmly in his lap as he struggled against him, his right hand raining down blow after stinging blow. The detective could feel his tolerance for the constant stinging beginning to reach its limit, and he was aware that soon he would start crying and begging John to stop.

A sharp slap landed on the back of his thigh, and Sherlock immediately retaliated by smacking the side of John's leg in a display of frustration, and demanding that the doctor stop that instant. He instantly found himself being manhandled into a standing position, and watched with shock as John strode across the room towards the drawers that ran along the side of his desk, retrieving one of the shorter lengths of rope. Returning and sitting back down, John's voice was filled with barely controlled anger, his sentences short and sharp. Pulling Sherlock to stand directly in front of him, the doctor's tone was one of patience entirely lost.

"If you cannot behave yourself. I will have to teach you."

John took Sherlock's hips in his hands and forcibly turned him around to face away from him.

"Put your wrists together behind your back."

Something like fear shot through the detective. He didn't particularly enjoy being tied up, and John has seemed to acknowledge that without Sherlock needing to say anything. But it was only his hands, and as he remembered thinking about what that black rope would feel like against his skin, the detective found himself obeying. As John began twining the rope carefully around his wrists in a complex pattern, he continued his lecture:

"You will not mindlessly hit me, or anything around you."

The rope was an incredible mixture of rough and smooth against the detective's skin. The fibres were surprisingly light, and when John let go, Sherlock couldn't help but wriggle his wrists around a little to test the strength. The doctor had been a little lenient, and perhaps could have afforded to tighten the rope a little more around Sherlock's wrists. But sensing the detective's trepidation, he had made the binding a little more comfortable than it should be. He turned Sherlock back around to face him.

"This tantrum stops now."

Sherlock's toes curled. His cock was aching from his constant arousal, and he couldn't stop the needy moan that escaped from his throat at John's words. A hint of a smile flashed across the doctor's features momentarily, and his pupils widened. Silently, he reached towards his bedside table and pulled the digital alarm clock forward until it was right on the edge. Then he took off his watch from his wrist and set it down on the floor, so that when he had helped Sherlock back over his knee, the detective could see the watch face clearly.

"I'm going to spank you continuously for the next three minutes. I will not stop. Anything you say to me, unless urgent, will be ignored, but be aware that any bad language or bratty remarks will not be forgotten. When the three minutes are up, we will have a discussion. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

Sherlock's voice was pleading, and he noted with embarrassment that he hadn't been able to stop himself from gently rubbing against John's lap since he'd be positioned back over it. There was a moment of charged tension as the doctor waited for the number on the digital clock face to turn over; he was intent of getting his full three minutes. Sherlock's tied hands twisted in their binding. John repositioned his foot, and stretched the fingers on his right hand. The clock flickered from .43 to .44. The doctor began.

Sherlock gasped and squirmed at the onslaught of smacks over his already thoroughly spanked arse. John hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said it would be continuous. The burning sensation over his flesh was hardly given a chance to meet the cool air of John's room before the doctor's hand came down again – sending sparks of pleasure through Sherlock's body. The detective's cock was being thrust across John's lap with every smack, a fact which made the submissive's squirming even more desperate.

"Mmm...Oh God, please!"

Obviously, John completely ignored him and carried on at the same pace, intent on seeing just how close to the edge he could push Sherlock in just three minutes. Although, he imagined, being on the receiving end of the spanking, three minutes would seem like an eternity.

"Owww...oh, please Sir, ow! I'll be good..."

John gritted his teeth so as not to groan out loud. His submissive's "spanking monologue" as the doctor liked to called it, usually went on in this exact vein almost every time – and it had ended up conditioning John's cock into hardening almost instantly. Not that the detective's squirming around hadn't got him most of the way there in any case.

Sherlock's eyes squeezed shut as a particularly hard smack to his now slightly purpling flesh thrust his leaking cock into John's lap.

"Oh God, please let me come, Sir?" he begged automatically, his eyes opening as he realised what John had said earlier. He was going to be ignored until the three minutes was over. Looking down at the watch the doctor had placed on the floor for him, it seemed he had another minute and a half of this to go, before John would even pause. Fuck.

His arse was now so sensitive that even the lightest touch would have him moaning, so John's constant spanking was giving him the most unbelievable mixture of pain and pleasure. His realisation that John wasn't going to listen to him made his shoulders shudder and without warning, tears began welling up in his eyes.

"Please please slow down, you're going to make me come, Sir – I can't..."

If anything, John's hand seemed to come down harder. Sherlock's hips were jerking involuntarily in haphazard thrusts against the doctor, and the hands in the doctor's grip were trying to wrench themselves free – although what the detective was planning to do if he managed it, he wasn't quite sure of.

"Ow! No...please..."

The spanking stopped. Panting heavily, Sherlock felt John grab his hip to stop him moving around, and looked down at the watch in front of him. Thank Christ – it was over.

"Good boy." John murmured, gently releasing Sherlock's hands and untying the rope from them. There were marks around his wrists where he'd been squirming around so much – but the doctor would take care of that later. Turning his attention to the detective's backside, he whistled delicately through his teeth.

"I'm glad I'm not you, Sherlock..."

His let go of his submissive's hip and carefully rubbed the reddish-purple skin that was so bright against the rest of Sherlock's alabaster flesh. The detective whimpered as the doctor's hand squeezed a little, but subsided into a quiet moan as John went back to gently rubbing the sting away.

Now that his hands were free, Sherlock gripped John's ankle and curled a hand around his thigh, brushing his face against the doctor's jeans. A hand slid down his back and gripped the collar around his neck. The hand still occupied on his posterior suddenly tightened again, and Sherlock jumped slightly.

"Ow! Sir, please!"

John grinned, and trailed his hand in between Sherlock's abused cheeks, stroking gently up and down the crease. His submissive's back arched immediately and the detective locked his arm against John's thigh, pushing himself back onto the doctor's hand.

John used the hand on Sherlock's collar to push him down into the correct position, although his back remained strained into an arch.

"Oh Sherlock, am I being too nice? Can you not control yourself?"

The detective squirmed in John's lap but halted very quickly. Now was definitely not the moment for more friction.

"No, Sir." he panted. "I can control myself."

John hummed thoughtfully and used both hands to spread Sherlock's cheeks apart. The gasp from his submissive was delicious – he sounded so desperate.

"What do you think your behaviour was like during this?"

Sherlock turned his mind to Anderson. Eurgh. The slimy hair, dull brain, clumsy-looking was just enough to hold him off the edge of orgasm for at least a few moments longer.

"I-I think was a brat, Sir."

John growled with arousal at those words, unable to remain detached.

"You were. Do brats like you deserve to come?"

"OhGodSirplease – please let me come."

The hands on Sherlock's arse were removed.

"I didn't ask you if you want to come; I asked if you deserve to come. "

Sherlock was going to kill someone. Dry sobs wracked his torso, his cock aching painfully where it was trapped underneath him.

"...No, Sir."

The hands returned. Another noise of approval from John, and Sherlock's brain started working. There was a way around this – he was certain of it.

"Do you have anything else to say to me?"

The detective replied immediately. "I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry – I'll be good, Sir just...oh Godpleaseletmecome?!"

"Why should I?" John asked, his fingers carefully caressing the leather of Sherlock's collar, watching the man beneath him struggle with his frustration.

"Because I'm desperate! I'll do anything for you, anything you want and I'll be good and grateful just please please please let me come..."

John paused disbelievingly. "You'll do anything, if it means you get to come right now?"

This question barely registered with the detective. "Yes, anything – please!"

The doctor's hand pushed Sherlock's legs further apart and felt underneath him to grasp his submissive's thick and leaking cock. "Come for me, then."

A few firm and fast strokes from the doctor's left hand in tandem with a couple of well aimed smacks from his right had Sherlock in the throws of a heavy orgasm in a matter of seconds. Gasping for breath and convulsing on John's lap, the detective's clutch on John's thigh tightened to an almost painful degree. The doctor's own cock felt incredibly uncomfortable in his trousers as his submissive lay limp and satiated over his lap, panting and mumbling incoherently.

Gently removing Sherlock from over his knees and pulling him up onto his lap properly, John thought it was only fair to be as sweet to the detective as possible, bearing in mind what the doctor had planned for him...

NOTE: Sorry if there's loads of mistakes, I think I only proof read this once. Keep those requests coming!

Chapter Text

“How was that?”

Sherlock smiled at John, and leaned forward to kiss him gently.

“Perfect. Although, I feel it might have cost me dearly...”

John grinned, and closed his eyes briefly as his submissive’s lips ghosted over his neck. The doctor’s hands trailed up Sherlock’s back, his fingertips encouraging the detective’s spine into a gentle arch.

“How so?”

Sherlock’s fingers played with the top button of John’s as his feet curled around the doctor’s calves. Leaning his head on the other man’s shoulder, the detective tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Well, I agreed to do anything for you. And I’m assuming that you’ve got a good idea of what anything might entail already.”

John laughed lightly and moved his hand up to Sherlock’s neck, pushing his fingers familiarly underneath his submissive’s collar and listening to the detective whimper against his shoulder at the gesture.

“I suppose there’s no point pretending I was just reasserting my authority?”


The doctor nodded at this, grinning to himself, and thought carefully about how he was going to phrase things. There was a moment of silence, where the detective listened expectantly for John to explain, but no answer came. Irritated, Sherlock mumbled something incoherent and pushed his hips against the doctor’s impatiently. The hand underneath Sherlock’s collar immediately tightened into a fist and he was pulled upright, the leather feeling uncomfortably tight around his neck.

“Stop that.”

The detective was vaguely embarrassed to find that his thighs spread themselves a little wider at these words, and the hands that were pressed against John’s chest clutched at the fabric of his shirt.

The doctor fixed him with a firm gaze.

“For someone who’s been treated so nicely, you’re not doing a good job of behaving, are you?”

“..No, Sir.” Each syllable was a little on the difficult side to articulate, as Sherlock found it was hard to stop the constant flow of quiet moans that were escaping from his lips. John grasped Sherlock’s thigh with his spare hand to stop the gentle squirming against his jeans.

“Stay still, or I’ll give you something to really squirm about.”

The detective stilled, but there was a curious glint in his eyes.

“You already did.”

John nodded gravely. “But you certainly won’t like it this time.”

Sherlock was feeling elated, well spent, and in many respects completely invincible in terms of John’s threats. In fact, at that moment in time he couldn’t think of a single incident in which squirming had been his reaction to anything that he didn’t gain pleasure from. John had given him the attention he wanted, and now he was satisfied enough to believe that the doctor wouldn’t really do anything that would be unpleasant.

“I bet I will.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

The detective nodded, the smile on his lips just begging to be quickly and soundly removed.

Right, John thought.

“Get up, then, and put your palms flat on the floor. I’ll be back in a second.”

As the doctor disappeared from the room, Sherlock began to feel a pinch of regret in the pit of his stomach. Bent over and completely exposed in the middle of John’s bedroom, it was difficult to be smug.

Returning quickly, John said nothing to his submissive, but simple unscrewed the cap from the jar in his hand, and dipped his fingers in, deftly smearing the substance over Sherlock’s deeply-shaded arse. He heard the detective gasp as the cold of the ointment was smoothed over his sore skin. John quickly wiped the rest of the solution between Sherlock’s cheeks and told his submissive to stand in the corner.

In those few seconds between John opening the jar and the doctor rubbing into his skin, Sherlock’s heart had sunk, and his arrogance disappeared. He could smell one key ingredient in the balm that had just been administered onto his abused flesh. Menthol.

For a split second, nothing happened. Then, just as he heard John ordering him over to the corner, a searing heat scorched across his arse and the detective instinctively flung a hand back to try and soothe the sensation. A strong hand caught his wrist, and the doctor pulled him to standing and walked him over to the corner.

“If you touch it, you’ll rub it in more.”

Sherlock squealed and shifted from foot to foot. The heat was so unbelievable that it made him almost breathless, and the stinging was shockingly powerful.

“Get it off me! Please, make it come off!”

John didn’t release Sherlock’s wrist from his grip, but caught the other one too and pinned them behind the detective’s back.

“No,” he said simply. “You have to wait until it wears off. How does it feel?”

“Stings, Sir – oh my God – it’s hot and hurts!”

The doctor nodded. “Good, it’s working then.” Ignoring Sherlock’s unhappy moans of resentment, John watched his submissive writhe at the intensity of the menthols’ reaction to his sensitive skin. “Maybe I should use it more often.”

The detective knew John was teasing him, but the very idea of repeated use made the muscles in his lower half contract in panic.


Both of Sherlock’s wrists trapped in one hand, John’s free hand roamed to his submissive’s collar and gently pulled his head back slightly.

“Oh, I think so.” He said softly, his voice quiet enough to force Sherlock into lowering his own volume to hear him clearly. “Every night when I’ve pounded that pretty arse until it’s raw, I’ll make sure to spread this all over your gaping hole, just so I see you squirm and whimper as you try to forget how much it stings.”

The detective was horrified to find his was body being humiliatingly responsive. The sting searing over the flesh of his backside seemed to flare at John’s words, and yet his cock was growing with interest at the intensity of John’s tone. The doctor had a habit of putting things so plainly that they sounded even more depraved, and it sent sparks of pleasure and embarrassment straight to the detective’s cock.

John smiled as the nature of Sherlock’s moans changed ever so slightly. His hand trailed down his submissive’s neck and around to his front, stroking lightly at the sensitive skin just above the detective’s cock. John tutted as a string of moans escaped Sherlock’s open mouth.

“Are you feeling a little conflicted, Sherlock?”

The submissive tried hard not to let John’s roaming fingers have their inevitable effect. The strong hands around his wrist, the firm and commanding tone in his ear and John’s talent for finding the most sensitive parts of Sherlock’s body were making his cock thick and heavy, despite having had release not long before. But the stinging in his arse was tearing his nerves to shreds with its intensity, and the stimulation of so many of his senses made him feel like screaming. He wasn’t sure if wanted to come, or run. So, in a word -

“Yes, Sir!”

“What happened to that arrogance?”

The detective tried to pull away from the doctor’s grasp, embarrassed by the blatant mistake he’d made in convincing himself that he was invincible to John’s threat. He was comfortable enough in their relationship to know its boundaries...but sometimes he couldn’t help but push against them, just to see if he could get away with it. So far, the answer was a firm no.

“I didn’t think-“

“That’s right, you didn’t.” John interjected. “And now look at you – back in a corner with a swollen arse and not the slightest hint of dignity or self-control.”

His submissive whimpered indignantly, and the doctor allowed his freed hand to slide along the detective’s shaft and grasp it firmly at the base.

“When are you going to learn not to test me?”

“I won’t anymore! I’ll stop, please...”

John’s hand slid up Sherlock’s shaft and teased the sensitive head with the pad of his thumb.

“Please what? What do you want, Sherlock?”

The detective’s hips pushed gently towards John’s hand but when he spoke, he seemed a little ashamed of himself.

“I want to come, Sir, please...”

John’s voice was lower even than before.

“You dirty little brat,” he murmured, fisting Sherlock’s cock as he spoke, and watching the detective’s face blush a deeper pink. “That’s all you ever think about.”

His submissive made a whimper of protest, but John ignored him.

“...I’ve seen you, you know. In the morning when I’m only half awake, spreading your legs and running your hands all over yourself, thrusting up into thin air as you wait for me to roll over and give you what you’re so desperate for...”

Sherlock was now grinding into John’s hand, pushing his burning arse back into the doctor’s crotch despite the stinging. He did feel dirty – and incredibly selfish. But that wasn’t making his hips slow down an inch; in fact it seemed to be bringing him closer to the edge.

“...But you’re such a good boy, and you don’t dare touch your cock, do you? Because it belongs to me. You just lay there stroking your spread thighs until I decide to notice you - push right back into me Sherlock, I know you want to. That’s right – bend over a little more – I want your nose right in that corner...God, you look sore.”

The effects of the ointment were subsiding slowly, but the menthol had swollen Sherlock’s arse a little, a brought out a sort of glowing redness that was quite spectacular from John’s perspective. The doctor imagined it was going to be a long time before Sherlock could sit comfortably again.

“I’m going to make you come now. Is that what you want?”

“Oh God Sir, yes...please –“ Sherlock’s voice was muffled slightly from his bent position, but the desperation in his voice was clear as day. He’s got past the point of being disgusted with himself, and was now fully concentrated on having his second orgasm.

“But you need to behave, don’t you? When you do as you’re told, I don’t have to make you feel guilty about liking things, and I can be nice to you. Do you want that?”

The detective was now almost in tears. His cock was quite sensitive, and it was immensely difficult to concentrate on anything that didn’t involve trying not to come. His chest ached a little, and he squeezed his eyes shut and curled one foot around John’s ankle.

“Yes Sir..uhh, please, I want you to be nice to me..”

“Come then, Sherlock – don’t make me wait.”

The detective did as he was told- and experienced one of the most unpleasant occurrences of his relationship with John. He failed to orgasm, simply came into the doctor’s hand and was left with a strange over-sensitive feeling – as if all his nerves were on edge. John’s grasp dropped from Sherlock’s wrists, whilst his other hand ran between Sherlock’s cheeks to smear the detective’s own come over his tight entrance. He heard the doctor leave the room, and walk along the landing to the bathroom. The taps in the sink ran momentarily, and then the shower was put on. This took John much longer than the detective thought it really should have, which meant the doctor was giving him time to assess just how horrible he felt. Turning things over in his mind – Sherlock thought about how odd it was that he had wanted to come, and John had made him...but purely because the doctor didn’t want him to enjoy it, he hadn’t. John had essentially forced Sherlock into a bodily reaction that was contradictory to how he was actually feeling – and that in itself was more than enough to convince the detective that he should accept the doctor’s judgement on what he would and wouldn’t like for the foreseeable future.

John returned, and silently took Sherlock’s hand – leading him towards the bathroom. Undressing himself, the doctor watched his submissive stare off blankly into space as he waited. John carefully led Sherlock into the shower and underneath the steaming spray, and attentively washed him clean. He only had to press his hand lightly on the detective’s shoulder, and Sherlock immediately knelt beneath the streaming water, and let John’s wet fingers slide carefully into his hair and deposit a lather that was then meticulously rinsed out. The doctor’s touch changed the submissive inch by inch – he felt those mixed emotions leave him slowly, until all that he felt was the gentle stroking of John’s hands over his body. Standing back up, Sherlock didn’t hesitate in turning to face John, and kiss him. The detective’s lips pressed silent thank-you’s against John’s lips, and the doctor returned them in relief.

It took a while for the pair to remove themselves from the warm and comforting heat of the shower, but eventually both were dried and dressed. Well, John was dressed – Sherlock just about managed to put on underwear and an open shirt, and decided he couldn’t be bothered anymore. It wasn’t long before the detective’s was carefully curled up on John’s lap – positioned perfectly so that the doctor was obliged to rub his palm soothingly over Sherlock’s arse in a meditative fashion, as he watched his submissive shout answer after answer at the television, which was currently showing a re-run of University Challenge. John knew it wasn’t going to be long before Sherlock got bored again.


NOTE: Right. Sorry for being rubbish at updating, sorry for this completely random chapter about not much at all, and generally sorry for being rubbish. However, I have more time at the moment, so expect a number of updates shortly. I kind of want to keep writing this now, but keep your suggestions coming in any case, I’m currently working on a few as we speak. Don’t forget to review, and don’t be too mean.. xx

Chapter Text


The doctor's eyes flickered to Sherlock, who was still watching the television with what looked like rapt attention, but clearly wasn't anything of the sort.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"What's your favourite thing about me?"

John had no shame in laughing out loud at this. Classic narcissism at its finest.

"My favourite thing? Your modesty, of course."

Sherlock frowned and turned around in John's lap, now completely ignoring the people on the television screen who so often got the questions wrong. John's hands snaked under his submissive's open shirt and stroked idly at his supple skin.

"I mean physically."

"Oh I see," said John wryly. "Well let me think for a moment.."

Sherlock's lips curled into a smile but he said nothing, his hands reaching behind him to rest on John's knees, his body arched delicately towards the doctor. The roaming hands on his torso traced circles into his skin, and he watched John watch him for a while. Just as Sherlock began to get impatient, the fingers around his waist suddenly scrabbled and squeezed at his sides, and he squealed effeminately, wriggling violently and demanding that John stop that instant. The doctor was almost in tears with laughter at the detective's indignant reaction, and tickled him harder. What started out as a tickling match soon turned into a play fight between the two grown men, which ended in the doctor pinning Sherlock's arms to the floor and watching him struggle beneath him.

"John!" Sherlock murmured, twisting his arms in John's grip to try and regain some form of control.

Laughing breathlessly, John's hungry eyes roamed across Sherlock's skin.

"Shh, I'm still deciding on my favourite thing! Let's see..."

John leaned forward and planted a kiss on Sherlock's ear, trailing his lips down the detective's neck to his collarbone. He bit down carefully across the skin stretched taut across the bone beneath, and left a reddish-purple bruise in his wake. His submissive's sharp intake of breath was followed by the gentle raise of his hips into John's. This did not go unnoticed by the doctor.

"Sherlock; you've already come twice today. In a very short space of time..."

The detective blushed deeply. "It's not my fault. You're making me."

John paused for a second, his lips hovering inches from Sherlock's chest. After a moment, the doctor sat up; a sadistic smile playing on his lips.

"You're right. I am making you. I want to see how many more orgasms I can give you."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "You're a doctor. Surely you realise that I can't just keep coming?"

John's grin widened. "I said I was going to make you orgasm; not come. Have you never heard of a dry orgasm before?"

Sherlock stared back at him for a moment, but before he had a chance to say anything in reply, John had leant forward to capture his lips in a kiss, dragging his tongue across the detective's lower lip and biting down gently enough to make Sherlock moan delightedly beneath him.

"Now," John said gently. "Behave, and keep your wrists above your head. I need my hands."

Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment.

"...Can you tie me?"

John growled in arousal and left another biting kiss on Sherlock's waiting mouth. Undoing his belt and pulling it through the loops, the doctor took his submissive's outstretched wrists and buckled them together. Just before he continued, John warned the detective:

"Don't move them until I say. You can be good for me, can't you?"

Sherlock confirmed eagerly, and raised his head slightly to encourage John into kissing him again. He wasn't disappointed, and a trail of biting kisses was soon left right down his torso. Kneeling to one side of his submissive, John spread Sherlock's knees wide and settled himself between them, giving him a much freer reign of the detective's body. His hands squeezed at Sherlock's thighs, whilst his mouth was occupied in catching one of his submissive's hard nipples between his teeth and biting down, hard enough for the detective's hips to raise right up off of the floorboards for a moment. John watched Sherlock's reaction as he pinched the same nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the pink bud between them to worry the sensitive skin into reddening. Pulling gently, the doctor observed as Sherlock's chest rose to follow the tug of his fingers, and smiled as the detective's mouth dropped open a little wider.

"You look so pretty, Sherlock. And every bit of you is mine."

The detective moaned and pushed his hips towards John's, encouraging the doctor's hand nearer to his cock. It was taking him a little longer to get hard, for obvious reasons, but John wasn't exactly making it difficult for him.

"Please...Sir, I want you."

The doctor twisted Sherlock's nipple firmly to make him gasp, and watched the detective's hips roll up into thin air.

"You want me?" John asked enquiringly, as if he didn't fully understand the blatant meaning in Sherlock's strained tone. His submissive mewled in frustration and spread his legs wider, his hardening cock searching for friction that John was denying him in that region.

"I want you in me," he replied exasperatedly, "Please, Sir. I need you."

John used both hands to pushed Sherlock's thighs flat against the floor, so that his squirming was reduced to the sensation of the detective's writhing skin beneath his palms.

"Make yourself orgasm, and then I'll take you. Use those tied hands; touch yourself. I want to see you struggle."

Sherlock's head rolled back and thumped lightly on the floorboards in an expression of frustration, but slowly his hands came from above his head and rested just above his cock for a moment. With his wrists tied together, and lying down on the floor, the angle was awkward enough to make him squirm more out of irritation. This earned him a biting kiss and a growl from John, whose hands were still roaming over Sherlock's body.

The submissive took his cock between his bound hands and slid slowly up the shaft, a twinge of sensitivity immediately forcing an unhappy gasp from his throat. Looking up, he noticed that John was entirely focused on his expression, rather than his hands. There was a kind of primal hunger in his eyes that made moans slip from Sherlock's mouth, and made his hands move faster. John's palms pushed his hips down into the floorboards beneath, and the detective yelped in pain as his sore arse was pressed hard against the wood beneath him. The doctor leaned over him with a grin, his lips inches from Sherlock's ear.

"You're only going to get sorer."

The detective moaned loudly, his shoulders shuddering at the implications of John's words. His thumb slid over the tip of his cock and back down his shaft feverously, watching the changes in the doctor's eyes as his trembling hands attempted to do what only John could do best. Ignoring the ache along his cock, Sherlock concentrated on the feel of the doctor's leather belt around his wrists and the heated gaze he was receiving from the man above him, whose own erection was bulging in his jeans in blatant arousal. Whimpering delicately, Sherlock felt the doctor's hands forcing his thighs to remain wide open, his grip burning deliciously against the detective's flesh.

"I'm watching you," the doctor said, his tone gravelly with hunger. "Show me what a good boy you are, Sherlock."

The detective's head thumped back against the floorboards again, and his eyes closed tightly as he felt the growing warmth in the pit of his stomach. He felt a hand slide up his torso and tug gently at the collar around his neck. Writhing quite erratically as he was spread out on the floor, Sherlock felt a sudden wash of strange embarrassment overcome him.

"Oh, God..."

Kisses littered his collarbone, and teeth bit into his shoulder to leave a purpling bruise.

"You're going to give me what I want, aren't you?"

The detective nodded vigorously managing to pant out a breathless "Yes, Sir" as his nerves began to feel as if they were all on end. John's hands felt like they were everywhere on him; his skin felt hot and sensitive as if he'd been burned. "C-can I come?"

The hand around Sherlock's collar tightened a little.


The detective sobbed dryly as his hips bucked and squirmed underneath John's one-handed grip, his own hands squeezing around his cock as he came over himself, his orgasm hitting him like a brick wall. The hand around his collar was removed, but Sherlock still failed to breathe for a few seconds, the air remaining trapped in his lungs as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His body shook from sheer force, and he barely felt John's fingertips trailing lightly over his thighs as the doctor watched him in complete rapture. It took him a little longer than usual for Sherlock to start seeing and feeling properly again, but when he did, the first thing he encountered were John's lips against his, and the detective's arms found their way around the doctor's neck without the need for conscious thought. He automatically opened his mouth to allow John's tongue entry, and moaned breathlessly as the doctor's teeth bit down on his lower lip. Between kisses, John repeated a mantra of "Good boy" over and over, and for Sherlock, it felt like the words were being kissed onto his skin. His tied hands ran up John's back, and his legs tangled around the backs of John's knees. The doctor growled under his breath, and with a surge of sudden strength, pulled both himself and Sherlock up, the detective still wrapped around his waist.

After carrying a large medical bag and army equipment on his back in the sweltering heat of Afghanistan, Sherlock Holmes was not exactly a heavy weight to carry. He might be several inches taller, but the detective was extremely lean, and so it was without particular difficulty that the doctor took them both to Sherlock's room, kicking the door open with one foot and placing his submissive carefully onto the bed, unwinding his belt from around the detective's wrists. As John began to undress himself, he heard a whimper from Sherlock, who knelt up eagerly and began undoing the buttons along John's shirt himself. The doctor rewarded him with a series of hungry kisses that made the detective's hands fumble as he pulled at fly of John's jeans. Moments later, the doctor was fully undressed and reaching into a drawer beside Sherlock's bed. When he turned back around, the detective was already on all fours, his back arched into a very well-practised position. He wasn't quite capable of staying still though, and his hips shifted gently from side to side as a sign of his impatience. John stroked his hand carefully along the detective's back, and felt the muscles beneath the skin relax under his touch. When he reached Sherlock's tailbone, he felt his submissive weight shift back onto his lower half in an open invitation for John's hand to continue its travel along the curve of Sherlock's arse. Slowly, the doctor dragged his hand deliberately down the reddened and aching skin, watching as the detective's back arched far enough that his shoulder blades almost touched in the middle. On impulse, John pulled his hand back and delivered a stinging smack right in the centre of the detective arse, and felt his erection throb as one of his submissive's straightened elbows gave way, and Sherlock hid his face in the crook of his arm. The doctor couldn't imagine just how on edge the detective must be feeling; his body must be nearing complete exhaustion and even the lightest touch must feel like having 50,000 volts put through him. But still, as if to compensate for his weakening arms, Sherlock's lower half shifted for a moment, and he spread his legs wider.

"Perfect." John said quietly, allowing his hand to run soothingly over Sherlock's arse and in between his cheeks, running gently over his entrance. He felt Sherlock tense and relax spasmodically beneath him, the detective clearly having a mental fight between his over-sensitivity and his unyielding desires. Untwisting the cap of the tube and spreading lubricant methodically over his fingers, John rubbed a digit along Sherlock's crease and then very, very slowly inside him. The detective's moans were muffled by the position of his head in his arms, but his arousal was clear as day from his voice, even if he was currently incapable of any physical reaction. John slid his finger carefully in and out of Sherlock, before adding another finger and spreading him wider, scissoring inside of him.

The submissive's back was writhing helplessly as John meticulously prepared him. Sherlock felt like his nerves were going to jump out of his skin, and part of him was desperate to get as far away from any intense contact as possible. But at the same time, nothing felt better than having John come inside of him; filling him up and making him feel so wrung out it made his limbs numb.

Without warning, John's fingers suddenly grazed against his prostate, and Sherlock squealed in shock, his other arm buckling and his thighs automatically trying to shut as his body attempted to stop whatever it was that was making him feel so painfully sensitive.

The doctor's free hand immediately grabbed the inside of Sherlock's thigh and forced his legs apart.

"Get back where you were, I'm not done with you."

The detective squirmed and sobbed under his breath.


John's fingers swirled inside of him and came out, spreading the lubricant over his entrance as they did so. The doctor crawled forwards on the bed and pulled Sherlock gently up by the collar, so that he was sitting on his heels. Making himself comfortable at the head of the bed, John stroked along the shaft of his cock lightly, watching as Sherlock stared at him with his mouth slightly open.

"You want me inside of you?"

The blush on Sherlock's cheekbones swelled, but his reply was immediate "Yes, Sir."

John smiled, and beckoned the detective towards him. Sherlock crawled forwards until he was straddling the doctor's legs. He looked so well-used already that the doctor had to control himself carefully so as not to come on the spot. John could see that the detective was edging towards complete exhaustion, and it scared him a little how much that turned him on. He wanted, just once, to see Sherlock truly wrung out.

"I'm going to sit here, and I'm going to watch you. You're going to line yourself up, and push my cock inside of you. I want to see you orgasm as I come inside of you. Do you understand?"

Sherlock leaned forward and rested his head against John's chest for a moment. His breathing was heavy, but when he looked up the doctor could still see that glint of wanting in his eyes.

"...Yes, Sir. I understand."

NOTE: Omg, not going to lie, John is such a hottie in this chapter. REVIEW darlings, I'm slowly making my way through people's suggestions 3 Hope you like this one as much I did :D

Chapter Text

Sherlock positioned himself carefully, one shaking arm gripping John's side, while his other hand curled firmly around the doctor's cock. Sweat slid down as he slowly lowered himself down, gasping at the friction as he gently allowed John's cock inside of him. The doctor's arms snaked around Sherlock's waist to steady him, and pushed him down a little more firmly. Another breath hitched in the detective's throat, and John growled in approval as he watched Sherlock carefully sink down onto his cock. The submissive already looked an absolute mess, and seemed to be on the verge of so many emotions that he couldn't quite choose which one to express.

"Good boy," John coaxed, stroking Sherlock's thighs before moving his hands back up around the detective's hips. "You're so good for me."

His submissive moaned under his breath, his face creased into a mask of sheer concentration as he leant forward a little and pressed both palms against John's chest. Looking down at where their bodies met, Sherlock rolled his hips upwards slowly, glancing up with a sudden smile as he heard the doctor's groan of pleasure. He own cock felt heavy and used, and hot with sensitivity. But as the hands on his hips gripped tighter into his skin, he felt a tiny spark of arousal burst in the pit of his stomach. Carefully sliding himself back down the length of John's cock, Sherlock sat up a little straighter, the detective let the doctor's cock slide almost all the way out of him, before pushing back down firmly, starting to build a pace that made John's grip tighten enough to leave marks on his skin. The doctor's breathing was heavy, and he was forcing Sherlock back down onto his almost as soon as he rolled his hips upwards. If he wasn't in such a near-delirious state, Sherlock might have commented on John's clear obsession with maintaining control, even with someone else on top of him. But the detective was barely managing to string a sentence together, let along make apt observations about the doctor's innate desire for complete control.

"Ohh God..."

John shifted underneath him, pushing his hips up to clash against Sherlock's, and forcing himself further inside of his submissive, his hand coming up to curl around the detective's collar.

"Christ, you're good at this..."

Sherlock only moaned incoherently in reply, his chest heaving and his body bent over as John's hand guided his top half down by his collar. A particularly firm snap of the doctor's hips upwards slammed straight into his prostate, and a shock of pleasure wracked through his body. A sob caught in his throat, and his hands pressed forcefully against John's chest in an attempt not to collapse entirely. A firm hand slid over his cock, and the detective yelped in shock. The doctor's hold on him was completely unforgiving to his most sensitive and over-used skin; the pressure relentlessly moving from tip to base with the most agonising friction.

Growling in frustration, Sherlock forced himself harder onto John's cock, getting a sense of deep satisfaction from the groans of approval he received. Grinding down onto the doctor, the submissive ignored the building fire in his groin, and concentrated bringing John off.

"I-ohgod-I just want to make you come, Sir..." Sherlock moaned, whining pleadingly as the hand wrapped around his cock crept up in pace, forcing a shudder through his body.

The doctor growled, his hips now thrusting erratically up into the detective, his grip on the collar around his neck tightening in tandem with the hand around Sherlock's cock.

"You will," he said between gulping breaths of air, "It's all you, Sherlock."

The detective's body was searing hot, sweat gathering at his shoulder blades and rolling down his back. He felt the tension in the pit of his stomach get tighter and tighter, and yet the orgasm that hit him moments later still seemed to come at a complete surprise. John's hips crashed into him with a spectacular force, and he could feel himself become slick and full with the doctor's come. Sherlock's taut arms gave way, and he collapsed on top of John, his head buried in his arms as he convulsed and shook. His whole body felt like it was made of cotton and lead simultaneously, and for several seconds his chest felt incredibly tight; until he remembered that what he'd stopped doing was breathing.

Beneath him, John slid his arms around the detective's back, soothing the shaking skin with his careful hands, and carding his fingers through Sherlock's unruly hair.

"Perfect." John murmured quietly.

The room was silent for several minutes, save for their heavy breathing, and the sound of John's hand brushed over the skin across Sherlock's back. The detective rolled his head to the side slightly, to allow himself to breathe a little easier, but otherwise seemed completely unwilling to budge even an inch. In fact, when he felt the doctor shift ever so slightly under him, he whined quietly and twined his leg around John's ankle.

"Shh, it's alright." John soothed patiently. "I'm not going anywhere..."

The detective settled, the tension leaving his body immediately. He was exhausted, and over-spent, and as a consequence his emotions were running particularly high. He suddenly felt like crying, and tried to suppress it by pressing his body closer to John's.

The doctor held him tighter, frowning a little in concern. He was sure he had heard Sherlock's breath tighten a little, as if he were close to tears.

"You're my beautiful boy, aren't you?" John felt Sherlock nod his head against his chest.

"And I'm going to take care of you."

His submissive nodded again, only this time it was practically undetectable. In fact, Sherlock's whole body seemed to have calmed considerably. The shaking had subsided, and his breathing pattern was deep and slow...and then slower still. John continued to let his hands comfort Sherlock's back and hair, but he wasn't sure the detective could feel it anymore. He appeared to have fallen into a rather deep and powerful sleep.

A few hours later, John was roused drowsily from his nap by Sherlock's head brushing against his chest. Unable to form words coherently for a moment, he simply patted the detective's back affectionately and slid his hand up to tuck his fingers under the detective's collar to stroke the skin beneath.

Sherlock nudged him gently and looked up through his curls.


"Mm..." The doctor mumbled vaguely, his voice thick with sleep. His body felt a little numb from having Sherlock laying right on top of him for so long, and his limbs felt a little fuzzy.

There was a little pause, where Sherlock looked up at John earnestly, and John tried to determine what year it was, and whether or not he could feel his own feet. Then, the detective said quietly:

"..You're still inside me."

That certainly woke the doctor up a bit. And now that Sherlock had mentioned it, his lower half suddenly came back to him, the fuzziness removing itself immediately. Looking down at his submissive, he could see that Sherlock was looking at him curiously, his chin rested on John's chest. As if for emphasis, the detective arched his back, so that John's cock moved inside of him.

The doctor groaned and slid his hand down to grab Sherlock's fleshy arse, stilling the detective's movement. His submissive grinned, and tried to look innocently surprised at John's reaction. John's hands wrapped their way around the backs of Sherlock's thighs and lifted him up and off. The detective's head now rested just below John's chin, and his foot adjusted to curl round the doctor's ankle. Nudging John's jaw gently, Sherlock noted with satisfaction that the doctor understood him without the need for words, and meticulous hands found their way back in his hair.

"I wasn't complaining." Sherlock mumbled against John's skin.

The doctor's eyes had already closed again. "You would have been in a few hours."

The detective made a noise of begrudging agreement, arching his back as he felt John's other hand trailing down his spine.

"How are you feeling now?" the doctor asked gently. He felt the other man shift against him for a moment before he heard the reply. "Sore."

John opened his eyes. Curling one hand firmly around Sherlock's shoulder, and the other around one of his legs, he turned them over so that he was kneeling over the detective. His submissive made a whimper of complaint at the sudden movement, but stopped short as John looked at him. The doctor brushed dark curls away from the detective's forehead, and leaned down to plant kiss after kiss on his waiting lips.

Sherlock sometimes forgot that John was, socially speaking, above him. He sometimes forgot that John wasn't the strictest Dom in the world, and he often forgot that just because John isn't as clever as him – it didn't mean he was an idiot. But the detective never forgot how gentle the doctor was. As John's lips made their way down his chest, kissing the love bites and bruises that were scattered across his alabaster skin, Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to John's voice, as he spoke between kisses.

"Do you want to know...what my favourite thing about you is, Sherlock?"

The detective murmured that he did. John's kisses were now landing perfectly along the length of his inner thigh, the doctor leaving not a single inch of skin without the invisible mark of his lips upon it.

"Well...I love your beautiful skin...I love these squirming thighs and curling toes...I love your gorgeous arse...your pretty lips...I love the way you blush...the way you arch your back...I love seeing a shiver run down your spine, or watching the pulse thump in your neck...I love your rutting hips, and your ridiculous hair...but your eyes Sherlock..."

John paused to look up at the detective, who was now staring straight back at him. They were so exquisitely clear in that moment, no shadow of the clouds that swirled in them when the detective's mind began to get crowded. They were the strangest colour – light and molten as if they were almost fluid. They were grey and blue and green and when the light shone at the right angle, they were almost crystal clear. And John saw everything he needed to see in them.

"Your eyes will always be my favourite thing about you."

Sherlock curled his arms around John's neck, and the doctor kissed him again, pulling him up until he was sitting on top of him. Resting his forehead momentarily against John's, Sherlock was suddenly hit with the same feeling he had experienced only nights ago. That strange sensation that something needed to be said, but he didn't have the words for it. So, instead, he kissed the doctor chastely on the mouth.

"I like being good."

John laughed, and raised an eyebrow. "Can I have that as my ringtone?"

NOTE: Guess who's updating ;) Sorry if there's any mistakes, inbox me if you want more information on dry orgasms or whatever. If you're still reading this, you're bonkers but I absolutely love you. And I am hoping to do a lot of updates very shortly, to appease you all for my terrible lack of timekeeping. Spank me?

Chapter Text

"Go away."

Mycroft Holmes tapped his umbrella lightly on the floor and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. Standing across from his brother, who lay strewn across the sofa with an expression of distaste, he breathed steadily through his nose.

"Surely you were aware I'd make this little visit eventually?"

Sherlock's eyes remained closed, although his irritation was obvious in the drumming of his fingertips on the leather of the sofa.

"You certainly took your time."

The older Holmes brother wandered in the direction of the bookcase, glancing around at the strangely quite orderly looking apartment. The place look well lived-in, to say the least, but there was a remarkable improvement in being able to walk about the place without fearing for one's life.

"I wasn't keen to step on any toes, especially not during the delicate first stages."

Sherlock snorted. "Not keen on interfering? Are you feeling quite well?"

Mycroft slipped the book he held back into the bookcase, and turned back to address his brother.

"I took all the necessary precautions of course. But now that things have settled, I thought it prudent to pay a little visit, see for myself this apparently vast improvement."

Sherlock's eyes flickered opened, and his fingers stopped their tapping.

"How thoughtful of you. Bye bye, Mycroft."

Mycroft ignored this, and walked slowly back to stand in his previous spot.

"Interesting, the doctor's approach towards you, don't you think?"

The detective sat up in irritation, and glared at his sibling.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Oh, nothing at all. I'm simply making an observation, that the doctor's methods appear have taken a more ah, child-friendly approach since he began his relationship with you."

Sherlock stared at his brother.

"Shut up."

Mycroft did nothing of the sort.

"Being made to stand in corners, Sherlock, it's quite endearing really..."

"Shut up."

"Don't misunderstand me, I fully approve of your arrangement. All those years you wasted being considered too clever to tame – when really all you needed was a smack and an early bedtime."

"SHUT UP!" The detective yelled, standing and plucking a coffee mug from the table to hurl it at the opposite wall. It connected with the wall and shattered, leaving a small but ugly coffee splatter in its wake. And just as the piece of china clunked fell to the floor – Sherlock heard the front door click deliberately shut.

There was silence. Sherlock stared intently at the floor, listening. Footsteps walked one, two, three paces to the bottom of the stairs. Mycroft looked on nonchalantly, noting the nervousness in his brother's frame. Then – from the floor below, a voice floated up:

"Sherlock, come down here please."

The detective glanced back at his brother, who wandered over to the nearest armchair and took a seat, making a steeple out of his fingers, one eyebrow raised. Giving him a look that could have murdered several people, Sherlock stormed out of the room, and hurried down the stairs.

John said nothing to the detective's approaching figure, although he noticed how his submissive hesitated three steps before the bottom, and chose to remain there. Carefully hanging up his coat with the air of a man who had all the time in the world, he turned towards Sherlock, and methodically rolled up his sleeves. He knew the detective was watching him anxiously, those long fingers alternately twisting around each other and then hanging limply at his sides. The doctor looked at him, and was met was a nervous gaze before blue-grey eyes found their way to somewhere over his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

The detective noted the deliberately lowered volume of John's voice, and relaxed a little. He should know by now that the doctor had no interest in making a scene.

"Yes, I'm fine."

The doctor nodded, and gestured for Sherlock to sit down on the step.

"I heard something smash."

The detective blushed and shifted uncomfortably.

"I threw a mug. At Mycroft."

John raised an eyebrow when he heard the name, but then continued in the same calm manner.


Sherlock scowled and scratched his fingernails against the stairs.

"He provoked me. He always finds out everything, and he's goading me with's not fair."

The doctor stooped and took Sherlock's agitated hands in his.

"Don't get upset. What is he goading you about?"

The detective squirmed and blushed. "About the way I'm disciplined...he said all I've ever really needed was a smack and an early bedtime... and that your approach to me is child-friendly."

John rolled his eyes. "So you responded to him teasing you about being supposedly treated like a child, by throwing a tantrum?"

Sherlock said nothing.

"Answer me."


"Right." The doctor decided he had heard quite enough at this point. He hadn't expected his first face-to-face meeting with Mycroft Holmes to begin quite like this, but then again he'd almost forgotten Sherlock had a brother at all, apart from moments during a case where the detective would suddenly become aggravated at a text message, and proceed to sulk for the next ten minutes. It seemed to John that the older Holmes brother was far more irritation than he was worth.

"Firstly, I've told you about not losing your temper, and although I can see he upset you, you definitely shouldn't be throwing things. So, I would like you to give him an apology, pick up all the broken mug, and that'll be it. Secondly, I don't recall ever sending you to bed early, and thirdly, if he thinks that anything we do in our bedroom is child-friendly, the police should definitely be called. Alright?"

Sherlock nodded sullenly, tilting his head back to offer his lips to John, who kissed them readily.

"Come on," he said, patting the side of Sherlock's thigh, "Let's go. And you make sure you behave yourself."

The detective's smile slipped a little "...I don't want to apologise."

"You have a choice. You can go up there, apologise, and get it over with. Or you can argue with me, give him the satisfaction of hearing you get into trouble, and then go and apologise. Up to you."

Sherlock looked scandalised, and stood up sharply, walking up the stairs with John close behind him. Upon entering the living room, he found his brother just as he had been when he had left, sitting in an armchair looking vaguely amused.

The detective walked straight up to him, and said with a gaze that was directed somewhere directly above his brother's head – "It appears I lost my temper. I apologise."

Mycroft managed not to look too surprised, and inclined his head. The detective then went off to collected pieces of broken china from the floor, leaving John and his brother to meet for the first time. Mycroft stood, regarding the doctor carefully.

"Good to meet you, Dr Watson; Mycroft Holmes. I apologise for the delay in our meeting, but I was anxious not to impose in the early stages."

John raised an eyebrow. "Thank you. That certainly would have complicated matters. Would you like tea?" The doctor gestured to the armchair the older Holmes had just vacated.

"No, thank you. I thought I'd just stop by to check on my brother for myself."

John sat down on the sofa, and nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, I care about your brother very much, so I hope that if you have any concerns about him, or about my methods, that you get them out in the open."

Sherlock paused in the doorway of the kitchen, where he'd been throwing shards of china into the bin. He watched his brother's eyebrow arch inquisitively.

"You're a reputable man, with a history of satisfied submissives. Sherlock has put on a healthy amount of weight since the beginning of his relationship with you, and I have received information that suggests he is becoming somewhat tolerable company. What concerns might I have?"

The doctor met his gaze steadily. "I don't know – you tell me."

Mycroft smiled and grasped his umbrella, looking at it very carefully.

"I will always harbour...concerns for my brother. He never fails to find himself in some unfavourable circumstance or another. But I have no doubt he is in very safe hands."

"I'm glad you think so." John left absolutely no room for further conversation, suddenly becoming very tired with the whole thing. Glancing over to where Sherlock stood leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, the doctor could see how highly strung the detective was feeling. His brother's very existence seemed to make him irritable.

"Well," Mycroft concluded, as he watched the doctor glance at his brother with concern in his eyes. "I believe that's all for now. But of course I'll be in touch, in due course"

The doctor stood up. "I'll show you out."

Mycroft paused only to give his brother a curt nod, who in return (after glancing to see whether John was looking, which he was) returned the gesture with a strained attempt at sincerity. As soon as his brother left the room, Sherlock's shoulder dropped a little, and he wandered over to the landing, and stood carefully just outside of the doorframe. He knew exactly what Mycroft would say to John, and from where he stood, he could just about make out John's reply.

"My brother and I do not have the most amicable of relationships"

"You don't say."

"Your relationship with him is quite remarkable. I hadn't supposed he would ever find a long-term Dominant, given his unsavoury reputation."

Sherlock heard John pause in opening the door.

"I'm under no illusions as to how I came to hear about your brother, and his reputation. I may be an idiot by Sherlock's standards, but I'm not a fool. And all I can really say to you about that is...thank you."

Nothing more was said, and a few moments later, the door clicked shut. The detective moved quickly off of the landing and flopped down on the sofa, brooding silently.

John returned, and announced with a sigh that he needed a cup of tea. Sherlock followed him into the kitchen a few minutes later, walking up behind the doctor and slipping his hand into his. John's thumb brushed over the back of his hand, and he turned round to kiss him gently.

When their lips parted, and John made to let go and finish pouring out tea, Sherlock frowned and held his hand a little tighter. The doctor paused and turned to look at him.

"What's wrong?"


"There's definitely something. You're very affectionate, but I can just feel that you want to say or ask something. What is it?"

Sherlock smiled a little at this, but then looked down to frown at their clasped hands, so he wouldn't have to look at John.

"I hate that Mycroft knows so much about us."

"I'm sorry he upset you."

The detective shrugged his shoulders irritably. "He's so patronising. I can't help getting angry..."

The doctor pulled him a little closer. "You're going to have to learn to stop yourself."

When Sherlock squirmed a little and wrinkled his nose in distaste, John's tone became a little firmer.

"Yes, Sherlock. You can't just lose your temper all the time, it just makes things worse for you."

The detective pulled away, and folded his arms defensively. "I don't care."

"You will in a minute. I've already been pretty lenient about you smashing things, so I wouldn't push it if I were you."

But Sherlock's brother had succeeded in putting him into a bad mood, and it would seem he was finding it difficult to get out of it.

"But it's ridiculous that I should have to put up with him, and not do anything about it. It's stupid, it's unfair, and I can't believe that you're taking his side!"

John refrained from rolling his eyes. "Sherlock, stop it now. I'm warning you."



The doctor could see Sherlock think about it for a split second. Then, still with his arms sullenly folded, the detective closed his mouth and scuffed his foot against the floor.

"I think you need to be reminded of the consequences of petulant behaviour," John said firmly.

"Turn around, and bend over the table please, and keep your legs spread."

Sherlock looked at him pleadingly. "John, no, please. I won't argue anymore..."

"Then what are you doing now?" the doctor asked quietly.

The detective whined unhappily, and turned very slowly around, bending reluctantly over the table, and clutching the sides with sweating hands. He heard John's belt unbuckle behind him, and the sound of leather being slipped out from belt loops. Instinctively, Sherlock's hand came back behind him, and he stood up almost completely.

"Sir, no, please!"

"Get your hand away, Sherlock."

The detective obeyed, but not quietly. "It's going to hurt so much, please..."

The doctor folded the belt in half, and held it in one hand, rubbing Sherlock's back with the other.

"Sherlock, I'm not going to beat you, am I? How many do you think you deserve?"

The detective's brain immediately told him to say "none"...but the submissive part of him was craving John's control a little. Sherlock knew he was overreacting, especially as John hadn't even called it a punishment, but a "reminder" – and John might be firm, but he was in no way cruel. Sherlock also knew that this was exactly what he needed; a reminder that his best behaviour was a permanent requirement. He mentally fumbled around, trying to pick what sounded like the right number...and then added a few in case John thought he was being too kind to himself.


John knew Sherlock couldn't see him, but tried not to smile anyway.

"I was thinking three, but if you say so..."

The detective backtracked frantically. "No! No, three, Sir, I deserve three."

"Alright then. Are you ready?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, and nodded slowly.

The first came as a shock. John was clearly aware that he didn't need to be forceful to make an impression, letting the leather wrap around the curve of Sherlock's backside on impact. It was a strange burning sensation that took a few seconds to flare up, and the doctor paused to let the full effect of it sink in.


Sherlock writhed as the sensation scorched across his arse, the belt leaving a far more intimate mark than the cane. Admittedly, he was somewhat relieved that John hadn't made him undress, and mentally acknowledged that he should be a little grateful for that blessing. His hand came back to rub along the thick line that had been left in the belt's wake, but through some kind of amazing willpower, he managed to stop himself. Moments later, he felt John's hand rubbing in circles over his arse, and pushed back into the touch with a whimper. The doctor indulged him perhaps a little longer than was really necessary, but then withdrew to administer the next strap.

Sherlock gasped loudly as the heat seared across his arse, landing just underneath the previous one. He gripped the table hard enough to turn his knuckles white, and one leg bent at the knee, closing the gap between his legs. He felt John's hand soothing over his marks, and then sliding down to his thighs to silently encourage Sherlock back into position.

There was a pause, and for a moment Sherlock thought John had forgotten the final strike – when the loud crack of the belt snapping across his clothed backside bounced noisily off the walls, and moments later a burn began to rise up.

"Oww.." Sherlock moaned, after a sharp intake of breath. Squirming uncomfortably, the detective silently thanked his lucky stars that John had stopped at three, rather than carrying on to five. He felt more than adequately reminded of what was expected of him, and planned on keeping in John's good books for as long as possible.

"Good boy," John's voice said from behind him. "You can get up now – well done."

Sherlock straightened up slowly, and turned round to face the doctor, who was finishing buckling up his belt. When the doctor looked up, he was greeted with a wide-eyed expression of hurt and shock.

"John," Sherlock said gravely. "...You didn't rub the last one better..."

John managed to keep himself from laughing. He knew it wasn't really that funny, but it was moments like these that he thought of fondly whenever Sherlock was stalking around in his suits, looking like he'd never wanted so much as a handshake from anyone in his life. John couldn't even begin to imagine the look of shock on Greg Lestrade's face if he saw the detective like this.

"I know I didn't," he said calmly. "I want it to sting for a little bit longer, to give you something to think about whilst I make another cup of tea. Go and wait for me in the other room, and once I'm finished, we'll see about giving you something nicer to think about."

Sherlock's expression changed dramatically at this point, and he left the room quickly, pausing only to kiss John, who in return gave him a light smack of encouragement as he turned round. As he re-boiled the kettle, John wondered how many cups of tea had been lost or forgotten during the course of his relationship with Sherlock. It would seem steeped leaves were no match against the insatiable force of Sherlock irresistible arse.

NOTE: If there are any typo's I apologise. MORE SOON lovelies!!!

Chapter Text

If you are eragon19, then this chapter is inspired by your suggestion, so...enjoy!

When John entered the living room , two steaming cups of tea in hand, he was greeted with the sight of his submissive, patiently knelt on the floor, waiting for him. Wandering over, the doctor nudged Sherlock with his foot and proffered one of the mugs to him, who took it happily and came to sit next to him. Frowning a little as his arse connected with the sofa, Sherlock made up for his discomfort with proximity to John. The detective's legs curled up comfortably on top of the doctor's, his foot twisting around one of John's shins.

The doctor automatically placed his free hand slightly on the inside of Sherlock's thigh, and rubbed his thumb in a gentle circle over the fabric. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between the two. Then, after a meditative sip of tea, Sherlock started drawing patterns with his finger over the back of John's palm, a gentle line of concern forming across his forehead.


The doctor smiled and turned his hand over, letting the pad of Sherlock's finger trace over his palm.


"...Do you think I'm childish?"


Sherlock looked at him for a second, and then took another sip of tea before replying.

"Do you think I act childishly?"


The detective scowled, but leaned his head on John's shoulder, very light spots of pink appearing on his cheekbones.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Only when you're being naughty."

Sherlock made a low whining noise, and nudged his head against John's shoulder to show his contempt at the choice of words. There was a noticeably more vibrant flush across his face when he turned his head.

"I hate that word," he mumbled, and despite the resentment in his voice, he curled up a little closer to John, his toes brushing up and down against the doctor's jean-clad shin.

John drained his tea, and nodded thoughtfully.

"I know."

Sherlock nudged him again, but then took the empty cup from his hands, and leaned right over the doctor and the arm of the sofa to set both mugs down on the floor. Immediately, he felt John's hand press lightly on his lower back, silently telling him to stay where he was, his top half draped across the arm of the sofa, and his lower half lying across John's lap. Folding his arms and resting his head on top of them, he looked back at the doctor, whose other hand was sliding around the detective's waist. Raising his hips a little, Sherlock allowed those meticulous hands to slide under him, and deftly unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly. Fingers curled inside the waistband of his trousers, and carefully pulled them down over his thighs, helping them over his knees and then off completely. He watched the doctor fold them and set them down beside him. John's hands drifted idly across Sherlock's shins and up, raising the skin to goosebumps with the lightness of his touch. Finally, his fingertips reached the curve of the detective's arse, which was still clad in the navy fabric of his underwear.

The detective's eyes closed slowly as John's hands smoothed across his arse, his back arching a little to try and make the most of every single touch. The fabric added the slightest friction as it rubbed against his flesh, and that was more than enough to make a small moan escape from his lips.

He could hear the smile in John's voice as he spoke: "Is that better?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and lifted his head from his arms to look back at the doctor, pushing back even further into those gentle hands as he did so.

"Mmm. Doesn't sting now..."

"Is that a complaint?" John said teasingly, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hand off of Sherlock's arse as if he were about to spank him.

"No!" Sherlock said hurriedly, putting his hand behind him and turning himself over in John's lap to try and protect himself.

There was laughter in John's voice, but somehow he managed to give Sherlock a half-stern look, prodding him in the stomach lightly enough to tickle; making his submissive squirm.

"Did I say you could turn over?"

The detective was fully he aware he wasn't in any real trouble at all, but still, he bit his lip and shook his head slowly.

"No, Sir. But I don't want it to sting more – I'm sore enough already!"

John stroked Sherlock's thigh, trailing his hand to the inside and stroking the sensitive skin that was just inches away from the detective's cock, which was half-hard already. Sherlock had received far worse than a light strapping with the belt before, so it was plainly obvious that the detective was making up for his rather unpleasant morning by getting as much of John's attention as possible. And who was the doctor to deny him that?

"Well we can't have that, can we?"

Sherlock shook his head, looking deeply sorry for himself.

"What do you think will make it feel better then, beautiful?"

Knowing full well that this question was in fact John agreeing to indulge the detective in whatever it was he angling for, Sherlock silently thanked the deities for the doctor's ability to take a hint.

"Ice." He said it plainly, but as the word escaped his mouth, he saw John's pupils dilate a fraction. A good choice, then.

The doctor looked at him for a moment, then patted his thigh decisively.

"Go and get a glass of ice then, and bring it to me."

For a split second, Sherlock gave John a look that clearly said "Can't you go and get it?" before the detective caught himself and stood up quickly. There was being indulged, and then there was being a brat, and thankfully Sherlock was getting pretty good at finding the distinction.

"Could you take those back as well, please?" John said, pointing to the two mugs on the floor. Sherlock obediently stooped to retrieve them, and was rewarded with the feeling of John's hand sliding down over his arse and along his leg, in tandem with the straightening of the detective's back. By the time Sherlock was standing upright again, John was sitting back with his arms folded.

Sherlock walked towards the kitchen, and knew full well where John's eyes were looking as he did so. It was oddly amazing to be with someone who found him so apparently irresistible – the detective so often felt the doctor looking at him that it actually felt odd when the sensation wasn't there. It was just a relief to know that John wanted to give Sherlock as much attention as the detective craved.

These were Sherlock's thoughts as he dumped the mugs into the sink, and found an ice tray from the freezer, popping the cubes out of their moulds and into a large, clear glass. He heard John get up and walk into the spare room, and there was a moment of drawer rummaging before the detective heard the doctor's footsteps coming back down the hallway. Waiting until he knew John was seated again, Sherlock picked up the cold glass and took it back out into the living room.

The doctor took the glass and placed it on the floor, before taking Sherlock's wrists and pulling him onto his lap, his hands coming to rest on the detective's spread thighs. Sherlock's eyes met his momentarily, before they slid down to his lips with a gaze of wanting. John watched as the detective leaned closer, almost shy in his advances. Sherlock's kiss was warm and chaste against the doctor's lips, and John immediately felt a wave of dominance curl in the pit of his stomach. One hand curled round the detective's waist to grasp his lower back and pulled him closer, forcing their hips onto one another, his teeth capturing Sherlock's lower lip and biting down hard enough to elicit a moan from his submissive. Pulling away, John could see the brightness in the detective's eyes; and his skin seemed to glow a little with anticipation. The doctor's hands came up to Sherlock's throat, and he carefully began unbuttoning the front of his submissive's shirt, feeling the detective's impatient hands stroking up and down the sides of his legs. Peeling the shirt from the detective's back, and freeing his arms, John discarded it quickly in favour of the alabaster canvas of Sherlock's body. His fingers stroked up his submissive's torso and pinched lightly at the firm, pink nipples that stood out like rose-buds from his chest. Sherlock gasped quietly in response, moaning softly when the doctor's touch began firmer, a shot of tantalising pain running up his spine as the sensitive was twisted between the doctor's fingers.

"You're going to show me what a good boy you are, aren't you?"

Sherlock leaned in to John's biting touch, his eyes gleaming.

"Yes, Sir."

John grinned at the breathlessness of the detective's tone, and reached under one of the sofa cushions to extract a reasonably long piece of chain, with clamps attached at each end. He replaced his pinching fingers with the jaws of the clamp, and watched with arousal as Sherlock's whole chest rose up in shock. The firm and biting pressure on his right nipple immediately created a pool of warmth in the detective's stomach, and his hands came up to grasp at the front of John's shirt, his lower half squirming in the doctor's lap. He watched with an expression of fierce concentration as John attached the other clamp to his left nipple, moaning and writhing as his body fought between pain and arousal. The doctor picked up the chain that hung between the clamps and pulled it taut with a light tug. Sherlock whined lowly and bit his lip, unable to tear his eyes away from the clamps which bit into his skin.

"Where do you think this goes?" John asked lightly, gently tugging on the chain again and wrapping it around his finger to make it shorter, and thus even tighter.

Sherlock looked up suddenly, and whimpered quietly as he stared at the shortened piece of chain in the doctor's hand. He was finding it extremely difficult to keep still – but moving made the chain tauter and much more uncomfortable. But his hips seemed to be ignoring this fact completely, and rutted against John's legs in earnest. He knew exactly where that thing was supposed to go.

"I-in my mouth, Sir."

John didn't even bother replying, simply unravelling his finger from the chain and pulling it gently upwards with the crook of his knuckle, and letting Sherlock lean forward to take it carefully in his teeth. The chain was now incredibly taut, especially as the detective knew to keep his head upright, despite what his instincts might be telling him. The submissive frowned and rubbed his hips against John's to indicate the indecisiveness of his body.

"I know," the doctor said soothingly, rubbing his thumb very lightly over one of the trapped nipples. "Do you want it off?"

Unable to reply coherently, Sherlock shook his head, and immediately moaned between his teeth as the gesture made the chain tug harder at his nipples. John laughed lightly, and rubbed the detective's thighs in a gesture of sympathy.

"Good boy. Now I need you to turn around in my lap, wrap your legs around my hips, and put your hands flat on the floor. Quickly."

Sherlock obeyed hurriedly, vaguely aware that this position was altogether quite embarrassing and – had it not been for his navy boxers – hugely revealing. However, as he planted his hands firmly on the floor, gripping grimly onto the chain in his mouth with his teeth, he immediately felt John's hand around his waistband, pulling them down and then helping each leg to extract itself quite seamlessly. So quickly in fact that, given his strange position, Sherlock couldn't help but wonder how many times the doctor had done the exact same thing before...

He felt John lean over for a second, and then there was the sound of ice cubes clinking in their glass. Breathing steadily through his nose, Sherlock managed to keep his body still, anticipating the moment where the cold would suddenly smooth across his skin. John's legs widened slightly underneath him, and then there was an incredibly wash of cold right against the very insides of his thighs and on his balls. The detective very quickly realised that John had put the glass of ice between his own thighs for convenience sake – but due to the wheelbarrow-like position they were in, this meant that some of Sherlock's most intimate skin was pressed against the glass, causing him to lift his hips suddenly in an attempt to shy away from the cold. Consequently, the detective felt John's hand on his back pressing him back down, and felt the glass move deliberately further towards him.

"Keep still." The doctor's voice held no room for negotiation, and so the detective simply straightened his back a little more, and lifted his head slightly. The clamps on his nipples were now aching, and felt hot and heavy on his chest, while the very cold sensation between his legs acted as a contrast that made him want to collapse on top of John, and limply allow himself to have anything done to him. Alas, his position required considerable strength and complete concentration, and so Sherlock was forced to remain all too aware of his circumstance.

Taking a single cube of ice from the glass, John lightly brushed it against the very gently raised welts on Sherlock's exposed arse, running the ice gently along the lines while his other hand stroked up and down the detective's thigh. At the initial touch, Sherlock flinched, but quickly regained his composure, and made a little moan of arousal as the cold soothed him. Just to test him, John pressed the ice into Sherlock's skin for a moment, aware that this would create a build-up of cold that would be incredibly uncomfortable, especially against such sensitive skin. The detective whimpered in protest, moaning around the chain in his mouth, but he didn't move an inch.

"Good boy..." The doctor said quietly, allowing himself to be gentle again, and lightening the pressure on the ice. "You're my good boy aren't you?"

Sherlock nodded quickly, gasping and moaning alternately between the growing pain on his chest, the biting cold against his balls and the very gentle ministrations of John's hands on his sore arse.

The doctor took a few more cubes from the glass.

"Keep very, very still now, Sherlock." He said this in warning, as he placed two ice cubes right in the centre of the detective's back. His submissive's skin held a deep groove where the length of his spine was, which was perfect for balancing the two pieces of ice along.

"I want those to stay there," John said firmly. "Understand?"

Sherlock nodded incredibly slowly and made a vague noise of assent. Keeping the ice in one place was so very cold that it would begin to hurt before it went numb, and the detective could feel his skin beginning to ache with it already. And yet, Sherlock's cock was still hard and desperate beneath him, despite the conflictions that his body was suffering from. He felt a trickle of water slide from underneath one of the ice cubes on his back and roll over his ribs and torso, and he moaned in delight at the strange sensation. John was still lightly brushing ice across the abused flesh of his arse, and then occasionally blowing gently on the trails of water that were left behind. It made him so desperate to squirm and push back into John – but he knew the doctor was testing him.

This became even more apparent as the piece of ice in the doctor hand suddenly moved to in between Sherlock thighs, rubbing from where the rim of the glass touched his balls right up his creased to press gently around his expose hole. Sherlock's noises increased considerably in volume, and it took a great deal of self control to keep himself perfectly still and in position. For a horrible moment, the detective thought he felt one of the melting pieces of ice on his back slide of completely, and his entire body tensed.

Then, from behind him John's voice soothed. "You're doing perfectly."

It was getting to the stage where Sherlock couldn't even tell there was still ice there – now there were simply two spots on his back that were numb and aching slightly, and occasionally he would feel a trail of water run over his body and drip onto the floor. His arms were beginning to ache from holding himself in position, and his nipples were sore and stinging from being pulled so taut and tugged so relentlessly. The ice pressing at his opening felt so disgustingly good, the cool touch feeling sharp against the aching of his muscles and the sweat running down his arms. Trails of saliva formed around the chain in his mouth and ran down his face and Jesus Christ, how did John always manage to find some way of making him feel so utterly filthy?

John could tell that Sherlock couldn't really keep himself still for much longer. There was a tension in his back that told the doctor his submissive's arms would soon give way from sheer inability to keep still with so much happening to him. John was incredibly impressed with Sherlock's performance - and he had the erection to prove it – but now that the detective had successfully melted the two pieces of ice on his back, John wanted his submissive squirming up against him again. Brushing the puddles of water along Sherlock's back over his warm and toned torso, John dropped the melted piece of ice in his hand into the glass and placed it on the floor, before rubbing his hands dry on Sherlock's skin.

"Good boy, my perfect boy, come here..."

And with that, the doctor slid one arm around the detective's torso, and the other around him hip to pull him back up , his submissive's damp back pressing against his shirt-covered chest. Kissing him roughly down his neck, John growled as Sherlock moaned and squealed at John's manhandling of him. As the doctor's hand came round to take his hard and leaking cock in his fist, Sherlock ignore the protest of his nipples and leant his head back against John's shoulder. The doctor's thumb swirled over the highly sensitive head of his cock, and came down the submissive's shaft, before stopping and squeezing at the base. Sherlock's hips instinctively thrusted upwards to try and release himself from the harsh grip.

"You want to come, beautiful?"

The detective made a whimpering noise and nodded very gently against John's shoulder.

"You deserve to, don't you?"

The submissive nodded again and pressed himself further into the doctor's shoulder, whilst his hips came back to try and encourage John's hand into continuing. Sitting like this, he could feel John's hard cock pressing up through his jeans so that it created a mound that sat between his cheeks and spread them slightly. The doctor's spare hand came up to curl in the submissive's hair, and Sherlock felt rather delirious with it all.

"Then you're going to take that chain out of your mouth, and hold it in your hand. I'm going to make you beg to come, and when I say yes, you're going to pull those clamps of whilst you come. Understand?"

Sherlock dropped the chain from between his teeth and panted "Yes, Sir...", shakily holding it loosely in one hand whilst he moaned and whimpered into John's neck. The doctor's hand began fisting the detective's cock, pushing his hips up to create a friction that satisfied both himself and his submissive. The force and pace meant that it was only seconds before Sherlock started keening.

"Oh God oh god oh god John please..."

John shoved his hips hard into Sherlock's arse and forced a squeal from him that ended in only more please's and unfinished sentences. John couldn't get over how much he loved seeing Sherlock so dishevelled like this – pleading and half-sobbing with sheer want.

"Please Sir I've been so good... I won't be bad ever, just please, please let me come.."

John ignored this again, and carried on fisting the detective's cock hard and fast, feeling the pressure building in the pit of his own stomach, urged on by the delicious begging of his submissive right in his ear.

"PLEASE, please I can't- just let me..ohh god, sir please may I come now?"

"Come for me, then." John managed to growl, before watching Sherlock's hands curl into a fist, and wrench the clamps from his chest as he came. The moan of orgasmic pain matched with the convulsions of his submissive in his lap was enough to send John over the edge, and he came seconds later, blacking out momentarily. The force of Sherlock's orgasm was enough to make his shake and moan quietly for well over a minute, and John found himself carefully pulling his submissive closer and wrapping his arms around him, holding him tightly against his chest until he hung limply in his arms. Breathing heavily, the pair said nothing for a while, both washed in the strange sensation of post-orgasm and simply trying to remember who they were.

After a while, Sherlock curled himself further into John's lap, and mumbled something into his neck.

"What was that?" John asked drowsily, gently carding his fingers through the detective's hair.

"I said," Sherlock pulled away a little from John to make himself clearer, "I said I'm sore."

John laughed lightly, and kissed him gently on top of his curls. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock squirmed and sat up, looking down at his chest at his raised and red nipples, cautiously running his finger over the tip of one and then hissing through his teeth. But John didn't miss the ever-so-slight raise of the detective's hips as he mulled over his abused flesh. One of Sherlock's hands gently pulled the skin on his torso taut, and the other rubbed very gently over his chest in a sort of meditative fashion – and it seemed to the doctor that his submissive had almost forgotten he was there.

"You really liked that, didn't you? In the same way you like being spanked"

Sherlock's eyes shot up to meet John's before quickly looking away, a blush appearing along his cheekbones. His arms folded and then unfolded for a moment, before he gave up and let his fingertips trail back up his torso.


John raised an eyebrow. "Do I need to rub you better, then?"

Sherlock sat back into the doctor's lap, his head nuzzling against John's neck, one hand around his shoulder and the other clutching onto his shirt. He felt John's hand slide up his chest, and then ever so carefully rub very gentle circles around the raw and sensitive skin on the outsides of his nipples. Moaning quietly, the detective pressed his chest into the doctor's touch.

And John? John took that as a yes.

Author's note: WOO. Hi guys, I've just got back from Switzerland, so enjoy this chapter. More soon!

Chapter Text

Sherlock was in a foul mood. Having come to a dead end along one line of his enquiries after stalking the streets of London for several hours, the detective had decided to visit John at his doctor's surgery drop-in session, and demand to be taken home. However, as he approached the building, planning the best "I'm miserable" face to put on, he noticed the very familiar figure of the doctor, standing in the doorway. Facing away from the detective, the doctor's body language was open and friendly, but his stance suggested the person he was talking to had a very intimate relationship with him – or at least had done at some point. Slowing down until he was barely moving, Sherlock stared at the back of John's head for a moment, before observing the face of what was clearly one of the doctor's exes.

The man conversing so animatedly with the doctor was only half a centimetre or so taller, and dressed in what Sherlock supposed was supposed to be a "casual" shirt and jeans. But the shirt was ironed a little too neatly and his shoes were clearly new. The man was very young – only twenty-two or so – and given that he was obviously a bank clerk who's apartment cost a little more than he could afford, that meant he was trying to make an impression. His feet rolled over slightly as he spoke, suggesting nervousness, and yet his body language mirrored John's in intimacy. Clearly this was no surprise meeting; this man had planned on "bumping into" John, and had tried embarrassingly hard to make it look as if it were fate. As Sherlock watched him brush his hand over John's elbow, a violent bead of jealousy burst inside of him. This insipid moron, in his cheap shirt and faux leather shoes was flirting with John, and John was doing nothing about it.

Sherlock had come to a complete standstill now, just staring at the two ex-lovers conversing. The ex was talking much more animatedly than was really necessary, his thin hands waving about erratically as his blonde hair fell over his eyes. The detective was getting more and more wound up by the second, noting the delicate muscle beneath the other man's shirt, the flickering of his round eyes. He looked like an over-excited puppy; a little Labrador desperately wagging its tail in hope of some affection. Sherlock snorted aloud to himself, frightening a passing elderly woman, as he watched the man nod his head ferociously at whatever John was saying to him. The detective could imagine him on all fours, nodding like that to whatever John commanded; unable to function without a set of instructions. I bet he never had his mouth soaped, Sherlock thought grimly. He could feel his face getting hot with temper, and his fists clenched at sides.

Admittedly, John wasn't reciprocating the blonde man's flirtatious advances. In fact, when the other man's hand gestures became a little too enthusiastic, the detective noted John's very discreet step backwards, as if he was vaguely wary of getting accidently hit. So, rationally, Sherlock had no reason to be angry or jealous...but the sheer desperation of the blonde man was just infuriating. And he knew their history, and that awareness of a past life that John had shared with someone else made his blood boil. And when the blonde man reached out to touch the doctor again, Sherlock's feet marched towards them before he'd configured a plan.

The ex saw him first, being turned towards him, but obviously did not see him as of any interest, and immediately moved him eye contact back to John.

"- So I'll be back in town tomorrow.."

"Yes," Sherlock interrupted, making John jump about a foot in the air and stare at him blankly for a second.

"And I expect if you tread carefully enough, you can return those awful shoes and get your money back whilst you're there. God knows you need it."

The blonde man stared at him and then at John; wide eyed and laughing nervously.


"Sherlock." John began, finally getting over his shock and looking firmly at him, taking a step towards the detective in the hopes that this might remind Sherlock to whom he belonged and, for his own sake, shut him up a bit.

The detective refused to look at him, instead regarding the other man present with enough haughtiness to turn him to dust.

"John, you never told me you had such excellent connections! Next time I want to pay in a check, I'll know exactly who to go to."

"Sherlock, be quiet." John growled, and with colour rising in his face he looked towards Charlie, whose enthusiastic arms were now drooping at his sides. His smile had vanished, and he just looked utterly bewildered. In fact, he looked exactly how John felt.

"Wh-who are you?"

Sherlock glared at the blonde man, his eyes flashing as if he couldn't believe the man had dared to speak to him.

"I'm everything you're not. So why don't you run along back to your scummy little flat, log back into your web chat and wait for someone to return one of your calls. And perhaps if you've got all this spare time on your hands, you might look at getting a job your mother actually approves of, rather than trying to fuck your way into a branch manager position."

There was complete silence. The detective was breathing a little heavily, aware that his little speech was more bitchy than clever, but he couldn't help but feeling incredibly smug as he stared down at the man in front of him, who looked as if he were on the verge of crumbling.

Charlie turned to John, his eyes bright with hurt.

"I'll...I'll see you later, John."

"Wait a second, I'm-"

But the doctor was talking to a turned back, watching his ex-lover walk away hurriedly without looking back, his shoulders slumped. Embarrassment and fury were shooting through John's veins at a worrying rate, and the doctor felt hot and shaky with anger. Turning to Sherlock, still gripping him by his arm, he just stared at his submissive, hoping to find some kind of explanation for his behaviour written on his face.

Sherlock looked at him, his jaw locked in an attempt at an unapologetic expression. He raised his eyebrow, as if to suggest his complete disinterest in whatever the doctor's reaction would be towards his abominable manners. John saw red.

The doctor's grip on Sherlock's arm tightened and he yanked him forward, his other arm curling round the detective's waist and bending him over, holding him tight against his own hip. Releasing Sherlock's arm, his hand came up and smacked the detective squarely on his thighs, repeating the action without pause, his teeth gritted. The sound seemed uncommonly loud, and echoed along the street. Sherlock struggled underneath him, his foot coming up to twist around his own calf and his hands scrabbling at John's ankle. Despite this, the detective made very little noise, seeming incapable of doing anything but gasping and squirming against the doctor. The backs of Sherlock's legs were stinging madly, but it was nothing compared to the heat that was flaring up in his face.

When John finally pulled Sherlock back upright, the detective's hands immediately went behind him and his face was the reddest John had ever seen it. The doctor had no sympathy.

"How DARE you be so insulting."

Sherlock would have folded his arms, but the backs of his legs were smarting so much that he couldn't quite manage it. He looked about him, trying to work out if anyone had seen the incident, his face reddening even more as a woman walking past gave him a sympathetic smile. John growled furiously.


Sherlock stared at him.

"You will NEVER behave like that again. You will NOT upset people for no reason."

"Well if I'm the cause of such fucking great upset, why don't you go back to shagging him instead?" Sherlock shot angrily, glaring at John with watering eyes.

The doctor felt a little of his anger drain out of him. Breathing deeply, he just watched Sherlock for a second, the bitter tone of the detective's outburst ringing in his ears. Watching Sherlock Holmes struggle with emotions like jealousy was so absurd to watch; the detective had no idea what to do with himself, and ended up being nasty just to receive something close to a normal response.

"Because I don't care about him, I care about you." John said flatly, keeping as much emotion out of his tone as possible. "And regardless of whatever your motives are for speaking to ANYONE the way you just spoke to Charlie, I care enough about you to teach you what's acceptable to say to someone, and what isn't. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Sherlock said grudgingly, adding a quick "Sir", when John gave him a look of warning. There was still an element of unsettled anger about his demeanour; and it was obvious he was waiting for any opportunity to irritate John, just so that he felt like he was fighting back.

"You are in a lot of trouble."

"Don't care."

John looked at him disbelievingly, and took a slight step forward, watching as Sherlock immediately stepped back and put his hands back again to protect any potential onslaught.

"I think you do," the doctor said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. "And I think unless you want me to bend you over and give you a hiding in the middle of the street, you'll drop the attitude."

The doctor watched Sherlock's face clear a little. He silently prayed to whatever deity might be listening that the detective would make the right choice. He would punish Sherlock publically if that's what it took, but he certainly didn't enjoy that kind of humiliation. Smacking him a few times was enough to get his attention – a real punishment would be a completely different kettle of fish.

Eventually, Sherlock bit his lip and looked away, the tension in his body falling to the wayside as he accepted his plight. He was in trouble now, and there was no point making it worse. He'd learnt that the hard way.

"Did I do anything to upset you?" John asked quietly. It was a roundabout way of asking whether he himself had acted inappropriately. Sometimes, when it comes to meeting someone with whom you've shared a relationship, it's difficult to work out the line between friendliness, and falling back on old habits. But Charlie's enthusiasm had made him a little wary, and he was almost certain he hadn't said or done anything that merited Sherlock's reaction.

As the doctor had thought, the detective mumbled a "No, Sir", and went, if at all possible, even redder. He was obviously aware that his jealousy had got the better of him, and now he was going to have to pay for it.

"Right." John said with a sharp nod. "Then listen to me. I want you to walk straight home. I want you to think about what you said, why you said it, and why it was wrong. When you get in, you're going to go straight to my room, and from the second drawer on the left, you're going to pick the implement you think is most fitting for me to use on you. You'll place it on the bed, and then stand in the corner of the room. Then, you'll wait for me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." Sherlock said, his tone aggrieved. John was putting space between them on purpose, and it was horribly effective in reminding the detective how much he wanted John close by when he did something wrong. As much as he disliked and sometimes fought against discipline, John being there as soon as he misbehaved was a comfort; he knew he was in safe hands. This was distant, and unfamiliar.

John nodded, and just before he turned to leave, pulled Sherlock down towards him gently.

"You're mine and I'm yours," he said quietly. "No-one and nothing is going to change that." And with that, the doctor stepped away and marched down the corridor to attend to the last of his patients, leaving his submissive to enjoy is anxious walk, and wait.

Chapter Text

As John opened the front door, and stepped onto the landing, he immediately felt that he had disturbed the veil of silence that appeared to have fallen over 221B Baker Street. Mrs Hudson was on a dinner date with the man of many wives from the cafe next door, and that left only Sherlock and John as the inhabitants of the house for the rest of the evening. Hanging his coat up, the doctor walked slowly and carefully up the stairs, taking his time. His day had been long and hectic, even without the sudden appearance of his submissive complicating matters even further. Still, he was home now, and had spent the rest of the day at the surgery wondering about the course that Sherlock's impending punishment would end up taking.

During a lull between two patients, John had wondered whether Sherlock would obey him, or would instead choose to continue on a rampage of poor behaviour. He doubted it somewhat. The detective had looked so intensely shocked when bent over and smacked in the middle of the street, and the doctor very much doubted he was keen to repeat the ordeal. He also couldn't help but wonder which implement Sherlock had chosen from the drawer that John had instructed him to go into. Inside, the detective would have found a set of two folding canes: one thinner but heavier, and the other slightly thicker but a little lighter – both equally deceptive in terms of sting. The other two implements were a tawse, and a lexan paddle – both of which were equal in nastiness to the aforementioned canes. In John's opinion, all these implements carried the same level of severity. John had an inkling as to which one Sherlock might have chosen, but he had to admit, it certainly wouldn't be enjoyable to have to choose between them.

The flat was so quiet that John knew Sherlock would be able to hear his every footstep. He continued to walk with a slow purpose towards his spare room, pausing for a second at the door. There was a tiny, inkling in his mind that he might swing his door open to find the detective missing. Even taking into account the walk home, and the time that was obviously allowed for Sherlock to select his implement of choice, the detective would still have been standing in that corner for a long old time. John would not have been surprised to come home and find the house either empty, or Sherlock in the middle of the living room, shooting holes in the wall. Twisting the handle, John pushed the door open and stepped inside. Therein, his gaze immediately went to the far corner, where Sherlock (thank God) stood facing the wall.

His hands were behind his head, but his forehead was leaning against the wall, and his legs were slightly bent at the knees. Upon hearing John enter the room, he stood up a little straighter, and John could sense him trying to predict the doctor's reaction to his choice of implement. John looked at the bed. There, in the centre, Sherlock had placed the tawse – a long, dark tan piece of leather that was split into two tails at the end. John could only imagine what it must feel like to stand waiting in a room with that behind you, knowing it was only a matter of time before it was put to use. Ignoring it for the time being, John called Sherlock out of the corner. The detective turned and walked a little stiffly towards him, his legs quite obviously aching. When he was close enough, John took him by the wrist and sat down on the edge of the bed, gently guiding Sherlock to kneel in front of him.

There was a great deal of tension in the air, and although it might have been effective to keep it during a punishment, it made John vaguely uncomfortable. Sherlock looked like he'd been crying, and generally had the air of someone who was very sorry indeed. It took a lot of resolution on the doctor's part not to just forget the whole thing and pull his submissive onto his lap. Instead, he ran a hand through Sherlock's hair and said:

"Good boy; right where I asked you to be."

The detective leaned into the touch slightly, obviously desperate for contact and affection. Sadly, John couldn't give him as much as he wanted. He needed to get the punishment over with first.

"I asked you to think about a couple of questions, and you've had a long time to consider them, so I'd like to hear your answers now. First off, what did you say to Charlie?"

Sherlock looked at him, colour rising up in his pale cheeks, but his answer was practised, and essentially flawless: "I insulted his economic position, his work, his social connections and his appearance."

"And what did you say to me?"

Sherlock's answer to this was not so polished – he looked much more anxious, and his toned changed ever so slightly to accommodate his embarrassment.

"I-I swore at you and questioned your involvement in our relationship...and, and I said that I didn't care that I was in trouble."

John nodded, noting how Sherlock's hands were trying desperately not to wander, and worm their way around John's ankle. His fingertips looked like they were aching to trace the patterns on the doctor's shoe – a familiar pastime that would have given him a great deal of comfort, but that the detective could tell he would be chastised for.

"Why did you say those things?"

Again, Sherlock's answer was well-rehearsed.

"I was jealous", he said flatly, his tone entirely detached and emotionless. "And I didn't know how to deal with it, so I acted out in order to alienate him. I was rude to you because I didn't want to seem as if I cared about you...when in fact it's quite the opposite."

"And why was that wrong?"

Sherlock's tone was a little more attached this time.

"Because I didn't have to act like that. I was rude and unkind even though you gave me no reason to be."

"That's right," John said gravely. "There's nothing wrong with being jealous, or upset or angry. But it's when you allow those emotions to boil over and hurt people that it becomes a problem. This is a matter of you controlling your temper again, Sherlock, and you do not treat people that way, do you understand?"

"Yes Sir." Sherlock nodded quickly, obviously realising that John was leading up to his punishment now. The doctor could already see the detective's shoulders beginning to rise as the tension built in his body.

"Good. I'm proud of you for doing as I asked, even though I can imagine it was difficult for you. You clearly understand why you're being punished, so let's begin the main discipline. Undress, and put your clothes on the bed."

Whilst Sherlock obeyed, John walked to his desk and took the wooden chair out from under it, placing it in the centre of the room. Once the detective was undressed, the doctor took the tawse from the middle of the bed, and used it to indicate towards the chair.

"Alright, let's have you bent over that chair, please. Hold the sides with your hands – that's right."

Sherlock did as he was told, although John could see the reluctance laid out over his face. The doctor had a feeling that tears would appear very early on in the course of their punishment – and understandably so. Sherlock was probably completely fed up of being punished now – and his discipline had not even really begun. Feeling the tawse smooth across his bare and vulnerable arse, Sherlock immediately regretted his choice of implement. This was going to sting like an absolute bitch.

"We're going to do oral lines. After each stripe, I want you to count it, and say: 'I will not let my temper control me'. Understand?"

Sherlock agreed that he did, although the very idea of having to repeat that phrase over and over made him cringe. Four year-olds aren't capable of controlling their tempers...

The first stripe cut across his flesh like a hot poker, the tails at the end of the tawse releasing an indescribable sting that made Sherlock's legs automatically kick up, and his hips squirm. His heated skin immediately stung for a lot longer than Sherlock had ever experience before, and he couldn't stop himself from yelping in complete shock.

"OW! One, Sir. I will not let my temper control me."

There was a pause after his reply, in which John allowed the sting to sink in properly, before pulling his arm back to deliver another stripe just below the last. The sensation seemed to take the air out of Sherlock's lungs, despite the fact that John needed to put very little force behind his swing. The doctor allowed Sherlock a moment of writhing and yelling before he waited expectantly for the next count.

"Two, Sir. I will not let my temper control me."

The third strike landed particularly low on Sherlock's arse, and he jumped a little, putting one of his bent legs onto the seat of the chair. He quickly repositioned himself without being asked, as if terrified of earning any extra stripes. He counted and repeated his line, before gripping the sides of the chair harder, his knuckles turning white.

It was not until the sixth stripe that Sherlock appeared to become significantly distressed. The stripe landed squarely on a previous mark, and thus the welt formed straight on top of another one. Yelping, Sherlock knelt with one leg on the chair again, and leant forward, resting his forehead on the back of the chair and putting his hand behind him to protect his backside from further punishment.

"SixIwillnotletmytempercontrolme" Sherlock said frantically, before using his other arm to hide his face in the crook of his elbow. His shoulders shook, and his voice was distinctly teary. "Please, no more, Sir! I'll be good."

"You had more than enough warning to behave yourself, and you still disobeyed me. You need a good, hard lesson young man, and putting your hands in the way is certainly not going to help. This is your first and final warning – keep your hands on the chair."

Sherlock whined at the sternness of John's tone, the doctor's voice cutting through him harshly. He knew that once John decided on a punishment, there was no changing his mind. But his arse throbbed, and his hands itched to try and soothe the maddening sting of the tawse away from his skin. Very, very reluctantly, Sherlock's hand went back to its position on the side of the chair, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from constantly shifting from foot to foot, as if by finding the right position, the pain in his backside might disappear altogether.

No such luck, and as the seventh stripe landed, Sherlock found himself rising up on his toes slightly, gasping for breath as he tried to stay somewhat in position and recite his line. But the words were lost on him, and instead he repeated his earlier actions: kneeling forward onto the chair and placing his head gently against the back of the chair. Breathing heavily, Sherlock felt tears trickle down his face, and whined pitifully – his whole body shuddering as he tried to shake off the sting of the tawse.

John gave him a couple of seconds to recover, but when no words were forthcoming, the doctor tapped the detective lightly on the thigh with the leather implement. Sherlock flinched at the contact, but carried on whimpering into the back of the chair.

"Count, Sherlock." The doctor said, his tone clear, firm and detached.

The detective whined a little louder, and turned his head to the side slightly. John could see that Sherlock had got to the strange point in his punishment where he was sore enough to feel like John was being too hard on him, and that everything was generally unfair. This was the difficult part, because the detective's judgment was cloudy, and he usually ended up getting in much more trouble than if he'd just taken the discipline like he was supposed to. John dreaded this, because it made Sherlock miserable, and made the whole thing drag out far longer than it needed to.

"If you don't count, I'll lose my place, and I'll have to start again," John said threateningly.

"Seven!" Sherlock said immediately, putting his leg back down quickly. "I will not let my temper control me...Sir please, it really hurts!"

John made no reply, and instead raised his arm and whipped the tawse right across Sherlock's arse, catching two distinct welts that were raised from the rest of the detective's skin. With a yell of pain, Sherlock's hand instinctively came back to try and rub away the sting. Realising his mistake almost immediately, the detective tried to replace his hand, but instead found his arm twisted behind his back. There was a split second of shocked silence on Sherlock's part, before he felt the lick of the tawse strike across the palm of his hand and a little along his fingers. It stung crazily, and Sherlock immediately wrenched his hand out of John's grip and held it under his armpit, as if the pressure between his arm and his torso would alleviate the sting. It didn't, and instead Sherlock promptly burst into tears, thoroughly fed up with himself and that bloody tawse.

"I warned you." John said mildly. "And I didn't hear you count, either."

Sherlock took a few great gulps of air between sobs, and finally managed to recite his line. The fact that John was remaining quite significantly detached from his submissive's discomfort informed the detective that he was obviously still not quite forgiven, and this left him with a horrible feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

John tapped the tawse very lightly across Sherlock's abused flesh and said: "I think I'm starting to get through to you, aren't I?"

The detective nodded limply, his words half choked through his tears:

"Yes! I promise – don't have to give me any more, I'll behave, I swear!"

"We haven't even got started on the subject of your swearing yet, so let's not get ahead of ourselves" John said grimly, provoking a long, miserable-sounding sob from his submissive. He tapped him lightly again with the tawse, causing the detective to flinch and make a small noise of hurt indignation.

"Hands back where they should be, Sherlock. And keep them there."

The detective did so, barely able to keep his arms straight enough to support him. As the strike landed, he didn't react nearly as animatedly, the fight draining out of him at the prospect of this not even being the end of his punishment. Reciting his line, his words were barely audible through a constant stream of tears.

John's arms came back one more time, and finished off with a stripe that was particularly sharp, the sound of the tawse in contact with Sherlock's skin snapping through the air in a way that made John's own toes curl. He waited, and through sniffing and sobs heard:

"Ten...I will not..l-let my temper control me..."

"All right," John said quietly, placing the tawse in the centre of the chair and standing a little closer. "That's enough, I think. Well done..." The doctor rubbed Sherlock's back in methodical circles with one hands, while the other stroked hairs away from the detective tear-stained face.

"...M-may I get up now, please?" Sherlock asked shakily.

John assented, and the detective straightened up very slowly, looking altogether very lost and unhappy. The doctor took his hand and led him towards the bed. As John sat down, Sherlock automatically crawled into his lap, ignoring the pain in his backside in favour of close proximity to John, his head leaning on John's shoulder and one hand clutching the front of his shirt.

"I'm sorry..." he mumbled into John's shirt collar "I didn't mean to..."

"It's all right," John said soothingly, pulling Sherlock tight against him, a hand cradling the back of his head. "You're forgiven, and it's not going to happen again. Is it?"

The detective shook his head frantically against John, his shoulders suddenly heaving again as if the very idea of such a thing was enough to cause another onslaught of tears.

"No! I don't want any of it, ever again."

John made a satisfied noise of approval, and rubbed his submissive's back in slow circles.

Sherlock looked up at him, the smallest hint of a pout about his features. Alongside his tear-stained face and flushed cheekbones, he looked very young and very sorry for himself.

"..You smacked me in the middle of the street."

John's reply was quick and stern. "You misbehaved in the middle of the street."

The detective gave a small whine at the change in John's tone, and nuzzled into the crook of the doctor's neck, the hand on John's front clutching tighter at his shirt.

"Don't behave like a brat, and I won't treat you like one." John said quietly, although the firmness was still very much present in his voice, and he felt Sherlock squirm at this statement of a rather uncomfortable truth. The detective hadn't got the sympathy he wanted, and was now in the awkward position of having to acknowledge that it was his own fault that he'd ended up sore and sorry in the first place. So instead, Sherlock just tried to wriggle closer to John, and mewled softly as John's gentle hands carded through his hair.

After a while, Sherlock's shoulders became tense, and he lifted his head up to look at John with deep concern in his eyes.

"Am I still in trouble?"

The doctor blinked for a second, a little confused after being so abruptly pulled out of his own thoughts. He considered this for a moment, dragging his mind back to everything that had happened over the course of the day. Then, he remembered his warning to Sherlock that they hadn't even addressed the issue of his swearing yet. He'd been far too occupied in comforting the submissive that he'd completely forgotten to do anything about it.

Sherlock saw the doctor's slight pause as a window of opportunity, and quickly interjected –

"Because I know I'm not allowed to swear, but it was an accident! I was upset and I didn't know how to deal with it." The detective was now clutching with both hands at John's front, and had sat up a little straighter in his lap, gazing at him imploringly with wide eyes.

"Please, John. I don't want any more, I'll be good." Sherlock suddenly noticed the close proximity of John's lips to his, and his eyes flickered from John's concentrated gaze down to his firm mouth, and back up. He shifted his hips ever so slightly, and very gently leant forward, making the gap between them irresistibly small. Looking back down at John's lips, the submissive said, in a voice so soft his breath brushed gently against John's mouth, "...I'll be good."

And the only thoughts that came into John's head as he closed to gap between his and Sherlock's wet and waiting lips was...Oh, fuck it.


PS: Hope you like this, as always ideas are very much welcome if you'd like this rather lengthy fic to continue! Also, when I get the chance, I'm thinking of changing the chapter titles so that they describe what you can find in each chapter, to make it easier for those of you who are only looking for a certain thing (spanking, ice-play, wax-play....this fic covers most of it!) Lots of love!!

Chapter Text

WARNING: There is a small mention of Sherlock's previous relationships, which implied dubious consent. Read with care.

Straddling John's lap, his long legs curled around the doctor's, Sherlock was desperate for affection. After leaving the doctor at the surgery and walking home, to go upstairs and stand in a corner by himself until John came home had drained him mentally and emotionally. By the time the doctor had returned, the detective was already in desperate need of being forgiven, and so to have been subjected to another punishment until he was allowed to be held close had been almost too much for him to cope with. Admittedly, he deserved every bit of it, and he knew that because John hadn't felt the smallest bit of remorse, apart from that moment just before the punishment, where Sherlock had knelt before him, and even then the emotion had been momentary. But now he felt he deserved to have John's full and constant attention, in the form of the doctor's hands all over him, and his lips firmly attached to the detective's own.

Happily, John seemed to agree.

Pulling the detective firmly against him, John paused in kissing for a moment, glancing down at Sherlock's wet lips and warm, responsive body. The detective had firmly fitted his hips against the doctor, and was rocking very gently against him, the movements become fiercer each time John's touch became firmer.

"You're so pretty when you want something."

Sherlock blushed at this inference to his eagerness, and bit his lip, thus only succeeding to look even prettier, and causing John's pupils to dilate until his iris' looked impossibly dark. In one quick movement, John turned and forced Sherlock from his lap and onto the bed, flinging one leg over him and trapping the detective's arms above his head. Leaning over him, John smiled at the flush that had risen up Sherlock's throat, and for a moment simply admired the body underneath him, spread out like warm, malleable marble.

"What do you want, Sherlock?"

The detective's hips very gently thrusted up underneath John involuntarily, and his trapped arms were tense against John's grip. The sensation of John's hands wrapped around his wrists was delicious, and the heat and friction of the doctor's body was tantalising. He wanted everything at once – he wanted John's hands stroking him hair and kissing him gently whilst fucking him roughly, slamming into him painfully and unapologetically. He wanted gentle touches and harsh grip, violent kisses and the carefully running of a tongue over his bottom lip. He wanted biting and soothing, teasing and tormenting. The moans that escaped his mouth were nothing close to an answer, but he couldn't help it – the question had been far too difficult.

Again, John's actions were fast, but simple. Upon hearing no coherent reply, he spread his legs that straddled Sherlock's hips wide enough to turn the detective over underneath him, and releasing his submissive's hands, pushed the back of his legs up until he was kneeling. Using one hand to spank firmly over on the welts he'd administered only minutes ago, he used the other to grasp the back of Sherlock's thigh, forcing the gap between them wider.

The detective yelped in shock, and one of his hands came off the mattress for a moment to clutch thin air, before he replaced it reluctantly. The heat and pain over his arse was unbearable, and he shifted further up the bed to try and get away from it. John's hand snaked round his hip and pulled him back, while the other came to rest around his collar, pulling gently so that the detective's head was raised up slightly. Leaning over the arched back of his submissive, the doctor's lips were just millimetres from Sherlock's ear. There was a moment of silence, where both men breathed a little heavily, Sherlock attempting to recover from the rapidity of John's actions. The tension rose; the air was thick was heat.

"When I ask you a question, what do you do?" John asked, his voice quiet, controlled, dangerous.

A small whimper escaped Sherlock's throat. John's hips were pressed into his lower back, the hand that curled around his collar was firm and steady. The voice in his ear was filled to the brim with dominance, and it made the submissive's stomach curl with delicious nerves.

"Answer, Sir."

"Good boy," the doctor said, the words falling from his lips with such sinister gentleness that it made Sherlock's half-hard cock stir.

"When I give an order, what do you do?"

These answers were so much easier, Sherlock thought. His breathlessness had nothing to do with exertion, and the shake in his voice had nothing to do with uncertainty.

"Follow it, Sir."

"Who do you belong to?"

Oh God. Sherlock urged his body not to move, not to give away just how much it responded to that tone, those words. He suddenly noticed the clearness in his mind – there was nothing in it, nothing screaming and throwing its fists against the wall, just simply –

"You, Sir."

Sherlock felt the doctor nod ever so slightly.

"That's right. You're mine, Sherlock. You answer to me, you obey me; you submit to me. And I think someone as beautiful and clever as you can do those three things very easily, don't you?"

Sherlock swallowed, and would have nodded if there wasn't a hand on his throat, keeping him in place.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good boy. You're going to be so good for me. You're going to take a packet of lube from that drawer just there, and prepare your tight hole for me to use, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir", the detective replied, trying to ignore the desperation in his voice, how needy and eager his tone could become in a matter of seconds.

"I don't want you writhing around all over the place. I want you exactly as you are now, just with your legs spread wider so I have a beautiful view to come back to. Understood?"

"...Yes, Sir."

"Good." The doctor kissed his submissive lightly on the ear, and plucked the tawse from where it had been discarded underneath the detective.

"One more thing..." he added, releasing his hand from Sherlock's collar and ignoring the submissive's pleading whimper. Standing, he walked over to the drawer he'd had Sherlock open hours ago and replaced the implement, and from another drawer higher up, retrieved an item that made Sherlock fall silent.

Walking slowly back towards his submissive, the doctor noted the conflicting tension in the detective's shoulders, the perfect arch of his back, the beautiful shades and tones that littered Sherlock's body. Coming to a halt, he stroked Sherlock's hair carefully away from his face, and watched as the detective slowly opened his mouth; obedient and expectant.

The gag was gently fastened, and pausing only to stroke a thumb along one of his submissive's cheekbones, John left the room, flinging an order over his shoulder for Sherlock to be ready for him when he got back.

Sherlock hurriedly retrieved the required packed from the drawer, and rather self-consciously spreading his legs wider, squeezed an amount onto his fingertips. Reaching behind him, he tensed slightly at the sensation of his own digits circling his entrance, alternately pressing and smoothing over the ring of muscle. Absent-mindedly, he bit down on the silicone locked between his teeth in concentration, as his body began to react to his tentative touches. Sherlock had been gagged by other men countless times before – it was usually one of the first things they did to him. But this was oddly different. In all other cases, the Dom had simply forced the gag into his mouth before fastening it tightly behind his head, with enough aggression to put him off balance, and to give them a head-start in forcing other things into him. This, in comparison, was how he thought it was supposed to feel. The gag fitted well, and it didn't give him that strange sense of unease he'd grown accustomed to. Like everything that belong to John, it was well looked after, and it was peculiar how turned on the detective became from listening to his own stifled moans as he pushed his fingers carefully inside himself, relaxing into the familiarity of his own body. He knew that dominance-wise, allowing your submissive to touch themselves unattended and for an unspecified space of time was unusual, but John had asserted his authority in so many other ways, that Sherlock couldn't help but feel like he was being controlled even more so than if it had been John who was touching him. Moaning quietly, his back arched sharply as his hips rocked against his fingers, urging his hand to move quicker – to satisfy the slow ache that was beginning to rise up in his hard cock. A small line of saliva escaped from his lower lip and ran down his chin, making him moan with embarrassment. No-it wasn't just embarrassment anymore, was it? It was arousal, arousal because he knew his embarrassment made John's desire for him animalistic, predatory. When he felt at his most disgusting and messy and used – that's when the doctor would come undone.

The tension in his stomach was curling like a coiled spring, his fingers now roughly thrusting and scissoring inside him, he heard John's footsteps along the landing, and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure how much long he could go on before he began to squirm and writhe against the bed, and he wanted to stay still, like the doctor had told him too. Hearing the door open behind him, Sherlock whimpered earnestly, his body straightening and his legs spreading just a little wider. He could feel John's eyes on him, just watching him.


Sherlock whimpered, but quickly obeyed this abrupt instruction, listening to the sounds of John undressing behind him.

"That's a good're so beautiful."

The weight of the mattress shifted as John knelt behind his submissive, carefully soothing his hands over the detective's back, stroking along the dip of his spine before allow his fingers to travel round to Sherlock's torso, where he found the pink buds of his nipples and pinched them sharply. Sherlock gasped and gave a guttural moan, his head arching back for a moment, his eyes closed. Fingers trailed through his hair – the doctor's hands smelling vaguely of fresh ginger. John kissed his submissive's shoulder blades lightly before biting down on the skin just below the detective's collar, just above the dip in his collarbone. Leaving a purpling bruise, the doctor straightened, and let his hands trail down to Sherlock's hips, clutching tightly to elicit another gorgeous moan from him, and then using a practised hand to spread his submissive's cheeks a little wider. Lining himself up, John pressed carefully but firmly inside the detective, groaning in pleasure himself as his balls finally nudged against Sherlock's entrance.

"Good boy," he said a little breathlessly, "You've done perfectly."

Sherlock made a little noise of pleasure at this praise, and John smiled, rubbing his hands along the detective's back. Slowly pulling his cock almost all the way out, before carefully thrusting himself back in, revelling in how well Sherlock's body responded to him, shifting and arching to accommodate his cock, and squirming softly at the sensation of it moving inside of him. John quickly found a pace that seemed to make Sherlock the happiest, keeping his hands busy over the landscape of the detective's body and murmuring softly to him, whilst Sherlock's whimpers and moans became more pointed by the second.

"Fold your arms behind you, beautiful, and rest your shoulders on the mattress...that's it, bring your knees up a little, good boy..."

From this position, Sherlock could feel the motion of every thrust, and noted that John was being gorgeously gentle, giving him time to react to each individual movement of the doctor's body. Not that Sherlock didn't love being manhandled and taken by John, his body overcome with erratic and rapid thrusts that made him shake and orgasm violently, in fact that's exactly what he'd wanted about five minutes ago. But his mood had shifted, he felt tired of violent emotions, and now all he really need was the doctor to take care of him.

Suddenly, John's hips smacked into him, the sensation jarring up his body, and making him gasp in shock. Immediately, the doctor's hand was carding through his hair, and caressing his back, stroking apologies into his skin.

"Sorry, beautiful, are you alright?"

Sherlock nodded into the mattress, but made a small whimpering noise to register his displeasure.

The doctor leant forward and gently kissed him all the way down his back. John had been so busy caught up in a state of his own pleasure, that he'd momentarily forgotten the pace he'd set for himself, and his hips had impulsively thrust into his submissive in an intense desire for friction. He was obviously closer to the edge than he thought he was. It rarely happened, John was usually pretty masterful at controlling his needs to suit Sherlock's, and it was just unfortunate that this mistake had occurred during a particularly intimate moment between him and his submissive.

Rolling his eyes at himself, he very carefully slid back into Sherlock, and said apologetically, "All those times I've told you off for rutting like a desperate schoolboy, and I've just done it."

Sherlock laughed quietly behind his gag and said something incoherent, each word distinctly marred by the silicone in his mouth. Although, bearing in mind Sherlock's reputation for cheek, alongside the intonation with which he said it, John had a pretty good idea of what he might have said.

"No, that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to come. I get a warning first, don't I?"

Sherlock laughed softly again, and nodded, before his expression changed back to one of pure wanton pleasure. John's hand wrapped around his submissive's cock, swirling his thumb over the tip before sliding his hand down to the base and back up. His other hand reached round the detective's torso and gently teased his nipples, all the while carefully focusing on keeping himself steady. Sherlock's moans weren't loud, but they made up for it in intimacy – each one long and drawn out with emotional desire. His body was squirming gently, and John could hear him panting a little.

"Can you spread your legs a little wider for me? That's good, good boy. You feel amazing, Sherlock... and you're all mine."

Sherlock made a noise of agreement, and after a few moments, his noises cranked up a notch, and he pulled his knees further towards him.

"Are you close, beautiful?"

Sherlock nodded, his eyes closed and frowning deliciously. His hands clenched behind his back and he whined quietly to himself, pushing back a little on John's cock. The doctor himself could feel himself quickly being pulled over the edge by Sherlock's little noises and movements, and was determined to keep his thrusts into his submissive as even as he possibly could.

"Do you want to come?"

Sherlock nodded again, and John heard was sounded like a stifled "please". That gag was doing things to the doctor that he hadn't realised it could. The detective's moans seemed amplified by it, as they were the only noises he was really capable of making. The noise went straight to John's cock, and he could feel his thrusts becoming more shallow, and haphazard.

"What if I say no?"

His submissive whimpered pitifully, his face turning to bury him in the duvet for a second as he attempted to control himself. He couldn't articulate how he'd feel if John didn't let him come, and it made his frustrated enough to writhe and shift his weight from hip to hip. But the gag seemed to have a pacifying effect on him, and he couldn't find it in himself try and shout or kick his feet or move out of position.

Reaching his own limit in the face of seeing and hearing Sherlock in such a submissive state, John could no longer afford to tease him, for his own sake.

"Come for me then, Sherlock."

The detective's orgasm did not hit him in the face quite as much as others in the past, but it was in every way just as incredible. His whole body tensed, and his breath caught in his throat and he knew the tension in his own body would send John over the edge into his own orgasm. It was strangely euphoric and Sherlock was so glad to have found someone who took into consideration how he felt, and what he wanted. To him, although he supposed his situation was strange, that seemed rare.

John's senses came back to him after a few moments, and he gently pulled out of his submissive and shifted up the bed, before pulling the detective close to him. Gently unfastening the gag from the back and removing it, the doctor checked over Sherlock's face for marks before kissing him gently on the lips, and wrapping his arms around him. The detective accepted the kiss slowly and thoughtfully, and returned it gently. Frowning and pulling away, he stared at John through strangely clear eyes.

The doctor frowned back at him in concern. "Are you alright?"

"I'm in love with you." Sherlock said bluntly, still staring at John in complete bewilderment.

"I'm in love with you too," John replied calmly. "There's no need to be so unhappy about it."

For a moment, Sherlock carried on just looking at him, shifting his gaze from one eye to the other. Then, the corners of his mouth slowly curled into a smile.

"You're in love with me?"

John sat up and pulled Sherlock onto his lap.

"I've loved you since the first time we sat like this."

The detective narrowed his eyes, and looked for evidence of a lie in John's face. Upon finding none, he wrapped his arms around the doctor's neck and said:

"That's the first day we met."

John grinned and kissed his forehead. "You must have made quite an impression, then."

NOTE: HELLO ANYONE WHO HASN'T GIVEN UP HOPE. I went to Switzerland again, which is why it's taken so long for me to write this, although my reasons for not posting it for so long after I'd written it remain entirely unknown. Off to the corner with me. If anyone spotted the incredibly obvious clue I left as to what might be entailed in the next chapter, well done you. Anddd yes, sappy ending to the chapter, sorry, I thought it was long overdue and needed to be said. Reviews are always welcome, and anyone who's still reading this, as always, deserves some kind of reserved place in perverted heaven. I love you all.

Chapter Text

“Why do you still want to punish me? Am I still in trouble?”

John closed his eyes for a second, and absent-mindedly stroked a hair away from his submissive’s face, before readjusting his gaze and looking back at Sherlock with calm and steady eyes.

“You’re not in trouble, I promise you. I just want to see how you’ll react to it...”

Sherlock gave him a disbelieving look, and a snort of derision to go along with it, before turning onto his side and tracing lines in the pillow cover. He knew John wasn’t lying – but that fact made the situation so much more frustrating. He didn’t understand why the doctor seemed to find it so difficult just to give him nice things when he was nice and less-nice things when he wasn’t. Why did there seem to be so many things that sat in between, and therefore had to be tested out. The detective was hardly adverse to experiments, but he wasn’t so sure he enjoyed being the test subject.

“...Or you can say no, and we’ll leave it at that. You just have to tell me.”

The detective squirmed and huffed into the pillow, thinking it over. John had tried it before on previous submissives, he knew that much. And each time the submissive must have reacted differently, displaying various levels of distress or desire, if John’s tone was anything to go by. Sherlock hated the idea of opting out of something other normal, boring people had been perfectly willing to do...but at the same time he had heard a few accounts that made the situation sound incredibly undesirable, and each of those accounts had been in a relation to a punishment.

“What if I hate it?”

John hesitated. “...I’d like you to try and tolerate it for as long as possible.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, his voice acidic. “Why are you doing this now?”

The doctor shrugged and shifted off the bed, stretching his arms and checking his watch.

“I’m just curious to see how you’re getting on. Like a benchmark, I suppose.”

The detective huffed again, rolled his shoulders back and curled his toes into the blankets before an exasperated sigh rose from where his face rested in the pillow, and John heard a muffled “Fine!”

“Thank you. Spread your legs and rest your elbows on the bed...perfect. Stay there.”

Sherlock made no reply, instead listening to John’s footsteps down to the kitchen and shifting gently around the covers to make himself as comfortable as possible. How many times in one day could he find himself in this bloody position?

Hearing John approach, he stilled, and rested his head back down on the pillow, to take some strain off of his shoulders, which were beginning to ache a bit. He felt the doctor’s hand stroke his lower back in reassurance, and arched into the touch. Those meticulous fingers travelled down between his cheeks, and spread them a little wider, before gently pushing inside his entrance, naturally still well-used from their previous activities. The fingers very carefully brushed along his prostate, and the submissive gasped and moaned, before they retreated to be replaced by something wet and cold. A finger of ginger, carefully whittled down into a plug shape with a wide lip, was pressed inside him, and made his muscles clench and unclench instinctively from the unfamiliar temperature. The root had obviously been placed in a bowl of cold water – to create a slow release of heat, Sherlock thought nervously. John murmured praise under his breath, and gave his submissive a moment to settle, before lazily drawing an invisible line down one side of the detective’s arse with the keeper of the riding crop he’d brought back up with him.


Sherlock groaned, but his quiet assent came shortly afterwards. John could see the water from the end of the ginger collecting in droplets around the visible lip, before running down the inside of the detective’s thigh. His half-hard cock stirred.

Bringing the crop down with suitable accuracy, the doctor watched as the leather came in contact with Sherlock’s welted arse, making him whimper and clench around the plug inside him. John smiled as he noted the detective made no additional noise – yet.

Again he brought the crop down, this time landing three in quick succession, just to get Sherlock to moan that little bit louder. Not one to disappoint, the detective gasped and moaned unhappily, shifting his weight surreptitiously from hip to hip to try and shake off the sting.

As the next three lashed down onto his already well-punished arse, Sherlock gritted his teeth and moaned against the onslaught, his entire body stiffening for a moment against the blow. As he tensed however, a short but sudden burn rose up around his entrance and he gasped quietly, trying to relax himself as much as possible to make the burn go away. He heard the crop swish through the air and another two strikes landed across his sore backside, and he yelped in pain. This was followed very quickly by another yelp as the burn around the ring of muscle began to build with force, biting into the sensitive tissue and making his eyes water with the heat of it. Forcing himself to relax again, he found the sting failed to subside, instead turning into a steady and uncomfortable burn that made his whole lower half feel incredibly warm.

Another whip of the crop along Sherlock’s rather red looking arse and the detective’s body squirmed with conflicting tensions. It was quite delicious to watch. The strike that landed would rise up slowly into a bright red mark just as the submissive’s body rose up slightly to take the blow. The muscles in his arse would erratically clench and unclench as Sherlock fought against his natural instincts, and the frustration of it made him tense enough to cause himself more discomfort.

Dropping the crop onto the bed for a moment, John stroked the arch of Sherlock’s back tenderly, and leant down to drop a kiss onto the back of his head.

“Good boy. You’re being very well-behaved aren’t you?”

Sherlock gave a weak sounding “Yes, Sir” in reply, before resuming a continuous moan of mixed emotions that made his entire body rock very gently.

John’s hands traced back to touch lightly on the end of the plug inside his submissive, and the detective’s noise increased a notch in a tone that sounding quite pleading.

“Is it burning, Sherlock?”

Sherlock whimpered and replied: “Yes, oh my God, it stings Sir, please...”

John carefully twisted the plug inside of the detective, and immediately received a loud groan of complaint from the other man. Pushing it in a little and twisting the plug from side to side in order to agitate the burn, the doctor watched as Sherlock’s hands came behind him...and then folded behind his back. Wise decision.

The detective hissed a breath in through his teeth at the forced sting. “Sir, please!”

John stopped immediately, and rubbed a hand along the length of Sherlock’s back. He felt the muscles underneath his submissive’s skin relax again, and reached for riding crop. Sherlock whimpered, and turned his head against the mattress, his toes pressed hard into the duvet to stop himself from kicking. John’s hand paused in midair.

“ ...As you’re taking this so well, maybe I should give you something else instead...”

The doctor got up and went over to one of the drawers Sherlock had once gone through. The detective remembered this rather grimly, and hoped John was digging out something a lot nicer than what Sherlock had received the first time. He returned with the same power box – but no copper plates. Instead, he had a connection cable and two round black stickers with their own short wire and connector. Sherlock felt the power box being rested on his back, and the sound of John peeling off the adhesive backs of the two black dots – electrodes – and then the sensation of them being stuck on the very inside of both his thighs. There was a moment where John’s hands lingered in their rubbing, spending longer than was necessary to ensure each patch was fully attached, and Sherlock couldn’t help but let a gentle moan fall from his lips. The power box was removed from his back, and he heard John pause to connect all the wires.

“You need to stay as still as you can. Ready?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The on button was flicked up. When John last used the box, he’d had it pre-set, but this time he was going to use it manually, twisting the button clockwise and watching the numbers go up, or the other way to watch them go down. The higher the numbers went, the more intense the electric impulse would be, and thus the more uncomfortable Sherlock might find it. However, the doctor thought, as he slowly moved the dial up, he wasn’t planning on making the experience too uncomfortable.

“Let’s find your favourite number, Sherlock...”

The impulse buzzed through the electrodes and straight into Sherlock delicate skin, radiating a strange kind of warmth that made him feel like his insides were glowing. At first, it was just really nice, relaxing enough to make the sting of the ginger fade more and more. But at John turned the dial behind him, it got warmer and stronger, and the impulse surged with a tingling force that made his mouth drop open and his eyes close. This sensation wasn’t remotely related to the punishments involving electricity that he’d experienced. It felt amazing, like his body was emitting this delicious heated power, and with the electrodes attached right on the insides of his thighs, his cock was hardening quite rapidly from it.

Then out of nowhere, the intensity suddenly jumped upwards, and Sherlock’s whole body tensed at the shock. The ginger came back to him with a vengeance, seeming to bite into the tight ring of muscle and making him yelp. The electro stimulation was now uncomfortable, making him want to get his thighs as far away from one another as possible, as if that might alleviate the intensity. But John had told him to stay still. Gritting his teeth he whined quietly to himself, trying to control everything that was happening to him. He tried to relax himself against the ginger, ignore the overbearing sensation of the electrodes and concentrate instead on keeping his body still. His hands clutched his arms where they were folded on his back, and his toes curled into the duvet.

“That’s a good boy, you’re doing so well. Can you guess the number for me?”

That specific brand of the power box had intensity levels from 0 to 25. John had turned the dial for 10 seconds at a gradually inclining speed. The noise the box had made when changing up suddenly into a higher intensity was reasonably high in pitch, but not high enough to denote an extreme change. The stimulation was uncomfortable, but exaggerated by his initial surprise and by the ginger, which was still stinging gently in his arse. Ow. No. Concentrate. The good doctor didn’t want to punish him – he was testing him.

“Is it nineteen, Sir?”

The dial was turned down, and that wonderful pulsating, throbbing heat returned to him.

“It was, you’re right.” John said, his voice deep with arousal. “That’s impressive. What about now?”

“Thirteen, Sir.”

“Right again. Let’s see...this one?”

“Nine, Sir.” The heat dropped out between Sherlock’s thighs slightly, and so unhappy was he about the loss that he couldn’t help but whimper softly. His cock had filled out, and he needed that exquisite sensation to keep it that way.

John laughed behind him. “Is nine better or worse than nineteen?”

“...I don’t know, Sir.”

John turned the dial slowly, closing his eyes as Sherlock’s moans got louder, his speech slightly slurred as he murmured and whimpered into the mattress. The impact of the ginger was subsiding slightly, turning to a kind of constant throbbing than seemed to be more hot that stinging, and it was making Sherlock’s lower half burn deliciously. He could feel the doctor’s eyes on him, and knew he was being meticulously admired, despite not being able to see where John’s gaze really was. His cock was leaking pre-come, and his knees felt stiff from kneeling for long and Christ, it was so, so worth it.

“Uhhh my God...that feels good Sir, so good.”

The power box was placed carefully between Sherlock’s legs, and the doctor took a step towards the top of the bed, his fingertips ghosting along the detective’s back, and along one of his arms. Stooping, he gently pulled Sherlock’s head up by the back of his collar, and kissed him possessively. Each bite of his submissive’s lip or the forcefulness of his tongue inside Sherlock’s mouth only reinstated his ownership, and the flood of moans that escaped the detective were testimony to how deeply it was felt. John kept one hand on the back of his submissive’s neck, and the other rested on his taut jaw-line, holding him firmly in place. Sherlock’s breathing was loud and heavy between moans; a guttural desperation in his tone, and an eagerness in his lips that made John growl.

“Sir, please...”

“Mm, what do you need?”

John pulled his lips away just enough to let Sherlock speak, but still kept his grip firm. The detective’s eyes were blazing, his pupils blown out and his face flushed. Beads of sweat were forming along his hair line, and his body seemed to glow with that invisible energy he was being charged with. His lips were wet and messy, a small drip of saliva rolling from his bottom lip and down his chin.

“Please, I...I want your cock in my mouth.”


NOTE: Yeah, to be continued, but I wanted to put something out, as I've been keeping you all waiting. Keep the suggestions coming, as you might notice I do EVENTUALLY get round to them. And don't forget to comment. <3 


Chapter Text

Unzipping his fly and quickly freeing his hard and leaking cock from his jeans, John used his free hand to keep a firm grip on the back of Sherlock's head, before pressing the tip of his cock against the detective's lips. Sherlock's tongue eagerly swirled around the head and he opened his mouth with a small moan, looking up at the doctor with hungry eyes. The throbbing electric impulses between his thighs and the slow burn of the ginger in his arse felt maddeningly good - he just needed something else to focus on, a stimulant to stop him from coming without permission. And John Watson's cock was a highly welcome distraction. Licking along the underside of the doctor's length, Sherlock took his time in accepting the whole of John's cock into his mouth, taking pleasure in glancing up occasionally to watch his expression change. 

John stroked Sherlock's cheek with his thumb and gently pressed at the back of his head, encouraging his submissive to take the whole of his cock into his mouth. Sherlock's lips closed around the head of his cock completely and slid forward until his tongue could lap against the base, emitting a small hum of surprise as the pressure on the back of his head intensified, and John kept him there, his nose almost pressed against the doctor's stomach. 

As he watched Sherlock readjust and try to accommodate John's length pushing at the back of his throat, the doctor stroked through his submissive's hair soothingly. Sherlock looked up at him, and as he blinked tears escaped his eyes and ran down his face. John could only growl at the sight of him. He could feel the detective's throat working as he tried not to gag and his muscles tensing as he tried to ignore how little oxygen he had. Still, John was met with no resistance; Sherlock stayed obediently in place, his eyes now closed as he concentrated on trying to breathe.

The pressure on the back of Sherlock's head suddenly lessened and John was pulling his cock out of the detective's mouth. Sherlock gave a gasp of relief began breathing heavily, his lips curling into a small smile as he felt the doctor's hand wiping the tears from his face and brushing the damp curls from his forehead. 

"Good boy, you're so good for me. Are you alright?" 

Sherlock nodded shakily and unfolded his arms from his back to relieve the pressure in his chest, using them to push himself up a little more so that he wasn't entirely reliant on John to keep his head up. His breathing was returning to normal and he felt a little light-headed. In the moment he had completely forgotten about what was happening to his lower half, but now it had become obvious again. His cock was throbbing from such extended stimulation, and he became quite desperate quite quickly. 

Thankfully John seemed to be experiencing a desperation of his own, and with very little ceremony, pushed his cock into Sherlock's eager mouth once again. Allowing the submissive a few second to adjust himself, the doctor began slowly fucking the detective's mouth, watching as his length slipped between those full lips and back out, his fingers in Sherlock's hair clenching as he felt an experienced tongue swirling around the head and lapping teasingly at the underside of his aching cock. Building in pace, John couldn't help but marvel at how good Sherlock looked like this, earnestly sucking and moaning around the doctor's cock, his body squirming minutely as he forced himself to keep position. How on earth was this the same man who successfully alienated at least three people per day? John couldn't help but wonder what their reactions might be if they saw the great and icy detective like this, hungrily taking cock in his mouth on all fours and squirming delightedly every time he was told what a good boy he was. 

The doctor's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his thrusts became more shallow and erratic. Sherlock kept up with him admirably, moaning deeply with saliva dripping in strands from his lips and down his chin, accepting every thrust into his throat, his eyes closed in concentration. 


"Look at me, Sherlock, that's a good boy. God, if you could see gorgeous boy."

The detective practically glowed with pleasure, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked harder, sensing John was only moments from coming. The hands in his hair pulled tighter, and he watched at John's head lolled back, his lips silently parted. Come seeped into Sherlock's mouth in jets, and he happily accepted it, moaning softly as the doctor pulled it gently from between his submissive's lips and tucked himself back into his jeans, pulling Sherlock's head back by his hair to capture him in a kiss. 

"Such a good boy, you deserve to come too, don't you?" 

Sherlock moaned and nodded eagerly, whispered pleas escaping from his wet lips. His cock was hard enough to be painful, and craved even the smallest bit of attention to help the detective over the edge and into orgasm. John wasted no time in reaching under Sherlock to stroke along the rigid length of his cock, taking it firmly in hand whilst his other hand held the back of the detective's collar. 

"So well-behaved aren't you? My beautiful boy...I'm very proud of you." 

Sherlock's eyes closed as John's hand pumped his thick erection, twisting right at the head and swirling his thumb over the tip, covering the length of his cock in his own pre-come. The relentless, shakingly good impulses of electricity had never ceased, and now combined with the doctor's gloriously good hands, Sherlock was already close after mere moments. 

"Mmm...uhh, please Sir let me come for you, let me come..." 

"So eager to please..." John said with a smile, watching Sherlock's body heave with shuddering breathes, his toned thighs shaking and his mouth, glistening with spit and come, endlessly murmuring sounds of carnal pleasure. It was a stunning display, and the doctor always thought himself rather privileged to be able to watch the detective in all his muscle-twitching, sweating and writhing glory.

"Please! Please, please just let me... I can't... I..."

"Well as you asked so nicely, come for me Sherlock." 

Finally, Sherlock gave into every instinct, his whole body shaking as he allowed himself to relax into the orgasm which took hold of him like a storm. John's hand relentlessly wrung his cock for all it was worth, and the detective's arms collapsed under him, his face pressed into the bedsheet as his moans choked in his throat. He was vaguely aware of things shifting and changing around him, aware of hands somewhere on his lower half and then a strange sense of relief, but his exhausted body was far too sated to allow him to focus. He was unwilling to even raise his head, reassured by the fact that whatever was going on was probably John taking care of things. 

And then there was John's hand stroking his back, carding through his hair. Sherlock just about managed to turn his head where he lay, so he could breathe better, and then simply allowed himself to be looked after, barely listening to whatever it was the doctor was saying, but enjoying the tone of it nonetheless. He felt very warm and very tired, his limbs gently aching after everything that had happened that day. He frowned delicately to himself as he remembered just how angry John had been, how horrible the jealousy had made him feel, but frowning seemed like too much effort and he quickly relaxed again. He was forgiven, John had said so, and John loved him, and that must be important because he knew it without having to try and remember it. 

Feeling himself slowly slipping into sleep, Sherlock wanted to say something, something nice so that John would know he loved him, but feeling the doctor's warm hand on his back, and a hand still calmly threading through his hair, he concluded that John probably already knew it, and allowed himself to settle into a deep, dreamless sleep. 



Chapter Text

NOTE: Oh hi! Just got back from a teeny tour of some of my fellow European countries, and decided I hate the real world even more so than before, so here I am! This chapter is inspired by ShadowofBaskerville, and I use the term 'inspired' because I tried to follow the suggestion and then just went off on my own tangent and it ended up being very little to do with the original idea, so for that I'm sorry. But please enjoy, and it you're still reading, you must know I love you. You must. 


Throwing the door open and carelessly divesting himself of his coat and gloves, Sherlock flopped onto the sofa with the air of a man who was very annoyed indeed. Kicking off his shoes and closing his eyes, he listened to the sound of John shutting the door behind him and picking up the abandoned coat, hanging it up before removing his own. The doctor himself possessed the air of a man who was sympathetic towards Sherlock's irritation to the point that he was willing to pick up after him for a little while. The case they had returned from had been a complete waste of time, in the detective's opinion at any rate. He'd solved it about 20 seconds after ducking under the crime scene tape. John had been amazed at the rapidity of Sherlock's deductions, but this feeling of elation had slowly withered and died in the silent and rather expensive taxi ride back home. He wasn't overly keen on having a listless submissive agitating his way around the flat for the next few days. When Sherlock was in a mood like this, he tended towards outright petulance and poor behaviour that he otherwise wouldn't bother with, and John wasn't particularly keen on setting it off. 

Making a beeline for the kettle, the doctor began busying himself with making a cup of tea, and finding a takeaway menu. It had been tea-time when they'd received the call from Greg, and now John's stomach was letting him know that it was almost as unsatisfied as the sulking detective. Speaking of which...

John poured the tea out and brought the two steaming mugs into the living room, setting them down on the coffee table and straightening up to look at Sherlock's turned back. He saw the detective's toes curl in agitation for a moment, before a very indistinct and reluctant "thank you" rose up out of the cushions. 

"You're welcome," John said quietly, leaning down to rub Sherlock's tensed shoulders. "I'm going to order us something to eat. What do you fancy?"

The detective tensed again, his toes curling and digging against the arm of the sofa. First, Lestrade drags him across London to solve a case so commonplace the half-blind tabby cat Mrs Hudson sometimes fed could  have solved it, and NOW John bloody Watson was going to make him eat even though he wasn't hungry and it was so unfair because if he refused now he'd be sent to the corner until he gave in, and if he ordered something and then refused to have it when it arrived, John would smack him and then feed him himself. Whilst Sherlock privately quite enjoyed the doctor feeding him, the stinging on the back of his legs combined with the embarrassment of it far outweighed any other sentiment he had towards the situation. He was really craving to be looked after, especially after the disappointment of the afternoon, but being looked after meant doing as he was told and he really, really didn't want to do that. He was too determined to be in a mood. 

He could feel John's eyes on him, waiting patiently for a reply. Finally, he turned his head slightly so as to be heard more clearly, and suggested that John could pick for him. Satisfied by this answer, the doctor gave him a quick pat and moved off to the kitchen to call the Chinese restaurant from the kitchen. When he returned, he plucked up his cup of tea and settled himself in his armchair, perceiving that it might be a good idea to let Sherlock relax a little before trying to console him.

Five minutes passed, and John was just about to take his own empty cup and Sherlock's full one back to the kitchen when he heard his muffled name being called by the prone figure on the sofa. "Sherlock?" 

Some more murmuring occurred, this time completely unintelligible. "What was that?"

Sherlock rolled over, his eyes open only a little and a very gentle pout on his lips. "I don't feel well." 

It wasn't, the detective assured himself, a lie. He didn't  feel  well; he felt frustrated and annoyed and very much not hungry. 

John's tone was indulgent. "I think you just need to eat something, beautiful. Your stomach must be getting used to eating regularly now. That's very good."  

Sherlock forced himself not to smile at this small bit of praise, and instead focused his attentions on not being hungry and feeling unwell. 

"But I feel funny."

"You feel funny?" Sherlock could hear the frown in John's voice, and he detected a touch of cynicism which coincided with a little concern. "What kind of funny?"

The detective was determined to maintain his not-technically-lying policy. "Just not right." 

He was utilising John's caretaking instincts by being deliberately childish about his symptoms. The evasiveness meant he didn't have to lie, and his tone and choice of words did more than enough to convince the doctor that something wasn't quite right. In fact, it brought him out of his armchair and carefully lifting Sherlock's legs to slide under them, stroking the black curls back from Sherlock's forehead in a lingering gesture that made the submissive relieved not to have feigned a temperature. John's eyes raked over Sherlock's body as he gently stroked him, and he tutted sympathetically when the detective whimpered quietly. 

"Do you think maybe you're just a bit annoyed about how easy the case was for you, and it's thrown you a bit off-kilter?" 

John's tone was mild and soothing, but for Sherlock this was the fork in the road, and he thought perhaps the doctor knew that. John's question suggested that maybe if he agreed that he was just upset, Sherlock would get treated very nicely until he 'felt better', but he would still have to eat his dinner. But if he replied that he thought it was something else - that would be uncharted territory. In an ideal world, John would tell him that as he was unwell, dinner-time rules didn't count and he could have cups of tea instead of supper and be generally fussed over until he made a recovery. Or, John might find out he was trying to get out of eating and his bad afternoon could turn into a bad evening and even a bad tomorrow. He shifted uncomfortably and made another noise of discomfort, this time entirely involuntarily. He really, really didn't feel like eating. And he really, really didn't want to be punished. Eventually, he went for vague again. Third time lucky. 

"I don't know." 

Despite what this answer meant, John was more relieved than he really thought he should be. Sherlock was, as he had suspected, trying to get out of eating dinner because he was frustrated and wanted attention but didn't want to be good enough to earn it. That much was obvious, especially as the detective was squirming about looking less unwell and more nervous every time he spoke. But the doctor's relief came not only from the knowledge that his submissive was definitely in perfectly good health - it also came from the fact that Sherlock appeared so physically worrisome about doing anything close to lying to John. Come to think of it, had he actually lied at all? He'd said he didn't want to eat anything because he didn't feel 'well' or 'right', but hadn't lied about any specific ailment. And John couldn't help but feel that Sherlock was quite clearly feeling out of sorts from his behaviour....

So what did that mean? John didn't feel like Sherlock's collar should be taken away from him, as whether or not he had actually lied was rather ambiguous. The doctor could ask him outright if he was trying to get out of eating, but in the mood Sherlock was in he felt like that would have consequences they'd both be unhappy with. The detective had burst into tears the last time his collar had almost been taken away, surely that would be far too harsh for something like this - a petty bit of playing-up. He could  warn his submissive that he knew what he was doing and should give it up, but hadn't John already given him the chance to opt out of it? The doctor knew from experience that the best way to deal with Sherlock in one of these moods was to address the issue as quickly as possible, preferably by making him think that he'd got what he wanted, and then allowing the realisation that he was in fact getting the exact opposite, to dawn on him in his own time. 

Well, John thought grimly, he was a doctor after all. If Sherlock was feeling unwell, but couldn't tell him what was wrong, he'd have to examine him. Thoroughly. He had a feeling Sherlock's tongue would loosen very quickly under those circumstances. 

"Alright then. I think we'd better get you in bed, and I'll have to take a look at you in a little while. Up you get, Sherlock." 

The detective stood up warily, one hand clinging to the cuff of John's jumper. Looked at? He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that at all. Suddenly he felt very much like maybe dinner would be better than bed, especially as John's tone was still soft, but bereft of any endearment. As he was led towards their bedroom, he hung back a little. "What about dinner?" 

The doctor gave his hand a gentle tug and opened the door to the bedroom, ushering him in. "Oh I think we'd better forget about that for now. I'll eat mine whilst you're resting, and then we can heat yours back up when you're feeling a little better, alright?" 

Sherlock nodded dumbly, some sense of apprehension swirling in his stomach. John knew. He knew Sherlock wasn't ill, and he wasn't even trying to pretend that he didn't. Everything about his body language and tone of voice suggested that there was a lesson being taught, and the detective had the uncomfortable impression that he was going to be the one learning it. He watched blankly as John found his pajamas for him, and put a hand out to take them. The doctor ignored the gesture and began undressing his submissive, carefully removing each item of clothing and then redressing him, before taking his hand again and leading him over to the bed, pulling back the covers and helping the detective climb in before tucking them back over. Still leaning over the bed, he looked steadily at Sherlock, who was trying not to look worried. For a moment, John's resolve slipped. Maybe he could just smack Sherlock and send him to the corner now, it would be far easier, and he really would prefer his submissive to be eating something, especially as he'd got into such good habits. But as he thought this, the doorbell rang, and John decided that this was the best course of action.

"I won't be long. Stay in bed and rest, I'll come and see to you in about half an hour. Okay?"

Sherlock whispered a yes dryly, watching John close the door behind him with wide eyes. He really was starting to feel unwell now.


John didn't take long eating. He'd been starving and the Chinese Sherlock always insisted was the best, turned out to be just that. After eating his meal, he packed Sherlock's half back into  the bag and placed it in the fridge. Washing up the two cups from earlier and his plate, he then walked along the hall to his spare room, aware that the detective could hear his every move. He quickly found what he was looking for, but took his time in checking batteries, finding a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, ensuring he had anything else he might need. Finally, he went back towards the shared bedroom, hoping that the wait in bed had had the effect he desired on Sherlock. 

Sure enough, when he walked in the detective was virtually in the exact same position as when John has left him, but his bottom lip looked red-raw from being bitten, a sign that Sherlock was very anxious indeed. His submissive instinctively went to sit up, and then appeared to think better of it. John remained silent, and placed the items he'd need on the desk, away from Sherlock's view. Then, he walked purposefully to the edge of the bed and sat down, stretching the silence by taking in Sherlock's squirming hands and bitten lip before asking: "How are you feeling?" 

The detective didn't  really want to reply. In fact, he felt pretty miserable, far more so than earlier. Waiting in bed was somehow so much worse than standing in a corner, and knowing that John knew he wasn't actually ill made it even harder to stay where he was. To make matters worse, about ten minutes into waiting for John's return, his stomach had begun to make small, unhappy noises at him, and it had only got more ardent as the minutes ticked by. Just as he was about to reply, in  fact, an small growling noise, muffled, but still very audible in a silent room, made it very clear how he was feeling. Upon hearing it, John looked down and about him in mock-surprise, before returning a steady gaze back at Sherlock, who had flushed a deep pink. 

"I'm fine." 

John hummed meditatively, his gaze constant. Sherlock squirmed under it, feeling very flustered at how calm the doctor was. If John was cross, it was easier for him to understand what would resolve it. But in this situation, John seemed quite at his leisure, one eyebrow cocked slightly just to remind Sherlock of how utterly ridiculous the whole thing was, and how silly the detective looked and how he had all the time in the world to sit there and observe the mess Sherlock had got himself into. 

After another long silence,  John moved off the bed and back towards the desk, talking calmly over his shoulder. "We'll check your temperature, just to be sure." 

And as he turned back round, Sherlock saw the unmistakable red rubber of the electric thermometer in John's hand, used to differentiate it from other electric thermometers. He was pretty certain his face must have turned the same colour. He watched in shock as the doctor covered the tip first in rubbing alcohol, and then took up a bottle of lube from the desk, and moved back towards the bed, saying in a very brisk manner: "On top of the covers, please, and take those pajama  bottoms down for me." 

Sherlock choked and stared at him, his cheeks blazing. "John-you-you can't be serious-" 

The doctor fixed him with a stern gaze, frowning. "I'm completely serious."

"But-but you don't need's not know perfectly well I  haven't got a temperature!"

John blinked once. "How can I know that until I've taken it?" 

Sherlock was up on his knees now, not confident enough to actually get out of bed, but indignant enough to want to try and make his point clear. His eyes were watering and he had the expression of a frightened animal. He hated it when John did this, this horrible reversal that he himself used so often on cases because it was so effective, pleading ignorance to force the truth out. He could hear himself getting wound up so rapidly, but he couldn't stop it. "Because you know I'm not ill!"

The doctor's expression became a great deal sterner. "Young man, I suggest you do not raise your voice at me."

The detective shut his mouth automatically, despite the ball of frustration bubbling up in his chest. 

"That's better. You need to be calm if I'm going to take your temperature." John held his free hand up for silence, seeing Sherlock open his mouth again in protest. "Getting agitated is only going to make it worse. This is going to happen, and you know why I'm doing it, so the quicker you do as you're told, the quicker this bit will be over. Go on." 

Sherlock wanted to cry. His face was crimson with shame as he got out of the bed-covers, pulling his pajama bottoms down to his knees and laid down, burying his face in his folded arms. He did know why John was going to take his temperature, despite them both knowing it was going to be perfectly normal. To humble him, and make sure he would never forget it or delete it from his memory. The detective doubted he'd been able to so much as glance at a thermometer without going red for the foreseeable future. 

He felt the bed dip as John sat down on the edge, and heard the lid  of the lube pop. "Spread your cheeks for me, please." 

The doctor watched as his submissive reluctantly, but quickly obeyed, his hands reaching back to spread his cheeks apart. John spread a generous amount of lube over Sherlock's entrance and the tip of the thermometer, before pressing it slowly inside of him. The detective made a quiet sound of discomfort, but it was clearly more from embarrassment than actual pain. He couldn't believe this was actually happening to him - he was fully aware that rectal thermometry was rarely used in healthy adults, and was instead reserved mostly for babies, and yet here he was. John clearly thought his submissive had behaved like a child, and had doled out something appropriate to match his behaviour. Sherlock felt tears welling up in his eyes when he considered that none of John's previous subs had probably ever needed this treatment. 

After what felt like forever, Sherlock heard the reading beep, and felt the thermometer being removed, and John cleaning off the excess lube from between his cheeks. "That's a good boy," the doctor murmured softly, "that was very good." 

Sherlock sniffed and rubbed his face on the bed covers, his face still hot and burning. John pulled his pajamas bottoms back up, and patted him gently. "Sit up." 

The detective obeyed, but kept his face turned until the doctor's hand was on his collar and tugged very lightly. "Look at me, Sherlock." 

Sherlock looked at him, finally, knowing he looked as miserable as he felt. "That was a lot of work just to have no dinner and a no nice attention, hmm?" John said softly, his head cocked to one side. His submissive mumbled a shaky "yes, Sir", and dropped his gaze again. 

"Please, please don't do it." 

Sherlock looked up again, suddenly. John said please when he asked Sherlock to do something, but usually when he was telling the detective something he shouldn't do, he said "you will not...". This sounded very different, and it made Sherlock's eyes well up with  tears again. 

"Sorry," he whispered, his throat cracking. He felt absolutely wretched. 

John's arms came around him and he automatically threw himself into them, curling up as much as he could into the doctor's  lap, hoping he could say everything he wanted to say in the tightness of his embrace. He knew John hated it most when he couldn't be nice, when his dom nature forced him to detach himself and simply let Sherlock make a state of himself; especially when it seemed so easy for it not to happen that way. 

"I'm sorry too, beautiful." John said suddenly, guilt radiating in his tone. "Earlier...I just left you to seethe your own, I should have been there cuddling you as soon as we got in the door...that's what you wanted, isn't it?" 

Sherlock nodded, and held on tighter, nuzzling his face into John's shoulder as his hair was stroked. This was what he'd wanted an hour and a half ago, not that it was really John's fault at all. He was not a mind-reader, and Sherlock was acutely aware that he could be a little unpredictable when in certain moods. It was just...

"Bad evening", he said quietly into John's shoulder. "That's all." 

John smiled, and kissed the detective's temple gently, feeling him relax and go pliant against him. "All the same, I am sorry. And although I think it was the best lesson to teach you, I really don't want a repeat of this evening." 

Sherlock nodded fervently at this and tried to squirm even further onto John's lap. He couldn't help but feel that the fact that none of it had even physically hurt made it all about ten times worse than just getting smacked and sent to the corner. He'd take that any day over being sent to bed and having his temperature taken.

"Funny," John said thoughtfully, more to himself than Sherlock, "You wouldn't think it would be so effective, but it works every time.."

The detective's head came up at this, and he narrowed his eyes. "This is a tried and tested punishment of yours?!"

The doctor laughed and pulled Sherlock closer. "You're not the first silly boy to try and pull the wool over a doctor's eyes you know."

Sherlock flushed and turned his head against John's shoulder. "I think I'd like my dinner now please."   


NOTE: Sorry for any inaccuracies, I'm very tired :) PLEASE comment with suggestions that I will apparently ignore because I'm a hideous excuse for a human being

Chapter Text

‘What a good idea,’ the doctor murmured, giving Sherlock a chaste kiss on the top of his head. Unravelling himself from the detective’s long limbs, John stood up and stretched before holding out a hand to his submissive. Sherlock peered up at him, his eyes a little red and his cheekbones still tinged pink, and slowly entwined his fingers with John’s.

John led them towards the living room, and left Sherlock to curl up on the sofa whilst he went into the kitchen to heat up the leftover Chinese. All in all, he was pleased with how well the detective had taken the whole ordeal, and was pretty certain it wouldn’t be happening again anytime soon. Still, there was a small bubble of guilt swirling about in the pit of his stomach. He knew better than leave a frustrated Sherlock by himself with his thoughts, or to give him too many choices when he was in that sort of mood. The detective had come a long way since they’d first started their relationship, but there were certain things that would never change between them, and one of those things was that Sherlock simply needed more attention that other subs, especially when emotions came into play.
Well, attention was something which John was more than happy to give to his gorgeous submissive by the bucket-load, and the doctor was determined to lavish as much of it as possible on Sherlock for the rest of the evening. Shoving the warm food onto a clean plate and grabbing a fork, John headed back into the living room, therein finding a very coy looking Sherlock curled up at one end of the sofa.

At the sight of John, Sherlock perked up visibly, crossing his legs and leaning back into the arm of the sofa as the doctor sat down beside him. John turned slightly towards his submissive and rested the plate on his lap, assessing him for a second. Sherlock blinked and smiled softly, murmuring a quiet ‘thank you’, and reaching out to take the fork from John’s hands.

‘Oh no, beautiful’, John said, pulling his hand out of Sherlock’s reach, his voice firm and gentle. ‘I think after the fuss you’ve made, it would be better if I feed you, don’t you?’

Sherlock felt a warm glow spreading across his face, and his stomach jolted. He pressed his lips together and looked up at John, who was watching him calmly. God, he loved this.

‘Yes, Sir’, the detective said quietly, watched as a smile spread across John’s lips.

‘Good boy’ John praised, and raised the first forkful to Sherlock’s lips, who leaned closer to him and opened his mouth eagerly. John’s free hand came up to curl around the back of his submissive’s neck, his fingers spreading into the curls that fell around the nape of Sherlock’s neck. With each mouthful, Sherlock moved minutely closer, making sure not to disturb the plate resting on John’s thighs. He waited patiently as the doctor speared bamboo shoots and water chestnuts onto the fork, and offered it to him. It was wonderfully intimate, seeing John take such care with him, and it was impossible to refuse. As the plate slowly cleared, Sherlock felt arousal slowly growing in the pit of his belly. John was taking his time, watching the detective carefully through each bite, his free hand continuing to stroke through Sherlock’s hair. There was very little conversation between them, only the occasional chuckle from John whenever Sherlock made a small, and possibly accidental appreciative noise.

As the detective chewed on the final mouthful, John placed the fork and plate onto the coffee table, sitting back to watch him. When he’d finished, Sherlock immediately dived onto the doctor’s lap, and placed a small, gentle kiss on his mouth.

‘Thank you, Sir’, he murmured, smiling into John’s lips as he felt the doctor’s arms snake around his waist. His own hands trailed up John’s chest, fingering the buttons on his shirt.

‘Such a good boy, aren’t you? So good for me.’

John’s praise went straight to Sherlock’s cock, and he whined quietly as the doctor took his lips between his teeth and bit gently. John’s hands were now making their way under Sherlock’s shirt, up over his chest to tease his nipples into hard, pink buds. Sherlock moaned as a sharp sting radiated over his chest, courtesy of a particularly hard pinch from John’s fingertips, and he grinded his hips down into the doctor’s lap, eliciting a groan from the man underneath him. John’s assault on Sherlock’s lips became more rapid, pressing his tongue greedily between Sherlock’s teeth, running it along the bridge of the detective’s mouth. Feeling Sherlock’s chest heave under his ministrations, John pulled back and yanked his submissive’s pyjama t-shirt up around his armpits and bit down on one of the exposed rosy and raised nipples.

Sherlock squealed as John’s teeth locked around his sensitive chest, squirming as the pain intermingled with the lapping of the doctor’s tongue right against the tip of his nipple. Scrabbling at the fabric rucked around his armpits, the detective managed to pull the shirt up and over his head, arching his chest towards John and leaning back to grip the doctor’s legs.

‘Oh more, Sir, please’, Sherlock begged, his hips thrusting against John’s as the doctor moved on to the other nipple, sucking and biting mercilessly against the raised and delicate flesh. One arm bracing Sherlock’s back, John allowed his other hand to trail downwards and press against the hardening cock beneath the detective’s pyjamas, squeezing lightly. A guttural moan escaped Sherlock’s lips and he thrusted up into John’s touch, doing his best to guide the doctor’s hand into a firmer, more satisfying touch. John growled and gave a harder, chastising squeeze right at the base of the detective’s cock, revelling in the change of pitch it made in Sherlock’s gorgeous, desperate noises. He licked one long stripe across the detective’s bitten and reddened nipples and blew gently against the wet line, grinning wolfishly as a shudder racked through Sherlock’s torso.

‘Stand up.’

Sherlock did not react, the abrupt command getting lost amongst his own moans and the throbbing of his abused nipples. A hand came up and tightened around his collar, and his eyes flew open. John was looking straight at him - his pupils huge and dark, his gaze steady.

“I said: Stand up.”

It had the required effect – Sherlock eyes widened and he immediately scrabbled to extract himself from John’s lap, a pink blush running over his throat when John’s hand remained on his collar, forcing him to stay bent over at the hip, their faces just inches apart. John held him there, and looked at him with such intensity it made him feel a bit wobbly, heat surging through him so fast his toes tingled. It was another few moments before he was released.

Straightening up, he watched John lean back into the sofa cushions to admire him, the doctor’s gaze sliding slowly over his reddened chest with a possessive eye that moved with agonising pace down to the tented from of Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms. The detective became very aware of his own heavy breathing, and his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides in anticipation.

“Take those off.”

John didn’t even bother to gesture or incline his head with this command, watching with no small sense of satisfaction as Sherlock practically jumped to obey, pushing the pyjamas off his hips and stepping out of them so quickly he almost stumbled as one of the legs got caught around his foot.

“Hands behind your head – good boy…” the doctor said, rising to his feet. Taking a step towards his submissive, he took the detective’s cock in hand and gave the length a gentle squeeze, kissing his delicately on the mouth as he did so. “Stay there.”

Sherlock whispered his compliance through wet lips, and only followed the doctor with his eyes and not his head as he marched from the room. He wasn’t gone for more than maybe a minute and half, and yet for the detective it felt like an age – the cold air of the room on his warm body giving him goosebumps, his naked body taut and fully on display for anyone who might happen to walk in.

When John returned, it was only with a small bottle of lube and rather larger grin. Settling himself back down of the left hand side of the sofa, he took a moment to sit and admire the gorgeous body of the man in front of him, strung tight with nervous excitement, and almost glowing in the gentle light of dusk.

He beckoned his submissive silently towards him, noting that as he obeyed, Sherlock still kept his hands behind his head. A small thing, but nevertheless a mark of his eagerness to be as well-behaved as possible, something with John took no small pride in noticing. He spread his legs wide and patted his left thigh.

“Over you go.”

Sherlock practically dived onto the sofa, his arms coming down to grip John’s knee as he maneuvered himself into the right position. It was slightly odd to lay across only one of the doctor’s thighs – although luckily John had accommodated for Sherlock’s lanky frame by sitting at one end of the sofa, allowing the detective to rest his upper body on the sofa cushions, making his hips the highest point on his body as they propped up over John’s thigh. He folded his arms in front of him, turned his face to the side to rest one blushing cheek on them. The doctor’s hand rubbed gentle circles over his lower back, and he hummed happily, arching up into the touch to encourage that hand further down, which to his delight it did, smoothing carefully across his arse in firm, deliberate circles.

As soon as he felt the warmth of John’s palm disappear, the detective took in a small breath to brace himself for the first smack that was sure follow, but as the seconds passed, was simply forced to exhale the breath he’d been holding. The doctor remained perfectly still above him, and yet Sherlock was certain his arm was still raised. A test of patience? Sherlock couldn’t help himself from making a small pleading noise in his throat, shifting his hips minutely on John’s leg. There were many things that he found difficult to be patient about, but spankings came pretty high on that list – especially as the ones John handed out (pun intended), were undoubtedly the best around. A sound spanking, preferably followed by an even sounder fucking from John Watson were, in Sherlock’s humble opinion, not matters to be trifled with. As he thought on this, he couldn’t help but arch his back further, pushing his hips back and up as much as he dared. Immediately he felt John’s hand stroking along his back again.

“Good,” the doctor said, his voice deep with interest. “More.”

Sherlock made a quiet noise at the praise, and shifted as much of his weight as possible into his arms and chest, which were now pressed firmly into the sofa. Raising and bending his left leg, he could rest his knee in the gap between John’s thighs and keep the ball of his other foot braced against the floor, giving him the leverage he needed to lift his hips up slightly from John’s leg and rotated back as far as he could. As far as positions went, it was slightly uncomfortable, but Sherlock got the feeling that that was the point. From here all he could think about was just how conspicuous his arse was stuck up in the air, and he had to concentrate relatively well to keep from pushing his hips back down into John’s thigh. It was with regret that he noticed this position kept his hard cock up and away from the friction of John’s jeans, but he didn’t have much time to think about this before he felt a hand spreading his cheeks apart.

“Amazing,” John murmured, and Sherlock could feel his breath against his arse. “God, I wish you could see yourself. Such a gorgeous body…and you’re presented so perfectly for me, aren’t you?”

Sherlock moaned into his folded arms. “Yes, Sir…”

John ran a finger along the detective’s crease, groaning as he felt his submissive trying to push back further in encouragement, all the skin over his arse and thighs pulled taut by his position. The doctor’s cock had hardened very quickly as he’d watched Sherlock squirming around on top of him, trying so eagerly to give him exactly what he wanted. It was absolute filth, and utterly delicious to observe such a haughty and prideful man wriggling around on the living room sofa, doing his level best to make his arse as accessible as possible to the doctor’s touch. He blew gently along Sherlock’s crease, not in the least surprised when the detective gave a high-pitched whimper of surprise, his hips automatically canting forwards and settling back on John’s thigh to try and protect the delicate area.

John tutted in disapproval, but couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his face at his submissive’s reaction. His splayed fingers increased their grip on Sherlock’s arse to force the muscles beneath to relax again. “Arse up, Sherlock, nice and high...that’s it. You can keep it there for me can’t you?”

Sherlock moaned, but confirmed that he could all the same. It was hard enough not to immediately grind down into John’s leg every time he touched him, let alone keep to this strict position, especially when John was teasing him like this. One hand still spreading his arse, the doctor used the other to deliver a series of small spanks right along the insides of the detective’s cheeks. These stinging slaps against such sensitive skin had Sherlock making desperate little noises that only increased in intensity as the strikes became sharper.

“Who do you belong to, Sherlock?” John asked, pausing to run his hand gently over the pinkish skin that covered the innermost curves of the detective’s cheeks.
His submissive moaned and pushed his hips as high as they would go. “You, Sir.”

“That’s right, you belong to me.”


NOTE: I promise this chapter is going in an interesting direction, but I just HAVE to get some spanking in along the way :) :) Nevertheless, I hope you like so far!

ALSO I realised I used to keep you updated on my travels, which is what usually stops me from writing much. Well, I moved to Norway. And since the last time I updated this little fic, I've been to yet more glorious European cities. Shoutout to Oslo (obviously), Helsinki, Berlin, Paris, Stockholm, Aarhus, Copenhagen and Madrid (and their marvelous inhabitants), which are the most recent places I've visited. So that's my excuse for keeping you waiting - and if you have any suggestions for what you'd like to read more of (or actually if you have any recommendations of for places in Ireland, Austria, Portugal, Greece or Poland that make for an excellent week away ;) ) DO leave a comment for me. Cheers!