Sherlock Holmes, who acted emotionally like a teenager – the mood swings, the sarcastic comments - was in fact nearly 24. He was slouched in one of the chairs, in Dom Doctor John Watson’s rather large front room, his long legs spread and one foot tapping against the wooden coffee table. He was trying to think of a way out because he knew for a fact the front door was out of the question. There was no doubt that his bloody annoying git of a brother would have placed one of his men on the front door, if not one, then two. They would have no qualms in throwing him into the wall until the Dom appeared and took over.
His brother, Mycroft Holmes, was in a different lounge with the Dom, discussing Sherlock’s “behaviour”. Apparently it was out of order for a chemistry graduate turned detective. How many lounges did one house need? He had had asked the exact same question of his parents and was still waiting for an answer.
Since he’d found working with his brother’s boyfriend in the metropolitan police at New Scotland Yard a sometimes worthy distraction from the ever-present boredom, it had been noticed by said brother’s boyfriend whenever chaos appeared from nowhere, he was always at the centre. That was why he was sat where he was now, the extensive lounge of a well-known professional Dom, no doubt a boring professional Dom, Sherlock was sure.
The lounge door swung open softly and Sherlock jumped to his feet, it was the Dom. He wore a smart 3 piece suit, except for the tie, and looked remarkably like Mycroft at that particular moment. Had the two of them been sharing their wardrobes? Sherlock shook the thought from his head. That was just what he needed, a mini-Mycroft.
“Where’s my brother?” he asked, scowling.
“Gone,” was the simple one-worded reply. “Now, shall we try that again or are you too primitive to understand the basic rules of sub-Dom interactions?”
The sub just glared for a moment before he looked around the room, disinterested. He sniffed, before dropping back onto the couch, slouching once again with a rather obvious attempt at ignoring the doctor.
Sherlock hadn’t failed to notice the cane he heavily relied upon, the Dom had used it the last time his brother had practically dragged him into the same room as the blond. The difference was, this time, the older man stopped whilst stood, therefore Sherlock had also not failed to notice that he barely leant on it at all. He was about to comment on it, but was frozen in his tracks by the Dom before he could.
“In my house, Sherlock, you follow my rules. For the first few weeks you will ask permission to do everything. You need the bathroom, you ask me. Go to bed? You ask me. Get dressed, if I allow your clothes, that is, you ask me. Is all that understood?”
The younger man nodded, rather dejectedly. He hadn’t managed to wind the Dom up with his little performance. Most Doms - professional or not - would have caned him already, lack of proper address, lack of kneeling, the glaring, but all he got was a soft, calm… army doctor; judging by his posture even with a cane.
“I asked you a question, Sherlock!” The doctor barked, sharply.
Sherlock flinched, a Dom repeating himself and not even a raised voice, just who was this guy and where did he get such a calm demeanour?
“I believe I understand English. You may have to be slower in the future, though. I get distracted when I’m bored. I can see that becoming a real problem if the last hour is anything to go by.”
“Your brother said you were a cheeky brat.” The eight words were said almost… fondly? No, that couldn’t be right. “He said that you hate to be dominated. Pretty shit trait in a submissive.”
“What’s it to you?”
John tutted, much like a primary school teacher would to a seven year old. “You’re here whether you like it or not, Sherlock. Try to make it easier, if not for me, then for yourself.”
Sherlock barked out a laugh. “Why? You’ll get bored of me in a few days and send me back to my brother. That’ll be just what I need after you for a few days.”
“Your contract is for at least 3 months. You will not be going back to Mycroft a day before then, maybe not even then.”
“You’re not the first Dom to have me at their beck and call,” Sherlock spat, his voice was full of hatred and his hands had closed tightly into white-knuckled fists.
“Everyone has sent me back to him with a full refund and I’m usually... Well, that’s got nothing to do with you.”
“I don’t do refunds.” John used his stick to prod at one of the cushions on a nearby chair, straightening it up. “Mycroft knows that.” He knew he knew that, because it had been part of their discussion when he had been “warning” him of some of Sherlock’s traits.
“How do you know my so-called loving brother so well?”
“What implies I know him well?”
Was this old army doctor… intrigued by that?
“You called him Mycroft. Twice. Rather than ‘Mr. Holmes’.”
“I’ve known him for years. I train the subs that he needs for work. Or I did… before I took you on.”
“You’re getting out of your depth.”
“How’s the leg? Wounded in the army were you not? But the limp’s psychosomatic.” Sherlock was determined to wind this Dom up, make him angry, like he did with all the others his brother palmed him off to. Then he could go home, with his room and his violin and lab equipment.
Instead of anger, it was further interest, “How do you know about that?”
“You’ve met my brother, you know of his intelligence. Did you expect me to be an imbecile?”
John sighed, shaking his head slowly, almost sadly. He remained above his anger, some way which Sherlock didn’t know.
“Well, you’d better get upstairs. Your room is the first on the right, and you’ll stay out of the last on the left. You have done yourself out of a tour tonight because of your attitude and you can unpack on your own. You will put on what is on the bed and only that. The clothes you are wearing now will go in the hamper. Now leave.”
With a defeated sigh, Sherlock grabbed his rucksack, hoping his brother’s men had already dealt with his cases. He hated unpacking. It was tedious.
John caught sight of Sherlock lounging back against the headboard of his bed, one of his long legs stretched over the other. All of his stuff was still in suitcases, the two or three he had brought with him scattered across the room. The Dom pushed the door the rest of the way open, allowing it to slam back into the wall. Sherlock resolutely ignored him, running his index finger along the patterns of the duvet cover.
“I don’t usually have to go down this route so early, if at all.”
Sherlock didn’t move or even acknowledge that the Dom had spoken. Apparently whatever he was doodling with his finger was a far more important use of his time.
Sighing, the doctor took a deep breath. “From this point on, you have no name. I refuse to recognise it or use it.”
“Until when?!” Sherlock yelled. He leapt off the bed, fists clenched, but he stopped himself doing anything rash to the Dom. The consequences would have been great even if this man had the patience of a saint. Mycroft would also be extremely unimpressed, just what he needed, an unimpressed angry brother.
“Until you earn it! I will refer to you as ‘boy’ or ‘pet’ depending on the attitude I receive from you and the level of cooperation you offer. Now, rule one: when I enter a room you are in, you kneel. And you kneel without fail. No matter what you are doing.”
John stared at the defiant sub pointedly for just over a minute before he swallowed his pride and fell to his knees.
The Dom pulled a leather collar from his pocket and moved towards his newfound sub. He unbuckled and moved to do it up around the detective’s neck. Sherlock grit his teeth as the blond did what he wanted.
“You do not remove this. I am the only one who can take this off you, is that understood?”
Sherlock nodded again. He didn’t flinch when he heard the buckle clip together, but it was obviously a conscious effort he was exerting in order not to do so. If he couldn’t make this Dom angry as easily as he had planned, then he wouldn’t show weakness either. His wall was up, he would not let it down.
The doctor cocked his head on one side, regarding the sub. He had the white leather fur-lined cuffs on his wrists and ankles. He had buckled them up, which John was surprised by, but they weren’t to a satisfactory tightness and he was sure his brat was well aware of that. He still had his trousers on and the cock cage which had previously been on the bed was over by the window.
“Didn’t like the look of that then, boy, no?” John moved to pick it up and then dropped it in the sub’s lap. Sherlock didn’t catch it, just let it bounce across the floor, to land a few feet away.
Apart from the little metal tubing being on the other side of the room, it appeared as if Sherlock had attempted to obey John’s demand, but got bored halfway through. From what his brother had said he wouldn’t put it passed him.
“Remove your trousers,” the doctor ordered.
Sherlock glanced up at him with a calculating look. It clearly said, “Make me”
“Don’t think of disobeying me, boy. You should already have done this,” John’s voice was calm, but it didn’t have the same effect on the detective.
As slowly as was humanly possible, the younger man unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall to the floor in a puddle around his feet. Knowing Mycroft as well as he did, he wouldn’t let his little brother dress in cheap clothes, especially not whilst living with him. John, therefore knew that his trousers were just as expensive as his own if not more so. It angered the Dom the way Sherlock had left them in a heap at his feet. He pointed at them and waited until the sub got the hint. The younger man picked them up and shook them once in the Dom’s face before throwing them over the baseboard of the bed, he hadn’t taken his eyes off the blond as if he was trying to prove a point.
“Now your pants.”
After completely disrobing, Sherlock turned away, his hands subconsciously moving to cover his cock. There was no point in being shy, he knew. John could do practically anything he wanted and he was here for at least three months - according to the Dom anyway. He just couldn’t bring himself to stand stark naked in front of the man who seemed to make him obey with a pointed look and a sigh.
“Turn back around, boy, and kneel.”
Taking a deep breath and once more swallowing his pride, the brunette turned and knelt at John’s feet.
“Don’t be so dramatic, boy!” John said as he weighed the cage in his hand and Sherlock flinched. “It’s not like I’m chopping it off.”
The Dom knelt down beside the younger man and took hold of his soft length. Sherlock pulled back, forcing the doctor to grab the D-ring on the collar with his finger to pull him back up straight.
“You’ve got a lot of bad habits, boy. This body is mine, you’ve signed the contract.”
Sherlock grabbed the wrist that held his collar. “Fighting me won’t make this easier.” He glared until the boy let his wrist go.
With a well-practised hand John had Sherlock’s length encased in the little metal rings, securing the cage behind his balls and locking it with similar technology to what was in the cuffs and collar. “This is more for orgasm control than denial, boy.” He tugged the collar, sharply. “You will ask for permission when the time comes, but you will also have to earn it.” The cage was fairly basic, except for the technology at the base, it would allow him to go to the loo without a problem but getting hard or reaching orgasm on his own was near-on impossible. John tugged the collar again. “Is all that understood?”
There was another silent nod. Getting fed up of the silent responses, John pushed down on his cane and pulled himself to his feet.
“Get up, boy.”
Glaring, Sherlock stood, only obeying because it made him more comfortable and John knew it.
Deciding that perhaps he needed to try a different approach, he pointed to his pants that were on the floor beside the detective.
“Seeing as it is your first day with me, you may put them back on.”
That caught Sherlock slightly wrong footed; wasn’t this supposed to be about power and humiliation? He knew it wasn’t about pain anymore. After the last one, Mycroft had assured him that he wouldn’t be left in that sort of compromising position again. The Dom could do practically anything he liked. Why wasn’t he humiliating him at every opportunity? Why was he being so… patient? Understanding? Either way, he immediately climbed back into his pants, feeling oddly shielded despite it only being thin material.
“I’m going to collect something from my study at the end of the hall, when I return we’ll practice rule one.”
Sherlock followed John to the door and when he disappeared inside what Sherlock assumed was the study, he grabbed his still packed rucksack, ignoring the other cases, and snuck out the room, it was easier than he expected. Being barefooted meant that he could sneak around a lot easier.
The door that led to the outside world had more locks on it than Sherlock thought possible. They all seemed to be joined together through the same circuit, though, so he fiddled with the key code box beside the door, it took him less than ten seconds tho crack the eight digit code.
He opened the door and took a look around, it was freezing and he was just in his underwear. It wouldn’t take him long. He’d find somewhere out of sight, throw some clothes on and run. He had no idea where he was though. His brother’s car had tinted windows and although he knew every street in London, outside of London was not his area. Apart from south he had no idea where he was, but they hadn’t driven that long so he couldn’t be too far south. The steps that ran down the front of the house had a layer of snow on them that hadn’t been there when Mycroft had dropped him off. He would definitely have to be quick.
A quick glance over his shoulder and he was out. Well, he wouldn’t go as far as to say out. As soon as he was over the threshold of the Dom”s front door, there was a noise that sounded like an alarm blaring and a jolt that ran up his ankles. His feet had snapped together and joined at the cuffs and some invisible force more powerful than gravity held him in that exact spot. His wrists were tugged behind him and joined together, his rucksack dropped and forgotten. He yelled loudly, the Dom had got the better of him. Again!
A slightly lower pitched beep and the alarm was off to be replaced by the sound of stomping on the stairs. How the doctor managed to stomp with a cane and slippers, Sherlock didn’t know, but the sound of the Dom heading towards him at such a casual pace wasn’t an exciting one.
“Boy!” Sherlock flinched even though the doctor hadn’t even raised his voice. For a man who Sherlock thought was incredibly dull an hour ago, John had surprised him. He didn’t fancy his prospects for the next few hours and John Watson was decidedly not as dull as Sherlock had originally anticipated.