This is a sequel to 'I will follow you into the dark'. You should read that one first, but it's not 100% necessary.
Warnings: Dubious consent, gore, dark!Sherlock, general creepiness. Basically every warning in the book, so careful.
"You keep dying."
John repressed a sigh, setting aside his newspaper, and reached out for Sherlock's hand. Sherlock instantly took it, kneeling in between John's legs and putting his arms around his waist, pressing his face against the soft material of John's jumper.
"Tell me," John whispered, carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair.
"There's so much blood. Not only from your wounds, but it also slips out of your eyes, out of your mouth. I like to taste it. To taste you." Sherlock tilted his head, eyes seeking John's. "I would do it, you know. I would cut you open, so I could see what you look like inside, to know every inch of you. I want to see your eyes while I inspect you, to feel your harsh breathing slow down while you're slowly bleeding out. I want to drink your blood, to breath in your last breath, to feel your pulse slow down until it stops completely."
"But?" John croaked out, his thumb making small circles on Sherlock's temple.
Sherlock drew out a shaky breath, tightening his grip around John. "But I don't want you to die." His grip on John was almost painful now, but John made no sound of distress, nor did he look uncomfortable. "I want to break you apart, to watch you and feel you until it's over but- You can't die. You can't leave." His grip loosened and he leaned forward again, resting his head on John's stomach, his eyes tightly closed. "What then? What would I do without you, John?"
"You were interesting, as a kid. Hardly ever cried, self-sufficient. And you had such a curious nature, never running away in the face of danger." Sherlock's lips brushed the nape of his neck, his cold breath sending tingles down his spine. He had to remember to keep his breathing in check, to not tense up unexpectedly, or Sherlock may stop talking. "Or is it called negligence, if a stranger appears in your room in the middle of the night to watch you sleep, and you merely stare at him."
He had never talked about this before. Why now?
"Do you remember, John? Do you remember me coming out of the shadows every night? Remember me inside your head?" The hand around his waist moved, until it was resting on his hip, gripping it with a bruising strength. "Answer me," he demanded.
"No," he answered, his voice hoarse. "No, I don't."
"How convenient," Sherlock snarled, sliding his hand down John's waistband. "It's funny how you're always thinking about it, but you have no memory of it. Do you feel special, John? Is that it? Do you think this," he pushed his hips forwards, his length pressing against John's backside, "gives you any right-"
"No, no." John was pushed onto his back, with Sherlock sat on top of him, rubbing his erection against John's softening cock.
Sherlock clutched his left shoulder in a painful grip, pressing his fingers into his scar, enjoying the sight of crimson blood pouring out of it. "Do you think I didn't see you touching that woman today? Smiling at her?" He leaned forward, seeking the pulse point at John's neck, biting harshly into it. "Have you forgotten you're supposed to be mine? Do you perhaps need a reminder?"
"Sherlock, please-"
"Stop talking," his other hand curled tightly around his neck, enough to cause him damage, to stop his breathing, but he loosened his hold before he lost consciousness.
"I'll make sure you remember who you belong to, from now on."
John slid down the sofa, until he was sat in front of Sherlock, who immediately sat on his lap, folding himself around John's body.
"Sherlock, listen to me. I know you would never kill me. And I know you wouldn't hurt me either-"
"But I would, John. That's the point. I would, and I would enjoy it."
"Stop," John said, giving Sherlock a soft kiss in hopes of erasing the haunted look on his face. "You could never hurt me, because I would let you do that. All of it."
Sherlock stilled. "John," he breathed out.
"I trust you. I know you can break me apart, but I also know you'll put me back together afterwards."
"John, would you... Would you let me?"
"Of course." He rested his forehead against Sherlock's, drawing out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I'm yours, remember? You can do anything you want."
Sherlock's eyes seemed to water for a second, his expression softening. He kissed John's temple, his mouth, and he moved down to nuzzle at his neck, before gently brushing his lips over John's shoulder wound.
"You are mine. But I am yours, too."
Author's notes:
I finally finished this. It was torture, but I quite like how it turned out, and I really hope it's not complete crap in comparision with the first part, because it was perfect and if I ruin it I'll jump off a building *sigh*
Anyways, hope everyone likes this. Constructive criticism is much appreciated, as always x