Too Hard to Handle

by Books In the Blood

When Sherlock tells John that all of his dating troubles lie in the fact that he dominate person seeking out other Doms he is not pleased with the deduction. He hardly believes that he needs a Sub and expects even less that Sherlock would be that Sub. When Sherlock visits Irene he gets a surprise and finds out that John is stronger than he ever gave him credit for.

John stepped into 221B, glad to get away from the cold London weather as he threw his wet coat on the couch. The weather mirrored his own soured mood and the warm, bright burning fire in the flat seemed to mock him. It made him feel better physically but emotionally it only served to anger him. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in the dark, dismal abyss of his bedroom and sleep. He knew that when these moods came to him, there was no cure but a handful of sleeping pills and several hours of uninterrupted sleep.

John walked into the kitchen in search of beer but found nothing in the refrigerator but an empty carton of milk and a container that looked suspiciously like it contained a human hand. Figures…he couldn't even get a decent buzz. Angrily, he slammed the door to the refrigerator so hard that it shook. Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he tried not too hard to dwell on the fact that he had had his fourth breakup in just as many months. His dating life had always been tumultuous but in the past year things had grown worse. As the rest of his life had improved, becoming the odd sidekick of an insane detective, his personal relationships had fallen apart at an alarming rate. He didn't know why he kept choosing the wrong women; it always started the right way but always ended with them angry and him feeling unfulfilled. He didn't understand it but it was too embarrassing to admit to anyone.

Settling on just going to bed, John walked out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. Seeing that once unoccupied room now had a smug looking detective standing in it staring at him, John felt his stomach drop. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face; it was the look that said that there was no way that John was getting out of this unscathed.

"So….things didn't work out with….Emily?" Sherlock asked, grinning. The bastard was actually happy about it for some reason and John hated him for it.

"Jenna" John corrected, with heavy irritation. "And it's none of your damn business."

John tried to walk past Sherlock, in no mood for his gloating; he didn't understand Sherlock's fascination and delight in his misfortune but if he had to take it tonight, he might actually murder Sherlock.

"It'd be so much easier if you just accepted you're looking for all of the wrong things in these women" Sherlock said behind him.

John was going to keep walking; he should have kept walking. That would have been the safe and sane thing to do but that wasn't what he ended up doing. Filled with an irrational rage, John turned around and faced Sherlock, clenching his fists. "Oh, so you think you know exactly what I want in a woman do you?" John asked sarcastically. "Well, now I suppose you know everything, don't you?" John was so bloody tired of Sherlock acting like he knew everything about him. He was the reason most of his relationships went south so John didn't want him to act like it was John's fault he was picking 'the wrong women'.

"I know you meant that to be sarcastic and offensive" Sherlock said, holding his hands behind his back and walking toward him slowly and carefully. It was infuriating. "But yes, I really do know most everything and I certainly know what you want in women. I don't mean it to be off putting…..I'm merely trying to help."

John felt beads of sweat gather around his hairline and run down his neck. His hands were actually shaking; how he didn't punch Sherlock, he didn't know. "You….help? I don't want anything you count as help. What could you possibly know about relationships? You don't even like people and you're certainly not a bloody shrink" John seethed.

Sherlock tilted his head up in understanding like he expected this. "I think it might surprise you what I know about relationships." He said easily. "But that's beside the point I'm trying to make. You're always going to be unhappy as long as you don't make a change because you're always making one fundamental mistake"

"Oh, which is?" John asked with a cynical smile on his face. At this point he just wanted Sherlock to say whatever ridiculous thing he was going to say and get it over with so John could hit him and have a legitimate reason.

"You're a dom seeking out women that are too strong for you" Sherlock stated as if it was a simple fact.

John faltered for a moment, not wanting to hit Sherlock but suddenly interested to understand. "What?" he asked, scrunching his face in confusion before he could stop it.

"You're a dom" Sherlock said, "A dominate. You are a strong and demanding person; you like being in control of those around you and unfortunately you seek out women who are as strong as you. All that control in one relationship can't work. You need a submissive to make you happy."

John wasn't a prude; he knew the basics of BDSM. He'd never considered himself a dom but then again he'd never had an occasion to put it into practice. Sure, he'd had women that wanted him to tie him up, ones that wanted to spank him; he'd never been interested. He'd never considered how it could be on the giving end. Now that he was thinking about it, it was all that he could think about. He felt himself grow warm in all of the wrong places and he fought for control to hide it so Sherlock wouldn't think he was right…..again. "Oh, so you think I want a weak, pitiful woman who lets me just have my way with her? You think I'm that kind of man?" John asked seethingly.

"I don't think that at all, John" Sherlock said. He was so calm that it made John want to strangle him. How could he be this calm about everything? "I think you like ordering people about…..I think you like to hurt people"

The way Sherlock said it made a shiver run down John's back. He didn't like hurting people, though the idea of his hands closing around Sherlock's neck and strangling him right now was appealing. "Oh, well in that case its fine. You just think I like to beat innocent woman. How kind you think of me"

"I didn't say anything about innocent women" Sherlock said with a cheeky raise of his eyebrow.

"So I'm gay now….thanks" John said, throwing his hands up. Sherlock was unbelievable.

"Oh, get a grip John" Sherlock said impatiently emotion showing for the first time in this conversation. "Stop getting so hung up. You'd like hurting people…..people who want to be hurt. You would be happy inflicting your will on a sub that wanted it."

"Oh, cause you'd know about it" John said huffing a sigh of sarcasm.

The smile fell off of Sherlock's face for the first time, surveying John coolly. "I would, actually" he said quietly.

John noticed the small tone of voice, the slight shifting of Sherlock's feet and felt a smile come to his face. "Are you telling me that you, of all people, are a sub?" he asked. Feeling an opportunity to turn this around on him, John let out a small chuckle.

Sherlock didn't let him phase him. "Is that hard to believe?" he asked. He smirked at John but John didn't let it get to him this time.

"Yes" John said. "Actually it is." John couldn't imagine the man who acted like such an insufferable know it all let someone beat him and order him about. And he couldn't understand why the thought of it made his ears flush hot.

"I'm glad you find amusement in it" Sherlock said with smug head tilt. "It's really nothing to make fun of. The process of the pain and pleasure of it can be quite cathartic on the part of the sub and dom. I'm telling you all of this so you can experience the relief of it"

Sherlock walked up to John, looking down at him with such an intense stare that he felt his toes curl slightly. John had never really appreciated the height difference between them until now; though Sherlock was looking down on him it didn't make him feel emasculated. "You're so assertive and in control, John. You'd make the perfect dom" he said, his voice thick and dark with emotion.

John couldn't believe they were having this conversation; even less believable was the question that he asked next. "Is that an invitation?" he asked, his voice cracking. He couldn't understand how this conversation had gotten away from him but now that it was spiraling deliciously away from him he felt his interest piqued. What if Sherlock said yes? Though he'd never thought of it in domination terms, John had spent countless hours thinking about hurting Sherlock. The opportunity to try it out could be delightfully enjoyable.

He had all of five seconds to come to the realization that he would go along with it if Sherlock said yes and debated with himself how fucked up it was before Sherlock looked down at him and grinned smugly. "Hardly…you're not the right dom for me, John. Sorry." He said.

John felt himself blush; why was he disappointed? He couldn't figure out why but that was exactly what he felt, the sinking of his stomach and the falling of his face. He didn't even know what it all meant, just that for some strange reason he wanted it. "And why's that?" John challenged. He was proud that his voice didn't sound weak or pathetic like he expected that it would.

"I'm too hard for you to handle" Sherlock grinned. "I might be a sub but I need someone who could really inflict some pain on me. And I think we both know that's not you. You're a dom but a soft one at that."

John wouldn't even have considered himself a dom ten minutes earlier and now he was feeling offended that his authority was being challenged. But he thought that maybe Sherlock was right…could he really hurt Sherlock? As much as he hated him sometimes, could he see marks on him knowing he'd put them there? Listen to Sherlock whimper knowing he was inflicting the pain? Maybe not…

John couldn't think of anything clever to say; before Sherlock could see how much it bothered him, he snapped at him. "You're a right git, you know that?" he seethed before turning and marching up to his bedroom, feeling more alone that he could have imagined.

….

Sherlock had wanted to make it seem like he didn't care; he was sure that he'd done pretty well at it too. John had been offended, angry, so that told Sherlock that he was affected. But it was a lie and he was all too glad that he was so accomplished lying to John.

John was a Dom; Sherlock seen that from the first day he'd known him. All of that power bottled up for so long; John was dying to get it out. Being a soldier it wasn't surprising that he enjoyed power and authority. It was one of the things that had attracted Sherlock to him, one of the reasons that he had accepted John as a roommate. He couldn't deny how many times that he'd lied in bed, staring up at the ceiling awake and listening to John snore or whimper from his nightmares and think about stealing into his room with him. He'd become accomplished at making fun of the women John dated only because he had to cover the pain of listening to them moan and cry out from John's ministrations. John was wasting his talents; it was all so vanilla and it was no wonder he was bored with those women. But as much as Sherlock wished that he could go to John for the pain he needed, he knew that he couldn't. He hadn't meant to insult John when he told him that he was too easy to handle him. It was the truth; John was a doctor and he was kind. He worried when Sherlock used dirty mugs out of the sink, told him he didn't eat enough vegetables and harassed him about the effects of smoking on the lungs; there was no way he was capable of beating Sherlock to the point that he needed. He cared and though that made him weak in certain ways, it made him strong in others. What John needed was a woman who would let him collar her and call him daddy; not someone that needed to be seriously hurt. He might be up for that one day but this was not the day.

Months passes after the odd conversation and Sherlock tried not to think on it much. He couldn't tell if John took his advice or not because he stopped dating entirely. Sherlock knew his spirit was broken but that was hardly what he had been trying to do. It wasn't until Irene Adler had worked her way painfully into their lives that the subject had come up again. She was charming and bloody intelligent like so many people weren't and she made her intentions very clear. She hardly understood though that what got him flushed around her wasn't her flaunting her figure or the promise of sex; it was the riding crop in her hand and the way that she had beat him to get her phone back. It had been humiliating and painful…..and it had stayed with him. Though he found it fairly easy to avoid her aim at claiming his so called virginity, he couldn't avoid her in the professional capacity all that well. After finding refuge in 221B, with wine and an empty flat to blame, Sherlock had relinquished control to her. That was how John had come to find him handcuffed to his bed with Irene standing over him, adding more welts to the ones already forming on his pale flesh.

Sherlock knew that look so matter how hard he tried to deny it; betrayal. As John turned around and left the room, trying and failing to make some inappropriate joke, Sherlock could see the rouge of his ears, the balled fists and sweat around his brow; John wasn't just angry, he was outraged. Sherlock didn't understand; it wasn't the first time that he had been baffled by John's emotions but it was one of the worst. Why would John care? Sherlock didn't know but it was obvious that he cared very much. Later that night, after he had showered away the shame, he'd walked past John in the sitting room. John wouldn't even look at him; he didn't bother to yell at him like he usually did. Sherlock had felt a pain in his stomach and realized he was ashamed and guilty; all he wanted to do was tell John how much he wished it was him. But he didn't do that.

So, as he walked up to Irene's door only days later, he wondered if he had actually taken leave of his senses. It wasn't that his experience with her had been bad; quite the contrary. It'd been enjoyable enough but after John had walked in, he'd been unable to derive any pleasure from it. Irene had been insistent that if he just gave it another try, at her place where they wouldn't be interrupted, he would find the experience completely to his liking. Like an idiot, he'd been led here like he was looking for a hit of a new drug. He was just glad John hadn't been at home when he left; he didn't have to make up a lie about where he was going.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes" Irene said, her voice a mocking professional tone as a smirk crept across her face. She stepped away from door and gestured him in; she was far too excited about this. If she was answering the door herself, dressed in what Sherlock was sure was one of her best low cut stunning black dresses, this was more to her than her typical client. Sherlock felt something strange in the air, as if she wasn't telling him something but he tried to push it down.

"Miss Adler" Sherlock said formally with a nod of his head. He smiled as she smirked back at him; he would take advantage before he could call her nothing but Mistress.

"I had my doubts as to whether or not you'd actually show up" Irene said, closing the front door behind her and leading Sherlock up the stairs.

Sherlock felt the stirrings of nerves as he climbed the stairs. He put his hands behind his back to hide the shaking, swallowing against his dry throat. He body gave an involuntary shudder as he thought of the pain that was soon to come, half from pain and half from pleasure. He wanted to flee as much as he wanted to rush ahead.

"I said I'd come; I don't often make up tales." Sherlock said evenly.

"You don't?" Irene asked, turning around to look at him with a turn of her eyebrow skeptically.

"I tell painful truths people might wish were lies" Sherlock said, thrusting his nervous hands in his pockets as they reached the door to the room he knew would be theirs. Sherlock felt a shiver run down his spine and a flutter below his belly. This was it…this was really going to happen this time. No John to stop it from happening. No John….It was almost enough to make him turn around and leave. Nothing was ever half as good without John as with him.

"You know….." Irene said turning around, her hand on the doorknob as she leaned on the door to look at him. "Sometimes telling a tale or two is part of my profession. But mostly it's just helping my clients see what it is they really want. You know, sometimes, we don't always acknowledge what our true desires are, even in this type of setting."

Sherlock's stomach twisted in nervousness. "What are you getting at? Must you talk in circles?" he asked. He made his words bite to cover the very obvious nerves he was feeling. He didn't want to hear that their tentative arraignment had been changed. He was anxious enough as it was.

Irene smiled at him, gleeful at her deception. "I've mislead you, Mr. Holmes" she admitted proudly, "But I assure you it's all for your benefit. It's common that people don't know the true desires of their heart and you're guilty of that too." Irene leaned in, running one long finger across his cheek and smiling at him, inches from his face. "I know what will really get your bloody pumping and your heart racing. I know what will really make you beg and plead and plunge into ecstasy"

Sherlock's heart was crashing against his chest. "And what's that?" he asked, humoring her because he didn't have the courage to turn and run.

In response, Irene moved back from Sherlock enough to open the bedroom door. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him into what would surely be his undoing. For one of the first times in his life, Sherlock didn't know what to expect; had he guessed what Irene had planned, he wouldn't have even been close.

"John! What are you doing here?" Sherlock managed to stutter out. It wasn't one of his finest moments but he was so stunned that he couldn't compose himself.

John stood in the middle of the bedroom, hands in his jean pockets, warm smile on his face as if it was completely normal that he should be here. Sherlock's mind went into overdrive, imagining a hundred scenarios of why John was here, each one serving to make his face flush even redder than before.

"John and I had a very good chat" Irene said, whispering behind him, smiling in delight. "We came to a good understanding of what exactly it is that you need." She leaned in next to his ear so that only he could hear her. "You've misjudged your dear army doctor…he'll make me look kind"

Sherlock's whole body shivered despite the coat and his whole body being covered in sweat. He could feel the memory of Irene's riding crop against his back and he could hardly imagine that that would be considered gentle. He looked at John who was now grinning like a goofy idiot, obviously pleased with himself. Was it possible that he had misjudged him? A shock of desire ran though him as it slowly came to him what Irene was suggesting.

"I'll leave you two boys alone" Irene said, stepping back toward the door. "Have fun"

As soon as Irene disappeared through the door, John's entire demeanor changed. The smile fell off his face, his eyes turned dark and dangerous. Sherlock instantly knew that he had mistaken what John was capable of.

"John…..what's going on here?" Sherlock asked. It wasn't often that he had to ask that question but he found himself completely baffled.

"You were right, Sherlock" John said, his voice measured but dangerous. He began to slowly unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves and roll them up to his elbows. The action made Sherlock tremble slightly. "I didn't know what I wanted. But once you clued me in, I was sure you were right about my needs. But you very wrong about one thing…I am more than enough capable of handling you, Sherlock Holmes."

John had stopped rolling up his sleeves and fixed Sherlock with a hard stare. Something dark and needy inside of Sherlock gave a shudder. Was this really happening? There was no way that this was actually real; how many times Sherlock had dreamed he'd be in this position and it was unbelievable that it could actually be happening. "But John…..I don't understand how this is all happening…."Sherlock started to say, his usually quick mind slowed by all of the raw emotion in the room.

John walked the short distance from him to Sherlock, giving him a dangerous smile as he reached up and grabbed him by the back of his head. Taking a fistful of his curls in his fingers, John yanked his head painfully down to meet his, his eyes an inch from Sherlock's. "Let's get things straight right now" John said, his voice thick with authority and power. "You don't ask questions right now. I tell you what to do and you do it. You only speak when I ask you to and you better address me as Sir."

Sherlock felt himself knocked down several pegs mentally. This was really happening…

"Do you understand me?" John demanded, pulling Sherlock's hair. He bit his lip to keep from calling out.

"Yes, Sir" Sherlock said. The moment he submitted, John let go of him, pushing him back slightly.

John grinned at Sherlock, standing back to survey him. "Take off your clothes and put this on" he commanded.

Sherlock reached out and caught a small ball of fabric as John threw it to him. When Sherlock looked down at his hands he saw they were dark pink knickers. Where had John been storing them? His pockets? How long had they been there? Why was his heart racing just thinking about it?

"Sherlock, don't make me ask again. Do it…..quickly!" John ordered.

Spurred to action, Sherlock's hands went to clumsily to remove his clothes. His hands were shaking, making it doubly hard to get the buttons and zipper undone but he moved as quickly as he could. He had only a fraction of a second to consider being embarrassed about being seen naked; he'd already taken so long in his task he didn't want to hesitate any longer.

Standing in front of John, completely uncovered, Sherlock hesitantly looked up to see John surveying him. He didn't make it look like a cautious glance; there was no embarrassment there. John was obviously ogling him from head to toe, his eyes sweeping all across his frame. It was only then that Sherlock had a moment to be ashamed of how he looked; he wished he wasn't so thin, he wished he wasn't so pale, he wished he could hide his scars. But if John saw any imperfections, he didn't mention them. He put his hands on his hips and gave Sherlock a scathing look.

"Well" he said impatiently, "get on with it. For someone that's supposed to be so brilliant, you're really painfully slow."

Sherlock snapped out of his self-consciousness and remembered. He felt his face turn redder as he pulled the knickers on. What was it about anyway? There were several possibilities; John wanted to demean him, wanted to pretend he was a girl, thought he was feminine. Had his brain not been short wired by tension and emotion in the room, he would have been able to put his finger on the answer at once.

John walked up to him, a smile twisting its way across his face. "Ah….much better" he said with a small nod. He laughed for a moment. "Now, don't look at me like that. You're the one that told me I needed an innocent little girl to practice one. Now I've got one."

Sherlock chided himself; he was stupid to not have figured that out. He'd completely misjudged John. Not only was he capable of possibly doing him some serious damage, he was insulted that Sherlock assumed he wasn't; this was payback. Sherlock mentally shrugged; it was fair.

Sherlock watched as John sauntered over to a table in the corner and picked something up. Sherlock felt what remaining blood he had in his brain rush to parts further south as John walked back over to him, twisting a riding crop in hands.

"Get on your knees" John barked at him, walking over to him and glaring. If Sherlock hadn't already felt like the small one, kneeling definitely served to make every nerve in his body darken and shrink. Without a moment's hesitation, Sherlock got down on his knees, looking up at John. His sense of control was wiped out almost completely as John pulled out a set of handcuffs from his pocket (what bloody else could possibly be in his pockets?) and hooked them around the back of Sherlock's back. As if he didn't feel somewhat helpless already he now felt completely without control. It wasn't a state of being that Sherlock found himself in often, not being in charge, but it was a state that he desired and sought after.

John walked around him, circling him like an animal stalking his prey, before coming to stop in front of Sherlock. He lowered the riding crop so it came to rest on Sherlock's face, tapping gently on his cheek, making goose bumps form along his neck and down his shoulders. "How many times I have wanted to smack that smirk right off your smug little face…now I get to" John mused with entirely too much satisfaction. All of the smart arse comments that Sherlock had ever said to John flooded his mind and told him that he would deserve it.

"You wouldn't hit me in the face" Sherlock said before he could stop himself. Irene had said it, quite correctly. John wouldn't hit his face because he cared too much.

Sherlock was surprised when John proved him wrong again. The riding crop smacked his face; not hard enough to make a mark but hard enough to sting. "Not on the face!" Sherlock said, stunned.

This time, John let the crop hit Sherlock on the mouth; the sting was intensified by the fact that it was so unexpected. John's eyes were dark as he looked at Sherlock. "You're telling me what to do?" he asked daringly.

Sherlock knew better than to challenge any more. "No, no sir" he said, shaking his head vigorously. The cuffs dug into his wrists, reminding him that he couldn't stop whatever attack might come. He could taste the metallic sting of blood on his tongue, knowing his fragile lips must have busted.

John moved the riding crop along Sherlock's face, over his lips and cheeks as he studied Sherlock. He tried to deduce what John might be thinking but he found himself at a loss; it was obvious by the fact that this scene was playing out before him that he had completely misjudged John in the past anyway.

"Let's get one thing straight" John explained in clipped, firm words. "I am not Irene and I won't treat you like she does. I know she's under the illusion that she gave you the firm hand you need but she's wrong. We had a good long conversation and I feel there are some gaps in her treatment of you." John crouched down, his eyes meeting Sherlock's. He grinned and for a moment he looked like his usual self. "She said she'd make you beg for mercy twice and we both know that didn't happen. I can fully assure you I will"

Sherlock's whole body trembled with need and want and strange fear; he wanted to hide it, not let John see how affected he was but he knew that wasn't going to happen. John's smirk spread across his face and showed Sherlock he saw it.

"She's just too nice to you" John said, walking around Sherlock. Sherlock wasn't prepared when the riding crop smacked him hard in the back, leaving a burning sting. Sherlock gasped and fell forward. "I can't really understand why she's nice to you" John placed another smack to his back in nearly the same spot, making Sherlock bite his tongue to keep from calling out. John had no warm up period; his hits were hard and harsh from the beginning.

John leaned down, his breath hot on Sherlock's ear. "Why is she nice to you when you're so bloody awful to everyone?" he hissed at him. Sherlock felt a smack across the shoulder and he whimpered. "I mean, really…you're so damn selfish. You only care about yourself" John gave him such a hard smack across his back that Sherlock fell forward, gasping for air.

"I care!" Sherlock whimpered, his face to the floor. John grabbed him roughly by the hair, yanking his head up, and making him look up so he could use his hand to slap him roughly across the face.

"Did I not make myself clear when I said that you weren't to speak unless I asked you?" John barked in Sherlock's face. The tone of voice, combined with another slap to the face made Sherlock begin to shake. The overload of it all was so much; John was rough and he left no margin of weakness.

"Yes! Yes sir!" Sherlock said, bracing for another hit to the face that didn't come. John let go of his hair, tossing him back. Sherlock lost his balance and fell on his face before he regained his sitting up position.

"You don't care" John said, "You're selfish…..you only care about what's good for you. You're loud, obnoxious…people only put up with you because they want something from you"

Sherlock knew it was true; as the crop connected with his back twice more he bit his trembling lip in pain. What John was saying was all true; it was a deep seeded insecurity that he knew his only worth was what he could do with his mind. Without his brilliance he was nothing.

"You wonder why you don't have friends? It's because you treat everyone like garbage, like they're bellow you! You're insufferable to be around!"

As John's words hit him hard in the chest and made him ache, the riding crop connected with his sore, reddening flesh and made it feel like it was on fire. He lost track of how many times it hit him; they all melded together and made him a sore, throbbing mess. He fell forward and this time he didn't get up. Pain flared so much through his body that he shook and trembled. He hated to hear what John was saying; he hated it because he knew it was true.

"Sometimes I wonder…why do I put up with you?" John asked in mocking pondering, pacing again.

Sherlock felt dread hit his stomach…no…..not this. Anything but this. He didn't want to dare think that John might not always be around, not even as a joke and this was far from a joke. His back was on fire from his spine all the way up to his shoulders as the crop hit flesh that was already swollen and welted.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can put up with you…"John said in an annoyed voice, smacking him over and over again. Sherlock's whole body shuddered and he swallowed the urge to be sick.

"You tantalized me in the beginning with all your deduction magic" John taunted "But now that I know you, I really think I want to have nothing to do with you"

It was all too much; the pain, the burning, the idea that even John didn't want him… "Stop! Please stop!" Sherlock begged. Immediately, the whipping stopped and Sherlock wallowed on the floor for several minutes, shaking, miserable before he could manage to look up at John. Surely it was over; the look he saw on John's face when he gazed at him from his spot on the floor told him otherwise. This was supposed be the part where he got the reassurance and care….surely it had to be nearly over. His body wasn't spent; it was a terrible over sight to have thought that John was too weak for this; he had not held back at all.

"Aw…..give him a few hard words and couple of slaps and he's done" John said in a somewhat taunting voice. "I love to hear the begging coming out your mouth. I bet no one thinks it possible…..begging from the great Sherlock Holmes. Though you should be thanking me, should you not? That I've treated you so well…that I've treated you just as you deserve."

"Thank you sir" Sherlock was quick to say, his words cut off by a tremor that shuddered through his body.

John grinned in a sly way. "Good…very good" He walked over to the table that he had gotten the riding crop from and placed it back in its spot. He walked slowly, tortuously slow towards Sherlock again. "Get on your feet" he commanded.

Sherlock's stomach squirmed with nerves. "We're…..we're not done?" he asked hopefully. He was rewarded with a kick that hit him in the arm, swelling into a bruise.

"I said get up" John thundered louder. "I've only made you beg once…..that's not good enough."

Part of Sherlock thought John hadn't really been serious about that; he should have known better. John was planning a new round of something else entirely to get him to beg for it to be over again.

Sherlock struggled to get into a standing position on weak legs while John watched him carefully. "Go over to the bed and lean over the side" John ordered.

A note of fear ran through Sherlock and he thought about arguing but he knew that would only earn him another slap or hit and didn't want that so he did as he was asked. He wanted to seem as tough as he had made himself out to be when he told John he was too tough for him to handle but he could already tell it was not going to take much for him to give in this time.

Sherlock walked over to the edge of the bed, leaning forward onto the plush blanket and mattress. Rubbing it against his face he longed to go to sleep, to be comforted and cared for in the wake of this. He was pretty sure he knew John well enough to know that that would come…..later.

Sherlock could hear the sound of John's footsteps echoing around the room and though he couldn't see him, he didn't turn around to see what was happening. Though fear was rippling through Sherlock like a wave, he felt a sick sense of anticipation and thrill tense in him as he wondered what John was doing next.

He could hear the footsteps grow closer until he knew John was right behind him. Sherlock was dying to say something as John remained silent behind him. Unable to stand the anticipation even though he knew it would earn him a hit, Sherlock opened his mouth to ask him what he was going to do. But John beat him to it; before he could even say anything, something hard and painful was connecting with his backside. Sherlock called out before he could try to stop but as John hit him over and over again with nearly no time between, he didn't even try to stop the whimpering sound that continually issued from him. He was consumed with the sensation of pain and sure that it couldn't get worse when John wrenched back the ridiculous knickers and he was proved wrong. The paddle hit him on skin that was already burning and hot to the touch. Sherlock laid his face into the cover on the bed, tears streaming out of his eyes but somehow determined not to give in yet. He knew the pain he felt was deserved.

"Why don't you just give in?" John asked behind him as he laid on a particularly harsh hit that made Sherlock moan in pain. "Is it because you know that you really deserve all of this? That you're long overdue for a good smack? I think we all of the hell you've put me through, you deserve at least this little bit"

Sherlock could believe that every unkind thing he had ever said or did to John was coming back to him as the severity of John's hits increased. Sherlock's skin was on fire and he reduced to a ridiculous sobbing mess but still he couldn't manage to say that he gave in.

"But you want to give in don't you?" John asked, as if somehow he could tell. He hit Sherlock again and he gripped the covers on the bed for all that he was worth, trying to keep ahold of the world that was swirling around him.

"I asked you a question!" John yelled, giving him a particularly hard hit that made Sherlock sob. He hadn't realized he was able to speak.

"Yes! Yes I do, sir!" Sherlock called through his weeping. Make it stop…..anything to make it stop…..

"Well, then, you know what you have to do" John said in carefree voice.

"Please…."Sherlock begged. He was finding it difficult to speak, so say anything at all. All he could feel and see was his pain.

"Please what? I'm going to need more than that to make it stop" John pushed.

Sherlock was in agony but he managed to push out the last few words. "Please stop! Please sir make it stop!"

Resplendently, it did stop; Sherlock wasn't actually sure it would work. He could hear the sound of the paddle hit the floor and felt the handcuffs being undone behind him. His hands fell limply to his sides, useless as he felt the touch of gentle, careful hands on his hips. "Come on, up you go" John prodded him up onto the bed. It was the voice Sherlock was used to; John usual kind voice.

It took all of Sherlock's remaining energy to climb up onto the bed, even with John's help. He fell face first into the soft, lush pillows, his whole body throbbing and aching. His whole being was racked with sobs and Sherlock felt for a moment that he should be embarrassed. Tears running down his cheeks, mucus pouring from his nose…..crying completely openly; he should be embarrassed. But it was John…and considering all that they had just done, Sherlock knew being embarrassed was ridiculous.

"There you go…..cry it out" John's gentle voice coaxed him. Sherlock's eyes were still closed but he could hear John's voice close to him. A moment later he felt a tissue being pressed up to his nose, wiping away the moister.

John's prodding was all Sherlock needed. He let himself cry so hard and long that it made his chest ache; he let himself cry until no tears would come out. And even though he knew it should have been a bad thing, he welcomed it. The pain and the tears were a welcome release. Even when he began to calm down, he would remember the words that John had spoken to him and his body would burn again with pain. When the tears or mucus on his face began to run, John was always there with a tissue to wipe it away. The simple intimacy of that made Sherlock feel a warmness inside of him that he didn't often feel. Actually , he was sure that he had never felt exactly this protected and cared for.

When Sherlock finally opened his eyes, he found John lying on the bed next to him, looking at him with a smile. His face felt hot and flushed with the crying, his whole body still tensing from the shock of all of the pain.

"I must look a mess…how bloody embarrassing" Sherlock said with a small self-deprecating laugh.

"Sherlock…..don't you dare be embarrassed" John chided him playfully, "It's what you need…..it's okay to need to it"

Sherlock shivered and John pulled the cover over him, ever so gently placing it around him so as not to touch his sore places. "I doubted you were able to do this….I was wrong…"

John laughed. "Sherlock Holmes admits he was wrong…..it must be the end of the world" he said good naturedly. "Always knew it was possible but until now it was just a fable."

They exchanged a laugh and for a moment it felt so normal. A wave of pain went through Sherlock's body and he was reminded of every single smack and punch. "John, you don't have to….."he started. As much as he loved that John had made a dream a reality, he felt somewhat guilty in the post glow of it all. He couldn't ask this of John on a regular basis.

"Shhh…..don't even start you brilliant idiot" John said. He grabbed a bottle of lotion off of the table beside the bed and began to rub it along Sherlock's back. It stung; every feather light touch did but it left a tingle, a sensation of softness and pleasure behind as well.

"I want to do this" John whispered as he massaged his wounds. "I went through quite an extensive primer from The Woman….I'd take it terribly personal if you don't let me do this again"

Sherlock smiled against the pillow, already feeling his spent body drifting off toward dreamland. "If you say so…..Sir" he said, warm contentment flowing through him.

…..

John watched as Sherlock crouched down on the ground next to the body they were supposed to be examining at the crime scene; John had to admit to himself that he was much more interested in examining and his flat mate…..and whatever the hell else they were. Sherlock winced as he crouched, his movements not as agile and nimble as they normally were. John took extreme pleasure in this fact; three days out from their 'extra-curricular activities' and Sherlock was still having trouble with simple movements. Maybe he shouldn't be so happy but he was. Sherlock was claimed and the idea was….'stimulating' to say the least.

He'd been so….jealous? Angry?...when he had walked in on Sherlock being beaten by Irene. He didn't know what to feel…..he didn't want to examine it too closely. All he knew was he wanted to be the one doing it instead of Irene; even she had seen that. The next day she had contacted him to give him a crash course in 'recreational scolding' though in all fairness he considered himself not completely incompetent in the matter. But he did admit that he was completely ignorant to what Sherlock wanted and needed in this area; Irene, fortunately was not. With her own Sherlockian like brilliance she had seen what Sherlock liked and somehow convinced him to give in. Though it had been terrible to walk in on, it hadn't been all a loss.

"Why are you coming to me? Isn't it obvious Sherlock's happy with whatever the hell it is that you have?" John had asked bitterly when Irene had contacted him about the idea. The image of Sherlock flinching against his sheets was still burned in his brain.

Irene had hesitated and John was sure that he had actually seen sadness in her eyes. "But he's not actually…he wants it to be you" she had said and had quickly gone into a lengthy explanation of the ins and outs of it all; clinical, covering up the obvious discomfort on her part.

Irene had prepped him and set the stage and for that he was grateful. The sense of satisfaction and contentment that came from all of this was complete and unexpected. Now he watched Sherlock as he strained to get up off of the ground from examining the body and a smile twisted on his lips. There was a deep satisfaction that came from leaving bruises and welts on Sherlock and it wasn't just because he could be so insufferable and anyone would want to hit him. It was the power he now held over him; Sherlock had left him feeling powerless so often that it skewed their whole relationship for him to take power. But it was in a good way; he needed power and he was not used to nor did he care for feeling at someone else's mercy. He accepted it all without much questions because he couldn't resist being in Sherlock's presence in any capacity; he'd probably let Sherlock hit him if he asked him to. But this was better; this was as it should be. Not only did he own Sherlock now, had marked him and would continue to mark him, Sherlock wanted it all.

"What are you grinning like a complete fool for?" Sherlock asked, pretending to be annoyed but he was really rather pleased; he knew what John was grinning for exactly.

"I can't help smiling, watching you try to cope with your…..claims" John whispered so only Sherlock could hear him. The crowded crime scene only made it more sored somehow.

Sherlock's flushed pink; John couldn't mistake the twitch of his lips upward and the twinkle in his eye. "You don't own me, you know" he said, a smile in his voice because he knew it was an absurd lie.

It was exactly the kind of thing that would get Sherlock extra bruises later. "Yeah, I know" John said with a smile to match Sherlock's.