This is my first ever attempt at publishing fanfiction. I appreciate the time you take to read this and hope you enjoy it :)

Contains a bit of sub/dom, if it's not your thing then best to avoid.

Disclaimer: I own no characters from BBC Sherlock.

It was four thirty in the afternoon and I was on leave today. It had been quite a relaxing day, I had gone out shopping in the morning, showered and then spent the rest of my time reading and sipping tea. Right then I was on the bed wearing sweat pants and a tracksuit jacket; I had slightly messy hair and very little make up on. Glancing at the clock, I rolled on my side and got up out of bed, thinking about moving my reading to the patio. At that moment, I heard the front door close with a click; John was home from work.

"Hey, John," I called out, hunting in the sofa for my other book. It must be in here somewhere. I heard light footsteps coming up from behind me, and the sound of his leather doctor's bag being set down. I straightened up; unable to find my book, and turned to speak.

"How was wor-"

His right hand rapidly snaked up to my hair, bunched up and yanked; not enough to hurt, but enough to startle me into silence. "Take off," he whispered into my ear, "all your clothes." His accent emphasized the candor in those words. His legs were brushing only slightly against mine but I could feel his hardness through his pants. I felt a gasp catch in my throat, and a rush of excitement run rapidly down my body.

John let go of my hair and turned away, leaving the room and leaving me in a turned on state of disarray. It was amazing how quickly he could turn me on. I undressed as quickly as I could, finishing just as he was back inside the room.

Two things caught my attention as he entered. One was the pair of handcuffs in his hand, glinting and promising exciting things. The other was John's expression, the blue in his eyes deeper than ever. He was still for a second, briefly taking in my nakedness, then strode over to me. He walked in such a way, John did. A little stiff, controlled. It was hard to forget he had been a military man, a soldier, when it seeped through such everyday actions.

My musings had displeased him and he narrowed his eyes at me. I almost smiled, which maddened him.

"Lie down," he ordered, his voice low and dangerous. I obliged; he handcuffed one wrist to the bedpost, avoiding my gaze and reaching for my other hand.

Suddenly, as I thought he was going to handcuff my other wrist, he looked at me dead in the eye and flipped me over, swiftly handcuffing me face down. I instantly felt extremely vulnerable and exceedingly turned on, bare and exposed as I was. He was still fully dressed and that only aggravated my exposure. Despite this, I could feel wetness starting to drip between my legs and onto my thighs.

I could hear his breathing only slightly deviated from his usual composure. He was turned on by my helplessness. I felt his fingers trailing lightly up my leg and onto my buttocks, circling them slowly. The next thing he did was straddle me, fully clothed, on my thighs. Again, I felt his arousal close and hot on my bare skin.

Smack! The sound took me by surprise before the sting, my startled yelp intermingling with it and leaving a ringing in my ears that pervaded the silence. I felt the skin where his hand had landed burn and wondered briefly if there was a hand mark. Would it show his fingers?

My introspection was cut short by another spank. Despite the sting I felt myself grow wetter and I stuffed my face in the pillow, biting down a moan. He hit me again, a little harder each other, deviating only slightly from his first target. Just enough to awaken a new set of nerves and drive me slowly wild, but cause just enough pain to keep it in check. I wanted him badly; I craved his touch on other areas of my body, I wanted to feel his chest pressing onto mine, his hips keeping me in check…his breath labored on my neck. He seemed to realise this, because the next thing John did was uncuff me from the bedpost, and cuff my wrists together.

I was about to protest when John pushed me up against the wall, kissing me fiercely, his tongue hungrily seeking mine, his desire matching my own. My cuffed hands were raised above my head against the wall, his hands were holding me tightly to his body as he pinned me to the wall. His lips left mine for a second and I opened my eyes to find his eyes looking into mine, saying a thousand words of how he felt about me. I loved this man so very much.

John broke our gaze and went to my neck, trailing light kisses and sending the little hairs at the back of my neck in a frenzy. He found a sensitive spot and sucked on it, and nothing could prevent the moan escaping my lips. I felt his hands leave my back and roughly stroke the sides of my body, then proceed to travel around the rest of my body, revering each part. His hands were a little calloused, just enough to overexcite the nerve endings on every inch of me. I longed to touch him; to feel the heat of his body, the tight muscles, his rapid pulse. My hands strained against the cuffs, chafing slightly and making me bite my lip.

That motion did not go unnoticed by him. He cocked his head ever so slightly, and smiled a little. John's smile was an honest one, wide and simple, offering all that was in plain sight. This one however, was mischievous and with a hint of devious, which was what he hid from most of the world. Except me. What the war had left behind.

His right hand left my thigh where it had been, and went to his belt buckle. His eyes lingered on my own for just a moment too long, then disappeared down as he kissed my neck, the hollow of my throat, along my collarbone and down my chest. I gasped silently as his teeth brushed my nipples, which were achingly stiff. His mouth closed over one and I felt a rush of pleasure course straight down. His hands had undone his pants and he stopped briefly to take them off, giving me a brief moment to appreciate his nudity.

Seeing John naked was quite a sight. He was not very tall and neither very broad, but he was so very masculine and you learnt to love every inch of him. He took off his shirt then, making us finally equals. I felt a sudden overwhelming need to feel every inch of his burning length inside me, to have his body too close to mine. He must have felt the same, because he abruptly grabbed the back of my thighs and lifted my legs up around his waist, supporting me against the wall. His cock brushed against my sensitive clit and I shivered with anticipation, completely at his mercy.

When he entered me, he always did it hard and it always managed to unsettle me, no matter how prepared I was. This time, he was adamant on making me scream. He growled under his breath as he fucked me there, against the wall, unable to move and absolutely subjugated. And I loved it. I could feel myself getting more and more excited; he was too, I could tell.

Then, he was not inside me anymore. When I fell I thought he had lost his footing, but he had simply pulled me down on the bed. He was lying down behind me. As he procured the keys, the handcuffs were soon gone from my wrists and I felt my arms relaxing from their past strained position.

Before I could rub the red rings left by the cuffs, his hands had gone South and he suddenly pushed his fingers inside of me, making me cry out in surprise. "We're not done yet," he said, lifted my leg and penetrating me deeply. "Oh, John," I gasped, "John…John!"

One of his hands clamped on my mouth and muffled my moans, but I still kept on crying his name until I came and I just screamed, my orgasm tearing through me like a hurricane. He came shortly after, gripping me tightly to him, not letting me go.

I never want him to let me go.