Title: Rules (1/9)
Words: 1 / 3096
Rating: PG-17
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings: Graphic sex, dom/sub, obedience, subjection, hurt, punishment, angst
Disclaimer: Unfortunately not mine.
Summary: He knew that his behaviour had been incorrect. He knew that his misconduct was falling irretrievably to John and he had to punish him for it. He also knew that John wasn't going to hurt him any more than was necessary.

Tags: john, sherlock, obedience, subjection, hurt, punishment, angst, comfort, romance

A/N: This is my translation from my story "Regeln", english is not my first language so there are probably some mistakes [;-)], they are all mine, please review.

A/N: I updated this chapter, thanks to HayleyStarr for the support and help.

Chapter 1

Lestrade had called around noon and asked Sherlock and John to have a look at a crime scene. Apparently a suicide, a couple was found in a locked bathroom of their family home. The cause of death was unclear; Lestrade assumed that the man first killed his wife and then himself, an extended suicide, perhaps with poison or tablets? But for some reason he had a weird feeling about it. That's why he had called Sherlock.

It's was really odd when he thought about it now, because he hadn't been able to reach Sherlock directly for weeks. His cell phone was either switched off or diverted to John's phone. Lestrade shook his head; he wasn't sure whether he wanted to know what the reason behind this was. At least Sherlock had become a little more sociable since the doctor started accompanying him to the crime scenes, even if he still had a tendency to verbally attack people, anything else was none of his business.

Sherlock swirled as usual through the house, then the bathroom and provided a closer look at the dead bodies and the space around; he frowned, checking a few details and then lets John examine the bodies. The Doctor found something on the woman's body, something he couldn't explain, something only Sherlock would understand obviously, which is good, but John didn't draw the right conclusion. Why would he? Sherlock is the Consulting Detective and he's a doctor, and a very good one at that.

So far everything was business as usual - and that was good.

Then Sherlock started insulting John; Saying that he had once again ignored all relevant matters and was an idiot and so on. But this time, he was turning it on properly, which he hadn't done for a while in such a drastic way - and that was "a bit not good", to be exact, maybe even more than a bit.

John said nothing, and instead of standing at his side when Sherlock began he withdrew from the crime scene and waited quietly outside the house without listening to Sherlock's deductions and didn't praise his genius as usual.

Lestrade was irritated by John's reaction and had trouble focusing on Sherlock's statements. This had to do with the fact that he noticed how insecure Sherlock had become by John's reaction. Of course he didn't show his insecurity for long and Lestrade already considered whether he might have just been imagining it all.

But when Sherlock had finished, he didn't look at John, who was standing with an inscrutable face by the door staring at the sky. You could almost take it for arrogance, but Sherlock's body language said otherwise. Sherlock was acting nervous, almost scared! Sherlock? Afraid? Of John?

And John? He had been waiting for Sherlock, indeed, but when Sherlock walked out of the house, he turned on his heels and walked toward the road. It's the first time he'd not even said goodbye to Greg, very unusual behaviour. Sherlock followed him without any comment and Lestrade stared behind at the back of the two of them, until their taxi pulled up and drove out of sight. Trouble in Paradise?

In the taxi John continued to ignore Sherlock. He didn't speak a word and with a neutral facial expression he stared out of the window. Sherlock was nervous and he rocked slightly back and forth trying to make eye contact with John. He murmured softly "I'm sorry," but John only responded with a sarcastic snort. He still wasn't looking at him. When they arrived back at Baker Street, John left the car without a further glance at Sherlock and disappeared inside. Sherlock sighed, paid the taxi and followed him in hesitantly.

He briefly considered just not going inside. He had his wallet with him and with a little luck his credit was even inside it. He could take a room at some hotel until ... But in the end it wouldn't change anything, only postpone the inevitable, he himself had set up the rules. Maybe John would be even angrier if he ran way instead of calming down and he didn't want to risk that. With slumped shoulders, he climbed the stairs.

When he finally walked in John was sitting in his chair. He held his old cane in his hand, looking at it absently. He hadn't used it in months, didn't need it any more thanks to Sherlock. Now he was worried. Why had John dug it out again?

Oh, of course Sherlock knew why. He wanted the cane. But they never had really used it. Would he be able to take it?

Sherlock entered the living room reluctantly, hanging his coat and scarf on the back of the door, where John's jacket was hanging already. He looked at John uneasily, who was still looking at his cane while his mind seemed to be somewhere else. Suddenly he looked up, his eyes narrow, he focused his attention on Sherlock; appraisingly, thoughtfully.

Sherlock was still standing next to the closed door, looking down a slight shiver ran through his body. Finally he walked over to John and knelt beside his chair on the floor without looking up. "I'm sorry Sir," he said this time his voice tense only a faint whisper. He was shaking.

Of course John took advantage of every nuance in Sherlock's behaviour, turning his head slowly and lowering his eyes to the dark curls. He still held the cane in his left hand and struck the bottom third on his right with a snap.

Sherlock was trembling harder now, but didn't dare say anything. He knew that his behaviour had been wrong. He knew that his behaviour had been incorrect. He knew that his misconduct was falling irretrievably to John and he had to punish him for it. He also knew that John wasn't going to hurt him any more than was necessary. He trusts and loves John completely. Still, he was nervous.

Eventually John spoke to him, looking at his cane which still suggested a low pulse. "I was so sure we had discussed it all in detail, that you had understood everything." His voice was quiet, almost sad. Disappointed? But at the last word the cane hit his hand snapping on his palm and his voice became sharp. Sherlock couldn't prevent his flinch at the sound. "I have to punish you. Take off your clothes and then wait." His voice was harsh now and John left the room without acknowledging him any further. He walked to their bedroom while Sherlock obeyed and began to undress.

After he had taken off his clothes, he knelt naked on the floor his thighs straight, his head down, his hands hanging down either side of his body and his face turns towards the window, his back to the door.

Although he was sure that it would take some time before John came back, he didn't dare to sit on his heels as his knees begin to ache. John wanted him to wait and that meant he will remain in that very position. He knew the rules.

Two hours later John came out of the bedroom. He had also taken off his clothes, wearing only red boxer shorts and holding a riding crop in his hand. Sherlock couldn't see him from this position, only when John walked around him he saw that he didn't have the cane with him and was relieved. The fact he was undressed he considered as a good sign, so he thought John wasn't too mad at him anymore.

His knees hurt, but he had only waited for two hours - and the riding crop was ok, no, it was good even! That was nothing! He didn't dare to raise his eyes when John swept it over his head, brushing it through his hair, over his cheek, along his jaw line and then down his long slender neck to his collarbone. He shuddered as he felt the end of the riding crop on his left nipple, just stroking, then a fast yet gentle slap hit him with two stronger slaps following.

The right side followed with three slaps, each one had a little more force. With the last slap Sherlock gasped, but he didn't wince. The crop passed over his shoulder and down onto his back, stroking his shoulder blades running slowly down his spine, sweat trickling along the line. Then, without any warning three hard blows struck between his shoulder blades, the riding crop moved down again, stopping at the end of his spine just before three hard slaps hit those beautifully shaped buttocks leaving three red stripes.

With the last slap Sherlock cock twitched slightly. "I am beginning to think that you're misbehaving on purpose. You like it when I punish you, or if we need to repeat certain lessons, right? What do I do with you? Perhaps the riding crop is not the right tool. Would you like to try something different?" John's voice was almost casual, even a bit flattering. "Maybe you could focus better if I used the cane? It fits comfortably in my hand."

Out of nowhere, John suddenly had the cane in his hand. Sherlock began to tremble again; the cane was dangerous, more dangerous than the riding crop, although John could handle it well.

"Prepare yourself for three strokes. That will be enough for today."

The first solid strike landed on his butt and he gritted his teeth trying not to make a sound. He could use the safeword. He knew that was what John was waiting for, giving him the opportunity, but he said nothing. These were his own rules and he deserved to be punished, he wanted it, so he tried to breathe as quietly as possible and prepared himself for the next stroke. It came quickly and then the third in a row.

The welts began to burn bright red. Sherlock pinched his eyes shut and grinded his teeth as hard as he could while clenching his jaw. A tear rolled down his cheek, but he didn't make a sound. John looked at him for a long time, thoughtfully wiping the tear away with his thumb and kissing Sherlock gently on the forehead, temples, cheeks and finally on the mouth. Sherlock's face relaxed and he opened his eyes again.

John dropped the cane and walked slowly around Sherlock, his left hand caressing his shoulders. A shiver ran down his spine as he enjoyed the feather-light touch of John's fingers against the burning sensation of the welts. His hand glided slowly over the hills of Sherlock's butt and he slid a finger between his cheeks causing him to draw in a sharp breath.

He hoped that John would take off his shorts so he could place his lips around John's cock. He wants to kiss and lick and suck his cock. He wanted to kiss and lick and suck on it. Oh God, he was now rock hard and was finding it difficult not to moan aloud, but John still hadn't given him permission to speak, and until then, all vocalizations were prohibited.

John now stood in front of him, rubbing his cock against his cheek and neck but it was still covered by a thin layer of cloth.

"Would you like to have it? Want to take it in that big, cheeky mouth of yours? Answer me!" With his right hand he stroked through the dark curls and bent Sherlock's head up so that he had to look at him.

"Yes please", came from his hoarse throat, his usually bright eyes dark with desire.

"What did you say?" John questioned him sternly. Sherlock flinched.

"Yes, please, Sir," he whimpered.

John's grip in his hair became firmer; it almost hurt, but only almost.

"Good." John was appeased. With his left hand he slowly pulled down his pants, his cock jutting out big and hard.

"Open up your mouth." He said slowly. Sherlock obeyed, taking John in until his cock was completely in his mouth and down his throat. Sherlock had needed to practice for a long time until he could get his gag reflex under control, but now he could easily absorb John's cock. He closed his lips around the soft yet firm skin and let his tongue revolve.

But John was feeling impatient today. He held Sherlock's head with both hands, so that he couldn't move at all. Then he began to fuck his mouth with hard, short bursts, pushing his cock against Sherlock's throat every time. It wasn't easy but Sherlock managed. He wanted to touch himself, he was so hard but when he laid his hand unconsciously on his dick, John swept it away impatiently, "Stop it!"

When John finally came it was violent. He let go of Sherlock's head so that he could move away a little to swallow and breathe. Not losing a drop.

Eventually John moved aside but Sherlock was still not allowed to touch himself.

"No, this is not for you, this is your punishment, and I will not let you come now. Are we clear?"

"Yes Sir." It was only a hoarse croak, he was not capable of more with his abused throat, but that didn't matter. It will heal, as always.

John pulled Sherlock up from the carpet and held him gently at his waist.

"Come on, you've done well, Sherlock, you deserve a reward." He led him into the bedroom and laid him down on the large bed.

"Put your arms above your head and leave them there. You'll not move, but you don't have to be quiet ", he instructed Sherlock. Then he crawled to the foot of the bed and started to kiss and suck at Sherlock's toes. After a short while he was rewarded with a throaty moan and he felt himself get hard again.

He kissed and fondled Sherlock's feet and lower leg. He spent a little longer at his sensitive hollow behind his knee in order to torment Sherlock with his tongue. Eventually he worked his way further up, caressing and kissing his inner thighs and playing with the dark, slightly curly and scratchy hair, dipping his nose deep in it. He inhaled deeply; he loved the mixture of Sherlock's sweat and pure scent.

"Do you know that you smell insanely good?" After he fondled Sherlock's testicles briefly with his soft lips, he lifted up his legs and pressed Sherlock's knees down against his own chest.

His lover's tight ring of muscle was now in front of him. His tongue moved slowly around the rosette, Sherlock arching his back up gasping loudly. John licked and sucked now with his tongue and lips around the sensitive opening, thrusting the tip of his tongue and then the whole tongue into Sherlock's anus. Sherlock moaned and gasped during this treatment and became so hard that it almost hurt. Desperately he tried to lie down motionless as John said, but without John's iron grip on his hip it would have been a futile attempt.

John's cock was once again ready and after Sherlock's hole had become soft and fully prepared John knelt down lifting Sherlock's hips slightly slowly starting to penetrate him. He moved Sherlock's legs over his shoulders with a loud sigh escaping his lips, "Oh Sherlock, you're so tight, so good."

Sherlock, no longer capable of forming coherent sentences, moaned and gasped as John slowly withdrew and then pushes back into him with a deep, vigorous movement. John increased the speed and raised Sherlock's hips slightly higher. Now he met Sherlock's prostate with each of his deep thrusts and Sherlock could only moan incoherent fragments of speech. "Yes ... yeah ... Jo ... John ... you ... yea ... yea ... I ... I ... can't... John!" Sherlock's arms were still above his head, and he clung to the headboard tightly so that he wasn't tempted to touch himself.

Then he heard John's deep, demanding voice, "Come, Sherlock, come for me, untouched, come, now, for me."

And Sherlock's body obeyed, as if the words were touching him. He reared up and came as violently as possible. And this sight, this wonderful, writhing body of his lover beneath him made John lose control. He rammed his cock, one last time, deep into Sherlock and his orgasm started to roll over him like a tidal wave. His vision blurred, everything just white noise. Finally he found himself, still twitching and trembling and completely done, on Sherlock's chest.

When they both got their breath back, he pulled back gently from Sherlock, taking a towel from the floor, which he had left there earlier and cleaned them with gentle movements. Then he lay down on his back taking Sherlock in his arms. Sherlock curled up to John's chest, hiding his face at his neck.

"John, I …..", he wanted to say more, wanted to tell John how much he loves him, how much he needs him, that he'd be lost without him, "John, I …" he wanted to say more, wanted to tell John how much he loves him, how much he needs him, that he'd be lost without him, but his throat closed and he couldn't get out another word. Suddenly he felt desperate; he was afraid that John didn't know how important he was to him. His hands reached for John's face. He looked at him, into these beautiful dark blue eyes. John, seeing his despair tried to convey in just a look that he already knew what Sherlock was trying to say. And Sherlock understood, knowing that he John understood everything even if it was left unsaid.

"It's all right, Sherlock ", he said softly. "Everything is fine. It's ok now, we'll talk tomorrow," He caressed and kissed him trying to calm him down eventually succeeding.

Curled up amazingly tightly, Sherlock finally fell asleep in John's arms but John lay awake for a long time. Again and again he asked himself how long this could continue, how long will he be able to play this game? And what will happen when Sherlock notices anything? Will he kick him out? Definitely. Oh God, he will lose him, he's sure, one day he will just look at him and know everything, and then he will kick him out and ... and ... and ... His eyes wide open John lay petrified in their bed, unable to think clearly. Finally at dawn fell into a fitful dreamless sleep.