Sherlock blinked his eyes open, but still saw only black. Blindfolded. His head felt foggy. Chloroform, he thought.
Before he could try to remember what had happened or get his bearings, a voice sang out from right next to his ear. "Hiya, Sherly. You lost our little game. Sebby brought you here. I feel like having fun with my prize. I don't think Johnny will find us for quite awhile… so I can take my time."
Jim. Sherlock tuned out Jim's gloating and tried to gather his bearings. He was standing with his legs and arms spread. Something metal was restraining each of his limbs. There was no give at all.
Sherlock shivered, realizing his clothes were gone. He was naked and restrained… at Jim's mercy.
"We're going to experiment with some knives… but first, we are going to overwhelm your other senses. I want you to only be able to feel my blade running over your skin. Rest assured, Sherlock… it will be painful and dangerous."
Sherlock felt something slip over his ears. Noise canceling headphones. He couldn't hear anything with the exception of his own blood rushing through his veins.
Next, came the nose plug. Then, something was shoved into his mouth. Sherlock immediately tried to spit it out, but the damage was done. Juice from a ghost pepper coated his tongue.
"Is this really necessary?" he asked through a mouth full of saliva. He spit again.
If Jim answered, Sherlock didn't hear it. Sherlock frowned in frustration. All he could really use was his sense of touch and mind.
Jim placed clamps on his nipples. Sherlock stopped himself from groaning. Why was this arousing him? He should be trying to think of a way out of this, but he didn't really want to. Drugs… it had to be drugs.
Something sharp ran along his abdomen. His sense of touch was hyper sensitive. He could feel Jim's breath on his shoulder. The warm liquid that seeped out of the cut made him shiver.
The flat side of the blade traced over his muscles. It was cold. Often, Jim would turn the knife and make another cut. Sherlock wanted more. He had never felt so exhilarated in his life. Each new wave of pain was mixed with pleasure.
He felt high on endorphins. He could feel the blood running over his body. The cuts were always perfectly measured. Not too deep to need stitches…. But deep enough to bleed freely.
When Jim trailed the knife over his arse, he shivered with anticipation. He couldn't focus on anything except the sharp blade carving into his skin. It distracted him from the heat in his mouth and the saliva dripping onto his chest.
For a brief moment, the knife was gone. Then, something metal was pressing into him. It was wet with something warm. Not viscous like lube or spit… of course. It was Jim after all. Sherlock knew it was blood. His blood.
Jim pressed the object deeper into him. Sherlock felt a wave of fear, because the thing was clearly a knife. He expected to feel pain from his insides being cut up, but when all he felt was the metal, he realized this knife was dull. Relief flooded through him.
"How long are you going to do this?" Sherlock demanded, barely hearing his own voice.
He felt Jim laugh behind him. A second blade pressed in along side the first. His cock grew harder. He felt precum leaking from it. It was hard to ignore his arousal. It was harder to not beg for more.
Jim pressed a third knife inside of him without him needing to beg. He jiggled them, brushing Sherlock's prostate. The detective jerked as he moaned.
"So eager… let's see how many knives you can take," Jim's voice whispered through the headphones. "Let's aim for all of them, darling."
Sherlock's eyes widened at the sudden sound. His heart started racing at the implication. More knives? Just how many did Jim have?
He lost count of the knives as Jim slowly started to fill him. Just when he thought there couldn't possibly be more, another blade joined the rest. Without even realizing it, his body was grinding back onto them. He felt so full.
"Last one," Jim's voice sang. "It's a big one. Deep breath, love."
Sherlock hissed as the knife slowly was pressed into him. It was wider than the others. By the time it was fully inside, Sherlock was certain that he was going to pass out.
"That's beautiful," Jim breathed, thrusting the knives into him. Sherlock's world narrowed down to feeling of blades fucking him. Cold metal brushed constantly against his prostate.
Sherlock met Jim's pace. He knew he was giving into what Jim wanted, but he couldn't help it. He could feel the orgasm building. He needed it.
Just as he was about to cum, the sharp knife cut across his chest, just under his nipples. The new sensation pushed him over the edge.
When he finally came down from his high, he noticed the headphones, blindfold, and nose plug had been removed. He blinked against the harsh light.
His arse was still filled with knives. The nipple clamps were still on. He could see and hear though. The metallic scent of blood filled the air.
After the orgasm and blood loss, he was ready to pass out. The bonds holding him slackened and he slumped to the floor.
Jim grinned at his handiwork. Sherlock lying in blood and semen was a sight to behold… but the true masterpiece was what Jim had carved into his back: Property of James Moriarty.