A/N: Please note that the bondage in this story is completely consensual and non-sexual. If, however, bondage of any type is a trigger for you, do not read this.
John frequently has to remind himself that there is nothing to worry about whenever they do this. After all of the injuries he has seen related to accidents that can happen when you do things like this, he has trouble not getting nervous. It took him several months to get over his crippling fear that he would do something that would accidently harm Sherlock, and even now he is overly cautious.
He knows when it is coming. Sherlock will get antsy. Sherlock is frequently antsy, but he will bring the level of antsy to new heights. It is when John worries that he will actually pull clumps of hair out of his scalp from sheer frustration, or when he eyes the stairs to John's old bedroom with a mixture of lust and venom that can only mean that he will be tearing apart the space soon in order to find the Browning's new hiding spot (currently under the loose floorboard that a foot of the bedframe conveniently rests over), or when he lets out a strangled sound somewhere between a moan and a sob of mental anguish. When said tells begin to show up, John begins to brace himself, and he sneaks off to the bedroom to drag the chest out from under the bed so it will be easily accessible when they need it.
The chest used to be on the floor of the closet, but it was too visible for John there. His blood would run cold every time he saw it, especially in the beginning when he was busy remembering the traumatic first time they went through this. He usually woke up alone, and therefore dressed alone, so there was no chance that Sherlock would see how he reacted to it. But one morning, Sherlock was in bed for some reason John can no longer remember (possibly catching up on sleep after a horrific case?) and watched John as he opened the closet and flinched at the thing. John had returned to the bed to get dressed while sitting on the edge of it, and in a rare display of empathy Sherlock had crawled over and hugged him from behind. Ashamed yet grateful at the same time, he leaned back into the touch before shaking him off in order to finish dressing.
That evening, when he went to grab new pajamas, the chest was no longer there. He sighed in relief, and that night was the first night John initiated the act rather than being told that it was necessary. He was still uncomfortable, but now he knew that Sherlock was trying to practice being empathetic and he felt that this was the most appropriate way to show his gratitude.
There is nothing sexual about their relationship. Queer platonic life partners, that's how Sherlock refers to them, and John sees no reason to contradict that title. There is absolutely nothing inaccurate about it. It still didn't stop them from signing a document saying that they were bonded for life, purely out of necessity because they frequently ended up in the hospital and weren't considered family unless they were legally married.
They touch casually. Closeness on the sofa, a few kisses shared, and they hug the other from behind whenever there is an opportunity while they are in private.
They have never had sex, and they never will. Sherlock watches John get himself off, though he never joins in. He sits near him. He perches in between John's legs and catalogs his responses. He sits with John in between his legs and allows his head to loll back onto his shoulder. He always touches John. It is never in a sexual way, but rather he places a comforting hand on John's calf, his arm, his cheek. He never speaks.
At first, this bothered John. He worried that Sherlock was dissatisfied in their relationship. They had addressed the subject when the statues of their relationship changed, and Sherlock had assured John that he would never show any sort of sexual response to anything that John did, despite being attracted to him in other ways. They quickly established what could and couldn't be done, and John was fine with his left hand for the rest of his life. It still didn't mean that he wasn't a bit self-conscious when he looked down and never saw Sherlock with an erection. It took him a little while to work up the courage to speak with Sherlock about this and to make sure that Sherlock was alright with their relationship. Despite being reassured otherwise, John still begged him to tell him if there was anything that he could do to give Sherlock any type of pleasure.
It was then that Sherlock admitted that there may be one thing that he could do for him…
It took a full week for John to say yes to Sherlock's… thing.
The first several times he hadn't done it right. It hadn't been tight enough. Then it was too tight and John had cried because of the marks. They didn't try for a few months. Sherlock blessedly left it alone until John offered again, but only after he had taken a class to ensure that he was safe about it. That night, they began their journey towards perfecting their routine.
"Tonight?" John asks lightly, looking down at Sherlock's head in his lap.
Sherlock opens his eyes, and they are wild. It scares John, and he runs his fingers soothingly through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock says nothing, just nods slightly, but doesn't move quite yet. John continues to play with his hair until Sherlock sighs heavily and begins to move.
"Get in your pajamas," John says, giving Sherlock a bit of a push. It didn't need to be said that they were probably going to end up sleeping that way. They didn't often sleep with Sherlock like this, but the desperation in his eyes was familiar.
They ready themselves for bed as if nothing has happened until Sherlock lies on his side of the mattress as John pulls the chest out from under the bed. John rummages through and pulls out a pair of comfortable cuffs, warm socks, and two long silk ropes.
"Ready?"
A grunt.
"Promise you'll safeword if you're in pain or I do something you don't like, even if I'm asleep."
Sherlock turns to look at him because John will not continue if he can't see that Sherlock is being truthful about his answer to that question. They share a meaningful look, and John nods.
He rolls Sherlock onto his back and perches at the foot of the bed. He unrolls the pair of soft socks and slips them on Sherlock's long, bony feet, pressing his thumbs into the cold arches for a second as he rolls each of them up. He ensures that they're well over his ankles and that there is no risk of irritation. He then chooses the ankle cuffs and snaps them into place around Sherlock's ankles. John watches his eyes roll back and then close as he steadily feels more grounded. Tension visibly leaves his body and John smiles, rubbing his thumbs in small, concentric circles on his shins just above where the socks end and skin begins. They don't do anything for a few moments; rather they savor the silence that Sherlock has just started to appreciate.
Sherlock takes a deep breath and then dips his chin. John responds accordingly by leaning up and covering Sherlock's body with his own. He gives Sherlock a brief kiss on his forehead, and then he tips back and snatches up the silk tie that Sherlock loves so much. He never cuffs Sherlock's hands. Both of them prefer to use the shocking strong strips of fabric. Sherlock holds his hands above his head and John moves to thread the fabric through a slot in the headboard. After the bondage class, they had invested in a new bedframe without a sold head or footboard like Sherlock's previous frame had. This way John was able to tie him up and not worry as much about the strain that would be put on Sherlock's muscles.
John weaves the silk through Sherlock's joined wrists until they are secured together. Sherlock could easily break out if he wanted, though they both know that he won't. John leans back so Sherlock can tug on the silk and ensure that it is tight enough for his liking. He nods when he finds he is satisfied, so John moves back down to the foot of the bed and grabs the other strip of fabric so he can tie the cuffs to the footboard. A similar test to the one performed on the ties to his wrists see Sherlock happy with the tightness at his feet.
The change is almost immediately noticeable. Sherlock sighs and it is as if he is sinking into the mattress. His eyes are still open, but they aren't quite as wild and frightening as they were moments previously. John knows that he won't close them until he has settled down a bit. Settling down can take anywhere from five minutes to three and a half hours. John is positive that tonight will be on the lower end of that scale. Indeed, it only takes seventeen minutes before Sherlock begins to shut his eyes for longer than a blink. John sighs in relief. He carefully moves off of the bed so as not to disturb Sherlock. He pulls on his pajamas, and when Sherlock's eyes open he tips his head towards the bathroom with a question in his eyes. Sherlock nods. John will leave the door to the bathroom open while he is taking care of his ablutions. John will be standing in the doorframe the whole time, except for when he is using the toilet, washing his hands, or spitting toothpaste into the sink. He knows that this is more mothering than Sherlock likes, but it was part of their compromise with this situation.
When John finishes, he climbs into bed next to Sherlock. He forgoes covers so he can curl up right next to Sherlock with only the barrier of clothes between them. The bedside lamp is on, but that's all. Sherlock won't be able to ground himself unless there is a little light. There are too many unknowns in the room when the light is off. John was a soldier, and he has fallen asleep in places where there was a hell of a lot more light than the low-wattage bulb next to him is throwing off. He bears is without complaint and slides an arm across Sherlock's torso.
He doesn't like this system, but he lives with it. When he was about three he asked his dad what love was, and his father had responded, "It's when you do something you hate but someone else likes and you don't complain. You know how you mum likes going to art galleries? I'd rather be at home watching football, but I go to those galleries with her instead of watching a match because it makes her happy." Sherlock's desire to be tied up is his art gallery. Sometimes he wishes that he could throw around the fact that Sherlock doesn't have sex with him in the same way, but he berates himself afterwards. That is Sherlock's sexuality and that can't be helped. That is part of what makes him the so very unique man that John loves more than he ever thought would be possible.
It isn't a one-way street. To overextend the comparison to John's parents: John knows that Sherlock has his own art galleries that he goes to for John. If he could have their apartment be a fully-functioning morgue, he would. There is a second refrigerator where experiments go, as well as separate utensil and kitchen equipment for experiments only. Sherlock is shockingly diligent about looking to see whether he's storing something in the right spot, or if he is using something that isn't marked as food specific. What they're doing right now is even a compromise. Sherlock would much rather be tied down more tightly and much more forcefully because it clears his head faster. He accepts the slower method because there are no residual cuts or bruises and his muscles ache less after. Both of those things worry John, and as annoyed as he might be by this system, John knows that Sherlock realizes that it gets the job done. It just isn't as fast as he would like.
John thinks of this as he falls asleep. Sherlock is breathing slowly and deliberately. He could stay up all night and watch him, just in case he wants out of the restraints. Sherlock will resent that though. It is only acceptable for John to lay in bed awake during this when they do it during the day. Right now it is approaching midnight, and John is sleepy. His concern makes it take a little longer, but he drifts off to sleep soon enough.
It is well after four when John wakes up to his name being called. He shakes off the cobwebs of sleep and remembers why he's the one wrapped around Sherlock and it isn't the other way around.
"I'm ready," Sherlock murmurs, he voice as smooth as the silk and soothing as the tea that John will prepare for them in a few hours.
John nods and sets to work undoing his handiwork. He starts with the hands because he wants to massage some feeling back into Sherlock's arms, which must be somewhat numb by this point. He doesn't do that immediately though. He allows Sherlock to move his arms a bit while he grabs the key to the cuffs from the bedside table and undoes Sherlock's ankles. John leaves the socks. They're soft and Sherlock pretends to hate them, which is adorable. He watches as Sherlock rotates his ankles, then he returns everything to its rightful place in the chest and pushes it back under the bed. It goes under Sherlock's side so John doesn't have to think about it being directly under him while he sleeps.
When everything is hidden and the light has been turned off, John returns to bed. He straddles Sherlock's torso and uses one hand per arm. He gently prods feeling back into the stiff muscles. Sherlock allows John this small thing and doesn't make a sound until he's done. When John lies down next to him, Sherlock kisses his neck and whispers a soft thank you into the place where his shoulder begins. Sherlock then turns completely and wraps himself around John as if he was in danger of floating away if not held down. John doesn't mind this one bit. He loves it.
Sherlock never sleeps when he is tied up and he drops off fast. John runs a hang up and down his spine and listens to his lover breathe. Their system may be flawed when held under a microscope next to a normal relationship, but John has never been happier. He will never find sexual release through hands other than his own again, and the man he loves asks to be tied up when the world gets to be too much. They're atypical. They are an asexual man who claims to be a sociopath and a healer who saved lives in between killing people. There has never been anything typical about them, and if John can help it there never will be.