John wasn't an unreasonable man. He was strict with Sherlock on some things, yes; but overall, his basic rules were fair and justifiable. No heads in the refrigerator, no violin after midnight, no more than three nicotine patches at a time; they were for Sherlock's (and his) own good.
So, it was understandable that when John Watson came home to the flat to find his partner in bed with another man he was a bit upset.
The two of them were sleeping on Sherlock's bed, in his sheets. One was Sherlock, and John didn't know who the other was, but damn if he was going to find out.
He picked up an old shoe and threw it at the man's head. "Oi!" he said loudly. Both Sherlock and the other man's eyes flew open. Sherlock seemed to be shivering and trying his best to cower. He must be feeling guilty now, wouldn't you think? John thought as he stood savagely over the two of them.
"Sherlock," he started tersely. "Why the bloody hell is there another man with you in our bed?"
Sherlock opened his mouth, but before he could speak he let out a loud yelp as Victor pinched his spine. Victor sat up, keeping his legs firmly locked around Sherlock's waist, and, smiling, shook John's hand.
"You must be John." He said warmly. "It's good to meet you, finally."
John's face was going all sorts of purples and reds that Sherlock knew didn't bode well. "What the hell do you mean, finally? Look, all I want to know is what you're doing in bed with my boyfriend!" John blushed deeply at the boyfriend part, but he felt that he had to get the point across.
Victor looked up, a fake look of confusion crossing his face. "Boyfriend? Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Mr. John, sir. I had no idea Sherl had a boyfriend…none at all. Why, he only mentioned that you were a distant friend of his who lived upstairs!" Victor leaned down and slapped Sherlock carelessly across the bum. "Sherlock, why didn't you tell me you were attached?"
Sherlock pushed his face into the pillow, trying to hide the tears forming in his eyes. This was it; the moment that it started again. This was the second fall of Sherlock Holmes.
He heard a voice-John's voice-saying something he couldn't quite make out. He lifted his head ever so slightly.
"That's okay," John said in a voice so cold Sherlock would have sworn the room temperature had just dropped several degrees, "You can keep him. I guess there was a…a misunderstanding between Mr. Holmes and I."
Victor shot John a fake smile. "Oh, that's so generous of you. I just love Sherl; he's a treasure, he really is!" Victor rubbed his palms in circles on Sherlock's bare back as John stormed from the room.
Sherlock turned to him. "Why?" he rasped. "Why are you doing this, Victor?"
Victor smiled sweetly. "I told you, Sherlock; I want you back. And this time, you're not getting away."
He turned around to grab a bottle of lube from one of Sherlock's desk drawers. "Now where were we?"
He reached around Sherlock's waist, thumbing the waistband of Sherlock's boxers. Suddenly Sherlock jerked away. "No. No, not this morning, Victor, please. I really don't feel up to it."
Victor pulled back a fist and the next thing Sherlock knew his nose was bleeding rather badly and he had a spectacularly bruised black eye.
Victor leaned in close and grabbed fistfuls of the waistband of Sherlock's boxers. "You listen here, pet. When I ask you 'where were we', you tell me where we were. And we continue. Got it?"
They stayed like that for a minute, Victor pinning the man down, Sherlock looking up at him. Then, suddenly Sherlock rolled, falling with a painful thump onto the floor and taking Victor over with him. He stood as fast as he could, and while Victor was still getting up he made a beeline for the door. He was just laying his hand on the doorknob when suddenly a hand grabbed the back of his boxers and pulled him backwards.
He fell onto Victor, who wasted no time in thoroughly beating him. He punched him, over and over, until blood dripped from Sherlock's mouth and his head lolled onto his shoulders lazily, until Sherlock couldn't think because the whole world was pain and agony and let it stop let John come back let him rescue me let it stop make it stop it painpainpainpain…
And suddenly Victor stopped. He pulled Sherlock up to meet him and began to kiss him fiercely.
Sherlock broke it off and received a punch to the ribs. He wheezed and spat blood onto the floor. "Victor…" he rasped. Victor scooted back, allowing Sherlock to brace himself against the wall and pull himself up. The consulting detective staggered towards the door and went out.
This time Victor let him.
