After three "yes, sirs", two minor mental freak outs, one insanely long ride back to 221B Baker Street, and exactly zero glances at either Sherlock or John, Lestrade found himself climbing the steps into the flat.
Without prompting, John put the kettle on and Sherlock ordered the inspector to sit, which he did without hesitation in one the large armchairs. The silence was making Greg nutty, he just wanted it to start or not start. Waiting was slowly killing him but he didn't say otherwise; he knew that Sherlock could tell regardless. John presented him with a cuppa and he simply grunted.
"What you meant to say was, 'Thank you, John'," Sherlock's stare from his place at the window was intense.
Greg croaked out a "Thank you, John" as he lifted the cup his lips, looking intently at the carpet. The tea was scalding hot but he sipped anyway, desperate for the awkwardness to be over.
Beside him, Jon began stripping out of his clothing. Greg's peripheral vision didn't allow him much, with Sherlock's eyes on him he didn't want to risk a glance at John even though it took all of his will power to not look. From what he could tell, John was again just in his black pants and the man immediately dropped to his knees, head bowed, waiting. Burying his face in his mug, Greg struggled against the naughty thoughts drifting through his head, thoughts provoked by Sherlock's whispers at the club.
"Your limits?" Sherlock came to stand in front of John and Greg, towering over them both. While waiting for Greg to answer him, Sherlock bent to dig through the bag John had carried home from the bar. Greg cleared his throat finding it difficult to put what he needed into words. He watched Sherlock pull a leather collar from the bag and fasten it tightly around John's neck. Longingly, he watched as Sherlock hands lingered on John's neck a moment longer than necessary. That. I need that. He felt himself nearly panting with want.
His need did not go unnoticed by Sherlock who produced a second leather collar from the bag and stood tall again. "When I ask you a question, I expect an answer from you. Do you understand?" Sherlock's face and posture were stern but his voice a bit playful, thoroughly enjoying this.
"Yes, sir." Greg felt ashamed of already being a disappointment to Sherlock. It was hard to say what he needed; he just wanted to please Sherlock. His head hung heavily as he contemplated the things he wanted. It was by far easier to pick out the things that he didn't want. Not ever being in a solid Dom/sub relationship, he didn't know what sort of things would do it for him, but hard limits, they were easy for him.
"We can start with this. Head up." Greg snapped his head up, baring his neck for Sherlock to tighten the collar on him. Sherlock admired the collar, smiling broadly. "Now, kneel."
Greg moaned out loud at the command before scrambling to his knees next to John, and bringing his arms behind his back to rest.
"I'll ask you one more time, and if you don't answer me properly, then I will decide for you. What are your limits?"
"Uh… Sir, my hard limits are elimination, blood play, maiming and branding, you know, knife play and the lot. No body modifications." Greg could feel the heat creeping up his neck from under his shirt. Saying those words made him feel extremely filthy and he was already half hard in his trousers which only added to his embarrassment.
"Look at me." Sherlock's voice was calm and quiet and Greg's heart nearly melted at the soft look on Sherlock's face as he gazed up at him. "What of your soft limits?" He shivered as his hair was lightly stroked and he unconsciously leaned into the touch, craving more contact.
"I don't know, sir." He nearly sobbed. He just needed to be told. He needed to be filled with nothing but the desire to obey. The need was so great now that tears threatened to fall.
"You'll let me decide what they are?"
"Yes, please, sir. I want you to decide." Greg let his head fall down, staring at the floor. "Please."
Greg whined when Sherlock turned his attention back to John, running his hands down the man's neck and across his broad back, idly tracing the outlines of the scar there on his left shoulder. "Boy, have a look at him." Sherlock crouched behind John reaching around him to tease his nipples while whispering in his ear. John looked straight into Greg's big, brown eyes. "Can you see how much he needs this? He is begging already. I can only deduce that it is because of his stressful job, always in charge all the time. I think he wants to let go. What do you think, boy, should we help him?"
John sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily. He understood Greg's raw, innate need to please. It was exactly how he felt before meeting Sherlock. Lost, with no one to tell him what to do, give him praise, to love him. Sherlock's hands continued to gently teased his nipples and his lips caressed that crazy sensitive spot on the back of his neck, sending delicious shivers up and down his spine. The tingles settled heavily in his cock, drawing out a tiny moan bordering on a whine. It made it hard to think, but luckily he already knew what he wanted.
"Yes, Sherlock." Greg bristled slightly at the fact that John didn't have to say, "Sir", but the feeling passed as he watched both John and Sherlock stare him down hungrily.
Then with a gentle shove in Greg's direction, Sherlock set things in motion. "Go to him, boy."
