Prompt 2:Bruises
Jim Moriarty knew exactly how to get Sherlock. It all started with a pool. John was unsuspecting, but then how many people expect a madman to take them hostage? Something about the pleasure Jim was taking in strapping the bombs to his body was confusing. John could see the red dot on his torso and it was the only reason he was not recoiling from the slither of Jim's hands over his skin. "Oooooh not a fan of that are we not Johnny boy? Poor pet doesn't like to be touched? How very ironic." Jim said liltingly, his eyes glittering with laughter.

John felt his grip tightening around his wrist, his throat threatening to release a cry of pain. John wouldn't let himself do that. He was a soldier, something he repeated continually in his head as Moriarty crushed first his wrists and then punched him in the face. A soldier. "You're no fun at aaaallll John, Sherlock needs to discipline you better." Jim laughed, looking at his watch. His grin widened as he pushed an earpiece into John's ear and shoved his purple wrists into the coat sleeves. "You say whatever I tell you to. One word different and BOOM both of you will die!" Moriarty zipped up the jacket as Sherlock's voice rang out from the pool. Jim pushed John out of the cubicle and into the darkened pool.

Sherlock's eyes filled with pain when he saw John, heard him speaking. John felt a stab in his chest when he realised that Sherlock thought he was Moriarty. It hurt more than it should have. Jim was laughing when he told John to unzip the coat, putting the bomb in full view of the detective. The impassive mask returned to Sherlock easily, but not before John caught worry and terror in his eyes. Through the whole ordeal Sherlock's eyes never left his, his gaze never faltered. When the red dots appeared on Sherlock, that made John really angry. No one got to threaten his Sherlock. "my Sherlock?" he thought to himself before forming a plan.

In a split second Moriarty was in his arms. "Go Sherlock, run!" Sherlock didn't move. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if to say I won't leave you John. I will never leave you. Sherlock's hand was quivering slightly, the gun clenched tightly in his fist pointing directly at Moriarty. The sound of "Staying alive" blasted into the air and Jim looked almost apologetic as he picked up the phone. "If you're lying I will skin you" he yelled, walking away. No sooner had he left did the snipers disappear.

Sherlock was on his knees in front of John, tearing the coat away, frantically unhooking the vest and throwing it away from them. He grabbed John's wrists and frowned at the grimace the John could not hide. Gently he peeled back his sleeves to reveal the palette of blues and purples that covered John's wrists in the shape of two hands. Sherlock was furious, his eyes blazed with hatred and, something else. John staggered as Sherlock's hands found his hips and his lips were on his neck. "Sherlock! Wh-what are you do- oohh" John found his hands tangled in Sherlock's soft curls, his mouth begging him to continue the assault on his neck. Sherlock nipped and sucked at the smooth skin with a hunger he usually reserved for cases. His hands crushed John against him, but John liked it. The pure strength that Sherlock exuded was unbearable and had John writhing against the wall. "You. Are. Mine!" Sherlock whispered into his neck. Everyone should know John belonged to him, if marking him was the only way to show it, Sherlock would cover him in marks. When he finally broke away, satisfied with his efforts, John was in shock. The handprints on his hips were Sherlock's own, bruised evenly so the colour would be plain. A navy blue, similar to his scarf. "Mine." He whispered as their lips met. "Yours" John choked out before succumbing to the need of the man against him.

Mycroft was blushing heavily in his office, his eyes had just located Sherlock minutes ago and the video feed was... Not unexpected, but a surprise none the less. "Anthea?" "Mhmm?" "Send something for bruising to Baker street for me, I believe will be needing it."