Chapter 3

John was pleased to see Sherlock visibly let go of some of the tension in his body. His instincts had been correct, Sherlock needed someone, or something, else to take control - he couldn't just let go. With the speed and ferocity of a mind like his, it was no wonder he was addicted to anything that would give him respite - be that the drugs or the adrenaline from the detective work.

He stayed seated, silently plotting his next few moves. He wanted to give Sherlock what he needed but he was very aware this was new territory for them both and he didn't want to harm his friend, either mentally or physically. He thought that a simple approach would work best for this first time. Nothing too complicated that could risk them losing the mood half way through. Usually that didn't concern John - he enjoyed these games and could stay in the right frame of mind regardless, but he wanted to ensure Sherlock didn't get a chance to think about what he was doing.

He stood up and walked towards the bed. Crouching down near the pillow so he was level with Sherlock's face, he spoke quietly and calmly, consciously using his Captain voice, the one that seemed to soothe Sherlock without him even realising. "I'm going to cuff your hands to the bedposts in a moment. You won't be able to get out until I choose to release you."

The doctor produced a couple of pairs of police cuffs from his back pocket. Sherlock looked amused and without thinking started to ask "who did you..." before he was shocked into silence by a stinging slap across the back of his legs.

"Don't forget the rules" John reminded him mildly, then carefully took his friend's wrists, broadcasting his moves clearly so Sherlock wouldn't be surprised, and fastened the cuffs to them. He knelt on the bed, and guided the arm furthest from him up to the headboard and clipped it on, slightly wider than shoulder width, and then did the same with the detective's other arm. He took a step back then sat down again in the chair, watching as Sherlock cautiously flexed his wrists and elbows, testing his ability to move.

"I want to gag you," said John quietly, commanding Sherlock's full attention, "but I will give you a choice this time as to whether you want that or not. I think you will find it, um, relaxing to be able to scream and moan as you like into it without upsetting Mrs Hudson. But if it scares you, we can leave it off."

Sherlock thought for a moment. His voice was his greatest weapon. To be without it willingly was a great sacrifice. But he found himself wanting to please John, and he couldn't help but think he might be grateful for the physical reminder he wasn't supposed to speak. He didn't like being punished for forgetting the rules. He looked up at John, "Yes"

"Yes what?"

"Yes I'd like to be gagged"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" John asked him sternly, waiting for Sherlock to remember the 'be polite' clause and interested as to how he would interpret it.

Sherlock realised his error quickly, but then didn't know how to fix it. What was John expecting? Did he want Sherlock to beg? Sherlock wasn't entirely naive about power games, and he knew some of the traditional forms. He tried again, cautiously, keeping his eyes lowered "Yes please Sir, I'd like to be gagged"

John looked at him, then roared with laughter, shocking Sherlock into actually moving his head to stare up at him. "I'm not your Master, or Sir or any trite like that." He said, smiling broadly, "what on earth have you been reading Sherlock? In fact, don't tell me, I don't want to know" Sherlock smiled too, embarrassed at having got it wrong, but glad John was amused and not angry. John got up again and crouched by the bed, looking into Sherlock's eyes with warmth and understanding. He touched his friend's arm lightly, reassuringly, and told him, "I'm your friend, Sherlock, and you can call me John, the same as you do the rest of the time. What I expect from you is that you say please and thank you where appropriate, and use my name. I neither want or need any other form of address."

Sherlock smiled briefly, nodding his understanding, and tried again. "Yes please, John, I'd like you to gag me." To his surprise he tensed, waiting for approval for this sentence. How unusual for him to have to think so carefully about what to say - his normal approach was to say whatever came into his mind, without a thought to who might be offended or affected by his words. This focus on getting the words correct was a revelation, and he stored it away to think about in depth later. John squeezed his arm lightly, validating Sherlock's choice of words, then reached across to fetch the ball gag from his bedside cabinet.

He brought it down so Sherlock could see it, twisting it in his fingers so the detective could analyse how it would attach, and how it moved. Careful this time to keep all traces of his Captain voice out of it, he gently asked Sherlock to open his mouth, making it as easy as possible for the man to back out and refuse. John wanted to do this, knew it would be good for Sherlock, but he wanted him fully informed and willing, or it wouldn't work. After this stage there was really no going back - Sherlock would be committed and wouldn't be able to vocalise if he changed his mind. John watched the thoughts crossing Sherlock's face as he weighed up his options and the risk involved, able to read him almost as well as the detective could read the doctor. He saw hesitation, desire, caution, and finally need, before Sherlock's mouth opened. John nodded his approval and carefully attached the gag, being sure not to over tighten it.

"You should be able to breath easily, and make some noises, although I doubt I'll understand anything you say now." John told him, stroking his friend's hair back in a soothing way. "You'll probably find you drool a lot too, but that's to be expected." Sherlock tested the ball in his mouth, running his tongue over it, biting down gently with his teeth. It was uncomfortable, but not excessively so. He could bear it. He looked up at John and nodded.

To his own surprise, Sherlock was enjoying this. He had almost forgotten the reasons that brought him there, taken over as he was by all these new experiences, and this new John that stood before him. The suppressed darkness inside was closer to the surface now, Sherlock could see it. But there was an unexpected level of tenderness too, and Sherlock found himself leaning in to the hand in his hair, enjoying the touch.

John gave Sherlock's hair a final stroke, then leant down to whisper in his ear "be right back", and walked out the room. Sherlock was alone. His mind started to wander and he began to tense up again as thoughts of the case flooded his mind... those tricky crime scene photos, the evidence that just didn't add up, and almost involuntarily, he let out a moan. He should be working on the case right now, not cuffed to his friend's bed. To his side, John tutted. Sherlock opened his eyes to see John seated again, a glass of water in his hand. He must have come back into the room while Sherlock was deep in thought, without the detective noticing.

"We can't have this" he said disapprovingly. "Perhaps we need to add another rule? That I expect your attention in this room to be on me and me alone. Or perhaps you just need a distraction to remind you why you are here?" And John stood up, put the glass on the side and slowly unbuckled his belt.