A/n A Kate asked for some more Possessive!Sherlock (well, kind of) so here you go (again, kind of)

Prompt 8: Lord
"Tell me again why we're going to a club?" John called from the bathroom, voice muffled by toothpaste. "It's the scene of the crime. Obvious." John chuckled to himself and mimicked Sherlock's lofty "Obvious" silently in the mirror before heading back to his room. It had been a while since he had been near a club, not after Harry of all people had told him it was better to stay away. They hadn't been his scene since was young and now that he was older the appeal hadn't changed. In fact he felt a little bit ridiculous. Probably a British thing he concluded, pulling on his black suit pants and the only non-checked shirt he owned, a light blue that high lighted his muscular torso. John slipped a pair of black loafers on and strolled to the kitchen, tucking his gun carefully into the deep pockets of his coat as he passed."Sherlock? When did you say we have to be there?" Warm breath blew across his neck and John knew Sherlock had done the whole silent movement act just because he liked terrifying John. "Around now would be good" John growled before turning around.

Sherlock was speechless when he saw the soft blue that John had hidden beneath his shapeless khaki coat. Not that John knew that of course, how could he know that he was all that Sherlock could think about, all because of that one shirt. Similarly Sherlock could not know that John's mind was frazzled from the amount of times he'd seen the detective in his purple silk shirt, the one he was wearing now, or when he was wrapped only in a sheet, pale shoulders just creeping out over the top, or when he whirled about like a madman in his dressing gown and pyjamas, curly hair rumpled from sleep or lack of it. Nope. John, ever the soldier, ploughed ahead with his reprimand about sneaking up on a ptsd sufferer, not really paying attention to a word that passed his lips. Neither was Sherlock so it didn't matter anyway. John sighed "Well come on then" and he opened the door for Sherlock who paused only to lift his coat from the hook by the door.

The taxi ride was a short one by their standards, with the two of them sitting in amiable silence, each avoiding staring at the general chest area of the other. Before they even rounded the corner of the club John could feel the bass vibrating in his chest. It had been a long time since he'd felt that pulsating need to respond to the rhythm, to just go with it. He remembered now why he didn't go to clubs, because he really did not have any control over his actions when he was there. It had gotten him a lot of attention in the past and Harry was the one who suggested that maybe it wasn't the best idea. Which was true, John could see her point of view, after all anything that stemmed from those nights tended to be superficial. Now though he couldn't just back out, and yet his self control was seriously lacking when it came to a heavy bass line. Maybe that's why he liked Sherlock's voice so much...

The taxi glided to a halt and Sherlock leapt out, tossing cash behind him. "Eager as ever" John mused to no one in particular. Looking at the lines of people queued outside, John was pretty pleased with his attempt at dressing the part. Most of the men were wearing some form of suit like outfit so at least he wouldn't stand out entirely. Sherlock shepherded him to the front, and merely nodded at the bouncer who simply lifted the red barrier and ushered them inside. Sherlock surveyed the club. It was not empty, but not too full either. He made a note to use that as the compliment that it was when talking to the owner later. Right now he wanted a drink. While he didn't enjoy the music itself Sherlock could appreciate it's values, only because it essentially blasted all background thought from his mind which was a... nice change. John's hand was on his arm, motioning towards the bar. Sherlock simply nodded and they threaded through the throngs of people, reconvening at the bar where John simply raised two fingers and called something unintelligble to the bar tender, and in a flash there were two drinks in front of them. Sherlock sipped the pink concoction experimentally and his eyes widened. It tasted pleasant, far more pleasant than lager or bourbon.

John chuckled at his expression and leaned into his ear "Strawberry daquiri" he yelled. Sherlock committed the name to memory for future cases. If he had to get drunk for the work he might as well have a more pleasing taste in his 's foot was tapping lightly of it's own accord and Sherlock was anxious to get started so they could leave. He whipped out his phone and began to type furiously. John's phone came to life moments later. I'm going to go find the owner, you stay here, keep an eye out. Ten minutes and I should have all I need -SH John looked up and the man had disappeared already. The song changed, a remix of pussy cat dolls Buttons and John was done for. His legs were moving of their own accord to the dancefloor, standing almost directly in the intercept of the lasers and spotlight, and he began to move.

Sherlock had been right of course, the son had done it and his dad had not expected an actual inquest. An assumption Sherlock could not blame him for making given the track record of Scotland yard. He opened the office door and found himself on a low balcony of sorts, overlooking the entirety of the club. His eyes were drawn instantaneously to the center of the floor where a crowd had formed around one man who was dancing so effortlessly, body moving in perfect time, swaying and writhing, lithe and yet so very masculine. Sherlock's mouth had become incredibly dry, more so when he realised the identity of the man he was ogling shamelessly. It was John, muscles threatening to break free of his shirt as he ground his hips against the air. A blonde woman stalked her way over and pressed her body up against his, attempting to emulate the movements. They were dirty, very dirty, but not to the point of being vulgar. It was intoxicating to watch. Soon a swarm of women were fondling John's arms and grinding up against him and he simply went with it all. Loosen up my buttons babe, but you can't touch, say what you gone do to me, but I say nothin'

Sherlock didn't notice that he had walked down the steps and was now among the crowd that surrounded John. The beat changed and so too did John's movements. His hips gyrating more, coloured beams bouncing off his buttons to the distinctive sound of Rihanna's Birthday Cake. God Sherlock wanted him, wanted to touch his blogger, do everything he ever thought about doing. John would be his. He'd set his mind to it now. One of the women seemed to have beaten off the rest because she had her back pressed against John's chest, arm wrapped around his neck softly. Her lips touched his jaw and Sherlock was furious. They were leaving right now.

He pushed through the crowd and grabbed John, dragging him away regardless of the loud hey that was yelled at him. Sherlock practically sprinted to the door and dragged John with him, pushing him back into the alley as soon as they reached the outside world. John's back connected with the wall of the club and he raised his hands to push Sherlock back when he looked into his eyes. Sherlock , it rolled off him in waves. He was still out of it, apparently dancing like that was like being drunk for John. "Dear lord! What's wrong Sherlock?" he yelled crankily as Sherlock began to stalk towards him, keeping their eyes locked. Faster than lightening Sherlock's pale hand was grabbing his cheeks and turning his head roughly to the side.

"That" Sherlock growled and pointed at the lipstick stain on John's cheek "is the problem." Sherlock pushed John's head back against the wall. "No one but me gets to do that. If I have to mark you I will. You are mine. Understand?" Sherlock hissed, teeth grazing over John's back Adams apple. "M." Now his tongue was flicking tentatively over the skin "I." His lips were sucking hard at John's neck, making him shudder and cry out sweet nothings into the night "N." Slender fingers threaded their way through blonde hair and tugged lightly "E." Soft pink lips met his, the hungry movement contrasting the softness perfectly. "MINE." Sherlock snarled and all John could do was gasp and nod because Sherlock's hand had slithered into his trousers against a wall in an alleyway and dear lord they were going dancing again.