The taxi ride back to Baker Street seemed to take forever to John, despite the lack of traffic in the early hours of the morning. He was anxious to get Sherlock home and to somewhere he felt safe because he was clearly not comfortable with how the evening had gone. John didn't really understand what had happened - Sherlock had endured far worse than a woman fawning over him when undercover and he usually brushed off near-death experiences without a second glance. He wasn't sure what had been different this time but something had been.
Sherlock sat hunched in the corner of the taxi staring out of the window. John sat on the other side, burningly aware of the seat between them but unable to breach it when Sherlock was radiating angry keep away signals. He wanted to comfort the man but knew it would be unappreciated in general, and especially here in a public space with a taxi driver to witness it. So he sat still and counted down the minutes until finally they pulled up outside the flat. When the taxi stopped Sherlock got out without a word, leaving John to pay as Sherlock opened the door to the building and stormed up the stairs. John finally caught up with him at the door to their flat.
Sherlock unlocked the door and they both walked into the living room. John shut the door behind him and said simply, "What do you need Sherlock?"
Sherlock, facing the coat pegs by the door, closed his eyes in relief. John was so good at reading him. He knew when to push and when to let Sherlock be, and when to just offer quiet and steady support. Sherlock was unendingly grateful for the other man's empathy at times like this - a skill he knew he was sadly lacking in himself.
"A shower. I need to shower." Sherlock told him, deciding that feeling clean would be a good start.
John, grinning slightly in advance acknowledgement of his own predictability said, "I'll make us some tea then." And Sherlock, true to form, rolled his eyes at John, and John smiled back.
And suddenly with that splash of grounding normality, things were okay. Not great, not brilliant, but okay. Which Sherlock thought was a vast improvement.
oOo oOo
Sherlock returned to the lounge some time later wearing his pyjamas and with wet hair. He looked much happier than he had in the taxi but John was still worried about him. John was deadly tired, and knew Sherlock too must be as he hadn't really slept for days. But he was making the effort to stay up and awake and give the detective time to talk if he wanted to. Not that talking about emotions or things that made him uncomfortable was really Sherlock's style, but still.
John made it through one cup of tea and 27 minutes of brooding silence from Sherlock in the chair opposite him before giving in. He knew if he stayed in his chair any longer he would fall asleep and then wake up in the morning with his shoulder spasming from the position. So with a massive yawn and a bone crunching stretch he stood up. He put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, reminding him of John's presence, and told him gently "I'm off to bed Sherlock, will you be okay?"
"What? John? Oh, yes of course." Sherlock replied with a frown and a wave of his arm in dismissal.
The good doctor headed up the stairs, slightly disappointed that their earlier intimacy seemed to be so fleeting. He had always known Sherlock would be able to compartmentalise his life in this way, but at that moment it left him feeling a little raw. He knew he could pull rank, force the detective into some kind of interaction, but that seemed a little excessive for now. Rather save that one for when I really need it, John thought.
John fell asleep quickly to the faint strains of a violin being played downstairs, the stress and strain of the previous few days catching up with him. He awoke briefly when he felt the covers pulled from over him, but he was soothed with a murmured baritone "Shhhh" in his ear and a hand around his waist, pulling him in tightly.
It was a pleasant surprise in the morning to discover he hadn't been dreaming, and Sherlock had indeed climbed into bed with him. Not only was John pleased that Sherlock had actively chosen his company, but that the detective had slept at all. Sherlock was still asleep when John woke, so he lay there for a while just enjoying the warmth and closeness of a shared bed. John had shared his bed with Sherlock many times but he never grew tired of it. Sherlock's lack of personal boundaries when it came to John seemed to be unconscious as well as deliberate and John generally found himself waking either pinned under Sherlock, or wrapped with his long limbs. John would like to think it was some kind of show of affection but he figured it was probably more likely to be Sherlock's way of making sure he didn't escape.
He worried over the problem of the previous day in his mind as he lay still, waiting for Sherlock to wake up until he came up with something he thought might help both of them.
oOo oOo
Sherlock woke with a start to the feel of someone - John, his mind quickly supplied - biting the back of his neck firmly. He tensed for a split second, then relaxed into the undeniably pleasant sensation as John licked and nipped and sucked his way around Sherlock's collar. Neither said anything as John eased Sherlock's t-shirt over his head, giving him access to Sherlock's shoulder blades and yet more delicious skin to mark and claim.
Sherlock whimpered as John caught the pulse point behind his ear and sucked hard, making his heart race. John added teeth to the mix, taking it past pleasure and into the edge of pain. He gasped as John let go with a final hard nip of his teeth and followed it up with a growling "mine" in Sherlock's ear. John's hand snaked around Sherlock's throat, gripping him and holding him still as he found another spot on his long pale neck to bite, admiring the contrast between the redness of the marks, the ivory tones of Sherlock's skin and the indents where his teeth had made contact.
With a start Sherlock found himself being pushed into the bed and John was on top of him pinning him down.
"Where else did she touch you? Show me?" John asked roughly.
Sherlock eased his arm free from under John and ran his fingers through his hair and down his cheekbone.
John nodded, then asked gently, "What do you need love? Hard or soft?"
"Hard," he told John, wanting to be rid of every trace of the woman.
John smiled for a second with his eyes, reassuring Sherlock that he was with him, then sat back on Sherlock to give him his arms free. Sherlock watched as John's expression became colder and calculating, and then in slow motion as John's hand came up and struck him across the cheek. The instantaneous burst of heat and shock was everything Sherlock needed to be rid of the feel of the previous night's touch. John's hand lingered, stroking down his cheekbone, soothing the hurt. Then he repositioned Sherlock's face to centre, and slapped the other side. Sherlock couldn't stop himself flinching in anticipation this time, but didn't move away.
John looked carefully at his friend. His cheeks were flushed, as would be expected, but nothing worse. He could get away with a couple more slaps if he wanted to, but he held back for the time being. Instead he brought Sherlock's arm up and kissed his fingers before asking, "Where else pet?"
Sherlock pulled himself from John's gentle grip and brought his fingers down the front of his chest, tracing where his shirt buttoned. John reached up to slide his fingers into Sherlock's hair, not forgetting he'd shown John that too, and gripped tightly. Then he used his other hand to rake across Sherlock's chest, straight down the centre, leaving scratches from his nails. This was good but he needed more, so he did it again - harder this time, so Sherlock's chest had scratches all the way down it, some almost breaking the skin. He followed with kisses, still gripping Sherlock's hair to keep him still as he ghosted his lips down the angry red lines.
"Go on..." John prompted. So Sherlock slid his hands around his waist, indicating that she had put her hands on his stomach under his shirt. John growled at this and his expression darkened. "Did she go further?" He asked, in a very careful tone, clearly keeping control of his temper by a whisker.
Sherlock smiled tightly and shook his head. He had been inordinately relieved when the police had burst in just as he was running out of excuses to not let her undo his trousers.
John frowned for a moment in thought, then leant down to kiss Sherlock deeply on the mouth. As he did he snaked his hands around Sherlock's waist, gripping hard. He pushed Sherlock further into the bed with those hands, claiming his mouth with lips and tongue and teeth, forcing him to concede to John with every movement. He pulled back, then dragged Sherlock up to him, still using the hands around his middle, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and then when both of them were sitting, John still straddling Sherlock, he let go. The hard kisses turned softer and more seeking, and his hands were gentle, tracking over Sherlock's back and stroking his arms. Eventually John's lips stilled and he pulled Sherlock in to a hug.
"She put her creepy serial killer hands on what is mine." John told him quietly, "She won't get away with it, you'll find all the evidence needed to put her in prison forever. And she will never touch you again. You are mine, and I'll make sure of it. If she lays even one finger on you again I'll kill her"
Sherlock gasped at the intensity of John's voice and the possessiveness behind the words. Never had anyone wanted, coveted, him like this. Sherlock was aware of his physical attractiveness and wasn't above using it for his own benefit if it suited him, but he had nothing but scorn for those who lusted after his body, only seeing the symmetry of his transport.
Then there was his mind, and plenty of people wanted him for that too - wanted his clever deductions and razor sharp intellect. But they were using him too, only after what they needed and gave scant regard for his own needs and desires.
John was different. He made no secret of his enjoyment of Sherlock's body but his affection went so much deeper than that. John admired his mind, supported his work, never asked for anything in return. He knew the best of Sherlock and the worst of him, and wanted him regardless. And when Sherlock heard those words...You are mine... coming from John's mouth he believed it completely. There wasn't a single part of Sherlock that John didn't want to own. It was intoxicating.
"Thank you," Sherlock said sincerely. He believed completely that John was saying the truth, that if that woman came near him John would kill her, without a second thought, not because she had hurt him but because she had made him uncomfortable. The feeling of power that gave Sherlock was heady - all the more so because John had killed for him before, so he knew this was no empty promise.
"Feeling better pet?" Asked John, calmer himself now he had acted on his need to make Sherlock his again.
Sherlock smiled in response, dropping back onto the pillows in an exaggerated laziness. "Much" he grinned.
John laughed and clambered out of bed, pulling Sherlock up behind him. "Come on, we need to get up. Promised Lestrade we'd do our statements this morning at his office."
Sherlock groaned and moaned but passively got out of the bed and headed to his room for clothing. John met him downstairs in the kitchen later and forced a mug of tea and a slice of toast on him. "Eat" he said sternly, putting all his captain tones into the one syllable word. Sherlock smirked in recollection of the last time John had used that voice which had been for something far more fun than making Sherlock eat, and John had mock-tutted in response, his eyes dancing as he too remembered.
oOo oOo
Sherlock was putting his coat on at the door when John appeared in front of him, looking resolute and with a definitely military stance. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in query and paused, his coat in his hands. John reached down to his pocket and pulled something out of it, which he held out to Sherlock.
"My dogtags." He explained. "I want you to wear them today. Thought they would help you remember...that you belong to me."
Sherlock put down his coat and took the tags in his hand. Rubbing his thumb across them he could feel the stamped letters on the cool metal, the tags themselves edged with soft rubber. He fancied he detected the traces of desert dust in the length of chain and he gripped them hard, unable to believe John had given him something so precious and sure that any moment now John would change his mind and take them away again.
John reached his hand out for them and Sherlock felt a momentary stab of pain before relinquishing them. Until the pain made way for joy as John leant over and put the tags over Sherlock's head and tucked them in his shirt, close to his heart. His hand lingered on Sherlock's chest, splayed over his shirt, feeling the touch of the metal underneath.
Satisfied, John smiled and held out Sherlock's coat for him. He passed Sherlock his scarf and the detective looked down with a query - the day was warm.
"Your neck," John clarified, "Is, um, well I may have been a touch overzealous earlier." He said unrepentantly, eyeing the bruises with amusement and a tinge of lust.
Sherlock laughed and took the proffered scarf and wound it around his throat.
oOo oOo
All day long the dog tags burned a hole in Sherlock's chest. He felt them there, touching his skin, tapping against his clavicle as he walked. They chinked together, even with the rubber seals, and Sherlock fancied they were calling to him; John's - John's - John's - John's as he paced, reminding him with every step who he belonged to.
Belonging, thought Sherlock as he made his statement to Lestrade, is a strange state. I've never belonged to anyone before. How does it work? John doesn't own me in the literal sense. I'm not his slave. He didn't buy me or barter for me. Should I be worried about this? Is John going to be expecting something of me now I'm his. Or at least, as I haven't told him. That I don't belong to him. I don't think I do, anyway.
Maybe I do belong to John, as the two shared a late lunch in a restaurant in Chinatown. But how? Did he steal me when I wasn't looking? Did I give myself to him? Did he ask me and I agreed? I don't remember... Must have deleted it, but I don't delete John things. Maybe it was subtle and I didn't notice. Yes. John is a thief - he stole me away from myself when I wasn't paying attention.
Do I mind? As they sat in the flat drinking tea and working separately. I never thought of being someone's before. I've always been 'Sherlock'. Never with an add-on, a 'Sherlock and ...', or a 'Someone's Sherlock'. Not sure if I like it. Not sure if it is safe. But then, danger has never been a problem for me. Or for John. I guess if anyone was going to own me and lay claim to me then he is the man for it. At least he isn't boring.
Do I trust him? As they watched telly, John laughing at the inane comedy, Sherlock deep in thought, fingering the dogtags absently. Of course, easy one. I trust John with my life. Ah. But this isn't just about my life, it is about my soul or some other sentimental nonsense. But yes... if I was forced to admit such a thing existed, I'd say I trusted John with it. I wonder why?
What will he do now he has me? As they lay in bed together, Sherlock wide awake, dogtags still clutched in his hand, John close to sleep. He could hurt me - tell me he doesn't want me any more, but I don't think he will do that. I suppose it might be good, belonging to John. He doesn't have girlfriends at the flat any more, which is better. He wants to make me happy, I can tell. He might push it every so often and make me do something hateful like shopping or cleaning, but he does care. He doesn't ever threaten to leave. Besides, I wouldn't let him - he's mine.
Oh. Oh!
"John"
"Yes Sherlock," John replied absently, already half asleep.
"You are mine too, aren't you? You belong to me?" Sherlock was hesitant, unsure of his revelation.
"Of course," John murmured, more asleep than awake now, "always have been, thought you knew."
John slept. Sherlock lay awake for some time, curled up around the doctor, unable to keep the smile tugging at his lips from showing happiness he felt.
A/N - As always, thanks for reading and for those who review / comment. Your ongoing support and lovely comments make it a pleasure to write. Hope you enjoy (and I promise some kinky dog tag action in the next chapter!).