He knew John was drunk. The liquor he had stashed for special occasions was open on the table, a fair amount missing. It would change his smell. Sherlock was only momentarily frustrated, as John was stripping while he moved- it was impossible to look away. He only stumbled twice as he moved toward the bed. Fascinating.

"Sherlock, I'm-" He cut John off with a shake of his head.

"Do you know what you do to me, John? Do you know how much I care about you? I love you, and when I see you with- like that, I just can't help it. I know you don't understand, but I want you, I want you to be mine. Your scent drives me utterly mad, John. I need it, I need you, I need you to see. I need you to know."

John looked up at the pacing detective, his eyes wide. It wasn't exactly how he wanted to hear it.

"I need to own you, John. I need to show you. Let me show you, please. Give me your body for tonight. Let me consume you."

"Sherlock, yes, I- god, yes. Please."

That was all the encouragement he needed. He surged across the room, to where John sat in nothing but a T-shirt, pressing their mouths together with teeth-clacking force. Sherlock was half-mad with need, with adrenaline. His excursion in the alleyway had set something powerful in motion inside of him, something that roared and screamed to be released.

With steady hands he tore at John's top, baring his chest, breaking away from the kiss to bite and suck at his neck. He tasted incredible.
"Mmm, John… I love it when you give in to me so easily. We're playing by my rules tonight. You are going to need a safe word… 'deduce', John. Say it if you get uncomfortable, and I will stop. I'm starting with a blindfold- I want you to use your other senses."

As he spoke, Sherlock removed the black box from the closet once more. Ropes tonight, he thought, the kind that scratch and burn the skin. A blindfold as well, to rob John of his vision. He slipped the black satin down over John's eyes and guided him back on the bed. Sherlock put John's wrists together and tied him to the headboard, a little rougher than the doctor was expecting. He hissed a little as Sherlock tugged on the material, but otherwise voiced no concerns. So far, so good.

The detective backed away, peeling his clothes off slowly and quietly. He wanted John to wait, flushed and eager, his anticipation while Sherlock mapped the encounter in his head. Start with the voice. He loves it. Tease him, Sherlock, and see how his body responds. Experiment. When he was completely bare, Sherlock moved to the edge of the bed and leaned his long torso over to John's ear.

"It's hard to get off with you when you look so vulnerable, so innocent. Even adorable, one might venture to suggest."

As Sherlock whispered in his ear, John flushed. "Innocent? Then debauch me, Sherlock, make me filthy."

"Oh, John, I will. I'm going to make you beg for me, make you wet, make you writhe with need…" He licked his lips, though John couldn't see. "We'll start with the riding crop."

Sherlock pulled it from the box, running his tongue over the smooth leather. He could smell the chemicals used to treat the leather, the stitches, the metal of the sewing machine that created the slip, even the breed of leather used. He was on top of his game, then.

With one quick movement he brought it down against John's chest, the slap echoing through the small bedroom. John moaned, shifting on the bed as his skin reddened. His cock twitched at the pain; he was enjoying it. Sherlock struck him again, and again, moving with frightening speed as he struck John's bare body over and over. Some of the wounds broke skin, but John did not say the word. Sherlock set down the crop and drug his cool fingers over John's abused skin, pressing a kiss to his jaw before moving to whisper once more.

"John," he whispered, watching his captain shudder and roll his hips. "Oh... John. You love my voice, you need it filling your ears... Shall I experiment? The deeper. It. Goes…" He growled, low in his chest, a sound that seemed to crowd the air around the pair. "…The more it drives you mad…"
John strained against the ropes, his wrists red from the irritating fibers. He wants to touch me… look at him, struggling. He really does love it when I talk. Good.

Sherlock climbed onto the bed, hovering above John's body, careful not to make contact until he was aligned properly. He caught the prone doctor in a kiss, working his jaw open with his tongue, drinking in the taste of John's mouth as one hand raked nails down his fevered chest.

"Mmm, John, I'm starting to have some fun. I'll even let you do this to me again some time. I love the idea of you on top of me, scratching up my chest until you draw blood, biting me, marking my skin…"

He accentuated his comment by latching his teeth onto John's shoulder, biting hard, sucking the sweat-slicked skin as John hissed out his name and arched his back.

"More," John whispered beneath him, "Oh god, please, more. Talk to me like that again, please, it's… it's incredible. I- god, it makes me feel like I'm going to melt."

John rolled his hips, his cock stretched toward Sherlock's stomach, his body shaking. Adrenaline normally made him still, but this… the man was vibrating with the effort it took to restrain himself. Sherlock was driving him out of his mind. The detective hummed in approval, releasing John's shoulder and slipping back down his naked skin.

"Say my name, John," he purred, dancing his fingers along the inside of John's thighs. "Say it."

"Sh… Sherlock!"