Sherlock was in a foul mood. Having come to a dead end along one line of his enquiries after stalking the streets of London for several hours, the detective had decided to visit John at his doctor's surgery drop-in session, and demand to be taken home. However, as he approached the building, planning the best "I'm miserable" face to put on, he noticed the very familiar figure of the doctor, standing in the doorway. Facing away from the detective, the doctor's body language was open and friendly, but his stance suggested the person he was talking to had a very intimate relationship with him – or at least had done at some point. Slowing down until he was barely moving, Sherlock stared at the back of John's head for a moment, before observing the face of what was clearly one of the doctor's exes.
The man conversing so animatedly with the doctor was only half a centimetre or so taller, and dressed in what Sherlock supposed was supposed to be a "casual" shirt and jeans. But the shirt was ironed a little too neatly and his shoes were clearly new. The man was very young – only twenty-two or so – and given that he was obviously a bank clerk who's apartment cost a little more than he could afford, that meant he was trying to make an impression. His feet rolled over slightly as he spoke, suggesting nervousness, and yet his body language mirrored John's in intimacy. Clearly this was no surprise meeting; this man had planned on "bumping into" John, and had tried embarrassingly hard to make it look as if it were fate. As Sherlock watched him brush his hand over John's elbow, a violent bead of jealousy burst inside of him. This insipid moron, in his cheap shirt and faux leather shoes was flirting with John, and John was doing nothing about it.
Sherlock had come to a complete standstill now, just staring at the two ex-lovers conversing. The ex was talking much more animatedly than was really necessary, his thin hands waving about erratically as his blonde hair fell over his eyes. The detective was getting more and more wound up by the second, noting the delicate muscle beneath the other man's shirt, the flickering of his round eyes. He looked like an over-excited puppy; a little Labrador desperately wagging its tail in hope of some affection. Sherlock snorted aloud to himself, frightening a passing elderly woman, as he watched the man nod his head ferociously at whatever John was saying to him. The detective could imagine him on all fours, nodding like that to whatever John commanded; unable to function without a set of instructions. I bet he never had his mouth soaped, Sherlock thought grimly. He could feel his face getting hot with temper, and his fists clenched at sides.
Admittedly, John wasn't reciprocating the blonde man's flirtatious advances. In fact, when the other man's hand gestures became a little too enthusiastic, the detective noted John's very discreet step backwards, as if he was vaguely wary of getting accidently hit. So, rationally, Sherlock had no reason to be angry or jealous...but the sheer desperation of the blonde man was just infuriating. And he knew their history, and that awareness of a past life that John had shared with someone else made his blood boil. And when the blonde man reached out to touch the doctor again, Sherlock's feet marched towards them before he'd configured a plan.
The ex saw him first, being turned towards him, but obviously did not see him as of any interest, and immediately moved him eye contact back to John.
"- So I'll be back in town tomorrow.."
"Yes," Sherlock interrupted, making John jump about a foot in the air and stare at him blankly for a second.
"And I expect if you tread carefully enough, you can return those awful shoes and get your money back whilst you're there. God knows you need it."
The blonde man stared at him and then at John; wide eyed and laughing nervously.
"Umm..."
"Sherlock." John began, finally getting over his shock and looking firmly at him, taking a step towards the detective in the hopes that this might remind Sherlock to whom he belonged and, for his own sake, shut him up a bit.
The detective refused to look at him, instead regarding the other man present with enough haughtiness to turn him to dust.
"John, you never told me you had such excellent connections! Next time I want to pay in a check, I'll know exactly who to go to."
"Sherlock, be quiet." John growled, and with colour rising in his face he looked towards Charlie, whose enthusiastic arms were now drooping at his sides. His smile had vanished, and he just looked utterly bewildered. In fact, he looked exactly how John felt.
"Wh-who are you?"
Sherlock glared at the blonde man, his eyes flashing as if he couldn't believe the man had dared to speak to him.
"I'm everything you're not. So why don't you run along back to your scummy little flat, log back into your web chat and wait for someone to return one of your calls. And perhaps if you've got all this spare time on your hands, you might look at getting a job your mother actually approves of, rather than trying to fuck your way into a branch manager position."
There was complete silence. The detective was breathing a little heavily, aware that his little speech was more bitchy than clever, but he couldn't help but feeling incredibly smug as he stared down at the man in front of him, who looked as if he were on the verge of crumbling.
Charlie turned to John, his eyes bright with hurt.
"I'll...I'll see you later, John."
"Wait a second, I'm-"
But the doctor was talking to a turned back, watching his ex-lover walk away hurriedly without looking back, his shoulders slumped. Embarrassment and fury were shooting through John's veins at a worrying rate, and the doctor felt hot and shaky with anger. Turning to Sherlock, still gripping him by his arm, he just stared at his submissive, hoping to find some kind of explanation for his behaviour written on his face.
Sherlock looked at him, his jaw locked in an attempt at an unapologetic expression. He raised his eyebrow, as if to suggest his complete disinterest in whatever the doctor's reaction would be towards his abominable manners. John saw red.
The doctor's grip on Sherlock's arm tightened and he yanked him forward, his other arm curling round the detective's waist and bending him over, holding him tight against his own hip. Releasing Sherlock's arm, his hand came up and smacked the detective squarely on his thighs, repeating the action without pause, his teeth gritted. The sound seemed uncommonly loud, and echoed along the street. Sherlock struggled underneath him, his foot coming up to twist around his own calf and his hands scrabbling at John's ankle. Despite this, the detective made very little noise, seeming incapable of doing anything but gasping and squirming against the doctor. The backs of Sherlock's legs were stinging madly, but it was nothing compared to the heat that was flaring up in his face.
When John finally pulled Sherlock back upright, the detective's hands immediately went behind him and his face was the reddest John had ever seen it. The doctor had no sympathy.
"How DARE you be so insulting."
Sherlock would have folded his arms, but the backs of his legs were smarting so much that he couldn't quite manage it. He looked about him, trying to work out if anyone had seen the incident, his face reddening even more as a woman walking past gave him a sympathetic smile. John growled furiously.
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU."
Sherlock stared at him.
"You will NEVER behave like that again. You will NOT upset people for no reason."
"Well if I'm the cause of such fucking great upset, why don't you go back to shagging him instead?" Sherlock shot angrily, glaring at John with watering eyes.
The doctor felt a little of his anger drain out of him. Breathing deeply, he just watched Sherlock for a second, the bitter tone of the detective's outburst ringing in his ears. Watching Sherlock Holmes struggle with emotions like jealousy was so absurd to watch; the detective had no idea what to do with himself, and ended up being nasty just to receive something close to a normal response.
"Because I don't care about him, I care about you." John said flatly, keeping as much emotion out of his tone as possible. "And regardless of whatever your motives are for speaking to ANYONE the way you just spoke to Charlie, I care enough about you to teach you what's acceptable to say to someone, and what isn't. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Sherlock said grudgingly, adding a quick "Sir", when John gave him a look of warning. There was still an element of unsettled anger about his demeanour; and it was obvious he was waiting for any opportunity to irritate John, just so that he felt like he was fighting back.
"You are in a lot of trouble."
"Don't care."
John looked at him disbelievingly, and took a slight step forward, watching as Sherlock immediately stepped back and put his hands back again to protect any potential onslaught.
"I think you do," the doctor said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. "And I think unless you want me to bend you over and give you a hiding in the middle of the street, you'll drop the attitude."
The doctor watched Sherlock's face clear a little. He silently prayed to whatever deity might be listening that the detective would make the right choice. He would punish Sherlock publically if that's what it took, but he certainly didn't enjoy that kind of humiliation. Smacking him a few times was enough to get his attention – a real punishment would be a completely different kettle of fish.
Eventually, Sherlock bit his lip and looked away, the tension in his body falling to the wayside as he accepted his plight. He was in trouble now, and there was no point making it worse. He'd learnt that the hard way.
"Did I do anything to upset you?" John asked quietly. It was a roundabout way of asking whether he himself had acted inappropriately. Sometimes, when it comes to meeting someone with whom you've shared a relationship, it's difficult to work out the line between friendliness, and falling back on old habits. But Charlie's enthusiasm had made him a little wary, and he was almost certain he hadn't said or done anything that merited Sherlock's reaction.
As the doctor had thought, the detective mumbled a "No, Sir", and went, if at all possible, even redder. He was obviously aware that his jealousy had got the better of him, and now he was going to have to pay for it.
"Right." John said with a sharp nod. "Then listen to me. I want you to walk straight home. I want you to think about what you said, why you said it, and why it was wrong. When you get in, you're going to go straight to my room, and from the second drawer on the left, you're going to pick the implement you think is most fitting for me to use on you. You'll place it on the bed, and then stand in the corner of the room. Then, you'll wait for me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir." Sherlock said, his tone aggrieved. John was putting space between them on purpose, and it was horribly effective in reminding the detective how much he wanted John close by when he did something wrong. As much as he disliked and sometimes fought against discipline, John being there as soon as he misbehaved was a comfort; he knew he was in safe hands. This was distant, and unfamiliar.
John nodded, and just before he turned to leave, pulled Sherlock down towards him gently.
"You're mine and I'm yours," he said quietly. "No-one and nothing is going to change that." And with that, the doctor stepped away and marched down the corridor to attend to the last of his patients, leaving his submissive to enjoy is anxious walk, and wait.