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The rays of the midday sun felt pleasantly warm on John's skin as they chased away the bite of the cold nip in the air. He sat on the park bench under a huge tree, dappled sunlight falling on his face as he looked out at the beehive-like activities all around him. People seemed to have come out in hordes to enjoy the rare pleasure of a cloudless sky and a sunny day.
He watched with a contented smile on his face—here two mothers with strollers taking their babies out for a walk, there a group of five toddlers playing with a big red ball; vendors were selling street food and ice-creams and coffees; grandparents with their charges sedately feeding ducks in the nearby pond.
Funny how beautiful the whole world looks when your mind is happy.
He had woken up from a dreamless and refreshed sleep feeling eager and optimistic after a long time. Finding Sherlock's bedroom door still closed and feeling too restless with energy to stay put, he decided to go for a brisk walk.
He sat back on the bench and did what Sherlock had instructed him to do. Try to figure out how much Sherlock meant to him. But he was finding it hard to focus. Oh no, not in thinking about Sherlock, in fact Sherlock was all he could think about. But his mind was swimming at the revelations of last night. I am not a lonely, love-sick man imagining things. This is not pitiful, unrequited pinning. It is reciprocated! Sherlock feels emotions for me too! What had seemed like a hopeless case of one-directional longing had morphed into the tangible possibility of a real relationship. With Sherlock fucking Holmes!
All I need to do is decide how I want to submit to him, what my limits and safe-words are and I am sure we can negotiate terms which would be acceptable to both of us. He rubbed his hands together and pursed his lips, his thoughts jumping from one possibility to the next. Spanking, playing rough, maybe…I am small compared to him. Wonder what it would feel like? That website had a good sample contract. I should get busy with drafting mine. It will take time to think through what my limits would be. What did they call it again? Oh yeah…. Hard limits and soft limits. Bloody hell, it will be a different experience. Fuck!
A distinctive figure wearing a long, black coat striding purposefully towards him from the park gates caught his eye and interrupted his thoughts. His heart seemed to literally skip a beat as he watched Sherlock walk up towards him, hands in his coat pockets. John absently wondered how he found him this time…. A distinctive footprint, an unravelled thread from my jumper, scent…..fuck, it could be crystal balls or tarot cards, because so much of what Sherlock did seemed like magic anyways!
"Coffee?" Sherlock asked with a smile.
John grinned back, "Yes, please."
He sat back and watched as Sherlock went to the coffee stall and put in his order. He noticed both women and men sneaking second looks with widened eyes at Sherlock as they walked past. Even here out in the open in a mundane place like a public park, Sherlock stood like a monarch who owned the place.
He drank in the elegant figure, the flawless posture, the curls blowing gently in the mild breeze, the lips as they moved, the hands holding out the money. It shook him, the thought that finally it was possible….. those lips, I might feel them on mine, those fingers might touch me in intimate places….my dick, between my legs. I might get to hear that remarkable voice when it is husky with passion…fucking hell, I want to go and beg for it right now.
Sherlock walked back holding two cups of steaming hot coffee and handed one over to John as he sat down. He sat back, legs outstretched and casually crossed. They sat companionably for a few minutes in silence and in communion.
It was some time before John spoke, "I have been thinking about what you said."
Sherlock glanced at him, eyes crinkled with affection, "I know."
"Why didn't you say anything before now?"
Sherlock looked ahead quietly as he seemed to muse on his reply.
"At first it was the thought that there will be time. You were busy chasing prospective mates. And after a few weeks with me, it seemed that only my brilliance and the excitement of the Work were what enticed you. On a personal level you found me less than ideal—messy, arrogant, volatile moods, unacceptable social behaviours."
John sat there listening, none of what Sherlock was saying was untrue, certainly he had beat himself up about it the past few months. It did not make it sound any less shameful to have it aired aloud.
Sherlock waved a hand around, "And after I returned there was Mary….."
John snorted, "Yeah….Mary." He turned towards Sherlock with deliberate emphasis and met his eyes steadily. "I would have left her for you, Sherlock. If you had given me any indication, I think I would have left her and come to you."
Sherlock looked back intently and said softly, "No you wouldn't have. You are loyal to a fault. It is both your biggest weakness and your greatest strength, John." He smiled gently at John who was staring at him with widened eyes. "You would have wanted to come back to me, desperately so. Because the essence of you belongs to me. But you wouldn't have. You would have been torn apart, trying to rationalize your loyalty to your marriage and your secret longing for me, for life with me."
Sherlock shrugged, "I couldn't do that to you."
John looked gutted as he tried to think this over and stared blankly ahead. They sat quietly lost in their thoughts.
It was several moments later that John spoke, "I regret so many of my choices. Things I wish I had done differently." He glanced briefly at Sherlock, "I have had a lot of time to think the past few months."
"I know."
"You have been saving me me since the day I met you. You saved me from depression, from a worthless life, from Moriarty's snipers, from Magnussen's threats, from loneliness after Mary and I separated. I have never acknowledged it. Thank you, Sherlock."
"A debt that you've repaid manifold with your friendship, your loyalty and your love." Sherlock's smile was warm, pleased as he whispered, "You're welcome, John."
John's eyes misted over even as he smiled back and sighed with happiness.
After a while he shook his head, "You know, I have tried to think about what you asked me to. About what you mean to me. I feel like you've invaded every corner of my head since I first met you….. I stopped thinking after a while. It was…frightening."
Sherlock eyes flicked over John's face with a peculiar intensity, "I know."
John sat absently cradling his coffee cup, running his finger over the rim, his eyes glassy, fidgeting as he tried to think about what he had to say.
Finally he took a deep breath, "So what happens now? You hurt me and I 'submit' to you?"
Sherlock's laugh began as a soft chuckle and then quickly morphed into a full belly, uninhibited guffaw. His hand came up to hold in his tummy as his shoulders shook. The kids playing with the red ball stopped and stared as they heard that deep baritone tremble with laughter.
"What?" John stared at him, lips stretched into a wide smile. "What's so funny?"
"Sorry, sorry," Sherlock said wiping a tear from one eye. He took a sip of his coffee as he waited to calm down, though the smile remained on his face.
He shook his head wryly, "John, I'm sorry."
"What? Did I get it wrong?" John asked bemused.
Sherlock's eyes slowly became serious as he stared at John. "Yes, John. As always, you see but do not observe. You hear, but you do not listen. You've got it all backwards."
John's face pinched into a tight grimace, "What do you mean?"
Sherlock waved a hand, "We're not animals in the jungle, John. I don't have to beat you into submission. Submission… happens. Spontaneously. When you're ready to let go of who you are and hand yourself over to someone else. When you kneel without the slightest suggestion of an ego, without the barest trace of self-preservation. And when a person submits with true intent, it is only then that a true Dominant is born."
John frowned as he mulled over this.
"You make it sound almost mystical."
Sherlock whispered softly, "Oh yes, John, it is. True submission is sublime in its beauty. You will see when you are ready."
"When will I be ready, Sherlock?" John asked his frown deepening. Bloody hell, I thought we were ready, we were going to shag soon. My dick has been getting hard every few minutes this morning. What is it that he is saying exactly? What the fuck does he mean?
Sherlock expression was serene, patient as he looked at John.
"You will know when you are, John. And I will wait for it," he murmured.
John waited for Sherlock by the elevator having pressed the button already. Flinging a last minute riposte to Lestrade who stood by his door in Scotland Yard rolling his eyes, Sherlock walked up to wait with John.
There had been no time to think of anything or indeed talk for two days. Back to back cases had kept them busy at Bart's lab, the Yard and out on the field chasing leads and talking to the homeless network. The last of the paperwork was finally complete and the exhausted duo- detective and blogger were on their way home after almost two days without sleep.
One question had been gnawing away at John and he decided that he needed to know, he would be unable to rest or sleep without knowing. He decided to ask as they waited.
"What about Victor? And Peter? And …..others if there are any?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he flicked his gaze over John's face. He was silent as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. They got in and it was only once the doors closed that he answered, his voice deep, sombre.
"If you are asking if I will still maintain my friendship, the answer is yes. I do not forget old friends just because I have made new ones. If you are asking whether any contemporaneous intimacies will continue, I'll make a decision at the appropriate time."
John thought about this as they walked out of the elevator, down the lobby of the huge building. Sunlight bathed them as they walked out of the glass doors and even as Sherlock looked around for a taxi his mobile phone pinged. He stood still on the pavement as he took it out and frowned down at what he read.
"Who is it?" John asked.
Still frowning, Sherlock replied, "Mycroft." His busy eyes looked around and settled on a sleek, unmarked black car which was sliding towards them.
Opening the door, he said, "Get in. I'll drop you off at Baker Street. I have to see Mycroft."
John settled in and asked as the car moved, "Case?"
"Yes," Sherlock said briefly, his fingers flying over the phone, downloading page after page of data that his rapid-fire eyes absorbed. John watched him quietly. It was a several minutes before Sherlock put the phone aside with a huff.
"I need to leave for Geneva tonight. Money laundering case. Big money, prominent people," he explained briefly.
John felt a sinking sensation at the thought of Sherlock being away, just when we are on the verge of….
"How long will you be away?"
Sherlock sighed and rested his head back, closing his eyes, "Three, maybe four days at the most."
John let him rest as he gazed unseeingly out of the window. Four days without him.
John settled back on his chair, filled to the brim with Kung Pao Chicken and fried rice, sipping contentedly at his second beer. He watched as Sherlock seated himself opposite him, hands and mind busy with whatever he was doing on his laptop, his focus absolute.
He had stumbled into 221B, bone tired and retired to his room and passed out. Hours later when he woke up, Sherlock was up and about, packing and exchanging messages with Mycroft about the case that had popped up.
Sherlock was leaving in a few minutes, Mycroft's car would take him to the airport.
Sherlock stood up abruptly to get some papers lying on the table. Rummaging through them, he seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated. He paused and then growled, running both his hands back and forth through his long hair in a frustrated gesture.
Perhaps to divert his mind, perhaps because he wanted to show Sherlock he was serious about the matters they had been discussing, John decided to speak out.
He cleared his throat and looking down at his beer, he said, "I've read about it."
Sherlock glanced at him briefly before going back to the papers.
"About what?"
"I've read blogs and websites which write about this sort of stuff. About the trust and honesty that goes into a Dom-Sub relationship. About the need for honest communication. About how beautiful it can be. When a Submissive hands over complete control to a Dominant, with a trust that he will be looked after."
Sherlock turned with the papers still in his hand, his gaze narrowed as he stared intently at John.
John continued, "I just think….. maybe I have got it wrong, but handing over that degree of control, physically kneeling…. doesn't that….. I don't know, doesn't that…." He shrugged his shoulders as he struggled with the right words.
Sherlock stood patiently looking at him, silent.
John took a deep breath. "Isn't it emasculating in some way? I mean I understand the concept between a man and a woman….and I do want to do it…. But I've only ever… with women, I mean…" he broke off weakly.
Sherlock put the papers down on the table with deliberation and frowned silently. He turned towards John and put his hands in his trouser pockets as he slowly walked up to his chair and took a seat. His hands came up almost subconsciously to join just in front of his lips.
John looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes and asked, "Have I got it right?"
Sherlock sighed and sat back, bringing his hands down to the arm rests.
"Good, John! Really good! In a span of a few seconds you've used all the right buzz words. Trust, honesty, control."
John looked at him, the beginnings of a hopeful smile on his face, "Oh yeah?"
"Congratulations. I mean you missed almost everything of importance….."
John rolled his eyes, his voice was irritated as he said, "All right then, tell me." He took a deep breath, "Sherlock, I'm asking because you told me to ask you when I have doubts."
Sherlock shook his head, "I'm sorry, John."
They sat silently looking at each other for some time. And then as though coming to a decision, Sherlock leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, his expression earnest.
"John, think about it. Really think about it. Not what the books or other people or the internet tell you." he began softly. "Control is an illusion. Giving up of control is an illusion. Having any kind of control over any outcome is an illusion. Honesty and truth. Both abstract constructs born in unthinking minds. The absolute truth is inviolable. To perceive it, comprehend it, an absolutely objective view is required. People want relative truth, the one that does not hurt. And trust…." He gave a short derisive laugh, "Trust is based on a biased opinion of the mind. It morphs and changes depending on actions and transactions with the other, depending upon the vagaries of the mind. Again a relative concept."
John watched in confusion as Sherlock stood up and neared him.
"I don't understand," he said looking up as Sherlock loomed before him.
Sherlock sighed, "You will. Meanwhile try not to base your thoughts on what you read or see. They are mainly the accounts of those who enter this as a means for titillation, to get off. That is not submission, John. That is role-play."
He watched John with eyes narrowed in concentration for a few moments. Finally he murmured softly, "Stand up."
John's eyes widened at the brisk order and he stood up. Sherlock stepped closer.
Looking down at John, he said, "As for emasculation. John, the truth is that submission requires a tremendous amount of courage. And it has nothing to do with gender. It is a mental act of surrendering yourself. The physical act is merely an expression of the mental one. If we are talking about just the physical body, you're already submitted to me."
The faint smell of Sherlock's after-shave was intoxicating as it wafted into John's nose. He felt pinned by eyes that shone like jewels in the amber light of 221B, his gaze flicked from the intensity of Sherlock's eyes to his moist full lips.
Sherlock lowered his head with deliberation till their faces were mere inches apart, his voice lowered to a sensual deep whisper, "If I wanted to, I could take you right now. Bend you over, pull down your pants and violate you in the basest way possible." He tilted his head and brought his lips close to John's ears until it felt like the sound waves were directly vibrating through the molecules of John's body. "Fuck you…." The word rolled out of Sherlock's mouth at a glacial pace and he ended it with a deliberate "K" at the end.
John shivered, his heart pounding, his dick so hard it was threatening to tear through his jeans.
"And you would beg me for it."
John flushed with a moment of sudden insight, as Sherlock's words made him feel as though he was owned for the first time. His eyes were hungry, pleading as his body swayed towards Sherlock. Please, please, please…. The mantra repeated in his head…. Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock….
Sherlock straightened up and watched as John licked his lips nervously, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's lips, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"There was a time when it would have been enough."
John raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's, startled.
"Now though, I want all of you, everything that you are. All or nothing. That is certainly your choice." Sherlock quirked an eyebrow challengingly, his head dipped to one side appraisingly.
They stared at each other, gazed locked, breathing heavily for a while.
"I'll be ready, Sherlock," John promised, swallowing around his suddenly dry mouth.
Sherlock smiled and bent down. Soft lips brushed against John's temple, a kiss so light it should have barely registered with the touch receptors. Instead the sensation was so intense, John felt like he had been seared with a red-hot iron, branded permanently. He gasped loudly unable to swallow the sound in time.
Sherlock moved away pleased, "We'll see."
It was way past midnight and Sherlock had been gone for hours.
John had brought himself off twice already. Once standing by the door within minutes of Sherlock leaving, knees trembling with desire, desperately sniffing at the faint whiffs of Sherlock's smell and one hand caressing his own temple where Sherlock's lips had touched him. The second time on his own bed after having watched videos of spanking and discipline and rough anal sex, his mouse frantically clicking on GIF after GIF, video after video. His hand was a blur on his cock, his hips rose and dropped with abandoned, loud grunts and moans escaped him in the silence of the empty flat, as his mind helplessly conjured up the fantasy that Sherlock had spun with a few choice words….
If I wanted to, I could take you right now. Bend you over, pull down your pants and violate you in the basest way possible. Fuck you… And you would beg me for it…
FUCKING hell, he wanted to scream as he pulsed again and again into his hand, squeezing out every last drop, panting.
Finally sated and tidied up, he sat on the bed in front of a blank A4 paper and thought deeply. He had three days to formulate his terms, keep it simple Watson, bloody hell, I just know when he gets back he is going to take me. His lips, Oh sweet Jesus… those lips, dear God that voice…. I swear if he had talked for a couple of more minutes I would have come in my pants, untouched.
He frowned, biting his lips in concentration and wrote carefully, "DRAFT CONTRACT- Dom-Sub Relationship terms between Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson"
There, that had a nice official ring to it, he thought satisfied. He will know I have thought about it, considered it carefully, that I am serious and so fucking READY.
Putting the paper aside, he lay down on the bed and stretched contentedly. Now all he had to do was think about what to put in there.