I should have just called this story: All Of My Fetishes In Under 4,000 Words.

Sherlock tried his best to hide the marks on his neck, but there was only so many times you could wear a scarf indoors because you 'forgot to take it off' before it becomes suspicious. He'd observed the marks in the mirror; his neck was just riddled with teeth marks, bruises, hickeys and deep punctures where Moriarty had wanted to make him bleed.

He hissed in pain as he ran a finger over a deep puncture, estimating that each mark would take twelve to eighteen days to fully disappear, which means either he explained what happened to John or he wore a scarf inside for eighteen days.

It wasn't just the marks on his neck that gave him pain, there were deep scratches covering his chest and thighs. It hurt to bend down or even put a shirt on over the sore skin. He didn't exactly feel regret for his sexual advance towards Moriarty, he knew it was all part of the game and he certainly didn't want to be on the losing side. He didn't enjoy the sex.

Did he?

Well it was pleasurable, of course, because sex is pleasurable when consented. That doesn't mean he enjoyed it. Or maybe, just perhaps, he did. He had agreed that Moriarty now owned him, almost like a pet – he was Moriarty's pet; he just needed to understand if he regretted that decision.

"Sherlock, you've been in there a long time." John's voice was muffled by the door, "is everything all right?"

"Fine – everything's fine." Sherlock replied,

"Ok, well, I'm going out to do some shopping, anything specific you want?"

Sherlock was about to dismiss him but then a thought came to mind, "cosmetic foundation."

John paused, "what?"

"That...that paste some women cover their face with."

"Yes, yes, I do know what it is, I meant why."

"It's for an experiment."

"I'll say no more." John sighed and was gone.

Sherlock went back to inspecting the marks before leaving the bathroom warily in case John had come back without him knowing. He looked down at his pyjamas and sighed, was there really any point in getting dressed today? He wasn't going anywhere, well, not that he knew of. Perhaps when John comes back, he would remind Sherlock that he needed to be somewhere today.

Dull.

Sherlock flopped down on the couch and memories flooded his mind from yesterday, the way Moriarty's hands felt over him, how good his nails felt against his skin; his lips hovering over his own, murmuring dirty things.

That man got to Sherlock, caused him so much frustration. Sherlock sat up again and looked over at the clock, when was John going to get back? He was bored already and the man had only been gone for ten minutes.

Sherlock stood again and walked over to the window, looking down at the common public who passed with interest. The door to the flat opened and Sherlock frowned, "that was quick." He commented turning around. He paused, not seeing John but seeing Moriarty standing in the doorway.

"Not who you expected? I'm hurt." Moriarty put a hand over his chest and smirked,

"How did you get in here?" Sherlock asked suddenly aware he was only in a pair of pyjamas and his dressing gown.

"Lock picking is one of my specialities, didn't you know?" Moriarty began walking towards Sherlock, "Among other things, of course." He chuckled.

Sherlock straightened his posture as his nemesis came closer to him. When Moriarty was close enough, his hand reached for Sherlock's neck and his fingers danced over the marks, his smirk growing wider, "these have come out rather nicely, wouldn't you agree?"

"It's rather difficult to cover them." Sherlock muttered looking back out of the window.

"Good." Moriarty purred and grasped the back of Sherlock's neck, pulling him down for a rough kiss. Sherlock returned with just as much force as Moriarty but suddenly pulled back,

"Not here, John will be back soon."

"I want him to see that you're mine, Sherlock." Moriarty had a warning tone to his voice as he slipped his hands around Sherlock to grope his arse.

"I don't."

"But you want me to fuck you, don't you?"

Sherlock was silent and Moriarty smirked, pulling Sherlock into another kiss. Moriarty's hands pushed Sherlock's silk dressing gown off his body and Sherlock began to push Moriarty back, moving their heated bodies into the kitchen through to his bedroom, stripping articles of clothing off and throwing them in random places throughout the flat until they were both only in trousers.

Once they reached the bedroom, Moriarty slammed Sherlock's body up against the door and enjoyed the gasp of pain from the taller man; he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth. He wanted to explore every part of Sherlock with his tongue; oh he wanted to do such naughty things with him.

Moriarty groaned when Sherlock grinded their hips together. Taking hold of Sherlock's arms, Jim traced a tongue down Sherlock's neck, circling a few of the raw teeth marks and then pushing him down onto the bed. He climbed on top of him and gave a sinister smile, "I thought we could try something new." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade.

Sherlock's eyes went wide and he shook his head, "no, absolutely not."

"Come on, pet." Moriarty whispered against Sherlock's ear, opening the blade and rubbing the blunt end against the skin on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock's breath hitched and Moriarty smiled against his lips, turning the blade over and letting it cut a thin line down from Sherlock's rib to his hip, smearing the blood with his thumb as he traced the wound.

Sherlock moaned in pleasure and pain as the blade cut into him again, this time deeper and Moriarty chuckled, again running a thumb over the bleeding wound. They kissed fiercely as three more gashes were added to Sherlock's pale chest, moaning and hissing between them as they grinded against each other.

Suddenly they heard the front door open and Sherlock sat up on his elbows, lust obvious in his eyes, "John's back." He said, breathless.

"Then we'll have to be quiet if we don't want to get caught." Moriarty chuckled and slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of Sherlock's pyjama trousers. Sherlock went to speak but Moriarty silence him with another kiss, nipping at his lips playfully.

"Sherlock, I got your...stuff." John called from outside the door. Sherlock pulled Moriarty's head up by his hair, the man gave him a smirk.

"Just-" Sherlock batted Moriarty's hand away from the front of his pyjama trousers, "just leave it in the kitchen I'll get it la-ter!" Sherlock's pitch went high when Moriarty began nibbling on the skin on his neck.

"Uh...Sure," John said, "is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine." Sherlock called back, biting back a moan when that cold metal pierced his skin again.

"Ok..." John sounded unsure but Sherlock just wished he would leave. Thankfully, he heard the footsteps disappearing, but suddenly he felt a warm heat around his cock, when he looked down, he saw Moriarty's bloodied lips sucking on him. Sherlock's head fell back against the pillows as he moaned quietly.

Moriarty began to hum as he sucked and Sherlock bit his hand to stop himself from crying out, that warm, moist heat around him felt divine and perfect. Then it was gone and Moriarty was smiling devilishly at him, "I want you on your front."

Sherlock's eyes were full of want as he turned over and Jim grasped him harshly by the hips, grinding himself against Sherlock's rear. "Oh you're so fucking beautiful, Sherly." Moriarty groaned stroking his fingers down Sherlock's back gently, the detective let out a desperate growl when Jim smacked his arse cheeks, leaving a fierce red hand print on the smooth, pale skin.

Jim smirked as he looked down at his hand print, releasing his erection from his trousers. He palmed himself and sighed gently, breathing in the smell of sex, how perfect it was. Picking up the switchblade again, he scraped it slowly down Sherlock's spine as he slid one slicked finger inside the detective as he inhaled sharply at the bite of the blade on his skin. The way he could feel the metal cutting across his skin was oddly arousing, and the way his nemesis ran his finger over the tender wound made Sherlock just want it more. He looked down at the sheets and saw how his blood smeared artistically over them then almost yelped when he felt Jim stroke his fingers over his prostate,

He must have added another while I was distracted, Sherlock thought. He fisted the sheets beneath him when he felt the blunt head of Moriarty's cock against him. Slowly, the other man slipped in, leaning down to run his tongue over Sherlock's neck and run his fingers lightly over the bloodied slices on his chest. Sherlock tried not to cry out when Jim was all the way in, his elbows quivered underneath his weight so he lowered his head into the pillows, quietening his moans when Moriarty began thrusting violently hard.

Moriarty pinched and gripped his hips hard enough to cause severe bruising, his thrusting becoming so vicious it began to hurt, but in such a good way that Sherlock had to bite the pillow to silence himself.

"You're tight today." Moriarty commented, a smirk playing on his lips. His hand grazed against the soft skin of Sherlock's back and his nails reddened the flesh as he toyed with the fresh cut, he leaned down and licked at the sore cut, lapping up the blood that was leaking from the wound.

Sherlock panted as Jim lifted his head up by his thick curls, "I want to hear you." He purred into Sherlock's ear, his thrusts quickening.

"J-John will-"

"I don't care, you are my pet; you are mine." Moriarty bit deeply into an unharmed section of Sherlock's neck and heard him moan loudly through gritted teeth. "You moan like a whore and I love it."

Moriarty leaned back and smacked Sherlock's arse again, enjoying the loud sound skin on skin made in the quiet room. The detective cried out at the contact and whimpered when Jim did it again and again and again until his flesh was red raw and already bruising.

The criminal knew he was reaching climax and could feel Sherlock beginning to tense also, but Jim knew he could be the first to come, he could feel it and he gripped Sherlock's shoulders, sinking his nails into the flesh there and thrust one last time before he spilled himself inside of Sherlock. Quickly, he reached around Sherlock with one hand and fisted the detective's cock roughly, hearing him moan loudly as he came over the blood smeared bed sheets.

Moriarty knew John heard them, Sherlock was loud and that was what turned Moriarty on the most. He pulled out and licked the wound on Sherlock's back again, savouring the taste of blood in his mouth, Sherlock's blood.

Sherlock rolled onto his back and panted heavily, blood smeared over his chest. Jim grinned and kissed Sherlock roughly on the mouth, growling when Sherlock bit at his lips. "Next time, I want you to fuck me."

"Deal." Sherlock whispered. There was a knock at the door and Jim smiled widely.

"Um, Sherlock, is...is everything ok in there?" John asked hesitantly. He obviously felt awkward asking, knowing that something was going on.

"Just fine, John." Sherlock called back, his voice hoarse from the loud moaning. He laid a hand over his forehead and let out a tired breath.

"All right..." John obviously hesitated before leaving. Sherlock looked down at himself as Jim tucked himself back into his boxers and trousers.

"Pet, half of my clothes are in the kitchen." He chuckled and Sherlock's eyes went wide, he sat up quickly but regretted it as a pain shot up his back. Moriarty had been very rough.

Jim chuckled again and opened the bedroom door before Sherlock could stop him. He heard Jim stumble over a shoe and giggle loudly. Sherlock pulled up his boxers and pyjama trousers, ignoring the icky feeling of Jim's cum inside him. He darted out into the hallway to see Jim buttoning his shirt up and John standing in the living room with a more than shocked expression plastered on his face. His eyes travelled to Sherlock's then his neck, chest then hips and his mouth dropped almost comically.

Moriarty looked between the two and pulled on his blazer and smiled at Sherlock. He whipped out his tie from his blazer pocket and wrapped it around Sherlock's body, pulling him in for a kiss. Sherlock didn't respond and Jim frowned but then smiled, groping his arse, "I'll be back for round two, gorgeous." He winked and walked past John, letting the front door slam behind him.

There was a silence in the room as John tried to find the right words, he stared at Sherlock's chest again and then back at his neck. "What. What the hell was that."

Sherlock didn't say anything and turned around, heading straight for the bathroom. John was going to rip his head off and scream at him but right now, he needed to clean himself; the cuts were beginning to sting.

Before he entered the bathroom, he saw Moriarty's switchblade on his bed and felt a smile twitch at his lips before shutting the bathroom door behind him.