Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. This and the next one were originally intended to be one long piece, but this seemed like a good stopping point. (Especially since my smut scenes can get a little long.) As always, let me know what you think by dropping a comment or a review. My PM is also open for any kinds of messages - requests and prompts included. Cheers.
John woke late the next morning, his left shoulder stiff and aching from the way he'd slept on it. Sitting up in bed, the man ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed at his face. Chancing a glance at the clock, John swore when he saw it was already past eleven. Last night must have taken more out of him than he thought.
Walking down the stairs, John was greeted with the sight of his flatmate stretched out on the couch, his fingers steepled under his chin, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the ceiling above him. "Morning, Sherlock," John greeted, heading straight to the fridge, absentmindedly groping between jars of body parts for the half-dozen eggs no doubt hiding in the back. Like usual, John wasn't gifted with a reply. Pulling the eggs out, he cursed when he saw they'd all been compromised by one of Sherlock's experiments.
Stomping back up the stairs, John peeled off his pajamas, replacing them with casual jeans and his favorite oatmeal jumper. He trudged back downstairs and gruffly pulled his shoes and jacket back on. "Sherlock, I'm going to Tesco's for a few things. Do you need anything?" he asked. John was surprised when Sherlock sat up and looked at him.
"Order takeaway instead. Chinese from the place three blocks away. I'll have dumplings," he said.
John raised an eyebrow. "You want to eat?" he asked.
"Yes. I'm hungry, and I have some questions for you. I'm surprised you slept so late, John. Really, you're normally awake, even after a late night, by nine," Sherlock replied, watching as John fished through their drawer of takeaway menus to find the one he needed. "I'll wait to ask until you've phoned for food."
John nodded and dialed the number, placing their order as quickly as he could. While this particular place was Sherlock's favorite, the employees spoke very broken English, and more often than not, John lacked the patience to deal with them. Soon enough, he was promised a thirty minute delivery time and had hung up, sinking into his chair. He turned his attention to his flatmate when he cleared his throat.
"So, you have questions, yeah? Ask away," John said.
Sherlock studied him for a moment, as if gauging how to phrase his question. John thought that was preposterous, Sherlock never considered phrasing, so why would he this time? "You enjoyed last night," he said after a moment, eyes raking over John's face to take in his immediate reaction.
"Yes," John replied, unfazed. "That wasn't a question though, Sherlock."
"Would you do it again?" Sherlock asked.
John considered for a moment before nodding briefly. "If necessary. Did you get enough information last night?"
Sherlock shook his head. "Nothing really useful. I'm afraid I didn't plan for the initial shock I experienced. Most of last night is fuzzy at best, but a few memories stick out quite vividly."
"I'm curious to what you remember?" John prompted.
"Well, I remember you, John. Your words and actions. Beyond that, I don't remember much. Just that nobody there quite fit the profile for the killer. There were a few petite women, but that's not enough to pinpoint anyone. I need to go back and see them all again, maybe see if any of them have that brand," Sherlock said, eyes narrowing as he spoke. "It's discontenting not knowing."
"I understand that," John said. "Anything else?"
"Just that your friend touched me. I didn't like it, and you didn't either. I thought you were going to kill him," Sherlock murmured.
John chuckled. "I'm surprised that he was the only one to touch you, actually. Usually first timers have their claims challenged."
"Really?" Sherlock asked, sliding forward to balance on the edge of the couch.
"Oh yes. The first time I took Janette there, I had three other guys pawing at her within the first hour we were there. They backed off when I made my claim crystal clear," John replied.
"How did you do that? I'm assuming a verbal warning wasn't enough?" Sherlock asked.
John smiled and winked. "A bit of public play," he replied.
Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. "Will people question your claim on me? If they do, what do we do?" he asked.
John swallowed thickly. He'd never really considered it, especially with the cuffs. After the conversation between him and Charlie last night, John realized he'd been quite the idiot. Of course people would test his bond with Sherlock, and he would be damned if he came off as anything less than Sherlock's partner.
"Well," John offered after a moment of silence, "that all depends on what you're comfortable with."
"I think, it depends entirely on the situation," Sherlock said. "There might be a situation where you'll have to scene with me, isn't there?"
Slowly, John nodded. "We should discuss some limits before we go tonight. Obviously you have those lists you did for me this last week, but you've still not tried any of them," he said.
"I agree," Sherlock said, standing from the couch. "But first, lunch. When we're finished eating, I want to see every item in your fetish bag. You're going to explain them to me in great detail,"
Just then, the buzzer went off, announcing the arrival of their lunch. John grumbled as he fished his wallet from his back pocket, pulling out enough notes to cover the cost of their food and a tip before trudging down the stairs. Knowing what was going to happen after lunch didn't help John's patience. Neither did delivery drivers that didn't speak English.
After lunch, John packed away the leftovers before turning to face his flatmate. "Now then," he started, "how do you want to do this?"
"Why don't you go get your bag and we'll talk through things here. The coffee table will hold everything, will it not?" Sherlock asked.
"It should. Right. I'll be right back. Sit on the couch and pull the table close enough so you can reach," John said, disappearing up the stairs. His fetish bag was resting innocuously beside the foot of his bed. With a deep breath, John shouldered it and returned downstairs, sitting next to Sherlock on the couch. He placed the bag on the floor by his feet and unzipped it.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready, John," Sherlock replied.
John's jaw clenched as he reached into the bag. He pulled out his lengths of rope first, black and red bundles stacked on top of each other. Wordlessly, he handed them to Sherlock, gauging his response the best he could.
"Do you do much with rope?" he asked, stroking two fingers down the length of red rope.
John shrugged. "Depends on my partner. I like it, but if they don't, the rope stays in the bag," he replied.
"Why do you like it?" Sherlock asked.
John whistled low through his teeth. "I like it because it can be really beautiful. And it's strong, too," he said.
"Beautiful?" Sherlock asked. "How?"
John turned to look hard at his flatmate. "Give me your arm, Sherlock. I'll show you," he murmured, resting a hand over the length of rope.
Sherlock swallowed audibly but did as John asked, rolling the sleeves of his button down up to his elbows. John unwrapped his rope and started looping it around Sherlock's' arm, tying knot after knot. Sherlock held as still as he could, watching as John's hands worked their magic, both sturdy and gentle as they tied him. A few minutes passed before John finished, leaving a rope gauntlet on his flatmate's fore arm.
"That's not for much but decoration. But I like how rope contrasts with skin. It can enhance beauty and ground a submissive," John commented, tying the last of the rope in a small bow. He watched as Sherlock moved his arm this way and that, taking time to see how well he could move.
"I see why you like it, although, I prefer the black to this," Sherlock commented, flexing his hand.
John nodded. "You're right. I bet purple would suit you, too," he said, reaching back into the bag. He dug around for a few minutes before pulling out a black ball gag.
Sherlock took it and leaned close to investigate. "It's a few years old, but not used very often. You don't care for gags very much," he murmured.
"I don't," John agreed.
"Why is that?" Sherlock asked.
John smiled. "I like to hear the sounds my partner makes. Sometimes it's fun to see how loud I can get them, or to count how many different noises they make. But, sometimes silence is necessary. That's normally when I use it," he said. If John looked closely, he would have noticed the faint blush on Sherlock's cheeks, but he was rooting through his bag again. "This is one of my favorites," he said, pulling out the larger of his floggers. Handing it to Sherlock, John couldn't help but smile.
Sherlock quickly set the gag down before carefully taking John's flogger in his hands. The leather was buttery, definitely high quality, and the weight of it felt very comfortable in his hands. Turning it, he spread the falls out over his thigh, doing all he could not to shiver.
"It's well balanced. Quite stingy, and definitely a good time," John commented.
"Stingy?" Sherlock asked, looking at John once more.
"Oh yes. There's a difference in the type of pain. Sting and thud. Floggers are usually somewhere in the middle," he replied.
"Oh. That makes sense," Sherlock commented.
"Um, I could show you, er, if you wanted," John offered.
Sherlock froze. John wanted to hit him, multiple times. To show him the difference in case they needed to play publicly, so he'd be prepared. Why did that excite him? "That would be acceptable. What position should I be in?" he asked.
"Just as you are. Give me your arm," John said, holding out his right hand.
Sherlock turned on the couch and placed his right arm in John's open hand.
"Relax for me, Sherlock. I'm not going to hurt you much," John murmured, rubbing small circles into his wrist. He watched as Sherlock visibly relaxed, his breath coming in steady and slow. "Okay, this is an example of stingy pain," he explained, bringing his left palm down sharply on Sherlock's exposed forearm.
Sherlock's eyes widened and snapped to the skin that John had slapped. He licked his lips and came to the conclusion that he didn't hate it. It hurt, but it wasn't intolerable. If one paid attention to the way Sherlock's breath hitched, they would even say he enjoyed it. But John wasn't paying attention.
"This is more of a thud," he commented, bringing his hand down again, fingers wrapped into a fist.
Sherlock bit his lip, attempting to hold back the small moan threatening to spill from his throat. After a shaky breath, he looked up and locked his gaze with John's. "That's very informative. Thank you, John," he said.
John smirked at him. "You liked that, didn't you?"
"I believe I did. Perhaps you should do it again just to check," Sherlock replied.
John chuckled and shoved his flatmate's arm gently. "Maybe later. Right now I still have a few things to show you. It's good to know you respond well to either though," he said, pulling the other flogger out alongside the paddle.
Sherlock passed over the second flogger to focus on the paddle. It was surprisingly heavy in his hands. The head was a rectangle with rounded edges, and Sherlock imagined that it would smart a fair amount should he ever be smacked by it. "What do you use this for?" he asked.
"Punishment spankings, mostly," John replied. "Nobody quite likes that one for fun play. Or at least, I haven't met anyone that likes it yet."
"There are two different kinds of spankings?" Sherlock asked.
John nodded. "Oh yes. If you're ever in a BDSM relationship, you'll learn the difference very quickly," he replied.
"Explain," Sherlock demanded.
John's eyebrows knitted together. "Well, in a punishment spanking, usually the dominant is attempting to drive a message home. While some form of cuddling usually happens after, it's not meant for the submissive's pleasure. The other kind is definitely for pleasure. Some say that mixing pain and pleasure in the brain lead to the most explosive orgasms," he said.
Sherlock nodded. "I certainly hope you never have to punish me."
John stared at Sherlock for a moment, shocked still by his comment. What on earth had Sherlock meant by that? Thoroughly confused, John broke his gaze to pull out the rest of his gear; his riding crop, a few silk scarves, the black leather wrist cuffs, and a pair of noise cancelling headphones. "I think these speak for themselves," John said, gesturing to the spread.
Sherlock nodded and reached first for the scarves, then the headphones. "I'm a bit confused by these," he admitted. "How are headphones fetish gear?"
John smiled softly, the corners of his mouth barely turning up. "Maybe I'll show you someday," he murmured, reaching for the rope still knotted around Sherlock's forearm. "But for now, let's get you unwrapped. Do you still want time alone with my toys?"
"Please, John. We're going back to Leather tonight, aren't we?" Sherlock asked.
"If you're up to it, yes. From what Lestrade has told us, the killer is a regular, and since it's a Saturday night, it's perfect. She'll definitely be there, no doubt staking out her next victim," John replied, rubbing circles into his flatmate's skin as it appeared.
"Shall I take everything to my room?" Sherlock asked.
John shook his head. "I still have to go to Tesco's and do the shopping. I'll be gone an hour or two. If you need anything, text me a list, but please have everything cleaned up by five," he said.
Sherlock nodded and rose from the couch once his arm was free. Gingerly, he picked up his violin and bow, and within five minutes, John had wrapped up his rope and was stepping out of their flat. Closing his eyes, Sherlock let his fingers ghost over the strings, pulling a soft melody from the instrument. John had given him quite a lot to think about, and he was going to do his best to get his Mind Palace in order for the night ahead of them. There was a killer on the loose, and he was going to find her.