So sorry for the wait for this one. I'm nearing the end of my semester at school and my professors believe it's a perfectly practical thing to heap homework upon us. I'm unsure when the next part will be published, seeing as I'm posting as I finish each part. Please bear with me, and hopefully, we'll have another installment by Friday. Possibly sooner if everything lines up. As always, please let me know what you all think.

After arriving back from Tesco's, John was pleased to find that most of his toys were put away, and Sherlock was showered and waiting for him in his pants and a shirt. They worked together to sort through the shopping and prepare a simple dinner, eating in silence before washing up and dressing for their night out. Once again, John followed Sherlock to his room, taking great care to pick out his outfit before he disappeared up the stairs to his room to dress himself. Once he's dressed, John returned to their sitting room, picked up Sherlock's violin, and handed it to him, a silent plea for him to play.

Sherlock started with something slow and easy, the notes curled around John like his favorite blanket. They didn't look at each other while Sherlock played, they didn't have to, both involved in the music and each other. After the first piece is finished, the music shifted to a melody Sherlock wrote on the spot, pulling an appreciative hum from John. He closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips. If you asked him, John would have sworn he saw colors bursting, mostly warm oranges and earthy browns, across the backs of his lids.

It was nearly nine when Sherlock finally stopped playing; setting down his violin and taking care to balance the bow behind it. They donned shoes and jackets before John sat by the coffee table, staring at his fetish bag. "We should bring some things, just in case," he said. "Why don't you come here and help me choose?"

Sherlock nodded and sat beside him and watched as John pulled the bag closer. "I think I'd be ok with the rope, flogger, and riding crop. It we have to scene and I become uncomfortable, I can withstand those," he said.

John rearranged the toys so that those he could use were on top. "Ok. I'll bring everything though, just in case," he said, pulling out the now familiar cuffs and dogtags. "Will you wear my cuffs and tags again tonight, Sherlock?"

"Yes, John," he replied.

"Then kneel for me, just like you did last night, pet," John instructed, pushing the coffee table back with his foot.

Sherlock gracefully sank to his knees and placed his wrists in John's lap, waiting for further instructions.

"From the moment I put these on to the moment I take them off tonight, you are my responsibility. You are to do everything I ask when I ask it, and in turn, I will take care of you in every way. Do you agree to this, Sherlock?" John asked, buckling the first cuff on the detective's left wrist.

"Yes, John," he breathed, watching intently as John wrapped the second cuff around his right wrist.

"For tonight, if you need out of anything, your safeword is 'red'. I'm trusting that you won't be boneheaded and continue doing something I you don't like," John said, buckling the cuff.

"Of course, John. I trust you," Sherlock murmured.

With a smile, John placed the dogtags around Sherlock's neck. When he stood, his fingers pulled against the tags' chain, dragging Sherlock up with them. He smirked when he heard his flatmate pull air in harshly through his nose. He had been surprised when Sherlock had reacted so well to submission, and was even more surprised at how beautiful the other man was when submitting. "Ready to go?" he asked.

"Oh yes. I'm ready for tonight," Sherlock replied, buttoning up his coat. He knew what to expect now, and he resolved to not be taken aback again. "After you, John. The game is on."

John chuckled as he led the way down the stairs. They hailed a cab and were off to Leather, John's hand once more resting on his flatmate's lower back. When they walked through the doors, Sherlock held his ground. Stealing a glance from the corner of his eye, John noticed that Sherlock appeared more at ease. He smiled, happy that tonight would be productive for him.

"Oh, John. Everything is so much clearer," Sherlock murmured, ducking his head against John's neck.

"I'm glad. Would you like anything to drink?" he asked.

"No thank you. I'm going to stay sober tonight," Sherlock replied, straightening up.

John nodded and guided them to the bar, ordering a pint. After he paid, he steered Sherlock to the corner of the bar and sipped at his drink. "See anything worth nothing?" he asked.

"Nothing yet. There's so many people, but I have a good feeling we'll find the killer tonight," he replied, eyes scanning the crowd slowly.

A few minutes passed before John finished his beer, taking care to set the empty glass on the counter. "Let's walk around," he said, rolling up his sleeves.

Sherlock nodded and allowed himself to be guided as John passed from one corner to the other. He nodded his head politely at Charlie and Clarissa from where they were dancing at the edge of the dance floor. His cheeks burned when Charlie winked lasciviously at them, accompanying the look with a crude hand gesture. Sherlock was pulled back to his immediate surroundings when a finger glided down his left cheekbone.

"Well, aren't you a looker," a sultry voice purred. Snapping his head forward, Sherlock all but grimaced at the sight of the woman standing before him. She was short, but the shoes she was wearing made her taller than John. Her hair was dark, her skin pale, and her eyes a pale green, all a striking contrast to her blood red lips. Sherlock frowned when her finger (square tip, painted to match her lipstick) traced across his bottom lip.

"Please don't touch him," John said, his voice calm.

The woman's attention snapped to John as she pulled her finger away from Sherlock's lips. "And who are you?" she asked, shifting her weight, arms crossing in front of her chest.

"I'm his Dom," John replied, sliding his hand from the small of Sherlock's back to wrap around his waist, tugging him against his side. "You can investigate the tags around his neck if you'd like, they've got my name on them."

The woman narrowed her eyes at John and grazed her finger down the length of Sherlock's neck, looping through John's dogtags and pulling them sharply. Sherlock whimpered quietly as he stumbled forward, his eyebrows knitted together as she studied John's dogtags first before jumping up to his eyes.

"I don't believe you," she said, fisting around the chain. "So either convince me, or let me play with him."

John was fuming, and for a split second, he scared Sherlock. "That's up to my sub. He's not been played with in public yet, and I refuse to make him uncomfortable," he said. "Now, please, release your hold on him."

The woman chuckled and did as John asked, smoothing across the metal tags where they rested against Sherlock's chest. He shivered and leaned closer to John, burying his face in his neck.

"Yes, John. Please, just make her go away," he murmured into John's skin. He nuzzled in further when John's hand slid up his back, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades.

"Any limits off the bat, pet?" he asked, pulling back to look at his flatmate's eyes.

Sherlock shook his head. "I trust you, John," he said.

John smiled and ran his hand up Sherlock's neck to fist gently in his hair. "Oh, pet. I'm going to pull such pretty noises from you," he murmured, his voice husky and low. His flatmate shivered at the change and melted when John gently guided his head down to brush his lips against Sherlock's.

"Well isn't that sweet," the woman drawled, clicking her nails together. "I think I just got a cavity."

John ignored her, focusing on guiding Sherlock up to the public play area. His mind was buzzing with everything he wanted to do to his flatmate, and he found himself struggling to focus. John knew he had to make this a good experience for Sherlock and make a statement at the same time. He wasn't ignorant of all the eyes lingering on his flatmate, and he hoped that a public scene would get everyone to ignore them so they could do their job and wrap up the case.

A crowd gathered almost immediately, and John could sense Sherlock's skittishness. He set down his fetish bag and turned to his flatmate. "Still ok to use the flogger and crop on you?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded and looked around. "I'll be fine, John. I'll focus on deducing the audience," he replied, composing his face into the mask he usually reserved for dealing with Mycroft.

"Kneel for me while I get set up, pet," he said, looking around the room for supplemental equipment. He smiled fondly when he saw the spreader bar hanging a small ways across the room the ceiling, and immediately looked for a step stool. He found one leaning against the wall by the door. Crossing the room, he grabbed it, pausing half way back to snag a small table he could use for his toys. When he stopped underneath the spreader bar, he turned around to look at his flatmate.

Sherlock was kneeling, his eyes flicking from person to person, chest rising unevenly as he tried to steady his breath. John caught his attention, pointed once to the bag, and beckoned him with his finger. "Come here, pet," he said, just loud enough for his order to reach Sherlock.

The detective gracefully rose to his feet and grabbed the bag before striding towards John. He seemed so confident, it made something in John's chest ache with the knowledge that this beautiful creature was soon going to be squirming and writhing under his touch.

"I'm going to tie your hands to the spreader bar and warm you up with the flogger," John explained, pulling out the things he needed from his bag. He set the flogger and riding crop down on the small side table, before pulling out the rope and tossing the bag down. Setting up the step stool, he climbed up and looped his rope from one side to the other, making sure both ends hung evenly down.

"Ok, John," Sherlock said, watching the doctor's movements with wide eyes. He seemed almost entranced as John worked. His eyes widened as John stepped in front of him, his hands sliding up the buttons of his shirt. His eyes locked with Sherlock's as he undid the first button, fingers ghosting over porcelain skin.

Button after button popped free, and Sherlock's shirt was soon taken from him, plucked off by John's steady hands. Slowly, John worked, taking great care to kiss the inside of each wrist before tying each hand above Sherlock's head. He made sure the black rope was just tight enough to ensure Sherlock couldn't escape, but gave enough so that he could move if he wanted to. John placed a kiss to the back of Sherlock's neck as he tied the leftover ropes together in a simple knot.

You're so beautiful like this, pet. Look at all of those people watching you," John growled in his flatmate's ear, hands wrapping around his chest. He could feel Sherlock's body heat up under his hands, his heart beating an erratic tattoo against his ribcage. "They can watch you all they want to, but they can't touch what's mine," he growled.

Sherlock melted at his words, head arcing back to rest against John's shoulder. "John," he murmured, voice strained. "Please."

"Soon, pet. You're going to make such pretty noises for me, I can feel it," John murmured, turning his head to press a sweet kiss to the side of Sherlock's head. "Lift up. I'm going to start with the flogger."

He stepped back away from his flatmate and picked up the larger of the two floggers, testing the weight in his hand. He'd used it with a few of his past partners, but never on anyone as important and valuable as Sherlock. He flicked it lightly against Sherlock's left shoulder blade, smirking as a gasp tumbled from his flatmate's throat.

"How's that?" he asked, flicking it slightly harder against the other shoulder blade.

Sherlock hummed. "It's good, John. I can take more," he replied, spreading his legs to steady himself.

"That's my good boy. I'm so proud of you for doing this for me. I know it's your first public scene," John commented, directing the last bit more towards the audience. He flicked the flogger a few times, the falls painting a zigzag across Sherlock's back. He smirked as they murmured, broken words and phrases reaching his ears. "They're going to love you just as much as I do. I want you to watch them, pet. Watch them watch you squirm."

John started the scene slowly, making sure that Sherlock was warmed up properly before increasing the strength behind his lashes. The first strong one bit at the skin of Sherlock's lower back and pulled a broken moan from between his bitten lips. John's cock twitched as the sound washed over him. "You make such delicious sounds, pet," he said, stepping close behind Sherlock, pressing his clothed chest to his flatmate's naked back. John's hands bracketed Sherlock's bony hips as his lips kissed and nipped at Sherlock's neck. "I'm going to make you dance for me, pet. Would you like that?"

"Yes, John," Sherlock moaned, arching his neck to allow his partner more space to suck marks.

"So eager for me," John growled, pausing to bite at the juncture where Sherlock's neck met his shoulder. He chuckled against the skin before pulling back, striking the detective between the shoulder blades with a downwards arc of his arm.

Out of the corner of his eye, John caught the gaze of the woman from earlier. She smirked and blew him a kiss. John narrowed his gaze at her and brought the next lash down hard, a diagonal pink line raising up a moment later, connecting Sherlock's right shoulder with his left hip. John continued, the falls raining over Sherlock's back, tinting pale skin a rosy pink. All sorts of noises were falling from between Sherlock's lips; husky groans, breathless sighs, and whimpers as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Smirking, John put the flogger down, running his hands over the marks he'd made. "I'm going to use the crop on you now, pet," he said, wrapping his fingers around the handle. "Give me a color, green for go, red for stop."

"Green, Sir. Definitely green," Sherlock replied, his voice an octave deeper than normal.

"That's my good boy," John said, tapping the crop gently against the left side of his flatmate's ribcage. "You take it so well. Such a slut for pain, aren't you?"

"Yes," Sherlock breathed, squirming as the first real hit connected on the skin just above his arse.

John placed the second blow just above the first one; striking hard enough he heard the air whistle as the leather sliced through it. Sherlock was moaning obscenely, his body going lax in the rope bondage. Pausing, John circled around to look at his partner. "You okay?" he whispered.

"Please, John. Don't stop," Sherlock begged, his breathing ragged.

Taking a step back, John looked him over. Sherlock's eyes were glazed over, his teeth biting at his lower lip. His chest was flushed with what John assumed was arousal. His assumption was confirmed when his eyes rested on the top of Sherlock's trousers, gaze settling on a rather impressive erection tenting the fabric. John stepped in again and stood on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Sherlock's forehead before resuming his place behind the detective.

Sherlock moaned as he dropped into subspace, relishing in the way time seemed to slow and everything became hazy. Blinking widely, Sherlock tried to take in the face of everyone watching him. The woman from before looked impressed and surprised, her cheeks slightly colored. Turning his head, he saw Charlie sitting down in one of the leather couches, Clarissa perched on his lap. He feels somewhat uncomfortable under their probing gaze, but his thoughts are silenced with a burning strike of John's crop. Closing his eyes, Sherlock allows himself to fall deeper into the warm, hazy feeling. He's got everything he needed from tonight stored up in his mind palace waiting to be reviewed when he gets home. For now, he can focus on John's ministrations.

John increased the frequency of his lashes, his cock twitching at every sound torn from Sherlock's throat. His flatmate's back colored very quickly, lines of red crisscrossing the lines of pink from the flogger. John was proud of both the way Sherlock was acting, and the fact that only he could make the detective's mind so quiet. A few well-placed hits to the side of Sherlock's ribcage had Sherlock calling out for John, his name chanted over and over like a mantra.

"Yes, pet?" he asked, reaching forward to tangle his fingers in the chain of his dogtags, pulling the heated metal back against Sherlock's equally heated skin.

"I'm so close, Sir. Please, let me cum?" Sherlock asked, squirming under his brief touch.

John chuckled and tugged harder. "My good boy wants to cum, does he? Wants to show everyone here how much you like this, like my touch and my pain?" he murmured, wrapping his other hand around Sherlock's waist to hold him close.

Sherlock nodded frantically, a needy whine vibrating from his throat.

"Ok then, pet. If you can cum from my crop alone, I'll let you," John said, releasing his flatmate to grab his crop for the last time. "You'll get ten lashes, all harder than what you've had so far. If you don't cum by the time I'm finished, then you've lost your chance for the night."

The first hit came before Sherlock could say anything, his head falling against his chest as the leather cracked against his skin. He was still and panting through the third hit, and by the sixth one, his voice was cracking and broken. It was on hit nine that he finally came, body tensing as his cock jerked, spurt after spurt of cum coating the inside of his trousers. Blood rushed through his ears, temporarily deafening him to the sounds around him, to the pornographic moans tumbling from his bitten lips. Ten whistled down and forced another half-hearted jerk from his spent member. Soon, there's movement around him, and John's touching his wrists, pulling and prodding at the rope holding him in place…

As soon as he's landed the final strike, John bends and hastily shoves the riding crop and the flogger into his fetish bag. He unwraps Sherlock's arms one at a time and pulls the detective into his arms. He's still boneless and pliable, and John cannot deny that he loves Sherlock this way. He murmurs nonsense into his flatmate's ear, pressing gentle kisses along the sweaty skin of his neck between phrases.

It takes a few minutes for Sherlock to come back up enough so John can finish untying his rope from the spreader bar. Gently, he eased Sherlock out of his embrace and climbed back up on the stepstool, working the rope free before coiling it up and tossing it into the bag. "Ready to go home?" he asked, raising a hand to cradle Sherlock's cheek.

"Yes, John. Take me home," Sherlock murmured, leaning into John's touch.

With a smile, John hooks a finger around the dogtags around Sherlock's neck and uses them as a makeshift lead, pulling him towards the front door. Back by the main dance floor, he's stopped again by the brunette woman from earlier.

"Bravo, John," she purrs, applauding quietly. "I've never seen someone float like him before. You must know his body very well."

"I know it better than anyone," John replied, his chest puffing out ever so slightly. He wasn't lying, really. Being Sherlock's doctor allowed him a very close relationship with the detective's body, even if it's not the type of relationship everyone else thought.

The woman raised her eyebrows, arms crossing in front of her again. "You're quite sure of that, are you?" she asked.

"Very sure," John replied. "Now, if you'll please excuse me, we need to go home." Without another word to the woman, John stepped forward and led Sherlock out to the street, hailing a cab when he saw one. They rode home pressed together from knee to shoulder, Sherlock nuzzling into John's neck. John rubbed up and down Sherlock's left arm, murmuring praises into his hair. He smiled as Sherlock hummed happily beside him, relishing in the afterglow of subspace and orgasm.

When they arrived at Baker Street, John pays the cabbie and guides Sherlock up the stairs, once more pulling him by the dogtags. He shut and locked the door behind them before crossing the room to sit in his chair. "Come kneel for me, pet," he said, voice soft and gentle.

Sherlock stumbled towards him, sinking to his knees before John's chair. Shakily, he placed his arms in John's lap, his head following to rest on John's good knee.

John worked the cuffs from Sherlock's wrist, kissing the skin like he had the night before. "God, Sherlock, you were so beautiful tonight," he murmured.

"Hmmm?" Sherlock asked, turning his head up to look at John.

"Oh God, yes. You were so gorgeous. So good for me," he confirmed.

Sherlock hummed softly.

"Now, why don't you go and have a bath while I put the kettle on? We'll have some tea and a few biscuits before bed," John asked, petting Sherlock's head.

Sherlock nuzzled his leg, but remained kneeling by John's feet.

"Sherlock?" John asked, touching his flatmate's shoulder. Gently, John tipped Sherlock's chin up and gazed down into hazy eyes. John's eyes widened when he realized Sherlock hadn't come all the way back up from subspace yet.

"Come on, pet," he ordered, tugging up on the dogtags. "It's time for a bath, then bed," he said, rising to walk down the hallway to the bathroom.