*NOTE: I had to make some slight changes towards the end, just for the sake of this fic*

The last part in the Kent chapters. Hope you enjoy it. Review replies at the bottom.

Warning: Smut and fetishes in this chapter.

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC. I only own this plot, and my OC's etc.

Hands find their way to Sherlock's throat. At first the detective smiles, thinking it is John and that the hands will slide lovingly downwards, only to be replaced by a pair of thin, soft lips and a sweet tongue.

But that doesn't happen. Sherlock doesn't recognise these hands. They're not the same. No, John's hands are worn from the war but there's a hint of softness in them. These hands are too soft, too small, and too thin to be John's. The nails that rake his jugular with an oddly delicate touch are manicured and slightly pointed at the tip. No, these are most definitely not John's.

Fear begins to bubble in his gut. Who is this? Why are the hands so familiar, yet so unnerving and unwelcome? Why is skin burning under the touch in the worst possible way? Why can he suddenly not breathe? Where is the oxygen, the sweet, life-giving oxygen that Sherlock needs to breathe, where has it gone?

Moriarty…

There is no more time for questions, because now the only thing running through his mind as he is allowed to breathe is JOHN. FEAR. JOHN. PANIC. JOHN. It only enters his mind briefly that the hands are no longer around his neck before they are being replaced by something cold. The cold thing is pulled tight and takes away what little oxygen the detective has left…

"Sherlock!" John's voice finally broke through the veil of unconsciousness that lay over Sherlock. He must have stopped breathing in his sleep, because his sudden intake of breath followed by his spluttering cough made him almost double over.

"Sherlock, love, it's alright. It was just a nightmare-"

"John!" Sherlock wheezed out his lover's name, turning so he could launch himself into his lover's strong arms. John could feel the dampness of perspiration from Sherlock's skin sticking to his, mixed in with the fresh hot tears. He put his arms around Sherlock and rocked slowly back and forth.

"John… I could feel him. Feel his hands around my neck…" Sherlock's breathing was ragged and John just held him closer, turning so their bodies were touching. It was the first nightmare Sherlock had had since coming to Kent. After two weeks of recovery, they both thought he wouldn't be subject to one.

"Shh. Sherlock, he's gone. He's not here. It's just you and me and nobody else." He pitched his voice to a whisper, speaking as much to the side of Sherlock's head as anything else. John carded his fingers through Sherlock's damp curls with one hand and soothed his shuddering back with the other. "Look at me."

Sherlock leaned his head back enough so John could get a good look at him; his stormy eyes were wet and his cheeks lined with glossy tear-tracks. John took his face between his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears. "Listen to me. He can't hurt you. Nobody is going to let him get you again. Not Lestrade, not Mycroft and especially not me. So take a few deep breaths and just know that I love you. I will never stop loving you."

Sherlock nodded, gulping down hard and taking a few deep breaths as he was told. His lanky body relaxed somewhat and he allowed himself to be taken in John's strong embrace once more. "Thank you, John." He whispered, as they lay back down. He shifted to that one leg was thrown over John's hip and their bodies tucked close together, his cheek resting over the steady thump-thump of John's heartbeat. "I love you."

John pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock's hair, nuzzling him and humming a low tune that Sherlock recognised as Greensleeves.

The next day Sherlock was feeling much better. In John's arms, the detective had had no more nightmares. They had slept in shamelessly long, not budging from their beds until well after 2 p.m. Emily had been kind enough to send them up tea and croissants around midmorning, freshly baked New York style by Rory.

When they finally did rise, they went to the sunrooms to play with the cats. Bitsy had taken up residence in the Classical Studies bookshelf, nestling herself on the top of thick Greek volumes with one paw and the end of her fluffy tail hanging over the edge. Tobias, being more like a Holmes than a cat, had claimed the back of the white loveseat as his own and was currently stretched out along the back of it.

"Sherlock?" John put down the Atlas he had been browsing through to look over at his lover, who was tucked up in an armchair reading what looked to be an original copy of Ulysses.

"Yes, John?" John scraped his chair back and stood up, patting a yawning Tobias on his way over to Sherlock.

"Do you remember when I won the game of Jenga, and that I could choose anything I wanted?"

"… Yes, of course. But… You already chose, love, two weeks ago in the hot-tub."

John smiled slightly and went to his knees beside Sherlock's armchair. "Do you not remember me saying that was partly what I wanted?"

Sherlock thought for a moment before nodding, vague confusion crossing his features at that point. "What is it, John?"

"Well… I want to do something. But I need some time to prepare for it." John put a hand on Sherlock's knee and squeezed. "I need to go into town. Alone."

"Oh… Well in that case take the car down in the garage. Dorian will drive you. Can I ask what it is you're doing?"

"Proving a point. Look, trust me with this, love." He stood up and kissed Sherlock lightly. "I won't be long." Sherlock waved that away and pulled John down for another kiss.

"Take your time. Go back home and visit Mrs. Hudson for a while. I… I think I know what it is your doing. If that's the case, I need time to prepare too." Sherlock smiled with sudden understanding and took John's hand. The doctor returned the smile and squeezed the detective's pale hand once before letting go.

"Alright. I'll see you this evening, then." With a nod from Sherlock, John turned around. He didn't expect to feel the little pinch to his bottom as he did so and when he gasped, Sherlock's chuckle was audible. Not that John minded. Smirking, he shot his lover a wink and left to find Dorian.

John spent a few hours back in London, picking up a few things that would be a necessity tonight; lube, for one, and something extra as a surprise. That something extra was the hardest part, for John, and involved rather a bit of wandering about the aisles looking very poleaxed and trying to decide what flavour went with Sherlock's natural taste the best.

For a while he got lost in the London shops. Kent was lovely and completely relaxing, but nothing could compare to the feeling of home when it came to London. Baker Street was just around the corner.

After spending a good time browsing around music shops and clothes shops (even buying a new jumper for himself and a new pair of jeans for Sherlock – he didn't have many jeans), John decided he should check in on Mrs. Hudson like Sherlock suggested. Stopping off at the little bakery near their apartment, John picked up a few scones and cream buns for their landlady.

He knocked three times on the familiar door of 221B and waited patiently outside for the elderly landlady to answer.

When she did so, it seemed to take her a second to recognise John, but as soon as realisation struck, she threw her arms around him.

"John, dear!" John hugged back and smiled, looking over her shoulder and into the familiar halls of home. "Come in, come in! Oh, it's so nice to see you!"

"Nice to see you too Mrs. H. I'm not here for long, though." John stepped in and allowed the landlady to fuss over him. She led them into her own sitting room and sat him down.

"So where's Sherlock? I do hope he's eating, dear."

"He's just resting up. We're in Kent for a while." John put the box of baked goods on the table and accepted her offering of a cup of tea. Her part of the flat was a little brighter than John and Sherlock's upstairs, and he settled himself down in an armchair with a subtle floral print on the upholstery.

"The country is doing you good, John," she said, when she came back with two white china cups of tea and sat down in a chair across from him. "Though I do wish Sherlock would have come along with you. I would dearly like to see him and make sure he's doing alright. I know how difficult he can be sometimes."

"I think the country is doing him some good too. Despite everything he seems to be doing really well." He nudged the box that he'd picked up at the bakery toward her, and earned himself another round of pleased gushing. He had to take one of them for himself to make her quiet down and sit back in her chair. "Been catching up on his reading, too, I think."

"Oh, that's good to hear. And your darling little cats, how are they?"

"Just fine. I think they like the sunroom up there much better than they like the flat here. More windows, you see."

John sipped his tea in silence for a moment, occasionally tearing a bit off his scone and dunking it into his tea. Eventually, Mrs Hudson sighed and looked up at him. "When are you coming home, John? This house is much too big and lonely without you and Sherlock."

John stared down at his cup of tea, not really sure what to say to that. "Not until we get the go ahead from the Yard, I suppose. I mean, you're not in any danger here but it's Sherlock, and you know how he attracts mishaps and misfortune like flies to a rotting sandwich."

Mrs Hudson nodded and set her teacup aside. "Well, I'll keep the rooms open for you. Half of his things are up there still anyway."

"Thanks, Mrs Hudson." He finished off his own tea and the last of his scone before setting down the cup. "I'd best be going. Sherlock was hoping to have me home before dinner."

"Of course, dear." She showed him out to the door, taking him by the shoulders and kissing him on the cheek as he went to leave. "Do keep an eye on Sherlock."

He nodded and gave her a quick one-armed hug before ducking out the door and into the car that Dorian had waiting.

Sherlock tried to spend his afternoon in a constructive fashion. He finished the chapter that he had been reading in his book, had a bit of lunch, fed the cats, and raided the house for candles. Most of them had been used up in John's little stunt two weeks ago, but he found some white and blue tapers and a handful of white pillar candles. Finding holders wasn't hard, but finding places in the bedroom to set them all was. Most of them ended up lined up along the windowsills (after he took the curtains down and tucked them away in the wardrobe) with a couple more on each nightstand. He didn't light them yet; it was still very early in the evening and if he lit them now they would have burnt down by the time John got home.

He ran a load of washing as well, with some help from one of the maids, and borrowed a pair of black silk scarves from another. He promised to pay her back for them, as they would be in no fit state to be returned when they were done with them. The maid blushed furiously and waved it off.

The scarves went upstairs with him around midafternoon, and Sherlock left the key to the bedroom with one of the maids, telling her he was not to be disturbed and that John was to be given the key when he came home.

With that, he locked the door behind him, lit the candles, changed into his jodhpurs and not a stitch else, and managed (somehow) to get one of the silk scarves around both wrists and around one of the bars of the headboard. He was rather good at knots, but not when his own limbs were involved, and he nearly dislocated a finger getting the knots tight. Then he inched up the bed toward the headboard to wait for John to come home.

Which wasn't long, really, considering he had to go all the way to London and back. Sherlock was still on the point of dozing off when he heard footsteps coming up the corridor to his room and heard the key turn in the lock.

"Sherlock, why on earth have you locked yourself in... Oh."

"Surprise?"

Apparently the sight of Sherlock stretched out on the bed, hands bound to the headboard, in nothing but a pair of unbuttoned khaki jodhpurs was either too much or not quite enough for John. Instead of leaping onto the bed and taking advantage of the situation, John quite calmly set down his shopping bag and took off hs coat. The coat went into the wardrobe, and John sat down near the foot of the bed.

"Yes, this is a surprise. Not what I was expecting to come home to, actually. Still nice, though." His gaze flicked to the silk scarf binding the detective's hands to the head of the bed and back to Sherlock, who was lying quite still on the coverlet. "I brought a little surprise of my own, actually, if you're interested."

"Y-yes, of course. This is supposed to be about what you want, after all." John chuckled a bit and reached into the shopping bag, finally straightening up and putting a small plastic container on Sherlock's stomach. The detective craned his neck to peer down at it. "Really, John? Edible caramel body paint?"

"Well, yes. I thought it was interesting, and this is part of my reward for beating you at Jenga..." John trailed a finger over the slight 'V' of Sherlock's hipbone, watching the detective's skin shiver under the touch. "Of course, it's just a suggestion, and I have the receipt to return it if you really don't like it..." He trailed off, his finger running back up Sherlock's hip.

Sherlock cast another slilghtly wary-slightly curious look down at the plastic tub and paintbrush sitting on his stomach. "Well... I suppose it would be unfair if I said no. It seems like it would be very messy though, John..."

"Oh, the mess won't be a problem. It's edible, after all." Shifting back on the bed to sit cross-legged near Sherlock's feet, John picked up the small plastic tub to read the suggestions printed on the sides. "Well, it reccommends warming it up, but I don't feel like going all the way downstairs to heat it up. I hope you don't mind it being a little cold." The detective shrugged a little, as much as he could with his hands bound above his head, and watched as John tore off the plastic covering with his fingernails. The paintbrush was set lightly down on Sherlock's shin as John fought with the lid of the tub. That, too, eventually came off, and even from Sherlock's distance he could smell the almost sickly-sweet odour of caramel.

"A bit strong," John muttered, setting the plastic container on the footboard between two of Sherlock's candles. Leaving it there, he got off the end of the bed in order to strip down to just his underwear. He had a feeling that if the paint got on anything but skin it was going to be next to impossible to remove.

Sherlock was honestly more excited to have John mostly naked than he was about being covered in potentially sticky, overly sweet caramel. Still, it would be John licking the stuff off him and that wasn't an unpleasant thought. So he lay very still as John sat on the edge of the bed beside him, took up the plastic tub and paintbrush, and set to work.

It wasn't as bad as Sherlock expected; the brush was a bit ticklish, but the body paint wasn't all that sticky when it first went on. It did dry rapidly, however, and John seemed to find the need to layer the stuff in places. The former doctor worked his way over Sherlock's body with an intense concentration, his brow furrowed and his tongue poking out lightly. That in and of itself was amusing, and the detective found himself stifling the occasional chuckle as John worked.

His chuckle turned into a sharp moan when John lowered his head and licked the first strip of caramel off the skin below Sherlock's navel. He was very thorough about it, and the stripe of sin was tinged faintly pink by the time he lifted his head and moved onto the line of the detective's hip. Each stripe of caramel was treated with the same care and the same determination, and by the time John had worked his way upward to the layered bits on Sherlock's chest the detective was a quivering, moaning mess. Getting the layered paint off was more of a job, and involved as much nibbling as anything else.

John finally sat up, licking the last bits of caramel off his mouth and glancing down at Sherlock. The detective was watching him with wide eyes, his pupils so blown with lust that there was only a very thin rim of stormy grey-blue around them. Neither of them had really noticed, but all that nibbling and licking in the name of getting the caramel off had gotten Sherlock almost painfully hard.

And really, what sort of man was John Watson to pass up that opportunity? With the way Sherlock had laid himself out, John could picture where Sherlock had imagined the evening going. John swiftly removed Sherlock's jodhpurs and tossed them off the bed altogether. The surprise that flitted over his face as the former doctor straddled his hips. "John?"

"Just trust me, Sherlock."

"But John!"

John leaned down to kiss him and shut him up. That proved shockingly effective, actually, and kissing the detective was enough to distract him while John found the lube. Spreading a dollop of it on his fingers, the former doctor quickly and matter-of-factly stretched himself out. He couldn't stop from making a small sound into Sherlock's mouth, which made the detective pull his head back and stare up at his lover in surprise. When his eyes trailed down to John's hand and what it was doing at that point, realisation hit.

"Oh…" He cleared his throat. "Oh right." John shut him up again with another kiss, and finished stretching himself out; it wasn't often that Sherlock was the one inside John (actually, this will have been the second time since they got together.) John pressed his fingers in farther and finally reached his prostate, rubbing his fingers over the bundle of nerves carefully and moaning into Sherlock's mouth.

"I'm ready, Sherlock. Are you?" The detective had been unconsciously arching up his hips and pressing into John, and by now he couldn't have been more ready than anything. He wanted so badly to touch John, but his hands were bound above his head and that seemed to have caused some very excited tingling below, and he was painfully hard. It certainly had been too long. Nodding, he allowed John to line him up.

"Fuck." John gasped, lowering himself onto Sherlock, using one of his lubed up hands to slick up the base of Sherlock's erection and make the access just a little bit easier. He settled down again and paused to give them both enough time to adjust.

"M-move John…" Sherlock let out a breath he hadn't been aware that he'd been holding and tugged at the scarves tying his wrist, desperate to touch his lover. The former doctor nodded and shifted his hips forward, closing his eyes as he did so. The feeling of Sherlock inside him was as glorious as it had been the first time, and soon enough he was setting a rhythm of his own; rolling, lifting, setting down. His left hand was keeping him up, splayed beside Sherlock's mass of curls on the bed, and his right hand was pumping his own erection. Sherlock thrust up as much as he could in his current position, moaning softly in pleasure. It was like sweet cake after months of a diet.

"John!" Sherlock's head tipped back, his back arching up slightly off the bed and his eyes fluttering closed. John leaned forward, still keeping his pace, and sucked softly on his lover's jawline, pulling louder and even more desperate near-climax groans from the detective's mouth. His thrusts gained a quicker pace and, from the half-syllable cries of Sherlock's name, John was getting very close.

"Ngh, Sherlock-" John squeezed his hand tighter around himself, giving a few tugs and finally releasing onto Sherlock's chest. His head dropped into the crook of Sherlock's neck and he continued to ride the detective until he too came with a guttural, shuddering cry that echoed around the bedroom. His orgasm was made stronger by the fact he couldn't hold on to John.

John levered himself off Sherlock (who whimpered slightly at the loss of heat) and all but collapsed onto him with a "sorry". His cheek rested just over the detective's heartbeat, which was racing, and the skin there was moist with perspiration. A few quiet moments of soft panting passed by, before Sherlock cleared his throat again. John raised his head and looked questioningly at his lover, who gestured with his eyes to his bound hands.

"Oh, right, sorry." John sat up on his knees and unknotted the scarves, brow furrowing in concentration when he tried to undo a particularly skilfully tied knot. How Sherlock managed such elegant knots by himself (and most likely with one hand and his teeth) John would never know. His lover was so full of surprises sometimes.

"Thanks." Sherlock let his arms fall down to his sides, flexing his wrists and rubbing at them.

"I hope they weren't too tight."

"John please, I tied them myself."

"Right yeah." The former army doctor lay down on his stomach beside Sherlock and rested his head in his arms.

They watched each other for a while, and Sherlock eventually lay down beside John. "I trust you, John."

"I love you."

"I love you too." They shared a quick kiss and Sherlock idly traced patterns on the base of John's back. John watched his eyes go from lazy and post-coital to curiosity. He felt Sherlock's index finger prodding the small of his back and he rolled onto his side.

"What?"

"You… You have back dimples." Sherlock smirked and traced the very feint dimples. "I never noticed before."

"Oh yeah. They've been there since I was a baby I was told." John pulled a face. "They're weird looking."

"No, they're cute. Adorable, actually." Sherlock smiled at John and shimmied down the bed. He kissed the dimples lightly and John gasped, stifling laughter by pressing his face into the pillow under him.

"I didn't know you were ticklish there, John."

"Neither did I!"

"I'll have to keep that noted." John peered back to see that usual mischievous smirk on his lover's face. He rolled his eyes and pulled him back up so they were eye level.

"Very funny." John yawned. Sherlock pressed closer and nuzzled their noses together. He shared John's body heat and yanked the duvet over them.

"Thank you." He whispered into John's neck, as John's fingers carded through his mussed up dark curls.

"For what?" John asked, cuddling Sherlock.

"For everything. For being here… For saving me." He swallowed and John's arms tightened protectively around Sherlock, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair.

"Always."

It had been almost three weeks since they arrived at the estate in Kent, and it would soon be one month since Sherlock and John first got together. In the weeks they spent out in the countryside and away from Baker Street, neither of them could disagree that it had made their relationship stronger and the bond they shared deeper. Not after the way things turned out. If anyone else had gone through the same hellish few nights as Sherlock in the clutches of Moriarty, the psychological effects would have bitten a lot deeper. But then again, nobody else had a John Watson by their side to rid them of the damage. Nobody else had a boyfriend who was a former soldier, a doctor, and a best friend. And for that reason, nobody else would have forgotten the events by the time the second week was over. Well, it's not that Sherlock had forgotten, but more like he had gotten distracted even without his usual load of cases from Scotland Yard. Spending time with his John was much more important than fretting over a psychopath that would never be able to do such a monstrous thing again; not while John was around. And John would make sure of that.

It was a relatively overcast day when they finally talked about going home.

"You're improving." Sherlock called from in front of John, panting slightly as they slowed down.

"I'll never be as brilliant as you. You look absolutely glorious straddling with that body." The words spewed from John's lips before he had the chance to stop them, and he quickly raised a hand up to cover his mouth. Sherlock spluttered a laugh and reined Last Enemy to a stop, backing him up a few steps in the process. He waited until John had walked Starter for Ten beside him and gave his lover a little smile.

"Well, I know how much you like these jodhpurs, love. And I must say you look rather dashing in your own pair." Sherlock nodded down to John's legs, which were clad in perfect-fitting black jodhpurs – courtesy of Mycroft. How the man knew his trouser size was something John didn't feel like asking about, or trying to figure out.

The doctor had insisted that Sherlock was the only one who could pull off the khaki ones with the loose white shirt (both of which made the detective look like he stepped right out of a period drama), and that black would suit his own legs better. John's top-half was in a green hoodie with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, making him look very much like the student accompanying the teacher. Which, in a way, he was.

"Right, should we bring these in?" Last Enemy's head was hanging and he was champing at the bit. The clouds that hung in the sky were darkening and neither of them wanted to be caught out in the rain. John nodded and, using what Sherlock had taught him, got down from Starter for Ten in a very professional manner.

"It's too bad we don't have our own horses in London." John smiled and patted down his horse, waiting for Sherlock to dismount his own.

"I'm sure there's riding arena's scattered about, love." Sherlock handed the horses over to Darryl the stable boy, who insisted on bringing them in. "But speaking of home…"

"Yeah. I know what you mean." John took the taller man's hand and they made their way down the trail and back to the main house. "I miss it too. This is lovely and, to be fair, I wouldn't mind staying here longer. But Mrs. Hudson misses us and I'm sure the Yard miss you."

Sherlock snorted. "I don't think Sally or Anderson miss me at all. So… Should we go home?"

"Tomorrow we'll start packing. Let's enjoy our last night here with a nice dinner and a bath."

"I'll let Mycroft know tonight so he can arrange to pick us up whenever we decide to leave. Hey John?"

"Wha-" John was cut off by a pair of familiar, warm, full lips on his.

chibiwolfgurl – Yes, he WAS sexually traumatized. That's why it's taken him two weeks to go all the way with John :P

bbmcowgirl – Yes, it really was a 'hot tub' scene, hehe!

OnTheWinterSolstice – Haha NICE pun ^^ Thank you dearie.