"All right. Where are they?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Detective Inspector."

"My handcuffs, Sherlock. I know you have at least five of my badges hidden around your flat. It's not such a leap in logic to figure out you stole my cuffs as well."

The door to Lestrade's office was closed, but he was still whispering into his mobile. It was quite an embarrassment for an officer to lose his handcuffs.

It was even worse if you lost them to Sherlock Holmes. He'd never hear the end of it.

"Police-issue cuffs are hard to come by. I'm keeping these. Order another pair," Sherlock said in a tired voice. As if he were explaining something simple to a needy child.

"There's a reason they're hard to come by, Sherlock. You're not supposed to fucking have them."

"I like them better."

"What?"

"Padded cuffs are so dreadfully dull. I like to feel the bite of cold metal against my skin. To know that I could really hurt myself if I struggled too hard."

Greg's mouth was oddly dry.

"Of course—just because I'm not willing to give them back, it doesn't mean you couldn't take them from me," Sherlock drawled through the tinny speaker of Greg's mobile.

"Is there any point whatsoever in telling you to stop being ridiculous?"

"No."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Greg groaned. Really, it was a rhetorical question. But of course Sherlock wouldn't take it that way.

"Because I've always liked older men, and you have a nice voice for barking orders, and you're the perfect combination of flustered and annoyed by my advances."

Greg let out a few ragged breaths.

Was there ever going to be an escape from this? Or should he just give into the madness and let the proverbial fever run its course so he could be done with it?

Wait? What? No. That was a terrible idea.

"The fact that I keep rejecting you doesn't factor into this equation at all? I've already told you why this can't happen." Greg could tell the words sounded forced coming out of his mouth.

"Last time I checked a sloppy kiss on the job is a pretty terrible way to reject somebody."

Greg shivered involuntarily.

It had probably been silly to hope that Sherlock would just let that kiss go. Drop it. Never talk about it again. But it had been two weeks, and Greg's denial was going so well.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Greg muttered. "It was a heat of the moment kind of thing, alright? It's not like I meant it."

"Are you actually trying to lie to me? That's adorable."

"What do you want?"

"Obvious."

"I'm not going to sleep with you. Anything else?"

"I don't want you to sleep with me, Lestrade. I want you to tie me down and teach me a lesson. Preferably with your belt. I bet the buckle would leave wonderfully interesting welts on my skin."

Greg had to take a moment for himself. To lick his lips, and breathe, and definitely not picture Sherlock's wonderfully long limbs tied to bedposts so that he was spread-eagled across the mattress and incapable of motion. Greg did not think about how fantastic Sherlock's pale skin would look with a symphony of red lines painted across it. Nor did he think about slipping a lubed finger in Sherlock's arse after the whipping was done with to press against his prostate and make him whimper for more.

"I expect you to have my handcuffs back on my desk by noon tomorrow," Greg said crisply. Really, he was surprised at his own composure.

"Is that an order?" He could feel the hint of a chuckle in Sherlock's voice.

"Yes."

"You're going to have to try a lot harder than that."

The line went dead.

The text messages started later on that day. The first time Greg's text-tone went off and he looked at the screen—one new multimedia message from Sherlock Holmes—he knew that he shouldn't open it. He was still in his office finishing paperwork. Everyone else had already gone home or was at the far end of the building.

He clicked to open the message. The room was filled with a breathy, deep, decidedly male moan. There was no other word to describe it. Greg nearly dropped his mobile.

The second one came as he was riding the tube home. This time he had headphones in. He bit down on his lower lip, silently having a great debate with himself. The grand majority of Greg's brain very much wanted to open the text message. Partly out of curiosity, but also partly out of those strange feelings that Sherlock had stirred deep inside him. The desire to ravage somebody—to cause them pain equal to pleasure. The rational part of Greg's mind didn't really have a fighting chance. It's desperate pleas for Greg to see reason mostly got drowned out by the wave of arousal when Greg replayed the moan from the first message.

He opened the second message. The recording was a bit longer. The whistle of something thin and leather falling through the air, then the resounding smack as the object made contact with bare skin. Then another moan. This time, not just a moan, but a name.

Greg.

He had to grab onto the nearest pole to keep his balance. The immediate redirection of blood flow from his head down to his cock almost made him dizzy.

The third message didn't come until Greg was already in bed, staring at the ceiling, and not sleeping. This time, he didn't even bother with telling himself it was a bad idea to listen. He just clicked the button.

Heavy breathing came over the speaker.

"Greg, I'm close, oh fuck… please, let me come. Tell me I can come. I'm trying to be a good boy, but it's so difficult. Please, sir. Please."

The words reached in and pulled at something deep within Greg's chest. His skin felt electric. Sherlock had just given him all the power in the world.

He tapped out his reply before he could stop himself.

Come for me right now.

He hit the send button. It was a few minutes before his mobile chimed again.

Thank you - SH

Oh god. Greg set his mobile aside and rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow. He definitely did not start rutting against his own mattress. Just as he definitely didn't think of Sherlock, and his unfairly plush arse, before he came in his pajama trousers.

This was not good. So beyond not good.

Why was it so goddamned thrilling?

I don't know if you'll be more or less anxious after that. But I really am almost through being a terrible tease. Sexy times are rapidly approaching. I will see you on Tuesday :)