Disclaimer: I still own nothing…...but I wish these men were all mine.

When the taxi stopped at 221B, John shot out of the car and up the stairs, leaving Sherlock to pay the fare. He wasn't given very long to prepare and he wanted to please his angry lover. He ran into the flat and started stripping quickly. Normally, he would hang the suit as soon as he took it off, but he was rushed. He threw his clothes into his chair, kicking his shoes somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen. By the time the sound of Sherlock's steps was ascending the stairs, he was positioning himself as instructed.

Sherlock entered the moonlit flat, silent but for the sound of John's breathing, and merely observed his willful love. He had never seen anything as perfect as John in this moment. He knew what a dangerous predator he was, how strong and confident his lover was. He had seen him covered in blood and sweat, blood pumping from a fresh kill and once thought that was his most beautiful, but this was glorious. This amazing man submitting completely to his will humbled Sherlock as nothing else ever could. How could anyone, knowing him as John did, ever trust him so completely? How could John know that he would be able to control himself not to totally give in to his bloodlust while playing this game? And yet he did. Sherlock's knees actually weakened with this realization. He was not a good man, he pretended to be many things, but good was not one of them. He knew he didn't deserve to be this happy, to be gifted with this level of love and trust, but there was no way he would ever give it up.

John listened while Sherlock watched him. He heard the sharp intake of breath when Sherlock saw him standing just as he directed. He almost smiled, knowing that Sherlock was pleased with him. Considering that they had watched each other kill and had killed together, that they had fucked with a corpse in the room and done other somewhat sordid things, you would think that John would not hesitate to tell Sherlock anything, but you would be wrong. John and Sherlock still had a great many secrets from each other, and sexual history was one of them. Sherlock had no interest in John's past affairs, he was too possessive to want the image in his brain, but there were certain desires that John had that he hadn't shared with Sherlock and this level of submission was one of them. As Sherlock stood and watched him, John was worried that he was changing his mind. He was about to break his ordered position and throw himself at Sherlock's feet to beg for more when Sherlock finally moved. He walked past John into his bedroom. John listened frantically trying to get some idea of what Sherlock was doing. He heard the closet open and Sherlock remove something. Sherlock came back into the room with an ornate box. John could only guess at what the box held, but he hoped he was right.

Sherlock removed his jacket and loosened his tie. John hadn't moved an inch. He was tense though. Sherlock could see how badly John wanted this and his tension told him that he was afraid Sherlock would stop before he started so he went slowly, wanting to torture his darling doctor before giving this to him. This torture was the punishment for John's flirting at tonight's party. Sherlock opened his toy box and perused the contents. He chose a few things he wanted to use and approached his tense lover. He decided to start with the Wartenberg pinwheel. It was one of his favorites and he had a feeling that John would love it too. He didn't use much pressure to start, just enough so John would feel it, and moved it down his back. As he worked his way up and down John's skin, he could feel the tension melt from his body. Yes, he needed this just as much as Sherlock did. He added more pressure, just enough to break the skin slightly, bringing forth small beads of blood. He moaned, the sound echoed by John as he felt Sherlock lick at the blood hungrily before he could stop himself. He turned John and stretched his arms out to the side along the mantle.

"Close your eyes John." He whispered into the shorter man's ear.

Instantly, John's eyes were shut. His obedience made Sherlock weak again. This man was truly going to be the death of him. He attached a clamp to John's right nipple, causing him to flinch slightly in surprise. When he placed the clamp on the left side, John managed to keep himself from reacting. He tightened the clamps enough that they would be uncomfortable but not cause any damage. He wanted to wound not maim his flirtatious lover. John was breathing a little faster than before but otherwise showed no sign of discomfort. Sherlock clipped the chain onto the right clamp. He could see John's face twitch slightly. He smirked, yes John was curious. But not nervous, not yet. He clipped another side of the chain onto the left clip letting the chain dangle down the middle of John's torso for a moment. John's eyes were sliding back and forth beneath his lids, belying his outward serenity. He was controlling his body's response perfectly. Sherlock could smell his lover's arousal, knew the chemical changes in John's body as well as his own, but his penis was still flaccid, a testament to John's control. Sherlock was going to enjoy breaking him.

Sherlock reached for the cock ring that attached to the y chain and placed it on John. Pulling the chain down slightly, he clipped it to the ring, completing the design. John tensed at the pull on his nipples, which would only intensify as he moved his body. He quickly realized this and became still again. Sherlock picked up the pinwheel and pressed it into John's chest. He used more pressure this time. He wanted John to move and he wanted John to bleed. He worked quietly, watching John's face as he responded involuntarily. He was trying so hard to remain expressionless, needing Sherlock to conquer him, subjugate him and own him. And Sherlock would, but he had to prove his worth to this proud creature who was allowing him to defile his strong body. He stepped back and studied his work. John was breathing a little heavier; blood was dripping in perfectly parallel stripes down his chest. His cock was starting to rise slightly. It was time to move on. Sherlock reached for his riding crop.

"Turn back around John, and keep your eyes closed."

John turned slowly.

"Place your hands on the mantle."

John complied.

John's chest hit the mantle the first time Sherlock hit him. He wasn't expecting the crop and Sherlock did not warn him so he wasn't braced properly. The crop wasn't what made him scream though; it was the clamps pulling sharply on his sore and oversensitive nipples. Sherlock only gave him a few seconds to prepare for the next blow before he began whipping him ruthlessly. It took a while before he was able to make him scream again. John braced himself and took each blow with grace and obstinance. Eventually, the grunts and whimpers forced their way out. Sherlock finally stopped when John was screaming with each whip of the crop against John's bloody and bruised back and ass. He threw the crop down and grabbed John by his hips, pulling him back into his body. John fell into his chest, Sherlock's bruising grip the only thing holding him up. John gasped at the pain of contact, but looked over his shoulder into Sherlock's eyes. "Please Sherlock, fuck me please." His plea was ragged and breathy and like music to Sherlock's dark heart. Using saliva as the only lubricant, he prepared John quickly and perfunctorily, his only goal not to rip him apart.

Sherlock quickly opened his pants and pushed them down enough to free his incredibly erect cock, and thrust into John's body, hitting his balls against John's ass in one hard stroke. He was so focused on thrusting into the tight body beneath him that he could not hear either of their screams. The only indication that he made a sound was his sore throat after. He felt like they were fucking for hours, Sherlock plunging into John's ass forever, refusing to allow this perfect joining to end, but even he lacked that much control. Finally, he removed John's cock ring and allowed his orgasm to crash over him, Sherlock's ejaculation was so powerful it was painful, tears streaming down his face. He and John collapsed on the floor, Sherlock just barely having the presence of mind to keep himself from crushing John beneath him.

After resting briefly, Sherlock stood, lifting John from the floor and carrying the smaller man into the tub. He was covered with sweat, blood, tears and the semen of both men. Sherlock removed the clamps and massaged John's sore nipples to allow circulation to return. He then soaped and rinsed John off before filling the tub and pulling John's body against his for a long soak. He nuzzled his nose into John's hair and stroked the hair leading down to John's cock.

"No one has ever trusted me so completely John."

John simply turned his head to nuzzle Sherlock's neck.

"Why John?"

For a moment, Sherlock wondered if John would answer when he finally spoke.

"You give me substance, before you I was almost incorporeal. Being invalided home took everything I had. Now I'm filled with you. How could I not give you my all? I belong to you."

"How did you know I wouldn't kill you?"

"Simple, you'd be lost without your blogger."

Sherlock couldn't stop himself, he laughed.