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Sherlock was grace in motion and he was proud of that fact. That's why his recent injuries rankled so. He had been at a crime scene when it had happened. One small misstep had sent him careening down a staircase. Honestly, having the Yarders bear witness to the debacle had hurt more severely than his injuries. To make matters worse, John and Lestrade had conspired to keep him off of cases until the doctor deemed him fit. It was ridiculous. Sherlock didn't even have any broken bones just bruising (admittedly a lot) and a sprained ankle.
The back of the sofa was the sole recipient of Sherlock's full out glare. He would have been directing it at John, but the detective was curled up with his back to the room in a major sulk. Just moments ago, he had glanced over his shoulder to check that the doctor was paying him suitable attention - he wasn't. Sherlock punched the Union Jack pillow and repositioned it under his head. He curled in even tighter, his bare feet pulled in so near that they were nudging the swell of his arse.
Without shifting, John slid his eyes to the side and observed his petulant detective. He couldn't help it. He thought Sherlock was unbearably adorable when he sulked. John smiled. He then reminded himself that he was annoyed with the enormous dressing gown-clad toddler. Sherlock had been in a strop for days. The doctor decided that, no matter how cute his lover was at the moment, he had had enough.
John rose and walked over to stand at the foot of the sofa. He crossed his arms parentally and addressed his sub, "Sherlock, enough. You can either drop the attitude or I'll give you a real reason to sulk."
"It's your fault I'm bored, John. You won't let me do anything fun." Sherlock's bottom lip popped out in a true pout, though John couldn't see it.
"That's it. Sit up, Sherlock," John snapped.
The detective gave a shudder. John's tone brooked no resistance. He immediately rolled over and straightened to a sitting position, though he didn't meet John's eye.
"Look at me." John waited until Sherlock did as instructed then continued. "You have been behaving like a spoiled child so I'm going to treat you like one. Your going into time out - one minute for every year of your age. How old are you, Sherlock?"
The detective glowered at him. John was perfectly aware of how old Sherlock was.
"Sherlock..." John warned.
"Thirty eight," Sherlock spat.
John heaved a large sigh. "That was impolite. We'll discuss that after your time out is over. I suggest that you attempt to show a bit of respect or things will get far worse. Let's try that again. How old are you?"
This time, Sherlock took heed of John's tone and responded, "Thirty eight, Sir."
"Much better. Now, mind your ankle and crawl to the time out corner." As John spoke, he pulled out his mobile and set a timer for thirty eight minutes.
Sherlock slid down onto all fours and crawled to the designated corner. He hated that corner, which he knew was completely illogical. After all, Sherlock would essentially be doing the same thing that he had done on the sofa: nothing. The difference was he hadn't chosen to be in the corner. John had put him there. The detective considered. His Dom wasn't angry. He was annoyed. That meant that Sherlock might be able to redirect how things were going if he played his part just right.
"You're fidgeting, Sherlock,"John admonished, "This is your only warning. Next time, I'll restart the timer."
Suppressing a growl, Sherlock made himself go still. He hadn't realise that he had been fidgeting. His plans were shot. If he tried to influence John now, things could go badly. He growled.
John had moved to stand behind the detective. Now, he twined his fingers into Sherlock's hair and pulled the younger man's head back. "So very rude." John's phone beeped as he reset the timer. "You can do better. Next time, I'll send you to your room for the rest of the day without your phone or laptop. Then I'll go up to my old room and have a nice long wank. Without. You." The detective whimpered. "You wouldn't like that."
No, Sherlock wouldn't like that. He'd be good. He'd be golden. John released him and left him to his corner. Time passed slowly while Sherlock knelt. It was so hard to remain motionless. He caught himself fidgeting several times Each time, he froze, dreading John's notice. It never came, a fact for which he was immensely grateful. He didn't think he could endure the timer being reset again.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, sounded John's phone.
Sherlock let out a relived sigh without springing up from the corner. The corner had worked it's magic. Sherlock was ready to please. He waited for his Dom to tell him what to do.
"That's my good boy," John crooned. "Come here." He was sitting in his chair and had patted the space between his thighs.
Sherlock crawled over to him and settled where John had indicated. His heart soared at his Dom's praise. The feeling was short lived.
"We still have to talk about your disrespect."
Bowing his head, the detective apologised. "I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again."
John snorted. "Don't lie to me, Boy. We both know that it will and I'll make you regret it when it does happen just as you're going to regret it today." He started unfastening his trousers. "This is going to feel so good, Boy, and all you get to do is watch."
Sherlock groaned. His Dom was going to pleasure himself and the detective wouldn't get to touch. This was far worse than the corner, but at least he hadn't been banished to his room. He would still get to see it when John came.
John had pulled out his cock and had begun running the thumb of his left hand over its head. Sherlock watched in fascination as his Dom smoothed pre-ejaculate over the length of his cock.
"I know what you want, Boy." John began stroking himself slowly. "You want this inside you. You don't care where, do you? I could shove it in your mouth or your greedy little hole. You'd be happy either way."
It was all rhetorical, but a "Yes, Sir" was pulled from Sherlock's mouth just the same. He wanted John. He wanted to be filled, but that was not to be. All Sherlock could do was watch and ache with need.
"Bad little boys don't get to play. That's the r... rules." John's words stuttered to a brief halt as he increased his pace. Sherlock's hand twitched towards his Dom involuntarily.
"Hands, Boy," John cautioned and the detective clapped them to the back of his neck to keep them still.
"I really d... don't understand..." the Dom gave himself a small twist of the wrist and gasped, "why you didn't just... ungh... ask for a d... diversion." John let his head fall back and closed his eyes. He wanted to make Sherlock ache, so he stopped moving his hand altogether and began thrusting upward into his own fist. The display would drive the detective mad. "Instead, you a... acted like a child wh... who is used to getting his oooown," John's thrusts came faster, "way and s... God! ...suddenly is expected to b... behave. He finished with one last powerful thrust and came.
John's ejaculate shot in white ribbons over Sherlock's chest where he knelt and the detective let out a plaintive cry. He was so hard and aching and he hadn't been allowed to touch John even once.
After his Dom came down from the natural high of his orgasm, he cracked his eyes and looked at Sherlock. His sub looked less like a naughty boy and more like a child who had been taken to a toy store and shown what he couldn't have. "My poor little boy. You've been so bored, haven't you?"
Sherlock nodded then said, "Yes, Sir."
"Are you bored now, Boy?"
What was the correct answer? Watching John come had definitely not been boring, but if he said that, then his Dom might very well leave him alone for the rest of the day. If Sherlock said that he was bored, however, that would be a lie.
John spared him having to respond. "No, you aren't bored, but you will be soon. Unless... " He trailed off suggestively. Sherlock's tongue darted it and swept across his upper lip. "No, you don't deserve that," John said with a shake off his head, never expounding on what "that" was. "You have been naughty, after all. Instead, show me how good you can be. I want you to make yourself come."
Sherlock's lips parted in a small gasp as he lowered his pyjama bottoms and pants and wrapped the fingers of his right hand around his already dripping cock. He followed John's example and used the copious pre-ejaculate at its tip for lube and began to stroke himself.
Smiling at his sub, John ordered, "Stop." When Sherlock gave him a puzzled look, he explained, "I want to see your fingers inside of you too." His words were accompanied by the toss of a small bottle of lube that he had produced seemingly from nowhere.
When the sub had slicked up the fingers of his right hand, he started working them into his hole one by one. John liked to hear him, so Sherlock let himself moan wantonly as he stretched himself open carefully. When his fingers finally stroked over his prostate, Sherlock's hips bucked.
John smiled. "Okay, Boy, you can stroke yourself now."
The detective didn't need to be told twice. It was a bit awkward using his left hand to wank, but he soon settled into a steady rhythm. Sherlock thrust his fingers into his hole and stroked his prostate on every downstroke of his other hand. He pulled his fingers out as his hand glided back up his cock. Soon, the sub was trembling both from effort and pleasure. When John ordered, "Come for me, my beautiful boy," Sherlock's body went stiff and he became lost in his own orgasm. It was blinding in its intensity. Unable to help himself, Sherlock fell forward, his face landing in his Dom's lap.
John stroked his chestnut locks and told him, "Your were such a good boy, Sherlock. Be my good boy, always. Just two more days and you'll be all better. I'll let Lestrade call you in if he has a case then, but no more sulking. Can you be my good boy?"
Sherlock nodded mutely. He would do his best to be good for John. If he couldn't, though, his Dom would see to him. He had no doubt of that.