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As soon as the cab was paid for, John grabbed Sherlock by his curls, “Apologise to the driver for being such an arse!”
The detective had already been knelt on the floor in the cab since John had got in and glared daggers at him when he sat on the seat. Eventually the genius had understood and knelt, not in between John's legs but at his side. John hadn't touched him once.
Sherlock bit his lip but obediently apologised with a bowed head.
The driver looked sheepish and pulled away sharply as John pulled him out and down so he was bent double. He pulled Sherlock from the back seat making it as uncomfortable as possible for the detective. It was made worse by the fact that Sherlock was quite a bit taller than John. The doctor tightened his grip when he reached the door and Sherlock froze. He knew not to antagonise the older man. He'd learnt that the wrong way.
“Kneel, slut!” John barked when the door shut. The Dom had long since stopped caring that Mrs. Hudson could hear them. Back when they'd first started this, John had been worried that he was being too angry with Sherlock all the time - too forceful, but one day he really had lost his temper and Sherlock had responded so much better and later on had gone on to confirm how much more he preferred John like that.
John didn't even send him a smile or a well done when his hands went to his neck without being told. Sherlock hated the fact that at the moment he was an inanimate object to the Dom. He was in for a rough night, and he was more than aware he deserved everything John threw at him.
The doctor removed his coat and then demanded the same of the kneeling man. He as quickly as possible struggled out of his Belstaff - it wasn't chilly enough for a scarf - and as soon as it was off his arms he had his hands back on his neck again. He daren't give the older man any further ammunition to use against him.
“Up the stairs!”
Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to try and stand. He made his way to the bottom step on his knees.
John had already found the rope that he would use tonight by the time Sherlock had made it to the top and stripped. When Sherlock caught sight of it, he knew he was not only in for a rough night but an uncomfortable one too.
“You know how this works.”
And Sherlock did. His hands moved from his neck, where he had stopped by the door unsure what to do next, to his back and he put his wrists together. John bound them quickly and then cinched them to stop Sherlock being able to wriggle free.
Ever the doctor John assured that Sherlock's circulation wouldn't be under threat from the nocturnal activities. He would check throughout the night. The rope, however, was tight enough to rub against his skin if he fought but would be perfectly fine if he didn't, that way the Dom was aware when Sherlock had struggled.
John moved over and sat in his chair. He used a finger to point at the floor by his feet and Sherlock obediently shuffled over in an awkward knee walk. He pointed again and the detective bent over to present his back to the Dom. The doctor sat back and swung his legs up onto the detective. He placed his already made - Sherlock had taken a long time to crawl up 17 steps - mug of tea between his legs.
“If you spill any of that you will be severely unimpressed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sherlock hated the fact that there was no kindness in the doctor’s voice. It wasn't soft and gentle like normal. It was hard and threatening and that was the way it would stay until John had forgiven him.
Sherlock rested his forehead against the floor, slowly as to not affect the tea resting between his Dom's legs.
Sherlock had long since realised he was in control of this. He could decide when he'd had enough, but if it wasn't long enough John would be even angrier. The longer he managed to hold position, the less likely he was to get a battering at the end of it, but he always did. Sometimes it was a few spanks. Other times, he had held out just as long and it was a lot more. That was when he realised it was the anger when John ordered him there which would determine the result. Sherlock just had to hold out as long as possible.
By the time Sherlock began to tremble, John's cup was empty.
“You struggling now?” John asked, his tone harsh.
“N-no, sir. Sorry, sir.” Admitting defeat now would be nothing but reckless.
He held out another 10 minutes. The trembling now was insistent, not on and off like it had been before. John swung his legs to one side. The detective didn't move, that would have been futile.
He waited until John kicked his arse before he knelt up, knees clicking.
Sherlock braced himself, more than aware what was coming next. He bit his lip as the crop landed just above his arse.
There had only been 15 strokes with the crop, all over his back and arse. It seemed he had held out long enough for the Dom's liking, it could easily have been 75.
***
John had roughly prepared him and forced that stupid wide plug into his hole. It didn't hurt but it would be a constant presence and meant he would not be comfortable tonight.
He knelt upright, next to the doctor who was sat in his chair again. He was close enough that John could reach out and pet him, but he wouldn't. John always said Sherlock had to behave to be petted, but the Dom wouldn't completely ignore him either. He'd lean over randomly and grab him tightly demanding an explanation or an apology for the thing that he had been punished for.
Sherlock was brought out of his reminiscing by a hand in his curls tugging sharply.
“So what are you being punish for today then, boy?”
“I ran off, sir,” Sherlock said quietly. He whimpered slightly as the Dom shifted his grip and yanked at his curls.
“Not a good enough answer, Sherlock, and you should know that!”
“Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I meant, I ran off after a suspect alone at the crime scene, sir.”
“And why is that bad?”
This time the plug shifted inside of him when he was tugged.
“Because I can get hurt when I'm on my own, sir,” he replied dutifully, desperately trying to ignore the feeling in his cock.
“And?”
“You're the only person that gets to hurt me, sir. And only when I deserve it.”
“Good.”
John's tone was slightly softer, enough for Sherlock to notice.
“Bed then.”
Seeing as the doctor's tone was only slightly softer, Sherlock crawled to the bedroom rather than get up and walk.
John followed and ordered Sherlock to kneel at the bottom of the bed while he got changed. He told Sherlock he'd be sleeping naked and he replied with a quiet, “Yes, sir.”
“Up and kneel, hands and knees.”
Sherlock scrambled onto the bed silently.
“Shoulders to the mattress.” Sherlock obeyed and John passed him a cock ring. “You know what to do with it.”
The detective whimpered as he worked it over his length. He had been constantly stimulated since John had plugged him and the force the doctor had used to get the plug seated could still be felt.
John pulled the plug out in one swift movement and refilled his loose hole with his cock. He gripped around his neck and tugged him back so he was on his lap. It took a while and a few pitiful whimpers from Sherlock, but eventually he had sunk all the way down.
“Ride me.”
Riding John was usually enjoyable, but as a punishment… The doctor would no doubt be rough and unforgiving and he had no chance of relief even with constant stimulation.
“I said ride me, boy! Are you fucking stupid?!”
Sherlock flinched. “No, sir. I'm sorry, sir.” The sub struggled around forcing his feet to tuck up underneath him so he could use them to lift himself up and down.
He managed it 3 or 4 times before he was puffing and trembling through the strain in his thighs. He pushed up and then dropped back down a bit further than normal and John grunted. Through some will, Sherlock froze and apologised profusely. “I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry. I- I'm not-”
“Shut up!” John's tone was harsh as he reached his orgasm. His head was thrown back and Sherlock whimpered. His cock was throbbing inside its restraint.
“P-please, sir-”
“No, you greedy slut. Why are you being punished?”
“I ran off at the crime scene, sir. I could have got hurt by someone who wasn't you, sir.”
“Good.” John pushed him off and moved up to the top of the bed where he got underneath the cover. “Get off the bed, slut, and kneel.”
Cautiously Sherlock obeyed.
“Hands behind your head.”
Again he obeyed, his cock jutting out in front of him, wavering slightly at the cold breeze coming through the door. He could feel the blood rushing away from his previously solid length.
“You will not touch your cock. In fact, you will not move at all. Is that understood?”
Sherlock whimpered.
John sat up, “Is that understood?” The doctor barked.
“Y-yes, sir.”
“So what do you say to me for ignoring me and making me ask twice?”
“I'm sorry, sir,” Sherlock's voice was especially low at the Dom's harsh tone.
With that John rolled over to go to sleep. Sherlock daren't touch his cock or move at all, even with his Dom facing the other way. The doctor would know. The doctor always knew.
It was about an hour and a half before anything changed. Sherlock's arms were beginning to sag and he knew it, but he knew not to drop them or move off his knees which were hurting because of the hard wooden floor boards. There was a dull ache radiating through all of him.
When the bed shifted, Sherlock straightened. He heard his back click and groaned.
“Are you trying to wake me up?” John snapped.
Sherlock shivered. The Dom was still angry. “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”
John shifted. He had already been awake, but the kneeling man didn't know that.
“Get on the bed!”
Shaking and aching, Sherlock clambered up onto the bed.
“Shoulders and knees.” John ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Sherlock sounded nervous and, in his opinion, it wasn't entirely unjustified.
“Arse up, slut.”
Sherlock was still trembling, but now he believed it had gone from the dull ache to terror. He obeyed anyway. He didn't have the guts to not obey.
John poked at his hole and Sherlock bit his lip. He mustn't make a noise. Making a noise would get him punished, even though it hurt.
“Is that sore, boy?”
Sherlock was sat on the fence. If he said yes, John was likely to laugh. If he said no, John could do anything.
“Don't even think of lying to me.”
That didn't help his position or decision.
“Yes, sir. It hurts, sir.”
“Give me a word.”
Sherlock froze and turned his head round to his Dom. He was staring at him with cold, calculating eyes, but was that concern? No it couldn't be, he'd been bad, the Dom had no reason to be concerned.
“Green, sir.”
“A number?”
He was still offering him a way out.
“4, sir.”
4/10 was fine. John would continue with 4/10.
He pressed around the edge of his hole and the detective had to hold in the hiss of pain as John pulled the plug out. He sunk into the detective and growled a 'lay down' into his ear. Sherlock laid out flat beneath the Dom. The doctor laid out over top of him, his surgeon fingers either side of his sub's head, and his cock seated all the way in, making him jolt beneath him.
John took hold of his hips and pumped. He'd woken up hard, so it didn't take him long to finish inside him.
“Go to sleep,” John growled in his sub's ear when he was finished and collapsed on his back. He pulled the duvet over the both of them, but if Sherlock mentioned it John would say he was covering himself not the younger man who was in trouble.
Sherlock whimpered again, a noise he only ever heard when he was being punished. His arse had gone from a 4 to an 8 like that case last week, but he didn't say anything. The doctor would accuse him of lying earlier.
Sherlock must have managed to fall asleep because when he was next aware, John had smacked the pale red flesh of his arse right over the marks the crop had left. He jolted awake, immediately alert, to find that John was no longer in him but that bloody thick, wide plug was. It wasn't soft and warm like his Dom. It was solid and cold.
“Bottom of the bed, slut!” John ordered.
Sherlock thought of complaining, but decided against it. He wriggled out from under the duvet and immediately shivered. It was chilly without the blanket, much like when he'd been knelt.
When Sherlock looked up, his Dom was back under the blankets, his head nestled into the pillow. He looked warm and snug and… fine and here was Sherlock freezing cold. He sniffed, rolled over to face the bottom of the bed and used his arms as a pillow, not getting under the bottom of the duvet because he hadn't been given permission. He'd been sent to the corner the last time he did that. At least now he was in touching distance of his Dom, not that he would, because he'd get bollocked for that too.
Sherlock couldn't sleep. He'd tried. He'd rolled over, once mind, because too much moving would anger John. He was too cold so he wrapped his arms around his knees as he brought them up to his chest and curled into the base board of the bed. At least that offered a bit of comfort. He was cold and his arse was sore and he was tired. The case had been going on for days and he'd barely grabbed any sleep, but he couldn't drift off so lay there shivering.
***
The next thing he was aware of was John tapping him on the shoulder. The second thing he was aware of was the fact that the tap hadn't been a hit or a smack but a gentle rocking on cold flesh.
He looked up into the blue eyes of his Dom and immediately looked away. “I'm sorry, sir.”
“Shh, pet,” he rubbed his shoulder in between the tremors racking through his body.
“C'mon, up here.”
Sherlock caught a glance at the bedside clock. 3:30. As he shifted, he realised his hole was empty too and noticed the plug on the bedside table.
“Th-thank you, s-sir.”
John realised what he was looking at.
“Why did I punish you?” John asked for a third time.
“I ran off, sir. Into danger. I could have been hurt and I made you worry. I'm sorry, sir.”
That apology hadn't been forced. That apology was the meaningful one.
“Good boy.” He helped his sub under the covers. “I trust you learnt your lesson.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, then you're forgiven, pet. Now sleep. I'm not going anywhere.”
John spooned in behind him making sure to tuck him in. He lifted one leg over the taller man's and ran his hand up and down his arm, hoping to get a bit of warmth into him.
“I r-really am sorry, sir. I realise now how I was wrong.”
“Shh, pet, I know, it's ok. You've been punished and you took it well. My good, sweet, beautiful boy. What would I do without you eh?”
“Sleep better at night, sir,” Sherlock whispered cautiously. It sounded like he had been forgiven, John's voice was soft and light but he wasn't 100 percent sure.
He smiled slightly when he heard a quiet chuckle. “No need for that term of address now, Sherlock. I've said you are forgiven.”
The detective rolled over where he lay and tilted his head into the pillow further.
John understood and leant forward to kiss him.
“Now roll over and go to sleep.”