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Hacked	By : SoftPurpleSherlockian Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 4354 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters and am making no money off of this story.

Chapter List
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Closing the door behind him, John walked into the kitchen and turned on the kettle just as Sherlock slammed his bedroom door shut. It took every ounce of self-restraint he had for John not to barge in the room, bend Sherlock over and fuck him six ways to Sunday. Instead, he was forced to pretend he didn’t have a clue as to what the detective was doing tucked away in his room at this very moment.
As the kettle reached a nice rolling boil, he poured the water into his mug and let the tea bag steep. Glancing at the digital clock on the microwave, he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Less than five minutes had passed since they entered the flat, and though Sherlock was younger than him, the doctor doubted he was finished with his wank in just that brief span of time.
He strode over to the detective’s bedroom door, pausing to listen to the soft, breathy moans and the familiar sounds of skin sliding against wet flesh coming from the other side. John waited until the breathing became a little harsher, and then gave a hard knock against the wood. “Sherlock,” he called against the grain, “come out here.” There was no please added to the end of it, this wasn’t a request.
“In a moment, John” came the strangled plea. John hadn’t thought it was possible for Sherlock’s voice to sound any deeper, but with a blanket of sex shrouding it, the doctor felt his knees buckle under him.
“Now.” With that one little word, John could feel Sherlock go completely still in the next room, and felt a sense of triumph. He backed far enough away from the door that it wouldn’t be painfully obvious he'd practically had his ear against it mere seconds before his flatmate stepped out.
“What is it?” an annoyed Sherlock asked as he threw the door wide open. The shorter man standing in front of him took a moment to appreciate the view; he didn’t even try to hide his lust as his eyes drank Sherlock in. His hair was wild; a mess of dark curls that tumbled across his face and were stuck to his forehead by the beads of sweat formed over his brow, giving his creamy skin a glistening sheen. His pupils were blown; eyes that were usually as clear as the ocean on a bright day now resembled a sailor’s worst nightmare, as Poseidon unleashed his fury and turned the blue-green water black. The usual milk and honey complexion of his skin was kissed with angry red splotches and what little of his chest that was visible and wasn’t covered by the worn out blue dressing gown that was currently wrapped around his torso. John stood there staring at him, deciding that if he was set on playing this game, he was playing to win. Certain that his expression mirrored Sherlock’s, John licked his lips and was rewarded with the blush that crept up into the taller man’s angled cheeks.
Clearing his throat, John composed himself. “You said you would do the washing up when we got home.”
“The plates can wait, John,” Sherlock huffed out, clearly aggravated that he had been disturbed for such a mundane reason.
“No they can’t, go do them.” John didn’t leave the conversation open for discussion as he turned and made his way to the staircase. Before venturing up into his room, he turned long enough to see Sherlock debating whether or not to go back into his room or into the kitchen. Lowering his shoulders in defeat, he headed towards the sink. John smirked before walking into his room, he made a point not to close the door all the way behind him, leaving it open less than a fraction of a metre, just enough for sound to carry downstairs.
He shed his shoes and jumper before flinging himself against the mattress. Wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, he retrieved his mobile from the pocket. The thought of changing his mind had not occurred to him, but if ever there was a time to change his mind, this would be it. Once he went down this road, there would be no turning back. He brought the screen closer to his face and tapped on the icon with an envelope on it that would take him down the path he had chosen.
There were a lot of e-mails to go through and John was momentarily overwhelmed, not quite sure where to begin. Deciding it was always best to start at the beginning, he scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list and opened the message that had been sent seven months prior.
__________________________________________________________________

To: HolmesS_Detective@outlook.co.uk
From: WatsonJH@outlook.co.uk
Subject: Test
Body:
I’m not sure why I’m sending this. Perhaps it’s because I can express myself better this way, perhaps it’s because this is the only way you’ll actually listen to me. Either way, here we go.
I’m glad the case is over; I didn’t care for that woman. I didn’t like the way she looked at you, or the way she was always trying to find some way to touch you. I don’t believe in violence against women, but I think I could have probably killed her.
Did you enjoy when she hit you? Did you like the sting of her crop as it came down? Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to be the one wielding it, to be the one to make you squirm? I watch you every single day, and you still have no idea how badly I want you, it’s maddening.
What are we going to do about this little dilemma we find ourselves in?
JW

__________________________________________________________________
John continued flipping through the messages, absorbing the words on the screen as he drank each one in. As the days, weeks, and months passed, the messages got bolder and became more graphic in their content and John could feel the pressure of his erection pressing against the seam of his jeans, begging to be released. He did his best to ignore it and concentrated on the screen in front of him. Some of the messages were long and some of them were as short as a single commanding sentence. Some of them were harsh, while others seemed to tug at his heart.
__________________________________________________________________

To: HolmesS_Detective@outlook.co.uk
From: WatsonJH@outlook.co.uk
Subject: [none]

Body:
Wear the nipple clamps under your shirt today. The jacket and coat will prevent them from being seen.
Doctor Watson

__________________________________________________________________

To: HolmesS_Detective@outlook.co.uk
From: WatsonJH@outlook.co.uk
Subject: Molly
Body:
What the hell were you thinking? How can you continue to be so cruel to Molly? Molly! Of all people?!? What the hell, Sherlock? You know I’m going to have to punish you for this, don’t you?

When I get home from the clinic I’m going to bend you over the bed and spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week!
You won’t be allowed to come.
Your Doctor

__________________________________________________________________

To: HolmesS_Detective@outlook.co.uk
From: WatsonJH@outlook.co.uk
Subject: Case
Body:
You were brilliant, love. Really fantastic! I know I told you at the scene, but I wanted to say it again. I think you deserve a reward, after all, it’s not every day you solve a quadruple homicide in less than a minute.
What would you like tonight, pet? Shall I take you in my mouth? It’s a special occasion and I wouldn’t mind getting on my knees for you this evening. Or perhaps I’ll fuck you hard and fast, slowing only when you’re on the edge, not pushing you over, would you like that? Maybe I’ll tie you down and whip you, not with the cat o’ nine tails; this isn’t meant to be a punishment. No, I’d use the rubber flogger, the one that bites you just hard enough to make you moan.
You decide, I’ll be home soon.
Your Doctor.

__________________________________________________________________
No matter the content, every message had a common denominator: John in charge, John calling the shots, John inflicting pain. These were all things he would be all too happy to oblige, he thought to himself as he lowered the zip and pulled his cock from his pants. He had already leaked so much that there was no need for lube and he fisted his shaft as he reread the words that told him just how badly Sherlock wanted him. He turned himself to face he door and let his moans become louder than really necessary. He wanted to be sure Sherlock heard him and knew exactly what he was doing. If he knew Sherlock, it would only be a matter of time before curiosity got the best of him. However, he was also counting on Sherlock’s submissive nature to keep him from entering the room. John was pleased to find that he didn’t disappoint.
*

*

*
Downstairs, Sherlock was scrubbing the mug in his hand. Letting the hot water wash away all traces of washing up liquid, he stood there and pondered how he had gotten himself into this position.
He had been so close to coming, and he needed it. If having the plug buried in his arse all day hadn’t been bad enough, he was nearly done in when John had started pressing the button on the remote, sending the vibrations to the highest setting. He’d almost come on the spot and it was all he could do to snatch the remote and head up the stairs into their flat.
Once in the confines of his room, he shed his clothes, the heat in his groin teetering just on the edge. The detective lay on his bed and rhythmically started stroking his cock, playing with the various vibrations speeds. It was much more tolerable when combined with the added pressure of his palm rubbing over the sensitive flesh. Sherlock could feel himself getting closer and sped up his pace when he heard the knock on his door, and when he answered, he was greeted with a look on John’s face that he had only ever dared to dream about. It was a look of sheer awe and want. The doctor unabashedly licked his lips and looked Sherlock up and down. It had been clear what he had been doing before he was interrupted, but instead of appearing embarrassed, John remained indifferent to the state Sherlock was currently in, telling him to go into the kitchen before he disappeared into his own room.
Putting the mug on the draining board, Sherlock absentmindedly reached for a plate when he was jerked from his thoughts. The sound was soft, but there was still no mistaking that it was a moan, and Sherlock dropped the plate into the sink before turning off the steady stream of water and listening harder. The panting grew louder as he walked into the sitting room, and was slightly muffled by the time he made it to the staircase. Venturing up the next floor, Sherlock stopped when the floor creaked and mumbled under his breath. By the time he was standing outside of John’s door, the groans were frantic. In a moment of boldness, he peered inside and was done for. Not three and a half metres away from him, lay the man that starred at the center of all of his fantasies. John was stretched out across his bed, clothes in a pile on the floor as he pumped his cock in a frenzy.
It was the first time Sherlock had seen the other man’s penis, and his mouth went dry. It was roughly the same length as his own, but it was so much thicker. The detective hadn’t even realised he was rubbing his own prick until he felt the familiar churning in his balls. Precome that had beaded at the tip of his penis was now starting to trail down his length and his dressing gown was barely hanging onto his shoulder as he matched John’s rhythm. He had been ready to shoot off all day long, so it didn’t surprise him when he felt himself coming before his flatmate did. He bit his lip so hard he drew blood, but it was a small sacrifice to pay for silence as he brought up his other hand to catch the hot, sticky liquid that was spurting out from the tip of his cock.
He continued to stand there, fighting the urge to sit as his knees threatened to buckle under him. He kept his eyes fixed on the man on the other side of the door, and when he came, he cried out so loud that Sherlock jumped back and raced to the bathroom before slamming the door behind him.
His reflection alone told the story of what had transpired, and his gaze fixed on the deep red blood that had pooled on his lip, a result of his effort to keep silent, and with a twinge of disappointment, he wiped it away. Turning the tap on, he ran his hand under the water and washed away all traces of his pleasure before he brought his fingers up to the wound over his lip and smiled. He would wear the mark with pride, knowing that every time he saw or felt it, he would be thinking about that stolen moment outside of his doctor’s door.
- 16
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