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Guilty Pleasures	By : CodyMThomas Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 8167 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or content associated with BBC Sherlock, I am merely playing with them for my own amusement and make no money from this fic

Chapter List
- 1-Guilty Pleasures
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-Chapter 12
- 13-13
- 1
- 2
- 3
In the bathroom, Sherlock removes his clothes entirely and takes stock. Pressure abrasions around his wrists, more so on the right when John had immobilized his dominant hand behind his back, it would bruise on the inner wrist, easily covered with long sleeve shirts an inch longer than he usually wore them. Left shoulder, strained from wrenching, be easy on it the next few days. Another pressure mark on the back of his neck from John's forearm to hold him down, insignificant, it would disappear in the next few hours. Bite mark on the back left shoulder, broken skin and bruising, disinfectant and a bandage, invisible under a darker shirt. Several marks on the pelvis and hips from the table edge and John's hands, most would bruise, wear trousers with a slightly higher waistline so they aren't irritated. Bruises already forming on kidney marks, sleep on side or stomach the next few days just in case. Anal discomfort from friction and hard penetration, ointment, briefs, and some paracetamol tablets. And finally, crescent-shaped mark on his left cheek from the blasted mug. Definite bruise, dark purple and red abrasion, small cut but not truly bleeding, already swollen. Annoying, hard to hide, possibly a plaster, wearing hair a bit more forward, maybe even makeup. Annoying. All in all he's had it worse, but the ones he has are still going to be noticeable over the next few days.

He runs a hot shower, lets the heat of the water help soak away the ache in his arm, lower back, and hips. When he finishes he dries himself and tucks the towel around his hips before making his way gingerly to his room for some clean clothes. When he opens the door, John is waiting for him on his bed, he knows John saw him flinch and grip his towel tighter, as if it could protect him. With sad, almost destroyed eyes John holds up the first aid kit.

"I just want to take care of that shoulder, you'll have a time of it yourself."

Sherlock doesn't resist or argue, or even put up a token protest. He gingerly sits at the corner of the bed and leans forward a bit so that John can easily reach the wound. He can't stop the hiss as the cold burn of the antiseptic feels like it stabs into the exposed tissues. The smooth, soothing ointment is next, and Sherlock whimpers in relief after the pain from the antiseptic. Finally a gauze bandage that is expertly held in place by an eight sided frame of waterproof medical tape. John knows how much he moves around normally and made sure that it will stay put. John's hand is not leaving his shoulder.

Sherlock bows his head when he feels John's lips press between his shoulder blades in a tender kiss. If people really could 'kiss it all better' Sherlock wouldn't have a mark left on him anywhere the second John's lips pulled away. The marks he can still easily see on his wrists however attest to this not being the case. This is when Sherlock feels a lump in his throat, and a burning sensation behind his eyes, but he doesn't cry, he absolutely refuses to. That would destroy John for good.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, I am so, so sorry."

"I know."

The first words he's spoken since the encounter began, and Sherlock knows it's true. He knows John loves him, he knows John is sorry, and he knows that no matter the bruises attesting otherwise, John is not an abuser. He's known abusers of every type; physical, mental, sexual; criminals of the lowest sort, they get into their victims heads, twist things around, and press all the blame back on the victims, making them afraid to fight back or speak up so the abuse can continue in a never ending cycle. Not his John. Never his brave doctor. There is no transfer of blame, there is no mind games or false pretenses. No matter what happens when Sherlock manages to hit the buttons just right, John willingly takes full responsibility for his own actions and soldiers through the fallout and guilt with all the single mindedness of his position.

John stands up and pretends he doesn't notice Sherlock take a plaster, paracetamol, and the tube of zinc diaper rash cream (which is far gentler than the hemorrhoid ointment), before he closes the first aid kit and steps out of the room.

Sherlock applies the plaster, then swallows the tablets before applying the ointment and putting on briefs and pajamas, very much not in the mood to do anything the rest of the day that would require going out or interacting with other people. He curls into the covers and decides on a nap. It's an hour or two later when he wakes up, puts on his dressing gown and slippers, and emerges from his room in search of tea and whatever food he can smell cooking, only to find a guilty eyed John setting down a cup of tea just the way he likes it, and two plates of chicken, potatoes, and peas.

He smiles a bit at the sight of food, but that doesn't stop the wince when he sits down on the hard bar stool. Dinner is eaten in silence, it's always quiet for about the first twelve hours after one of these 'episodes'. John doesn't know what to say, and Sherlock doesn't want to talk. He has three cups of tea, knowing full well it will make him have a hard time sleeping tonight, in fact he's counting on it. John does the dishes without preamble, more to give himself something to do than anything else.

But Sherlock just can't resist poking open wounds. Because he doesn't want to wait, he wants it now.

"Why? What did I do?"
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Guilty Pleasures