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Perihelion	By : darkangel1210 Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 13560 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters, nor do I make any profit from writing this. Just too inspired by the show that I had to borrow them.

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Part Three

Contrary to what John thought would happen over the next week, Sherlock proved (somewhat remarkably) that when he said it was John’s decision to make the first move, he actually meant it. John didn’t hear a peep out of the other man when Sherlock emerged from his bedroom the next morning, other than his customary demand for tea, before he flopped down onto the sofa and flicked through the morning newspaper to look for any interesting reports that might lead to a new case.

That didn’t mean that there was anything interesting to read, however, and the newspaper had soon been flung across the room without so much as a by-your-leave directed to John who, incidentally, had wanted to read the paper after Sherlock was finished with it.

Eventually, when Sherlock was lucky enough to find a case that was above a seven, John found he was taken along as normal and used as Sherlock’s sounding board for his deductions. If Sherlock was feeling particularly generous during those cases, he actively encouraged John to make his own judgements on the crime scene despite Lestrade’s misgivings and, if Sherlock said, “Excellent, John,” in a way that made John flush under the collar of his jacket, the detective had the grace not to mention it.

It seemed that, as far as Sherlock was concerned, everything was back to normal; as though they’d never seen the bondage scene at the club; as though Sherlock hadn’t felt the physical proof of John’s excitement from the beat of his heart, or heard the strangled whisper John had made when the noise from the paddle made his cock twitch.

Having said that, John knew that his own perception of reality was very different from the detective’s and forgetting the whole experience was far more difficult than John could readily admit to. When they came back from the club the first time, John had walked into the living room and sat on his chair with a heavy sigh, trying to flush the adrenaline from his system and delete the entire evening from his memory. And, up to a point, he’d been succeeding.

Only to have all his efforts wasted when he saw that Sherlock had left his riding crop on his own chair, the handle resting on the padding of the seat while the fold of leather at its tip was pointing to the mirror above the fireplace. John had berated himself quite badly at his foresight to stoke the fire before they left, hoping to have just a nice, warm flat to come into once they were finished and instead feeling another hot flush come over him when he saw how the firelight bathed the leather in front of him. It could have been his state of mind at the time, but the way the firelight had been on the leather… It was almost like the light had been caressing it. And when the snap of the logs sounded particularly loud, John imagined that that was just what the leather would sound like if it made contact on his skin...

It was only when he’d realised what direction his thoughts had taken that he told himself to get a grip and go to bed, for it had gone midnight by the time Sherlock had finished his investigation at the club, but it had still taken the draw of a large scotch to help him get to sleep. Even it was restless in the end, resulting in him tossing and turning on his pillow throughout the night before waking up and finding his sheets soaked in a cold sweat, his panting breaths resounding in his ears and his cock a rigid, throbbing reminder of the turn his dreams had taken.

The morning after the first night, when John had finally worked up the courage to leave his room, Sherlock had asked John if he’d had any nightmares. “You were quite loud last night,” Sherlock had elaborated. “I briefly considered coming up to wake you.”

John had nodded dumbly to Sherlock’s flash of concern, agreeing that it had been another nightmare, but that didn’t mean that Sherlock needed to know what the subject matter had been. Not when the ghosts of half remembered sensations still danced across John’s skin; the slow drag of a finger across his neck and collar bone; the scratch of nails on the inner skin of his thighs, making them twitch and reflexively open in the welcoming gesture for more. God help him, the smooth tenor of a voice much deeper than his own whispering lewd, filthy things in his ear, each word a declaration of praise, of promises made between French silk sheets and the bite of leather around his wrists, holding him in place for the man who wanted him to ache and hurt and beg for them until his throat was raw from it and his flesh was a tapestry of hidden sobs just waiting to be voiced. His dream-self had known how much it was going to hurt, the slightest touch from a fingertip to any part of his body, and still he’d begged for it, unable to see because of the blindfold but needing it, like his lungs needed air and without it he would die, suffocated by his own desire.

It had taken a force of will that John had spent the rest of the day honing and harnessing to get right, but eventually it came to the point where he could listen to Sherlock speak and not have to worry about unwanted erections at inopportune of times.

During the subsequent week there was just one thing left over from that night that John hadn’t been able to vanquish no matter how much he tried (except for the dreams which were being stubbornly persistent), and that was his own awakened curiosity. Without his permission, his thoughts often wandered back to the scene between Eric and his Dom, remembering how Eric had responded to the bite of the clamps on his nipples and the cries of his voice as the paddle turned the colour of his arse to a bright shade of red. He remembered the way Sherlock’s hand had felt on the small of his back, a comforting presence in a world that Sherlock understood more than John did, and a possessive touch on his body that, when he thought about, left a warm feeling at the base of his spine that had nothing to do with the heat left over from when Sherlock’s hand had been there.

So, almost a week after their visit to the club, John had his laptop opened on his legs and was hesitantly researching a new topic using the Google search engine. He typed four letters into the search bar, each letter a capital, and when he was finished John stared at the screen for another minute, swallowing around the frog in his throat before he hit ‘enter’. The results came up almost immediately, with the search for ‘BDSM’ displaying about one hundred and seventy-eight million links and leaving John with a fluttery feeling in his chest, before he clicked on the first link that had come up to show Wikipedia offering a very helpful description of what BDSM is to the outsider:

‘BDSM represents a continuum of practices and expressions, both erotic and non-erotic, involving restraint, sensory stimulation, role-playing, and a variety of interpersonal dynamics. Given the wide range of practices, some of which may be engaged in by people who don't consider themselves as practicing BDSM, inclusion in the BDSM community and/or subculture is usually dependent on self-identification and shared experience. Interest in BDSM can range from one-time experimentation to a lifestyle, and some debate has begun over whether a BDSM or kink sexual identity also constitutes a form of sexual orientation. ’

Ok, that much John understood, having had one girlfriend in his life who liked having her arse swatted a few times when he took her from behind, but Wikipedia didn’t have exactly what it was he was looking for. In all fairness, he didn’t actually know what it was he was searching for as he had no familiarity whatsoever in being a sub. He could only draw on his experience of what he’d seen and heard at the club, but even than it was hard to grasp that his body was into this, that a primal part of his mind was responding to it.

After pursuing several websites, John decided that there had to be better ways to understand what it was he was after, if he was really after anything at all, because he was truly shocked by what he’d seen on the websites and they left a sick feeling in his stomach rather than the burning heat that he’d had when he watched Eric being bound and blindfolded over the sawhorse.

He looked at the time, seeing that it was only just seven in the evening, and set about getting ready to leave Baker Street for a few hours.

oOo

Thirty minutes later, John stepped out of the taxi after paying the driver and walked up to the BDSM club that Sherlock and he had visited just last week, self-consciously checking his freshly ironed shirt and pressed trousers to ensure that they had no creases as he neared the main entrance. The guards standing outside the door gave him a brief once-over, checking his ID (security had been stepped up by the new owners when they realised submissives were still in high demand by the wrong people) and motioning him inside once they recognised who he was.

Things had barely changed since the last time he was here, John saw, and he quickly set about scanning the area for the individuals he was seeking. It was a gamble coming back here; he knew that because the two people he was looking for might not even be here. He knew that he had to try to find them though, preferably before he had a nervous breakdown.

Looking around the main hall, he knew he definitely wasn’t comfortable in this environment, ‘too green,’ his mind accused, and, without Sherlock to back him up, he felt cut adrift amongst the people who looked like they were from another world altogether. He felt he couldn’t go to the bar because, in his world, that meant you were either with someone, waiting for someone or wanted to pick someone up for the night, and he wasn’t really any of those, nor was he really sure just what rules applied here. But standing out in the middle of the room would look ridiculous, just as it would if he wandered around aimlessly. In the end, he opted to lean against one of the pillars overlooking the stage, his gaze sweeping the area occasionally but not trying to make direct eye-contact with anyone.

As it happened, John didn’t need to worry about finding Eric or his Dom because, coincidentally, they found him first. Eric was the first to spot him, his mouth tilting up in a smile from where he was kneeled on the floor before he discreetly got his Dom’s attention, pointing out John to the other man. The Dom looked back at Eric after singling John out, perhaps telling him to stay put, and excused himself from the people he was in conversation with before coming over to where John was standing.

“Hello again,” the man said once he was close enough, offering out his hand for John to shake. “We were never properly introduced before, were we? My name is William Dawson but I prefer ‘Will’.”

John found the man’s grip to be strong, as he suspected it would be, but it made him think of other things that felt inappropriate despite where he was. “Hello,” he replied, unsure of how to address the other man and deciding to keep his greeting short. Will must have sensed it, John’s unease, because he looked around the room for a moment and John realised that the other man was looking for Sherlock. “He isn’t here,” John said, drawing Will’s attention back to himself. “I came on my own.”

Will frowned. “That’s unusual behaviour for a submissive,” he said to John, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers. “Does your Dom know you’re here?”

“No,” John said, inwardly wincing when the Will’s face darkened. “Look, it’s not like that, it’s…” He paused, more than a little frustrated. “The man I came with wasn’t my Dom. I’m not even a submissive; I’ve never had a Dom.”

Will smiled, his face lightening with John words. “Well, you certainly gave us a different impression when you were last here, Dr Watson, but I hear that Mr Holmes can be quite the actor when he needs to be.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture when he saw John looked a little shocked. “Dr Watson… John, may I call you John? The news of your success in preventing the kidnapping of the submissives here didn’t stay silent for long, you know. Everyone at this establishment who has half a brain cell knows who you are because they read your Blog, although I’ve yet to understand why you’re here. You can’t really play with the animals; they do bite on occasion.”

It took John a moment to understand that Will was referring to the people at the club and smiled, if a bit awkwardly. “Look, um, you’re right that I’ve got no idea what I’m doing and Sherlock doesn’t even know I’m here…” He paused again, running a hand through his hair and deciding to just come out with it. “It’s about the night that you invited us to your show; the scene with your sub, Eric. I wanted to talk to you about that, if it’s ok. With you and Eric. I don’t know what the protocol is or anything but I don’t even know what it is I’m looking for…” John trailed off, not able to finish his sentence because the words just wouldn’t come.

Will held up a hand to stop John from saying anything further, smiling a little in amusement. “There is no protocol, John, you needn’t worry. It’s perfectly all right to ask questions and I’m sure Eric will be happy to answer any that you have. I’m assuming that you have specific questions regarding the role of a submissive rather than a Dominant?”

“I … don’t know.” John rubbed a hand over his eyes, suddenly wishing that he hadn’t come here. “I don’t know why I’m even here.”

He felt a hand take hold of his arm and pull his hand away from his eyes, looking up to see Will looking at him in earnest. “It’s ok, John. We’ve all been where you are.” Will looked behind him and motioned to Eric who’d been sitting there watching them, and John could only stare when the young man raised himself to his feet with a grace that he’d only ever seen Sherlock use. Eric didn’t waste any time, coming up to them swiftly but with an the air of the unhurried individual; one who took as much time as needed to get the job done properly without becoming flustered.

When Eric reached Will’s side, Will raised his hand and placed it around the back of Eric’s neck, the grip soft, but possessive, and making Eric relax almost completely into it. John didn’t realise that he’d held his breath when he watched Will place his hand on his sub, and was completely unprepared for the pang of longing he felt at seeing the claim of ownership, reminiscent of the hand Sherlock had placed at his back so long ago, but somehow it lacked the same intensity.

The two men didn’t say anything through the contact; they didn’t need to, John realised with a sharp intake of breath. Everything was there for people to see if they knew what to look for; the way Eric leaned subtly towards Will, as though he was helplessly attracted to him by more than the physical side of their relationship; the way Will responded to it, brushing his lips along Eric’s temple and maintaining the clasp around the back of his neck. The bond between the two men made John feel uncomfortable because of the intimacy of it, he realised. They knew each other inside and out, how to respond to each other’s needs, and the adoration that Eric looked at Will with couldn’t be denied. The feel of his Master close to him, the scent of him, the overwhelming need to serve and be served; opposite ends of the spectrum, somehow made to meet harmoniously somewhere in-between.

“What do you see, John?” Will asked, his lips still pressed lightly to Eric’s head. “Where do you see yourself?” Before John could answer him, Will turned his head so he was looking into John’s eyes. “Do you see Sherlock beneath you, waiting for your every command, your every breath?” Using a hand gesture that only Will and Eric could have known, Eric knelt once again to his knees in front of them and bowed his head with his hands crossed at his wrists in front of him. Will began to walk around him slowly, letting Eric feel his Dom’s eyes on his body, obedient, an open receptacle for the will of his Master.

“What do you see?” Will repeated softly, brushing a hand through Eric’s hair and bringing it to rest on the back of Eric’s neck.

John soon realised that Will was asking him a direct question, and when Will undid the first few buttons and pulled away the collar of the shirt Eric was wearing, John almost felt his knees buckle beneath him. Under the collar, and just visible on Eric’s back when John peered over for a closer look, there were whip marks. John couldn’t tell what instrument had caused them, but the lines that he saw were vivid in the lighting of the club, and Eric didn’t try to restrain the whimper he gave when Will brushed a finger over one of them.

“He asked me for every single one,” Will murmured, doing up Eric’s shirt again and looking back at John with fervour in his eyes. “And I gave them to him without hesitation or regret.”

“Oh God,” John said, his voice shaky and his hands trembling by his sides, aching with a want he hadn’t known existed until now, unable to take his eyes away from Eric’s kneeling form and the whip marks that must have been like lashings of fire on his body. How much had it burnt? How much did it strip away until there was nothing left inside but the pain? And why did that sound so good? “What’s wrong with me?”

Will came over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, an action meant to calm and soothe. “Go home, John. You won’t find the all the answers you seek here but, although you may not understand why you feel this way, hopefully you’re beginning to realise why the desire needs to be fulfilled.” He tapped Eric twice on the shoulder, a signal for him to rise as the sub again got to his feet. “We hope to see you again when you have your answers.”

John nodded, watching as the two men took their leave of him, before almost running from the building in his haste to reach Baker Street.

oOo

Sherlock was waiting for him when John got back to the flat, although perhaps ‘waiting’ was the wrong word. The detective was lying on the sofa again in his dressing gown, his hands under his chin in his thinking pose, and John couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“Have fun?” Sherlock asked, lifting the lid of one eye to look at John’s face and frowning when he saw the look that John had on him. “John?”

John heard his name spoken but he didn’t know how to respond to it, couldn’t sort through the chaos in his head that left him feeling bewildered and very unstable. “I went back to the club,” he said finally, watching as Sherlock pushed himself up to a sitting position on the sofa before taking the space that Sherlock had cleared for him.

“Why did you go back?” Sherlock asked, although John knew that Sherlock already knew what the answer was but wanted to hear it on John’s terms.

“I went and saw Eric and Will, the Dom and sub from the scene we saw the first night,” he murmured, wringing his hands together in front of him with his elbows on his knees. “I thought they might be able to help me make sense of it all.”

Sherlock shifted beside him, mimicking John’s position on the sofa. “And did they help you with anything?”

John went to shake his head in the negative, but felt his whole body freeze before he could start the action. It was wrong to say that they hadn’t helped him, but they hadn’t given him any answers, not any that he could go away with and say that the decision had been made for him. Will had answered John’s question with another question, numerous ones in fact, and John soon realised that Will wanted him to think about it. An answer wasn’t an answer that came from someone else, because that was their answer to the question, not yours. Yours had to come from within. “Will showed me a part of Eric’s back; it had whip marks on it.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, sensing that John hadn’t finished and was waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t know how I feel about this, Sherlock,” John said, turning to look his flatmate in the eye. “I can’t stop thinking about the whip marks, or the paddling. The blindfolds and cuffs. All of it. It’s dancing around in my head and I can’t get it out.”

Sherlock looked away from John’s eyes for a moment, staring into the fireplace and rubbing the flats of his hands together under his chin. “You’ve never felt anything like this before, correct? You only had the realisation that there was something more when we saw Eric and Will perform for us.” Sherlock paused, curling his fingers into a set of fists in front of him and closing his eyes. “Your dreams weren’t nightmares,” Sherlock said suddenly, opening his eyes and staring back at John. “You were dreaming about something else.”

“Yes.” There was no reason to deny it now, John thought to himself, not with the conversation he was having. “Something else entirely.”

“Why didn’t you say something, John?” Sherlock asked him, turning his body so his profile was facing him directly. “You could have spoken to me about it. I promised that I wouldn’t do anything to you.”

John chuckled in his throat, looking away from Sherlock and shaking his head. “Sherlock, when I think about it, I think that’s exactly why I didn’t go to you. It took every ounce of will I had in me not to go to you and ask you for something, anything, to make it all go away; the anger at my own body because of its reaction to the scene, the emotions I was feeling over something that by all rights should have scarred me for life but instead did the exact opposite.”

“It made you wonder what it would be like to be dominated in such a way,” Sherlock murmured, his voice lowering an octave that made the hairs on John’s arms stand up under his shirt. “But it’s not just domination by anyone. You wondered what it would be like to be dominated by another man.”

John couldn’t suppress the shiver he felt at hearing the words come from Sherlock’s mouth, but it didn’t stop his instinctual need to reassert the label that he had always thought applied to himself. “But I’m straight!”

Sherlock didn’t say anything to John’s outburst, his eyes focussing off in the distance, and leaving John to wonder exactly where he’d disappeared to. After a short space of time Sherlock seemed to come back to himself, turning back to John and taking his face in his hands, his fingers cool on John’s skin. “Close your eyes.”

Unthinkingly, John did as he was asked; his own implicit trust in Sherlock making obeying the request an easy thing to do. “You’re not going to try and make me remember something again, are you?” John asked, remembering the incident outside the train line during the Blind Banker case.

“Not exactly,” Sherlock replied, before John felt the press of another pair of lips against his own, the pressure light and tentative.

He opened his eyes at the contact, his hands coming to Sherlock’s wrists although he made no move to take Sherlock’s hands away from his face, and when he saw that Sherlock had closed his eyes he felt guilty for opening his own, but wasn’t sure why. It didn’t stop his lips from responding to the press of Sherlock’s, however, something that made Sherlock gasp into John’s mouth before Sherlock took John’s lower lip between his own, sucking on it gently and making John’s body come alive under the delicate touch.

It was too much and not enough all at once, for when Sherlock ended the kiss, John felt his mouth straining towards Sherlock’s lips to keep the contact going. “You’re not gay,” Sherlock said, opening his eyes to look into John’s own. “You’re not bisexual. But you are attracted to me.”

“Yes,” John whispered, shutting his eyes when one of Sherlock’s hands slid from the side of his face and curled around the back of his neck, the memory almost painful when he remembered seeing the same grasp around Eric’s neck by his Dom. “Please, Sherlock.” God, he didn’t even know what he was asking for. “Please, I don’t…”

“Ssh,” Sherlock whispered, bringing their bodies closer as he pressed their foreheads together. “It’s going to be all right, John. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

“But, Sherlock? God, when are we doing this? When does it start?”

“It’s already started, John.” Sherlock pulled back from his face, causing John to open his eyes to see where the other man was going, which meant he saw the glint in Sherlock’s eyes when Sherlock took his hands from John’s body. “I want to stand up in front of me,” Sherlock said, the words soft and clear in the room. “And I want you to strip until there’s nothing left for you to hide behind. You’re going to take off your clothes for me so I can see every inch of you. How far we go after you’re naked is up to you, but you don’t have a choice for this part. Do you understand?”

John felt his eyes close weakly at the order, unable to keep them open as he felt an answering weakness inside his own body answer Sherlock’s words; felt it unfurl itself inside him and bask in the lack of control, the now unnecessary requirement to make a decision. It was definitely a new sensation, one that had John trembling with just a little anxiety because he’d always attributed the loss of control with danger.

Oh… Oh… It was starting to make sense now, but he couldn’t reflect on it for too long. Sherlock was waiting for an answer. He opened his eyes and found Sherlock looking at him patiently, without hesitance or worry over this unexplored territory, and it made his answer that much easier to say. “Yes, Sherlock.”

To be continued
A/N: Thank you to my reviewer and rater :D I hope you enjoyed this part and there is definitely more to come!
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Perihelion