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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
A/N: Sorry for the wait, but house wide stomach flus are not conducive to writing. thank you for being patient.

This wasn't just 'a bit not good', this was Bad. This was an unforeseen complication, and it was driving him absolutely MAD. He wanted to pace, to think, to scream, to kill Anderson, (though slashing his tires had made him feel slightly better), and part of him wanted to smack John too, but what he really didn't want to do was admit that this was his own damn fault for not seeing it sooner.

It was only an experiment, he had gotten a certain, completely unexpected reaction out of John once, and all he'd been trying to do was to duplicate the results, he couldn't let John know what he was going for, because to manipulate the variables would change the data and therefore the outcome, even if John had reacted in the desired way, and that just wasn't scientific. But what he hadn't considered is how everyone else would see it since they didn't know it was an experiment in reactions. They saw it as John losing control, John hurting him, abusing him, and that made Sherlock so ANGRY that anyone could even think for one second that John had it in him to be abusive.

How could anyone be so blind? John under no circumstances had any love of having power over another, if anything he was selflessly noble and protective to a fault. John had seen Sherlock at his worst and also at his weakest and had never done anything to revel in it, or even come close to taking advantage of the situation. They were all moronic idiots not even worthy of breathing the air on the same PLANET as John. He wondered if there was a way to make stupidity a painfully fatal disease. He was sure he could figure it out, now that he had sufficient motivation.

John at least was confused at what he knew to be true of himself and what he was doing. Sherlock once again hadn't thought John would ever consider himself capable of abuse, and thought the man had found some other logical explanation for what was happening when Sherlock made him lose his temper, but once again he realized just how differently he thought from the rest of the world.

When John had stopped him from going after Anderson he had been livid, and then when he had read John's face he had been horrified to realize that John had thought every word the little prick had said was true. He honestly believed that he was one of the number of those lowlifes who got off on controlling other people, insulting and hurting and breaking those of weaker and sometimes even better minds just so they wouldn't feel inferior. And that made him feel sick, because John was so far above that, John glowed like the Sun, miles above Sherlock. He was everything good, and warm, and wonderful in the world, and Sherlock had unknowingly convinced him that he was sewer trash.

Lestrade at least knew better than to automatically assume, he had listened to what John had to say. So Sherlock had gone and stabbed Anderson's sidewall nearest the curb with his pocket knife, shoving a large piece of glass from a broken bottle into it to hide that he had done it. He had also put a screw in the front passenger tire that would slowly deflate it, and slightly dug a 3 inch nail into the other rear tire and braced it against the asphalt so that Anderson would back over it. The whole thing had taken less than two minutes. John however was already waiting for him to go home.

He had wanted to scream at John, grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, and when they got home he had challenged him, tried to force John to see reason, that he could never be among the lowly, that he was so far above them they couldn't even dream of touching him, let alone of dragging him down to their ranks.

"That's what intentionally hurting another person repeatedly is called, Sherlock, it's called abuse."

And Sherlock felt frozen. No. NononononoNO! He hated his brain as it made another connection that he hadn't considered. Abuse: Noun. 1: a corrupt practice or custom, 2: improper or excessive use or treatment; misuse, 3: a deceitful act or deception, 4: language that condemns or vilifies, usually unjustly, intemperately, or angrily, 5: physical maltreatment.

That was the definition, and Sherlock realized with gut wrenching horror that he'd been doing almost all of that to John, intentionally finding all the soft spots and chinks in his armor and needling them just so, in order to get what he wanted, not caring how it affected John. He himself was abusing John, and that was the most sickening realization he'd ever had.

Sherlock had wanted to speak, say something, anything, but his throat had felt choked up and he completely forgot every word in his massive vocabulary. So he had kissed John instead, desperately wanting to tell him he was sorry in a hundred different ways, and to prove to him that there was no way he was a scared victim, and that John wasn't an abuser.

He adored kissing John, as he had found out that first night, when they had both been so close to dying at the hand of Moriarty. Sherlock had realized that John really was his heart, his conscience, and the man who was not only willing to kill for him, but would also willingly die by his side, and Sherlock just had to figure out WHY.

Why was someone so simple also so extraordinary, loyal, and full of surprises? And then he'd seen it clear as day in John's eyes, he loved Sherlock. John couldn't care less what kind of love it was or if it would ever be reciprocated or not, John loved him and would go to the ends of the earth and back again for him. (Sherlock had even tested the theory later on to confirm. John had traipsed half the globe in 4 days collecting evidence from 12 different places for him and had smiled for 5 whole minutes after Sherlock had greeted him at the door and sat him down with a cup of tea and a very uncharacteristic shoulder squeeze, before grabbing up the evidence and texting Lestrade he had everything needed to put the perpetrator away.)

That had filled Sherlock with a mix of emotions he couldn't describe at the time, because emotions weren't his thing, they weren't his area, pheromones and chemicals tricking the brain into specific responses was easy enough, but the delicate dance of them; relief, desire, lust, need, reciprocation, love... it was more than he was used to, in fact it was completely overwhelming. Could he really be blamed for giving into sentiment that one time and just acting on his base instinct, his reptilian brain if such things could be believed, and claiming what he wanted, and had been so freely given?

No, and honestly the fact they never went back to 'not kissing' afterward had also filled Sherlock with more emotions and feelings than he was technically comfortable admitting he had.

Kissing John always flooded his brain with a slew of data that was familiar but somehow new every time. Taste, smell, touch, pressure, temperature, blushing, heat, lust, pheromones, teeth, tongue, saliva, JOHN. Sherlock craved that information, he could never get enough data. Nothing about John was ever going to be deleted from his hard drive, not ever. He was going to horde every single detail and fact he could get a hold of, because John was important, John was precious, John was everything. And now he had gone and mucked everything up with an experiment. Why were these unspoken rules so damned difficult to manage?

He finally found his voice and told John flat out that he couldn't possibly be an abuser, well that's what he had intended, but the words didn't come out quite right. But he thinks that John understood, at least to some degree, and everything had dissolved from there into passion, and heat, and lust. He dominated John with a force of will that he couldn't put any other name to, except NEED.

Now he wanted to make things right, he wanted to fix this mistake he had made, even though John hadn't figured it out yet. For the first time ever, Sherlock felt GUILTY about something, and he had no idea what to do in this situation. He had been forced to apologize for any number of transgressions when he'd been a child, but he hadn't truly MEANT any of them. Was he supposed to confess, and then make it right? No one else had even caught on, and it made his gut twist when he thought of trying to explain what exactly he had done, especially to John. Could he make him understand that he hadn't MEANT for him to be hurt by it? Would that even work? John might have the patience of a mythological saint, but when his ire was raised he had a surprisingly short amount of tolerance for Sherlock, and Sherlock already knew this would most likely end badly.

Emotions and feelings and relationships weren't his thing, that's another way John had helped him, because he could give the perspective he couldn't understand. John was literally his heart, so how did he go about fixing the heart he'd injured when it didn't even know it had been hurt?

His phone chimed with a text.

Finally realize that your favorite experiment is not simply a collection of chemicals in a laboratory for you to manipulate at will? -M

Sherlock felt his face blanch and scanned the room. The air vent, it had to be. He knew Mycroft kept rigorous surveillance on him, he had simply chosen to ignore it, had thought it wouldn't be in the flat proper, especially not in the bedrooms, but no, Mycroft had seen everything, probably from the beginning, and Sherlock knew that if Mycroft thought John was intentionally hurting him, John would have simply disappeared from the flat one day without a trace and never have been seen again.

His stomach dropped. How close had he come to getting John killed for something he had started? His fingers were shaking as he typed two words: How close? SH

Consider yourself lucky there was audio that day. I was very... Displeased. -M

That made his blood boil. He wasn't some errant child who needed constant watching anymore, and even if he did, he had John now, who watched over him and protected him better than Mycroft ever had. But even more than that, John was HIS. He was the only one who had the right to end Sherlock's life or put a restraint on him in any way, because he trusted John, loved John, he NEEDED John, and Mycroft in his pompous arrogance had nearly taken him away.

John is MINE, I thought I had made that perfectly clear to you. You do NOT interfere with him in any way, you have NO right. And get your bloody surveillance out of my flat! SH

It seems prudent to maintain surveillance considering the number of attacks, kidnappings, break ins, and explosions which seem to occur there with disturbing frequency. -M

Restrict it to external, doors, windows, and the kitchen if you MUST, but we are allowed our privacy you pompous voyeur. SH

Embarrassment is only for those who have something to hide or be ashamed of. Curious how you are expressing that now. John is not a toy, he is his own person, most likely even more so if he learns what you have done. Do you really think he'd ever trust you again if you confessed?-M

Sherlock had no answer for that.

What do I do? SH

TBC

A/N: Yep really, just like chapter 6 said, Sherlock started all of this over wanting John to give him another sponge bath, and only now is he sorry. *Slaps the idiot upside the head* OOOOH Mycroft next chappie! Hehe
- 8
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Guilty Pleasures