As writers, why do so many of us love hurting our lovely Sherlock? I was trying to figure that out the other day and ended up writing a few thoughts down. They turned into the beginnings of a story. Let me know what you think please.
Also, I don't own these characters, shouldn't be doing this to them and am deeply ashamed. But not…repentant.
(One more thing, if anyone would like to BritPick this I would be happy to make corrections. Thank you.)
Black and Blue
The first time he made Sherlock bleed, John cried.
"I'm so sorry, oh god I'm so sorry."
Well, he sure hadn't stayed that way.
It'd started when they'd gotten a little silly after a TV movie, one of those thrillers that tries to spike interest with characters having hungry, aggressive sex, slamming one another against bedroom walls. It looks a little sexy and a lot dumb, and both men had laughed, but before bed that night Sherlock had jokingly shoved John against his bedroom wall, given him a peck on the mouth, then started to turn away, just as John was reaching to playfully shove him back.
Instead his hand had connected with Sherlock's mouth in the shadowy room, hard enough that teeth cut flesh, and blood rose from Sherlock's bottom lip.
"Oh, no, no, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!" John hands cupped Sherlock's chin. "That was an accident, I'm so sorry!"
Sherlock touched his own mouth, then laid his hands over John's. "It's okay, it's fine."
It was then Sherlock noticed that they both were shaking. And it was then he started to absorb facts, feelings, data. Because that is what Sherlocks do.
A fat pearl of blood began its slow meander south and that's when John's tears came. Nervous tears, just a few. "Oh god, I'm so sorry."
Dazed a little, still thinking, absorbing, computing if you will, Sherlock gently tugged John's hands from his mouth, then wiped at the other man's eyes.
"It's all right, really. I know it was an accident. I didn't even feel it. I'm fine." He kissed his repentant love and smiled. "I'll wash it off. Blood always makes things look more dramatic than they are," John started to shake his head, Sherlock shook his back. "No, it's fine. Go to bed. You've got an early day. I'm fine. Let me brush my teeth and I'll be right back. Don't wait for me, go to sleep, okay? Okay?"
John sort of laughed, and as the quick wash of adrenaline faded he felt itchy and suddenly very tired. "Sure, sorry, that was just…no more walls okay? It isn't even sexy."
Sherlock smiled but remained silent. Then he went and cleaned up. Brushed his teeth. And nothing else happened out of the ordinary. Not that night.
It was a day later, maybe two. They were in Sherlock's bed this time and John was half asleep, in that place that feels like dreams, when he heard a whisper. "Do it again."
He'd drawn in a low breath, unsure if he was awake, and was seconds from falling back into twilight sleep when Sherlock slid a hand over his bare hip and said softly against his ear, "Please?"
John rolled over then, a little groggy but waking, pretty sure now that this was about sex. "Hey," he whispered, "what's up?" He saw his lover's face in reflected street light, and ran his thumb gently, distractedly, over Sherlock's bruised lip.
Sherlock sighed, pooling warm need and desire over John's bare skin. "I want you to do it again." He bit his lip a little, right where it was still swollen, bruised. "Make me bleed."
Yes, I just jumped right in, no back story of how they got together. I may add that later, I'm not sure. If you have thoughts about the story so far, I'd love to hear 'em please!