John was careful, very careful, to make sure that their relationship did not change outside of the flat. He still told Sherlock how brilliant he was (and still believed it too), he still followed him wherever the detective led and he still asked all the same questions

he did before when he tried to get Sherlock to explain himself.

The fact that there was something between them now would have been obvious to anyone who cared to look. They walked a little closer together, Sherlock held John's gaze a little longer and his eyes shown a little brighter with every compliment.

Sherlock accepted that John wanted everything outside to remain as it always was. And all he wanted was John. But they both knew that behind closed doors it was completely different. That he used that brilliant mind to deduce the most efficient ways to do what John wanted of him. He understood that he belonged to John, just like the stripped jumper he sometimes wore but infinitely more precious.

John still did all the washing up, all the shopping and all the laundry. He still tried to get Sherlock to eat and sleep. He doted on him with all the love and affection he felt for the other man. And he gave in to all of Sherlock's whims (on his own terms, of course).

One Sunday morning John had rolled over to curl around his lover only to come face to face with a dead carp that was in the process of being cut open. In John's mind this was almost the definition of definitely "not good" (even if plastic had been put down to protect the sheet). Rule number 6: No experiments allowed in bed without permission.

Most people wouldn't guess that the analytical machine that was Sherlock Holmes had a very active libido. While it is true that he had experimented with sex enough while at University to know that it wasn't really for him. It is also true that he had denied himself for years so that he had complete control over his body. But after intercourse with John "Three Continents" Watson, it was very different. He couldn't get enough. And that control he was so proud of? It vanished. So, his punishment was simple: no sex or masturbation until John felt he had learned his lesson.

All of these things are why this particular Tuesday will stand out in their memories for years to come. Sherlock, having been denied sex and without a case for a few days, was in one of his moods.

John already had to apologize to Molly when they were at the morgue (and did so well enough to keep Sherlock from being banned) and to Mike when they had met for coffee. He had ignored it when Sherlock had been more harsh than normal to Sally and Anderson, they deserved what they got. But when he had made not one but two cutting remarks at Lestrade, John had had enough.

"Sherlock." John said in a tone usually reserved for rougher play in their bedroom. The voice that had made soldiers tremble back in the army. Sherlock responded almost without thinking. He crossed the room in a few strides to stand before John, staring at the ground. He managed to just barely stop himself before dropping to his knees as he would have done in Baker Street.

Lestrade snapped his gaze from the body on the floor to the two men. The look on his face said that he had just figured out what was going on between them.

"Lestrade, could you give us a minute, please?"

"Umm, sure John." Lestrade walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Sherlock did not dare look up. He focused instead on the grain of the hardwood floor next to his foot.

"Look at me, Sherlock." John said using the tip of his finger under the taller man's chin to angle his head up.

Those storm grey eyes took in every line on John's face whose anger was controlled but coming off him almost in waves.

"Joh-" Sherlock started in a whisper.

"No. You do not speak. I believe you have said enough today. When Lestrade comes back in here you are going to be your normal arrogant self but you will apologize for that comment about his wife leaving him. You will then give him all the information you have gathered so far about this corpse. Afterwards, we will go home where we will deal with your stroppy attitude. Tell me you understand."

"Yes, my John, I understand."

John nodded and walked over to open the door he knew Lestrade was waiting.

John was silent the whole cab ride back to the flat. His anger was obvious through his refusal to make eye contact or even touch Sherlock.

When they finally pulled up to Baker Street, John paid the cabbie and followed Sherlock up the stairs. It was not until the door was closed behind them that he finally spoke.

"Clothes. Floor. Knees. Now." Sherlock obeyed immediately. The suit was folded over the arm of the couch and Sherlock took up his now customary spot next to John's armchair.

However, John did not stay to watch the show, as he normally would. Knowing his orders would be followed to the letter, he went to the kitchen to make tea and retrieve an item from their bedroom. When he returned he carried a bag that Sherlock had not seen before and of course, his regimental mug.

In the beginning of their relationship, discipline sessions did not last for very long but as things progressed and Sherlock became more comfortable in his role they had lengthened accordingly. Tonight's would last longer than most due to the severity of Sherlock's actions this afternoon. However, they all started the same.

"Sherlock? Do you understand why you are being punished?" John asked sitting in his chair.

"Yes, my John. It's because of the way I have acted all day and shown disrespect. This includes you and above all else reflects badly on you, my John."

John almost smiled at the last part of the explanation, thinking back to their first discipline session when John himself had said it. Though, the calling him 'my John' was all Sherlock's doing and the doctor felt his heart contract every time he heard it.

Then comes the question that means it is time to actually begin, to signify that they are both ready.


"Gladstone, my John."

"Very Good." John reaches down to unbutton his jeans and pull them past his hips. "Mouth only. You will stroke yourself but there will be no release without my permission."

Sherlock nods and crawls the rest of the way between John's legs. He glances up to see John watching him as he takes the head into his mouth. Their eyes meet for a second, London grey and cool blue. Just when Sherlock thinks he could get lost in those eyes the unthinkable happens. John picks up his book and begins to read, occasionally stopping to sip his tea.

Sherlock stops licking and sucking to just stare at his John. His mind going a million kilometers a second.

'Why would his John be ignoring him?' Did this signify how things would be between them from now on?' 'Had his actions today been irreversible?' 'What if-'

"I don't believe I told you to stop." John interrupted his thoughts, turning a page, sounding just as cold as his eyes had looked.

This struck a fire within Sherlock. He returned to his task with fervor. Stroking himself as instructed he licked the bottom of John's cock. When he reached the top, he ran his tongue around the head before taking as much as he could within his throat. It was always a little bit of a challenge to swallow all of John. While he was average in length he was definitely above said average in girth.

Sherlock picked up the pace. He glanced up when he felt John move. He added a little scrape of teeth hoping that John would acknowledge it with a hitch of breath but he stayed just as impassive as before. His only response, if you could call it that, was to sip more of his tea.

The tingling in his abdomen reminded him he was so close, having gotten so distracted with John that he had continued his long harsh strokes without paying attention. Sherlock's hand flew from his own cock and gripped his thigh. He tried to regain some of that control from years past as he nuzzled and sucked on John's balls. They were warm, constricted and had risen.

Sherlock returned to deep throating John and received no warning before he was swallowing.

He kept his mouth were it was since he had not been dismissed yet, sucking occasionally to remind John that he was still there.

Eventually, John spoke, closing his book with a harsh snap.

"Do you remember what you said to me on the second night we met? On the way to Angelo's?"

It clicked why he was being ignored, and he hated it. Sherlock nodded.

"Go ahead then."

"The frailty of genius, it needs an audience, my John."

"Yes, yes it does." John stood, pulling on his pants. He looked down. "You seem to be going soft there. Were you given permission?"

"No, my John." Sherlock resumed stroking himself. It was almost torture to know that John may not give him release anytime soon.

John took his now empty mug to the sink and thinks about his previous sub while he washes it. She, Mary, the petite ginger science education major that lived across the hall, had loved this kind of punishment so much he had to take the card out of her Discipline Deck because it had not done anything but reinforce bad behavior. This of course triggered another thought. He mourned the loss of the deck. He had not even bothered trying it with the detective since he would probably be able to deduce and rig it to suit his wants. It didn't really matter, John shrugged to himself, doing it this way kept them both on their toes and he had never used this one on Sherlock before anyway.

"Sherlock, do you know what Enforced Availability is?" He asked walking to stand in front of the still kneeling man.

"No, my John."

"Well, then, you get to learn something new. The way this works is that you have to keep yourself ready for me until I want you. And since you don't know in which way that is yet you must stay both open and slick as well as hard. I know how much you like a challenge though, so I am going to make it almost too easy for you. Kneel on your hands and knees on the coffee table."

Sherlock practically jumped to obey now that he had John's undivided attention again.

He was still hard when he feels the first slick finger enter him, then a second. Just before the third, John crooks his fingers and finds Sherlock's prostate with a doctor's accuracy. The only sound in the flat is a sharp gasp followed by a moan.

Before Sherlock could begin to truly enjoy it, John removes everything. He almost can not stand the emptiness.

"My John. Please." He whispers.

"No, Sherlock. It isn't time." John responds picking up the bag from the sofa and standing out of Sherlock's line of sight.

Sherlock feels something slick and rubber slowly pushed into him.

'A butt plug?' Sherlock thinks to himself. 'Why was this one hidden away, what makes it special?'

The thought is barely through his brain with it vibrates a little, constant pressure on his spot before stopping.

"Off you go. Same rule applies as before. You will wait on me and continue to stay ready for me until I want you. Also, no clothes. Be extra careful with your work on your experiments." With that, John and the remote heads down stairs to check on Mrs. Hudson. They usually watch crap telly together on Tuesdays.

Sherlock does not move for a moment before he realizes John is not coming back anytime soon. He is just into checking on the toes he had hastily placed back into the refrigerator this morning when they were called in for the case when it hits him. A wave of pleasure caused by the plug. He grips the tabletop for support and wonders what the distance is on the little device.

After hours of this and a solved cold case later (that really should have been 3 except he kept getting distracted by both his extreme hard on and the pulsating vibrations) John finally returns to the flat.

With an appraising eye, John walks into the kitchen and looks Sherlock up and down. He hits the button in his pocket and watches the other man flush, a rosy pick coloring each cheek.

"I was thinking we would order in. What are you in the mood for, Thai?" John asks.

It takes Sherlock a moment to realize that John is speaking to him.

"Thai sounds lovely." He responds through gritted teeth before the buzzing stops.

'Maybe after dinner." Sherlock thinks to himself. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take. He had never been able to come just on prostate stimulation alone, but at this rate, that may change tonight.

Dinner eventually arrives, and they sit and eat at the desk the only interruptions being when John feels it is necessary to make sure Sherlock is paying attention. When he is done, he pushes away his take-away container.

"Sherlock. tell me about today, specifically this evening." John normally does this. He feels it is important no matter what kind of session they have, either pain or play, that they talk about it.

Sherlock looks at him obviously trying to decide how much truth should be in his response. John just raises an eyebrow because he knows the detective's thought processes when it comes to this.

"It is torture, my John. I can't think at normal rates, and every time I think I have something you and your device chime in, and I lose it. It is very distracting. Worse knowing that you are mad at me. I do not like it, my John. Please make it stop."

John nods. "Thank you. If you would like you may go to the bedroom. I will be in there shortly."

Sherlock practically runs from the room. It is still a few minutes before John joins him. While he would normally listen to the other man's footsteps to deduce when his is almost there, this time he does not have to. The familiar buzzing begins and he starts to see white but it stops as the door opens.

Before he can fully recover there is a naked John on top of him. He spreads his legs to give John access to anything and everything.

The first kiss in tentative and loving. The second one leaves them both panting and desperate. It is during the third that John reaches between them and pulls the plug out of Sherlock. John swallows his groan into their kiss.

He barely has time to recover before John is in him. There is a slight burn of pleasure as he wraps his legs around John's waist pulling him in deeper. John stays still.

"Sherlock, my love, you have handled this so well this evening. You are so good, so brilliant. Because of that, how do you want this?"

Sherlock looks up him with need and affection. He may not receive his reward of John's dog tags, which he gets occasionally for being exceptionally wonderful but he will get this.

"Hard and fast, my John. Mark and claim me."

With that, John is kissing him. He sucks on Sherlock's bottom lip and nibbles on it some before kissing down his jaw line. He latches on to the pulse point of that long alabaster neck and bites down hard in time with his first thrust.

Sherlock practically screams with pleasure and John knows Mrs Hudson will say something tomorrow. The love bites continue down the throat and across the collarbone and each time John pushes in he manages to get deeper into his lover.

Finally, when they are both close and John is threatening to lose his rhythm, he hoists both Sherlock's legs up onto this shoulders and pounds into him for all he is worth. Sherlock is barely holding it together when he hears John speak.

"Now, my love." And Sherlock needs no other prompting. He comes hard, shooting up his stomach and onto his chest, John hoped to last a little longer but that hope is dashed when he feels Sherlock constrict around him. They are both seeing stars as John pulls out and collapses on the bed.

As they lay in bed, Sherlock tucked under John's arm with his head on

his chest, John can tell that Sherlock wants to say something just by the way he traces the bullet scar.

"What is it, Sherlock?" He asked, kissing the head of curls.

"I love you, my John."