Sherlock grunted lightly, scratching down Jim's back. He let his nails dig in to the skin as he made angry red marks down the pale skin. The criminal had asked for Sherlock to hurt him, to allow this pause in their game for a moment for the two geniuses to take all of the pent up frustration to hurt each other out. Moriarty pressed against Sherlock again, using his blood as a lubrication from the Detective's forceful entrance. He had a riding crop in his own hand and he pulled away from Sherlock's cock to flip over onto his back. They had agreed to not make any marks where people could see them as the two battled it out in bed. Moriarty kicked Sherlock in the bottom rather roughly, slapping the side of the detective with the riding crop to leave a raised red mark. The detective groaned gently, his hands coming around his ankles to lift Moriarty's legs and bite the man's calf roughly, beginning to thrust in and out of the willing and already injured criminal. The riding crop stung his chest and arms and Moriarty began to add nails, digging into the already raised welts and drawing the blood like Sherlock was drawing from him. It hurt, and that's exactly what they both wanted from each other. Moriarty let out a growl as Sherlock leaned down, biting into the flesh of Moriarty's shoulder, leaving a dark mark in his path as he began to worry the other bits and places of Jim's body, licking up the blood and smearing it around the skin, making a pretty red mess on his chest. His free hand slipped between them, roughly taking Jim's erection and stroking it up and down rather tightly, nails yet again scratching the sensitive surface. Sherlock created the pleasure inside of him as they mixed together within both of their minds, leading them to that place where the pain and the pleasure almost became too much and blurred into pure pain instead of the balance of it both. The Consulting Detective moaned darkly, leaning over the man again as he moved in and out of the criminal, messing the sheets up and bringing himself to completion as his nails dug into Moriarty's ribs, giving the man just enough of what he needed to come all over their chests, the semen and blood mixing together to sting the cuts and lacerations all over his chest. The detective smiled, lying down on his already messy bed. After Moriarty is gone, he would have to change the sheets and burn them so that John or Mrs. Hudson (both of which did the laundry) would never find out about this. Moriarty smiled at the man, using Sherlock's shirt to wipe himself off and make sure he was done bleeding. Sherlock growled at him, that was one of his favorites. Instead of commenting on it, however, he lay there in post-coital bliss as the man dressed carefully and left, composing himself and giving Sherlock a large smile., vulpine smile.

"Until next time, Sherlock," he murmured happily. The Criminal slicked back his hair and was spirited away from the flat.