John actually lets out a little snort of laughter.
“Yes, oh.” He pats Sherlock’s back again then hardens his voice once more. “So, ‘just’ twice was it? Because I’m warning you now, if you tell me it was twice and I ever find out it was more, you are going to be very, very sorry indeed.”
Sherlock hesitates then sighs, he presses his face into the back of the chair as best as he can.
“Three times, sir.”
CRACK
That was quite possibly the hardest blow Sherlock had received so far. It sent him rocking forwards against the chair yelling once more.
“Lying as well, Sherlock?” Snarls John. “or just getting forgetful?”
“N-not lying, sir, I’m sorry. I just…forgot.”
“Convenient, that. And will I find you ‘forgot’ any other times?”
“No!” Sherlock isn’t lying. He has earned this and he does not want the added guilt that comes with lying to John.
“Well then, three times. So I think that should make thirty strikes. Ten for each, don’t you think? Not counting that little warm up we just had, of course.”
Sherlock cringes. If that was John’s idea of a warm-up he really is in trouble.
“Thirty.” John repeats. “And you’re going to count and apologise to me after each one. Loose count or forget your apology and we start from zero again. Understood?”
Sherlock nodded miserably.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let’s get started then.”
After just five, Sherlock is shaking. After ten he is sobbing. Soon after that and he is crying properly, tears running down his face and soaking the chair cushions below him. He keeps count, and a constant chain of ‘I’m sorry, sir’s after each hit. He kicks one leg up out of reflex and John is quick to change the angle of his blows so they land with stinging and devastating force across the backs of his legs to keep him still.
By the time they get to thirty, Sherlock is a mess. His legs are weak and he is sure he might collapse if it were not for the chair keeping him upright. John runs one hand over Sherlock’s reddened flesh.
“Well done Sherlock.” He praises. “you did very well. We’re nearly finished now.”
Sherlock blanches.
“N-nearly? I th-though you said, thirty, sir.”
“I did. But I know that you’ll be craving a fix again soon, so I thought I’d give you a little something extra to deter you while you’re withdrawing.”
Fill: Coming Down 6/?
“Yes, oh.” He pats Sherlock’s back again then hardens his voice once more. “So, ‘just’ twice was it? Because I’m warning you now, if you tell me it was twice and I ever find out it was more, you are going to be very, very sorry indeed.”
Sherlock hesitates then sighs, he presses his face into the back of the chair as best as he can.
“Three times, sir.”
CRACK
That was quite possibly the hardest blow Sherlock had received so far. It sent him rocking forwards against the chair yelling once more.
“Lying as well, Sherlock?” Snarls John. “or just getting forgetful?”
“N-not lying, sir, I’m sorry. I just…forgot.”
“Convenient, that. And will I find you ‘forgot’ any other times?”
“No!” Sherlock isn’t lying. He has earned this and he does not want the added guilt that comes with lying to John.
“Well then, three times. So I think that should make thirty strikes. Ten for each, don’t you think? Not counting that little warm up we just had, of course.”
Sherlock cringes. If that was John’s idea of a warm-up he really is in trouble.
“Thirty.” John repeats. “And you’re going to count and apologise to me after each one. Loose count or forget your apology and we start from zero again. Understood?”
Sherlock nodded miserably.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let’s get started then.”
After just five, Sherlock is shaking. After ten he is sobbing. Soon after that and he is crying properly, tears running down his face and soaking the chair cushions below him. He keeps count, and a constant chain of ‘I’m sorry, sir’s after each hit. He kicks one leg up out of reflex and John is quick to change the angle of his blows so they land with stinging and devastating force across the backs of his legs to keep him still.
By the time they get to thirty, Sherlock is a mess. His legs are weak and he is sure he might collapse if it were not for the chair keeping him upright. John runs one hand over Sherlock’s reddened flesh.
“Well done Sherlock.” He praises. “you did very well. We’re nearly finished now.”
Sherlock blanches.
“N-nearly? I th-though you said, thirty, sir.”
“I did. But I know that you’ll be craving a fix again soon, so I thought I’d give you a little something extra to deter you while you’re withdrawing.”