sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXIV

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Prompting Part XXXIV

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Dom!John punishes Sub!Sherlock for his drug use in HLV via spanking/caning/strap/implement of choice of your preference.
Would prefer it with loving and aftercare and comfort at the end after Sherlock's punishment is complete.

Mmmmmmyes

This needs to be filled! .... as does Sherlock. Sorry xD

Seconded. I can't get my mind off how unfazed John seems to be catching Sherlock do drugs. And who could resist h/c and aftercare aww

Ok, filling this...

(Ok, here goes. I'm super nervous about uploading this so be gentle)

“I’m not dealing with this while I’m angry.”

John mutters this to Sherlock while they’re still at St. Barts. Molly has just confirmed that Sherlock is high as a kite and John takes a moment while everyone is preoccupied to hiss this into Sherlock’s ear.

“I’m not dealing with this while I’m angry, but by God I am going to deal with it when we get home.”

Something tightens uncomfortably inside of Sherlock at John’s words. He’s heard that tone of voice before and he has a pretty good idea he knows what John means by ‘deal with it’.

John has had plenty of time to calm down by the time they get back to the flat, but still he waits. Sherlock can only see it as dragging it out longer. Maybe this is part of his punishment, to keep him waiting for as long as possible and know what’s coming to him. John has made him stand in the corner before so that he can think about why he is about to be punished. Sherlock always found that nearly as humiliating as the punishment itself. But this time John does not order him to the corner as soon as they get home. He waits. He waits for Sherlock to come down. He orders Sherlock to go take a bath instead of ordering him to strip and bend over.

When Sherlock emerges from the bathroom sometime later John is sitting on the sofa drinking tea and reading the paper. So casual. Sherlock’s head is feeling decidedly clearer now and he guesses John’s is too. He shifts his weight and clears his throat. John doesn’t look up. Sherlock could go and sit, or take up his violin, or go about his morning just like he has hundreds of other times before while John sits and reads. But he knows that wouldn’t be right. So he stands there, and he waits.

Eventually John sets his cup down, puts his paper to one side and looks up. Sherlock goes cold at the look John is giving him.

“Strip.” It’s the one word command Sherlock has been waiting for, and only he knows just how long he has been waiting for it. But now he is hesitant in the face of what he knows is coming. John raises his eyebrows at Sherlock’s lack of action.

“You really don’t want me to do it for you, Sherlock, so I suggest you hurry about it.”

Sherlock is still a moment longer and John shrugs and begins to rise from his chair. Sherlock scrambles to obey, pulling off his shirt in a hurry and fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

“Hand that to me please.” Says John, politely, like he’s asking Sherlock to hand him the TV remote. Sherlock has always thought it a stupid expression when people say ‘my stomach turned over’. It is an illogical statement, medically impossible, but that is exactly what it feels like his stomach is now doing as he hands over the belt to John. John folds it in half and tests it against the palm of his own hand. The crack, though mild, jolts through the quiet of the room. Sherlock is unsure how he manages to undress after that but he does so because John is waiting.

“I would ask if you know why you are being punished.” Says John. That is usually his opening move. “But I think that is pretty obvious here.” Sherlock squirms as John looks him up and down. He feels more naked now than he ever has before. His arms twitch at his sides, hands longing to cover himself from John’s stare. John frowns and, putting the belt aside for the moment, grabs Sherlock’s wrist with his left hand. He lands three, open handed slaps against Sherlock’s thigh with his free hand.

“Stand. Still. Sherlock.” He orders. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, and anyway, your comfort is not really the issue here, is it?” Sherlock doesn’t reply. John slaps his leg again. “Is it?”
“No.” Mumbles Sherlock. John moves his hand back again.

“No, what?”

“No, sir.”

John lands the smack anyway and Sherlock whimpers. John tuts at him.

“Oh stop being so overdramatic. I know that didn’t hurt you that much. And if it did then you really are in trouble because that’s nothing compared to what you’ve got coming to you.” Sherlock fights the urge to squirm again.

John releases him and then, to Sherlock’s surprise, gets to his feet.

“Right.” Says John, suddenly business-like. “Bend over the back of the chair.” Sherlock bites his lip.

“Can’t we…” he starts, then stops. He tries again. “Can I just…” he gestures to where John had been sitting.

“Over my lap?” Asks John. He smiles humourlessly. “I don’t think so, do you? You get rather too much comfort out of that position. And as we have already established, this is not about your comfort at all.” Sherlock begins to mumble something else. John is on him before he can finish, this time smacking the very top of his thigh where it meets his arse.

“Now I know that wasn’t your safeword, Sherlock.” He scolds. “And unless I say otherwise I don’t want to hear anything other than that out of you. Now, bend over the back of the chair, hands on the seat. I am not going to ask you again.”

Sherlock moves like a condemned man. He bends over the back of the chair and presses his hands against the seat. He instantly knows why John has chosen this position. His arse is in the air, making what he has no doubt is a rather pleasing target for John. With his hands braced against the chair, it will not be easy for Sherlock to reach back, or to move out of position. Not that he would have dared do that.

He is aware of John moving about in the kitchen behind him, placing something on the table to one side. Another implement? Sherlock hopes not.

John steps behind him. A warm hand is placed at the lower part of Sherlock’s spine. The gentle touch is not nearly enough and he can’t help but move into it slightly, wanting more. John makes a soft, humming noise and pats Sherlock’s back lightly.

“The sooner we get started the sooner this will be over with.” He says, and it’s a comfort to Sherlock. It really is. Sherlock resolves to take his punishment as best as he can.

This new found resolve nearly crumbles at the first hurdle. John strokes the leather of the belt against Sherlock’s backside; a loving caress than makes Sherlock jerk forwards as though he’d been hit. John chuckles, darkly, clearly bitterly amused, and repeats the action. He does it enough times that Sherlock is almost lulled into a false sense of security. But then he feels John’s hand brace against his back as he raises the belt.

The first blow feels like fire has sprung across his arse. There is not going to be any warm up this time. Before he can get used to it, a second blow lands, just below the first. A soft gasp is forced form Sherlock’s mouth. He waits for the pleasant tingling after-burn that usually follows during a spanking but it doesn’t come. This just hurts.

The third, fourth and fifth blows come in quick succession. John is doing this methodically, making sure to cover every inch of Sherlock’s backside.

“How many times, Sherlock?” Sherlock had been expecting John to remain silent throughout. It takes him a moment to process what has been asked.

“Wh-what?” CRACK “Ah! Sir! What, sir?”

CRACK

“Talk to me properly Sherlock. You are perfectly capable of being eloquent, as you so often demonstrate. So do not say ‘what’ to me.” John’s voice is deep and thick with warning.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir, sorry.” Sherlock garbles. He feels far from eloquent right now. “I meant...I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t understand.”
John taps the belt against Sherlock’s arse, watching the other man’s muscles contract involuntarily.

“How many times?” He asks again. “How many times did you use? And do not bother telling me it was just once.”

“It was…”Sherlock takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Twice, sir. Just twice.”

“Just, twice?” This time John strikes the belt against Sherlock’s thigh, where he slapped him earlier. Sherlock cries out properly this time. “It is not ‘just’ anything, Sherlock. We are not talking about you ‘just’ forgetting to buy milk again, or you ‘just’ leaving your experiments all over the place. We are not even talking about you ‘just’ getting bored and ‘just’ destroying half the apartment. We are talking about you using drugs, Sherlock, and if you can’t see how serious that is then we clearly have more work to do here than I first thought.”

John raises the belt again and Sherlock quickly tries to backpedal over his choice of words.

“I didn’t mean that, sir.” He says quickly. “I’m not stupid, I know how serious it is.” Again, a bad choice of words. The next three blows land one on top of the other, the burn building in that one spot.

“I did not ask if you were stupid. I know you’re not that. I asked if you understood how serious this is.”

“I do, sir!”

“Go on, tell me why.”

“…It’s illegal.”

“Yes, that’s a good start. Why else?”

“Dangerous?”

“That shouldn’t be a question, Sherlock. Yes it’s dangerous. That’s more serious to me than the legality of it right now. Imagine if you had overdosed, or taken a bad hit. Imagine if you had died, if I’d lost you again. How do you think that would make me feel?”

Sherlock wished more than ever that he was over John’s lap. He wanted to bury his face into the sofa cushions. He wanted to be able to place a hand back on John’s leg and feel John’s fingers in his hair. He knew why this wasn’t feeling even a little bit good. When John spanked him for pleasure, he’d rub his skin between blows and whisper what a naughty little slut he was and what he was going to do to him when he was finished. Even when John had punished him before there had still been some soothing touch, some contact to let Sherlock know that John still loved him.

“So, that’s the law, and danger taken into account. Why else?” John asks. Sherlock tries to fight through his brain. He thought that was it. What else was there?

“I…I don’t know, sir.” He admitted. He expected another hit with the belt but instead John’s hand just rubbed soothing circles on his lower back.

“You didn’t talk to me, Sherlock. You can always, always talk to me. If you need to, or if you just want to, you can talk to me about anything. I thought you knew that. We could have talked this through, and I could have helped you.”

He realises John is maybe still telling Sherlock he still loves him, just not in a way Sherlock is used to.
“Oh.”

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.”

Sherlock recoils slightly, trying to press himself into the chair and away from that dreaded belt, even as he craves more touching from John.

“Stand up, Sherlock.” John guides him up, steadying hands on his back, his arms, rubbing little circles with his thumbs. Once he’s sure Sherlock won’t stumble when he’s released, he takes a step back and picks up the belt once more.

“Hold out your hand please.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen as it sinks in what John has in mind. He clasps his hands against himself.

“No, John, sir, you really don’t have to do that I promise I-“

“Your hand, Sherlock.” John extends his own hand towards Sherlock and makes a beckoning motion with his fingers. “Come on, hand out, palm up. We’ll do the right first, then the left.”

With a whine and a tremble of anticipation Sherlock stretches out his right arm, palm up as instructed.

“You can hold your wrist in place with your left hand.” Suggests John. “This might be a struggle for you to keep still and I really would hate to add more when we’re so close to being done.” Sherlock just does as he’s told, looking miserably at the floor and braces himself for what’s coming. “If you behave, you’ll get three on each hand.”

That’s the only warning he gets before John raises the belt and brings it down across his palm. Sherlock nearly does retract his hand then, out of pure instinct. The second lands across his fingers. He’s not sure if he should be apologising after these but John continues to lecture so he assumes not.

“This is for every time you want to be using. Every time your fingers are itching to reach for a fix, you can remember this instead. You can remember how badly your hands sting with this belt across them.” John lands the third stripe diagonally across Sherlock’s hand. Fresh tears spring to Sherlock’s eyes. “If it gets too much and you need a little reminder, you can always ask me. Other hand now, Sherlock, we’re nearly there.”

Sherlock flexes his right hand tentatively, wincing as he does so. No, he does not think he’ll be asking for a reminder of this any time soon. John watches him without comment and merely waits for his left hand to be presented to him. When Sherlock goes to hold his left hand in place as he had done with his right he shrieks, the fresh sting of his right hand suddenly inflamed again at the action of gripping his opposite wrist. John makes a soothing sound and brushes Sherlock’s smarting hand away lightly.

“I’ll hold it in place for you this time.” He says, warmth and affection creeping into his voice.

John can’t swing the belt with quite so much force whilst holding Sherlock’s hand steady, but he can manage it well enough. Three blows later and Sherlock is crying again.

“There, now.” Soothes John, letting the belt drop to the floor. John wraps his arms around the taller man and Sherlock is so desperately in need of this that he leans practically all of his weight against him. Smiling fondly, John guides Sherlock down to the floor into a kneeling position. It’s the most comfortable position he can manage for Sherlock without putting pressure on his throbbing backside. Sherlock curls against him, his body trembling all over now as he cries and John shushes him, running his fingers through his hair.

“Good boy, Sherlock.” He murmurs a string of praises that Sherlock so needs. “I’m so proud of you. You took your punishment so well. I’m sorry I had to be so harsh on you this time. Come on, it’s all over now. All over and forgiven.” Sherlock knows he means it to because once he has dealt out a punishment John never holds it over Sherlock. Still he can’t stop the words that keep blubbering from him.

“I’m sorry, sir, truly, I am. Please sir, I’m s-s-sorry.”

“Hush Sherlock. And John is just fine for now. Your punishment is over, life I said.”

John moves to get up and Sherlock whines and clings to him. Ignoring his protests and with a placating hand to his lover’s shoulder, John raises far enough to reach whatever it was he put on the side table earlier. He holds Sherlock’s head up a little and presses a cool glass of water against his mouth.

“There we go. Take little sips, Sherlock.” Sherlock pays little heed and tries to gulp it down and ends up spluttering slightly. John laughs. “I warned you. I said little sips but did you listen?”

He tugs teasingly at Sherlock’s hair and helps him finish the water. He places it to one side and retrieves a fresh tissue from a pack. John slowly and carefully sets about wiping the tears from Sherlock’s face, the damp sweat from his forehead.

“Do you want to get dressed now?” John asks after a little while. Still unsure if he is capable of proper speech Sherlock nods his head and mutters his yes into John’s shoulder. His attempts to dress are quickly thwarted however as he reaches for his trousers and shudders, realising quite how impossible it will be for him to manage clothes that will cling and rub, and those with buttons and zips, in his current state.

“Don’t be daft. I’ll go get you pyjamas for you.”

Sherlock is still curled on the floor when John gets back. He drops the pyjamas on Sherlock’s head and amuses himself watching the taller man try to disentangle himself. While Sherlock dresses with slow, sluggish movements, John moves around the flat getting things ready. He makes tea for them both and grabs a pack of biscuits as he does so. He retrieves his first aid kit from the bathroom, collects a blanket from the bedroom, and sets up the cushions on the sofa so they can lay together.

“Let’s have a look at you then.” He settles himself on the sofa and motions Sherlock to lay over his lap. Sherlock does so albeit with much hissing and grumbling as every movement set him stinging again. John taps his bum lightly.

“Don’t be a drama queen, dear.” He gently tugs Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms down to reveal every inch of skin that he had reddened. His hands are warm but the way Sherlock jumps around in his lap he might as well be pressing ice against him. “I said, don’t be a drama queen.” He repeats, but there’s no anger or annoyance left in his voice, only love for the squirming man he has in front of him. He hands Sherlock two chocolate biscuits.

“Eat these.” He instructs. “And drink your tea. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten much in the last few days.”

Again John has to tell Sherlock to slow down to prevent him from choking. The biscuits aren’t going anywhere, and neither is John. It is rather alarming how quickly Sherlock devours the small snack. John will have to press that matter later and get some real food inside him but for now he has other concerns.

“You’re not bleeding, but you’re going to be sore for a good while. Which is the point of course.”

John is mostly in doctor mode as he tends to Sherlock- checking for bruising, applying cream from his medical kit to the worst patches- but he does indulge slightly. He kneads Sherlock’s arse, caresses it, places a few delicate kisses upon it. Sherlock’s reactions to his every ministration are priceless. He can’t seem to hold still and moans and whines and all but coos into his folded arms. John grazes his teeth against a less pink patch of skin and Sherlock squawks with protest.

“Not fair!”

“Very fair.” Objects John. “You have a perfectly lovely arse and I don’t see why I shouldn’t show my appreciation for it.”

“Biting is not showing appreciation.”

“You don’t normally complain. Now let me have a quick look at your
hands.”

“No. Comfy.”

John pinches Sherlock’s bum lightly, making his hips thrust against John’s thigh.

“Well the quicker you show me your hands, the quicker we can get back to cuddling.” He says, fairly. “I don’t think I broke the skin at all but you know I’m not going to let it slide without taking care of you properly.”

Reluctantly, Sherlock rearranges his trousers and shuffles around until he can hold out his hands from John’s inspection. John decides against applying cream to his hands as he knows Sherlock will just get it everywhere anyway, but he does take time making sure both palms will indeed suffer no lasting damage. Once satisfied he kisses both of Sherlock's hands, then sweetly on the lips.

“Are your hips ok? I should have given you a cushion to lean on.”
Sherlock kisses him again and nips at his bottom lip.

“I’m fine, John.” He says, firmly. “Do stop worrying.”
They kiss again. Sherlock wraps his arms around John’s neck and crawls into his lap. John shifts his legs to accommodate him.

“Now, where were we?”

“You were biting my arse and calling it appreciation.”

“Don’t play up.”

John shuffles down on the sofa so he can hold Sherlock in his arms properly. Sherlock snuggles into him, resting his face against John’s neck.

“I really do love you very, very much.” John whispers into the detective’s ear. “Even when I have to punish you I still love you. I hope you know that.”

“I do.” And then after a moment’s pause. “I love you too, of course.”

“Glad to hear it.” John winds soft black curls around his fingers.
Sherlock breathes deeply, practically purring.

“I am never wearing that belt again.” He grumbles, jabbing John in the side with his elbow.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sherlock, of course you are.” John jabs him right back. They could get into a silly shoving and poking war as they done in the past but Sherlock seems content to cling to John. John creeps one hand down to Sherlock’s bum and begins to rub him through the thin material of his pyjamas.

“I must say,” he comments. “Your arse always does look good when it’s all pretty and red. Even if it is after a punishment.”

Sherlock pulls back far enough to glare at John. John smirks and continues. “And you know, if it wasn’t a punishment, the thought of you trying to get me off with your hands all bruised up…Kind of hot.” Sherlock pouts and tries to fight away from John’s arms.

“Don’t even think about it.” He huffs.

“Too late.” John grins at him and pulls Sherlock’s struggling form back down for another hug. “Maybe some other time.”

“Or never in a million years.”

“We’ll see.” John continues to make comforting, playful movements with his hands on Sherlock’s arse and up and down his legs but he doesn’t go any further than that. Later they might have sex, or they might not, depending on how Sherlock was feeling. There would be no question about whether or not John would get a solid meal inside Sherlock even if he had to spoon feed him. That actually sounded like an alright idea regardless.

But for now they are both content with this.

This was FANTASTIC. Loved it. Thank you for filling!

Thank you :B I haven't written anything like this before so. was really nervous about posting. *blushes* but you guys seem nice here.
I'm still debating whether or not to post this on ao3 because that means coming out of anon XD

Ouch, really intense. The hands made me cringe.
Very well written. Thank you for the aftercare.

Thankies! Hehe I couldn't possibly leave out the aftercare with this!

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