Trigger Warnings: semi non-con, genital spanking, general dark overtones.
Note: This is my first time filling one of these. It's not finished yet, but I wanted to check with OP to see if this is working for him/her, so I'm putting up what I have presently. Happy to receive concrit, first time ever writing genital spanking. This is set before S4 Ep3.
--------------- The sound of footfalls on the stairs outside 221B reached Sherlock’s ears even as he dozed on the sofa. He knew that pattern of footsteps anywhere—it was Mycroft. The consulting detective opened his bleary eyes, blinking a few times to focus them.
“Sounds like your brother is here,” John said. He took a look at his watch and nodded. “Right on time too.” It was early in Sherlock’s rehabilitation after nearly killing himself to ‘save’ John and everyone was still taking shifts to watch over him. Frankly, he needed it. The cravings were strong again after such heavy use. He rose from his chair by the fireplace and opened the door, giving Mycroft a nod in greeting.
“Thanks for coming on time,” John told the other man sincerely. “Molly has Rosie today and I try not to overtax her. Infants are exhausting.” He looked over the sofa, then back at Mycroft and lowered his voice. “He’s had a rough night. I have some nausea medication in the loo for him, the directions are on it, should he need it. The flat’s clean, I checked it again a few hours ago.” It was an exhausting process, searching the flat inch by inch, but one that needed to be done.
As John filled Mycroft in on the recent developments with his younger brother, he noticed a rather large duffle bag in the elder Holmes’s hand. “What’s that?” he asked, inclining his head at the bag.
“I have cleared my schedule for the next 24 hours to spend some… quality time with my brother,” Mycroft replied. “I’ve informed Miss Hooper and DI Lestrade that they will not be needed for their upcoming shifts as I will be here.”
John’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’m sure they’re thankful for the break. That’s… unexpectedly kind of you.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed. “Do go collect your child, Dr. Watson. I shall call if we require medical advice of some sort, but I doubt that will be necessary.” He stood aside so he was no longer blocking the door; a strong indication that John should leave at once. After saying his goodbyes to Sherlock, John did in fact go. The door was shut and locked behind him before Mycroft addressed his brother.
“I’m sure you know why I’m here for the duration and why this--” He held up the duffel bag. “Is here with me.” Mycroft crossed the room and set the bag on the floor beside the couch. “Budge up Sherlock,” he directed, taking a seat on the couch when Sherlock did so. Immediately he guided Sherlock’s head back to his lap and began to run his fingers through the messy mop of curls. “You’ve been a naughty boy Sherlock. A very, very naughty little boy, haven’t you?” Mycroft was unsurprised when Sherlock chose not to respond. “Scaring your friends that way, scaring Mummy and Dad, putting your life at risk.”
“You didn’t try to stop me,” Sherlock pointed out, his tone somewhat dull. “Even though you were watching.”
The elder Holmes sighed and shook his head. “No, I did not. I’ve learned from experience that you do not listen, especially when it comes to Dr. Watson. I knew what you were doing,” he confirmed. “Your life, however, is a large price to pay to pull John out of his misery. A price that is, quite frankly, unacceptable. What did I say would happen the next time you gave in to your addiction? Do you remember?”
Sherlock’s face burned red as he nodded. “You’d make me the sorriest little boy in the world,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. This wasn’t a new thing, Mycroft making threats and providing consequences for his drug use. It had never been something that Sherlock agreed to, or wanted, but it had evolved out of their relationship growing up. Mycroft had always been the one minding Sherlock and, when he grew too wild for Mum and Dad to handle, Mycroft had taken him in hand. It was humiliating, being spanked by his big brother like a little child, so it had turned out to be an effective measure.
As Sherlock became involved in drugs, he found himself called to the carpet more and more often, each time dreading it and promising to stay away. Whenever he slipped, Mycroft came to find him with that bloody duffel bag. No matter how much he protested, shouted, attempted to flee, and on occasion physically fight Mycroft, Sherlock was always subdued in the end and thoroughly punished. Mycroft never did things by half measure, after all, and if he was putting effort into a spanking, it would be given on every possible spankable surface there was. It was a process guaranteed to make Sherlock very, very sorry and unbelievably sore.
“Please don’t,” Sherlock whimpered. There would be no physical fight or attempt to flee today. He was far too worn out from withdrawal to make such an effort. But the punishment coming his way was not one he consented to, merely one he submitted to.
“I’m not going to take that request seriously,” Mycroft said firmly, giving the curls in his hand a bit of a tug. “You nearly killed yourself, the serial killer’s attempt aside, using so much for so long and did not even make a list of what you took, which you promised me you would always do. Not to mention that you made Mummy cry, a sin worthy of a spanking all on its own. No reprieve Sherlock, to any part of it. If you’re a very good, cooperative little boy for your spanking, I’ll skip the ginger root,” Mycroft offered. “But that is the most leniency you’ll see from me.”
Sherlock whimpered again and turned over on the couch so he could hide his face against Mycroft’s abdomen.
“I know, I know,” Mycroft said gently, running his hands through Sherlock’s curls again. “Take a few minutes to whine and whimper about it, I know you need to. But then it’s time to get started. No delays Sherlock, no diversions or dalliances,” he warned. He then waited patiently as several quiet moments passed while Sherlock resigned himself to the inevitable.
“Alright, that’s enough time for whimpers,” Mycroft finally declared. “Get up young man and strip. Put your clothes away nicely when you’re finished.” When Sherlock rose from the couch, Mycroft did too, and reached for the duffel bag. Inside it were all the implements Mycroft had decided to bring with—it was always good to have variety---as well as a ginger root. That went into the fridge before Mycroft unpacked the items one by one. A thin leather strap, a cane, a wooden spoon, a belt, a paint stirrer type paddle dubbed ‘the naughty stick’ (an implement from their own childhood spankings), and a cock ring to help Sherlock present his genitals for punishment should he struggle with doing so. For now the fabric ties he’d brought with would remain in the bag. If Sherlock struggled to obey and maintain position, they would be used to restrain him.
Putting the duffle bag aside, Mycroft shed his suit jacket and laid it neatly on Sherlock’s chair by the fireplace. He began to roll up his sleeves then, watching Sherlock fold his clothing and take it to his room. His brother then emerged, brilliantly red faced with his hands protectively covering his penis. “Hands at your sides or behind your back Sherlock,” Mycroft said sternly. “Modesty is a privilege, not a right, when you’re in this much trouble.”
An inner battled waged on Sherlock’s face as he struggled with the idea of obeying. A part of him didn’t dare to refuse, but it was difficult to do so. This might be surprising, given his penchant for walking around Baker Street nude or covered only in a sheet, but there was a difference between being naked at his pleasure and being forced to be naked for punishment sake. Finally, as Mycroft gave him a withering gaze, Sherlock put his hands behind his back and hung his head.
Pleased to see Sherlock obey, Mycroft watched him a moment longer before turning away and going into the kitchen. His brother was undoubtedly going to be shedding many tears today and having a pitcher of cold water available would be handy for helping him replenish those fluids. It took him a few moments digging in the ill organized space to find a pitcher that didn’t look as though it were growing poison. Mycroft promptly filled that with water, put the lid on, and placed it into the fridge.
“Center of the room,” he called to Sherlock as he headed back to the sitting room. “Stand in the center of the room and spread your legs. Do not give me those sad eyes, little boy. Not after you nearly killed yourself in an elaborate, sentiment fueled stunt.” Swallowing hard, Sherlock moved to the center of the room and spread his legs, keeping his hands behind his back. Immediately his eyes went to the floor as a red flush of embarrassment went over his whole body. As Mycroft approached him, the younger Holmes cringed and tensed in anticipation.
Rather than reach for him roughly, at least for the moment, Mycroft cupped Sherlock’s chin and lifted his head. “I love you Sherlock, and you know that. That is why I do this, and for no other reason. You never have been and never will be allowed to put drugs in your body without consequences. After today I want you to think two, three, even four times before contemplating using again and to make sure that happens, I am going to ensure that you associate drugs with the pain of a most thorough spanking. Is that clear?”
When Sherlock whispered a “yes sir,” Mycroft nodded let go of his chin. “Let’s begin then. I’m sure you remember how this goes, but it’s clearly been too long since the last time.” Mycroft moved to Sherlock’s right side and reached for his limp cock, grasping it with his left hand, pulling it up towards Sherlock’s belly to expose his balls. He gave a warning tap against them with his right hand before drawing it back and delivering a resounding smack to Sherlock’s scrotum.
An intense frisson of pain shot through Sherlock’s body as Mycroft spanked his scrotum. That place was not meant to be spanked and he wheezed through the pain, his eyes bulging a bit. Sherlock thought briefly about trying to move away and avoid further smacks, but Mycroft had a good hold on his cock and it would hurt worse to try and pull it away than it would be take his humiliating punishment.
“Yes, hurts doesn’t it?” Mycroft asked, delivering a second smack. It was followed quickly by a third and fourth as Sherlock trembled beside him, gasping for breath. “You’ve been a very naughty boy,” he continued, emphasizing those words with sharp smacks. The scrotum was turning red and beginning to swell already in response to the spanking. Be continued to apply hard, relatively fast paced smacks to that tender region of Sherlock’s anatomy, completely unsurprised when Sherlock broke down in tears.
“Please, please stop, please!” Sherlock begged, his voice high and tearful. “I’m sorry, please!” His knees shook, making him uncertain that his legs would hold him up much longer. “I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry!”
Mycroft did pause at that, but did not released Sherlock’s penis. “I’m sure you sorry—sorry that you’re being punished. By the time we’re finished today, you’ll be truly sorry. We are far from finished and you are well aware of that,” he said sternly. “And you know precisely how to avoid being punished in the future!” He squeezed Sherlock’s cock tightly, then loosened his grip a bit, before continuing to reign smacks on Sherlock’s balls. The strength behind the smacks made his hand sting and that was why Mycroft brought implements he knew he could use for just such a spanking.
It didn’t take long for Sherlock to sob in earnest and try to dance away from further blows. He had no idea how many times Mycroft had spanked his sac at this point, he merely wanted it to stop and continued to plead for mercy through his tears and wheezing.
After delivering twenty solid smacks to Sherlock’s scrotum, Mycroft released his brother’s cock and gave him a moment to catch his breath. “Put your legs closer together and steady yourself,” he directed. When Sherlock’s breathing resumed a somewhat normal pace, Mycroft knew it was time to go on. “You will stay still or I’ll make you wish you had, little boy,” he warned, giving the limp cock a warning pat. Once more Mycroft raised his hand and brought it down with a smack, full force on Sherlock’s cock.
Letting out a strangled shout, Sherlock dropped to his knees and resumed the sobs that had earlier faded. He hated how much this hurt and how humiliating it was and how it made him bawl like a baby. Sherlock was destined to bawl even more as Mycroft merely knelt beside his brother and continued to dole out devastating strikes to the rapidly reddening member.
Each one was silently counted in Mycroft’s head with a goal of fifteen in total…. Fifteen with his hand that was! A part of Mycroft admired his brother’s strength in not trying to deter him from delivering the punishment despite the pain Sherlock was in. Perhaps he’d learned something last time after all! As Sherlock’s cries became more desperate and high pitched, Mycroft began to count the strokes out loud for him. “Fifteen Sherlock and then you may have a break. Twelve…” Crack. “Thirteen…” Crack. “Fourteen…” Crack. “Fifteen.” Crack.
When Mycroft finally stopped, Sherlock curled up in a ball on the floor and bawled brokenly. He was vaguely aware of Mycroft getting up and washing his hands in the kitchen before returning to his side. Then, a gentle hand was running through his curls as he wailed.
“I don’t like doing this Sherlock,” Mycroft sincerely told him. “You push yourself to this point with the drugs. I’d rather do this a thousand times than lose you to cocaine and god only know what else. The power to avoid this in the future is yours. Resist the temptation Sherlock, no matter what the reasons behind it. For now, take some deep breaths and work through the pain. In a short while, I’m going to put you over my knee and warm that bottom of yours before we move on to other intimate areas.”
Sherlock threw him a terrified look. Surely he couldn’t mean…
“Oh yes,” Mycroft confirmed. “Between your cheeks, your inner thighs, and your anus are all going to be well spanked by the time we finish today. This is meant to be memorable Sherlock, and be a deterrent for the future. It won’t do any good if I fail to make it memorable and incredibly painful. But for now just breathe through the pain. I’m right here.”
For some reason, Sherlock found that comforting, having Mycroft beside him stroking his hair. In truth he had known that Mycroft would come to punish him and in a way it was reassuring. Big brother always set him back on the right path, no matter how many times he fell off of it.
FILL Bodily Harm 1/?
Note: This is my first time filling one of these. It's not finished yet, but I wanted to check with OP to see if this is working for him/her, so I'm putting up what I have presently. Happy to receive concrit, first time ever writing genital spanking. This is set before S4 Ep3.
---------------
The sound of footfalls on the stairs outside 221B reached Sherlock’s ears even as he dozed on the sofa. He knew that pattern of footsteps anywhere—it was Mycroft. The consulting detective opened his bleary eyes, blinking a few times to focus them.
“Sounds like your brother is here,” John said. He took a look at his watch and nodded. “Right on time too.” It was early in Sherlock’s rehabilitation after nearly killing himself to ‘save’ John and everyone was still taking shifts to watch over him. Frankly, he needed it. The cravings were strong again after such heavy use. He rose from his chair by the fireplace and opened the door, giving Mycroft a nod in greeting.
“Thanks for coming on time,” John told the other man sincerely. “Molly has Rosie today and I try not to overtax her. Infants are exhausting.” He looked over the sofa, then back at Mycroft and lowered his voice. “He’s had a rough night. I have some nausea medication in the loo for him, the directions are on it, should he need it. The flat’s clean, I checked it again a few hours ago.” It was an exhausting process, searching the flat inch by inch, but one that needed to be done.
As John filled Mycroft in on the recent developments with his younger brother, he noticed a rather large duffle bag in the elder Holmes’s hand. “What’s that?” he asked, inclining his head at the bag.
“I have cleared my schedule for the next 24 hours to spend some… quality time with my brother,” Mycroft replied. “I’ve informed Miss Hooper and DI Lestrade that they will not be needed for their upcoming shifts as I will be here.”
John’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’m sure they’re thankful for the break. That’s… unexpectedly kind of you.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed. “Do go collect your child, Dr. Watson. I shall call if we require medical advice of some sort, but I doubt that will be necessary.” He stood aside so he was no longer blocking the door; a strong indication that John should leave at once. After saying his goodbyes to Sherlock, John did in fact go. The door was shut and locked behind him before Mycroft addressed his brother.
“I’m sure you know why I’m here for the duration and why this--” He held up the duffel bag. “Is here with me.” Mycroft crossed the room and set the bag on the floor beside the couch. “Budge up Sherlock,” he directed, taking a seat on the couch when Sherlock did so. Immediately he guided Sherlock’s head back to his lap and began to run his fingers through the messy mop of curls. “You’ve been a naughty boy Sherlock. A very, very naughty little boy, haven’t you?” Mycroft was unsurprised when Sherlock chose not to respond. “Scaring your friends that way, scaring Mummy and Dad, putting your life at risk.”
“You didn’t try to stop me,” Sherlock pointed out, his tone somewhat dull. “Even though you were watching.”
The elder Holmes sighed and shook his head. “No, I did not. I’ve learned from experience that you do not listen, especially when it comes to Dr. Watson. I knew what you were doing,” he confirmed. “Your life, however, is a large price to pay to pull John out of his misery. A price that is, quite frankly, unacceptable. What did I say would happen the next time you gave in to your addiction? Do you remember?”
Sherlock’s face burned red as he nodded. “You’d make me the sorriest little boy in the world,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. This wasn’t a new thing, Mycroft making threats and providing consequences for his drug use. It had never been something that Sherlock agreed to, or wanted, but it had evolved out of their relationship growing up. Mycroft had always been the one minding Sherlock and, when he grew too wild for Mum and Dad to handle, Mycroft had taken him in hand. It was humiliating, being spanked by his big brother like a little child, so it had turned out to be an effective measure.
As Sherlock became involved in drugs, he found himself called to the carpet more and more often, each time dreading it and promising to stay away. Whenever he slipped, Mycroft came to find him with that bloody duffel bag. No matter how much he protested, shouted, attempted to flee, and on occasion physically fight Mycroft, Sherlock was always subdued in the end and thoroughly punished. Mycroft never did things by half measure, after all, and if he was putting effort into a spanking, it would be given on every possible spankable surface there was. It was a process guaranteed to make Sherlock very, very sorry and unbelievably sore.
“Please don’t,” Sherlock whimpered. There would be no physical fight or attempt to flee today. He was far too worn out from withdrawal to make such an effort. But the punishment coming his way was not one he consented to, merely one he submitted to.
“I’m not going to take that request seriously,” Mycroft said firmly, giving the curls in his hand a bit of a tug. “You nearly killed yourself, the serial killer’s attempt aside, using so much for so long and did not even make a list of what you took, which you promised me you would always do. Not to mention that you made Mummy cry, a sin worthy of a spanking all on its own. No reprieve Sherlock, to any part of it. If you’re a very good, cooperative little boy for your spanking, I’ll skip the ginger root,” Mycroft offered. “But that is the most leniency you’ll see from me.”
Sherlock whimpered again and turned over on the couch so he could hide his face against Mycroft’s abdomen.
“I know, I know,” Mycroft said gently, running his hands through Sherlock’s curls again. “Take a few minutes to whine and whimper about it, I know you need to. But then it’s time to get started. No delays Sherlock, no diversions or dalliances,” he warned. He then waited patiently as several quiet moments passed while Sherlock resigned himself to the inevitable.
“Alright, that’s enough time for whimpers,” Mycroft finally declared. “Get up young man and strip. Put your clothes away nicely when you’re finished.” When Sherlock rose from the couch, Mycroft did too, and reached for the duffel bag. Inside it were all the implements Mycroft had decided to bring with—it was always good to have variety---as well as a ginger root. That went into the fridge before Mycroft unpacked the items one by one. A thin leather strap, a cane, a wooden spoon, a belt, a paint stirrer type paddle dubbed ‘the naughty stick’ (an implement from their own childhood spankings), and a cock ring to help Sherlock present his genitals for punishment should he struggle with doing so. For now the fabric ties he’d brought with would remain in the bag. If Sherlock struggled to obey and maintain position, they would be used to restrain him.
Putting the duffle bag aside, Mycroft shed his suit jacket and laid it neatly on Sherlock’s chair by the fireplace. He began to roll up his sleeves then, watching Sherlock fold his clothing and take it to his room. His brother then emerged, brilliantly red faced with his hands protectively covering his penis. “Hands at your sides or behind your back Sherlock,” Mycroft said sternly. “Modesty is a privilege, not a right, when you’re in this much trouble.”
An inner battled waged on Sherlock’s face as he struggled with the idea of obeying. A part of him didn’t dare to refuse, but it was difficult to do so. This might be surprising, given his penchant for walking around Baker Street nude or covered only in a sheet, but there was a difference between being naked at his pleasure and being forced to be naked for punishment sake. Finally, as Mycroft gave him a withering gaze, Sherlock put his hands behind his back and hung his head.
Pleased to see Sherlock obey, Mycroft watched him a moment longer before turning away and going into the kitchen. His brother was undoubtedly going to be shedding many tears today and having a pitcher of cold water available would be handy for helping him replenish those fluids. It took him a few moments digging in the ill organized space to find a pitcher that didn’t look as though it were growing poison. Mycroft promptly filled that with water, put the lid on, and placed it into the fridge.
“Center of the room,” he called to Sherlock as he headed back to the sitting room. “Stand in the center of the room and spread your legs. Do not give me those sad eyes, little boy. Not after you nearly killed yourself in an elaborate, sentiment fueled stunt.”
Swallowing hard, Sherlock moved to the center of the room and spread his legs, keeping his hands behind his back. Immediately his eyes went to the floor as a red flush of embarrassment went over his whole body. As Mycroft approached him, the younger Holmes cringed and tensed in anticipation.
Rather than reach for him roughly, at least for the moment, Mycroft cupped Sherlock’s chin and lifted his head. “I love you Sherlock, and you know that. That is why I do this, and for no other reason. You never have been and never will be allowed to put drugs in your body without consequences. After today I want you to think two, three, even four times before contemplating using again and to make sure that happens, I am going to ensure that you associate drugs with the pain of a most thorough spanking. Is that clear?”
When Sherlock whispered a “yes sir,” Mycroft nodded let go of his chin. “Let’s begin then. I’m sure you remember how this goes, but it’s clearly been too long since the last time.” Mycroft moved to Sherlock’s right side and reached for his limp cock, grasping it with his left hand, pulling it up towards Sherlock’s belly to expose his balls. He gave a warning tap against them with his right hand before drawing it back and delivering a resounding smack to Sherlock’s scrotum.
An intense frisson of pain shot through Sherlock’s body as Mycroft spanked his scrotum. That place was not meant to be spanked and he wheezed through the pain, his eyes bulging a bit. Sherlock thought briefly about trying to move away and avoid further smacks, but Mycroft had a good hold on his cock and it would hurt worse to try and pull it away than it would be take his humiliating punishment.
“Yes, hurts doesn’t it?” Mycroft asked, delivering a second smack. It was followed quickly by a third and fourth as Sherlock trembled beside him, gasping for breath. “You’ve been a very naughty boy,” he continued, emphasizing those words with sharp smacks. The scrotum was turning red and beginning to swell already in response to the spanking. Be continued to apply hard, relatively fast paced smacks to that tender region of Sherlock’s anatomy, completely unsurprised when Sherlock broke down in tears.
“Please, please stop, please!” Sherlock begged, his voice high and tearful. “I’m sorry, please!” His knees shook, making him uncertain that his legs would hold him up much longer. “I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry!”
Mycroft did pause at that, but did not released Sherlock’s penis. “I’m sure you sorry—sorry that you’re being punished. By the time we’re finished today, you’ll be truly sorry. We are far from finished and you are well aware of that,” he said sternly. “And you know precisely how to avoid being punished in the future!” He squeezed Sherlock’s cock tightly, then loosened his grip a bit, before continuing to reign smacks on Sherlock’s balls. The strength behind the smacks made his hand sting and that was why Mycroft brought implements he knew he could use for just such a spanking.
It didn’t take long for Sherlock to sob in earnest and try to dance away from further blows. He had no idea how many times Mycroft had spanked his sac at this point, he merely wanted it to stop and continued to plead for mercy through his tears and wheezing.
After delivering twenty solid smacks to Sherlock’s scrotum, Mycroft released his brother’s cock and gave him a moment to catch his breath. “Put your legs closer together and steady yourself,” he directed. When Sherlock’s breathing resumed a somewhat normal pace, Mycroft knew it was time to go on. “You will stay still or I’ll make you wish you had, little boy,” he warned, giving the limp cock a warning pat. Once more Mycroft raised his hand and brought it down with a smack, full force on Sherlock’s cock.
Letting out a strangled shout, Sherlock dropped to his knees and resumed the sobs that had earlier faded. He hated how much this hurt and how humiliating it was and how it made him bawl like a baby. Sherlock was destined to bawl even more as Mycroft merely knelt beside his brother and continued to dole out devastating strikes to the rapidly reddening member.
Each one was silently counted in Mycroft’s head with a goal of fifteen in total…. Fifteen with his hand that was! A part of Mycroft admired his brother’s strength in not trying to deter him from delivering the punishment despite the pain Sherlock was in. Perhaps he’d learned something last time after all! As Sherlock’s cries became more desperate and high pitched, Mycroft began to count the strokes out loud for him. “Fifteen Sherlock and then you may have a break. Twelve…” Crack. “Thirteen…” Crack. “Fourteen…” Crack. “Fifteen.” Crack.
When Mycroft finally stopped, Sherlock curled up in a ball on the floor and bawled brokenly. He was vaguely aware of Mycroft getting up and washing his hands in the kitchen before returning to his side. Then, a gentle hand was running through his curls as he wailed.
“I don’t like doing this Sherlock,” Mycroft sincerely told him. “You push yourself to this point with the drugs. I’d rather do this a thousand times than lose you to cocaine and god only know what else. The power to avoid this in the future is yours. Resist the temptation Sherlock, no matter what the reasons behind it. For now, take some deep breaths and work through the pain. In a short while, I’m going to put you over my knee and warm that bottom of yours before we move on to other intimate areas.”
Sherlock threw him a terrified look. Surely he couldn’t mean…
“Oh yes,” Mycroft confirmed. “Between your cheeks, your inner thighs, and your anus are all going to be well spanked by the time we finish today. This is meant to be memorable Sherlock, and be a deterrent for the future. It won’t do any good if I fail to make it memorable and incredibly painful. But for now just breathe through the pain. I’m right here.”
For some reason, Sherlock found that comforting, having Mycroft beside him stroking his hair. In truth he had known that Mycroft would come to punish him and in a way it was reassuring. Big brother always set him back on the right path, no matter how many times he fell off of it.