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The Red Snow	By : orceena Category: S through Z > Sherlock Holmes (2009) > Sherlock Holmes (2009) Views: 2450 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters within. I am not making any kind of profit from this story.

Chapter List
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Thunderous silence welcomed them into the house. The air was a bit musty, but smelt of pine. John and Sherlock never released their hands as they walked up the shallow slope to his house, the snow falling on their shoulders. Watson had put the gun away long before they arrived perfectly content with the notion that the man was not going to run. Sherlock kept his word. He was lead by his lover's hand into the house, both of them hanging their coats in the foyer not sure of what to do next. John avoided his gaze for the time being and headed up towards his office upstairs leaving Sherlock a bit bewildered staring after him.
"Care to join me for a drink, old boy?" John turned and smiled at him.
"J'aimerais," Sherlock replied as he started up the stairs with his doctor.
As they entered, the room had been cleaned up. His papers were in their proper place, the balcony drapes covered the balcony doors. No light filtered through leaving the men in darkness. That didn't stop them from finding what they needed. Sherlock found the small settee on the side of the room and John strode over to his liquor cabinet grabbing a bottle of whiskey.
"Mary was an alcoholic wasn't she?" Sherlock asked suddenly in the dark very quietly. By then their eyes had adjusted to the best of their capabilities leaving John a full outline as he poured them their whiskey.
"She had her way with the drink, never knowing that I'd hide the bottles from her. But she wasn't quite the drunk you've been lead to believe," John replied calmly sitting next to his friend.
"So, she just drank and fucked behind your person for fun then?" Sherlock rotated his glass letting the smell simmer in his nose.
John sighed. "It's my fault I suppose. Drove her to someone else I'd wager. Being a doctor is not easy." John sipped his drink.
"She knew that before she said 'I do'."
“It pains me,” John said ignoring Sherlock’s words. “It was more than that anyway.”
Sherlock tightened his brow and shifted closer to his doctor, intrigued. “How so?”
John took a minute before closing the gap between them letting his head rest against Sherlock’s shoulder. “I dreamt of you one night…and she over heard.”
“Hmm, interesting,” Sherlock said quietly before downing half his drink. The burn was nothing compared to what he knew was to come. “She accused you?”
“She was speechless really. But she wouldn’t shut up about you. She wasn’t right after the incident. She took to the drink every now and then, laughing about everything. Then she would start crying. I lost count trying to explain our relationship to her, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She kept insisting she knew there was something wrong with you.” John downed his drink and threw his glass on the floor. “I became angry with her some nights and we would end up quarreling.”
“Viola,” Sherlock toasted and took the rest of his whiskey enjoying the burn. John knew what he meant. No harm, just a simple ‘and that’s why Mary became the way she was’. The anger, the hurt, all of the pent up emotions from earlier vanished. It was as if he had never stabbed his dearest friend for killing his wife. He never became enraged or deranged. Mary was gone, but she wasn’t. For some reason, John felt that it had been a normal day. Mary was here, but it was just the two of them in this moment. Maybe that’s how it always should be. Then it hit him again. Sherlock killed his beloved wife. Everyone is flawed. His wife was no different, and his best friend decided to take her life because he couldn’t imagine his own life without John Watson. The selfish bastard.
Were Mary’s actions of rebellion against their marriage forgivable? He asked himself in that moment. Could he have forgiven her for the most diabolical act of cruelty? If so, then was Sherlock capable of being forgiven as well? She commited adultery, he commited murder. John was confused. The rage didn’t return but his thinking had finally left him clear of what he really wanted to do to Sherlock Holmes. He would take him, claim him, and watch him die. One way, or another.
John sighed against him and slowly brought his hand to Sherlock’s thigh, making small movements with his thumb. He smiled listening to his friend gasp.
“You were right, old cock. She didn’t know anything about us.” John turned his head and placed a lingering kiss on Sherlock’s shoulder moving his fingers closer to the sleuth’s growing erection.
Sherlock closed his eyes at the final contact taking in a breath. Talented, soft, and slightly gaining pressure, Sherlock couldn’t help the fire in his belly building, making his dick grow hard. He set his glass aside and leaned back onto the sofa letting the doctor continue his actions as they grew more desperate. John lifted his head from the shirt that he had captured between his teeth.
“You know what happens now, don’t you?” John whispered in his ear. Sherlock opened his eyes staring at the wall across from them. John roughly squeezed Sherlock.
“John…!” He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before he found himself splayed on the floor by John’s immediate strength and weight. His arms were pinned out to his sides. He grunted on impact due to the soreness in his wounded shoulder.
“Don’t speak. Just listen. Turn over and lift your hips, love,” John said releasing him but resting his hands on the hips to keep him close.
Sherlock did his best to comply trying to avoid the pain. It was a slow attempt, but he succeeded. He was resting on his elbows while his head rested on his forearms. From behind him he could hear John’s belt buckle being released and then the sound of freeing himself rested in the darkness.
John reached underneath his abdomen to remove his trousers leaving his buttocks exposed to the chilly air. Faint sounds of skin on skin contact was taking place along with slippery sounds next to it. He knew John was prepping his own phallus. Sherlock waited patiently for his fate hoping John would be gentle. He doubted it, but the thought sounded nice. He was relieved when he felt John’s cool fingers spread a thread of saliva along his crease pressing delicately against his entrance. He moaned pathetically. He wasn’t sure if he was really ready for his punishment, but he knew it was deserved. He had murdered someone dear to his Boswell. Maybe this was a thank you and a how dare you at the same time. Whatever it was going to be, he knew his fate was sealed.
“John…”
John didn’t answer him with words. Instead, he moved closer resting his slippery tip against the puckered skin and slowly inched his way forward breaking the muscle apart. He grabbed onto Sherlock’s hips tighter to hold himself, not wanting to go too fast and lose his balance. He also didn’t want Sherlock to pull away which he anticipated because the man struggled under him for a small amount of time. Sherlock sucked in his breath and hissed at the thickness, clenching his fists together. He bit into his arm with every inch he felt slip into his rectum.
“Oh god,” he mumbled into his abused skin. He tried to relax but he just couldn’t. Not while he was being torn in more ways than one…
John paused, looking down at his friend. “Ça fait mal n'est-ce pas.”
“Yes,” Sherlock grunted. John lost his patience and slid the rest of the way in until he rested his balls against the man’s thighs. Sherlock jerked up ignoring the heightened numbness and pain from his shoulder wound. He weakly attempted an escape, but John held him steady piercing his skinny hips with his fingernails.
He started moving. Hard. Roughly, he jerked him self backward and forward pounding his way into Sherlock’s body not caring about the cries from the agonized man below him. Sweet control and pure instinct took over releasing everything he could forge into his friend’s body. His anger, his passion, his revenge; even his own sanity. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist leaning over his back and continued his relentless quest for satisfaction.
Sherlock bit his bottom lip trying to focus on the first time they made love. How gentle and clean it was unlike now as he felt his blood slicken his thighs. He hoped John would be finished soon. This was killing him.
" John, s'il vous plaît arrêter ... ça fait trop mal. Je saigne pour l'amour de dieu, " Sherlock whimpered letting tears seep from his eyes.
" J'ai presque fini, l'amour. Il suffit de tenir le, " John replied into the skin of Sherlock’s back. He thrusted harder then, wanting to finish this once and for all. The room was filled with their heavy breaths and their slippery slapping of skin.
Suddenly, John’s anger surged and forcefully, he pushed Sherlock away from him off his shaft. The detective fell face first onto the floor with a heavy grunt rolling slightly onto his side. John was on him in an instant grabbing Sherlock’s hips pulling them into his lap. Sherlock sucked in a breath and began panting.
" No more. Please, " he heard himself beg.
" I promise it will be over soon, " John whispered before he ruthlessly used Sherlock’s blood to sink himself back inside the aching orifice. Sherlock screamed at the intrusion throwing his head back against the floor. He reached out for John’s hands, but found nothing. He found nothing he could hold on to. It made him feel alone. He settled for curling and uncurling his fingers. John pistoned his hips faster as he lifted Sherlock’s knees to rest them on his shoulders, the pants be damned. He watched as the man’s face twisted into grimaces, his mouth slightly opened, and sweat formed on his brow.
He wanted to kiss and punch him at the same time. He hated this man, and he loved this man. But he wasn’t confused. John knew what he was doing. He knew what he wanted to do. Sherlock had said it himself ; that he was ready for any punishment John wanted to bestow upon him. He wouldn’t fight ; he wouldn’t run. John had stabbed him, stitched him, and now he was fucking him. Hate and love, hate and…
John stiffened as he felt his orgasm coming. He stopped moving to close his eyes and grunt out his release feeling it fill his friend’s crevice. Sherlock moaned beneath him as the warmth filled him up. John continued convulsing as he slowly released his body’s tension and settled himself on top of Sherlock panting heavily into his neck. Sherlock relaxed and felt the cum dripping from his insides mixing with his blood.
They both lay for what seemed like ages before John carefully lifted his body off and out of the detective. John laid out to Sherlock’s side staring at the ceiling completely spent.
Sherlock was the first to move. He sat up shaking uncontrollably as his weak muscles tried to catch up with his activities. He slowly pulled his trousers back up past the bruises forming on his hips not bothering to clean himself up. John had sat up to doing the same. He rose to his aching feet strolling over to the couch to fetch the whiskey bottle. He walked past Sherlock who still sat stunned on the hard floor. He was sobbing quietly trying to control it with little hiccups. John came from behind him and circled his arms around the detective’s chest. He pulled them closer to the couch so they both were leaning back against it. Sherlock slumped tiredly in his lap his arms out to his sides.
John began stroking his messy hair smoothing back behind his ear as he cradled the man in his arms.
" Shh. It's over now, " John whispered in his ear. They sat for a while longer letting their minds settle. John had closed his eyes while he rested his face against his lover's neck. "Forgive me for hurting you, my friend. You have been nothing but good to me. So loving and gentle. I cherished us more than anything else in the whole universe. It would pain me to watch you suffer in prison. I can not do it. I can not do that to you. I thought that if I could claim you, it would make you choice easier. Now is your chance…you can run, or you can stay. The choice is yours. "
John’s mind was gone. Sherlock knew that, but he was surprised that John was leaving him a choice. He could run. He could easily get away. But he didn’t.
He didn’t want to.
Instead, he closed his eyes and rested his head against John’s chest.
" I will stay, " Sherlock murmured as a tear crawled down his face. He felt the cool revolver barrel rest against the back of his head. "I love you… "
John kissed his cheek. "I love you too, Sherlock." He cocked the gun and took a deep breath.
*******
TBC
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- 13
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The Red Snow