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John drew three deep breaths before he stepped inside Sherlocks bedroom. It was dark; he could just make out the shape of Sherlocks body on the bed. He approached the other man slowly, not wanting to wake him just yet. John pulled the blanket of Sherlock, revealing his naked body. He licked his lips and kneeled down on the bed. Oh, how many times he had dreamed of this. He had lost count of all the times he had woken up, painfully aroused from his dreams of the consultive detective. He wanted him so bad, so bad that it hurt. He placed his fingertips on Sherlocks jaw and moved them down, lower and lower until they came to rest just below his navel. He scratched lightly, enjoying how Sherlock squirmed a little under his touch. He could do anything he wanted to Sherlock right now. Anything. And really, he was planning to do something. You see, John wanted Sherlock so much that he was on the edge of insanity. He could not deal with not having Sherlock. And he didn't even have to ask Sherlock about it, because he knew Sherlock wasn't interested. So there was only one thing to do, really. If he couldn't have Sherlock, no one could. And he knew how to make sure. John climbed over so he was straddling Sherlock, effectively pinning him down. Sherlock was squirming a lot more now, a low whimper rising from his throat. John reached into his pocket and crabbed the handcuffs, which he had grabbed just before entering Sherlocks room, with a low rattle. Slowly, and almost lovingly, he took hold of Sherlocks wrists and moved them up to the head of the bed, and cuffed him to it. He smirked, because now Sherlock was entirely in his power, and he couldn't leave, he wouldn't leave. Never.
John leaned forward and pressed light butterfly kisses along Sherlocks jaw. A low, throaty moan escaped Sherlock and John was fascinated. He had believed that Sherlock had been incapable of even getting aroused. Apparently, he was wrong, a fact that became very obvious when he glanced down on Sherlocks penis. Only moments ago, it had been flaccid and soft, and now it was swollen and erect. John swore he could hear it beg him to touch it, but he wasn't going to do that, was he?
He moved away from Sherlocks neck for a few seconds, before parting his lips and threw himself forward, burying his teeth in the soft flesh of Sherlock Holmes' neck. Sherlock jolted up and a cry echoed from his lips. John grabbed his jaw, and held him still. The warm, metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth, and he pulled himself away. Sherlock was very much awake, eyes wide of surprise.
“J-john” he stuttered. John pressed his finger in the blood on Sherlocks neck and pressed that finger against those plush lips, enjoying the look of blood against the other mans lips.
“What are you doing?” He sounded scared. John sadly shook his head to himself. Sherlock was never scared.
“I didn't broke your jugular vein, sherlock, but I will.” John told him. Sherlock parted his lips, but no words came out. John waited, and Sherlock tried again.
“Why, John?” He swallowed. “I want you”
Again, John shook his head. “Because I have gone insane”, he explained slowly, gently, while taking out his pocket-knife and fixed his gaze on the blade. He then pressed against the pulse that jumped violently in Sherlocks neck. He looked in into Sherlocks eyes, and smiled sadly. “I don't want to be insane, I want you. But I have, and therefore I have to take your life, Sherlock, because no one can have you if I can't. But don't worry-” He pressed his fingers on Sherlock lips again to keep him quiet. “-I will take my life to, Sherlock, so we can bleed together.” He waited three seconds exactly to allow those words to sink in into Sherlocks brilliant brain properly, before pressing the knife hard into the vein, and as soon as he broke it, and large amounts of blood began to stream down that beautiful pale, thin body, he removed the knife from Sherlock and pressed it into his own jugular vein. Sherlock was making spluttering noises, his blood still pouring out of the wound. John skin broke, and their blood mixed together. “We'll bleed, together, Sherlock” John repeated, this time much more slower. His sight was getting darker and he was struggling with keeping his eyes open. Sherlock had already closed his, and his breaths came short and harsh. John smiled and let his head fall down on Sherlocks chest. Eventually, everything became irrelevant. They didn't matter anymore. Sherlocks pulse had stopped, and if John had been awake, he would have heard his own heart giving up. He didn't, and soon they where just a pair of bloodied bodies, lying in 221B.
Fin.