Danny crept alongside the fence, hoping the carcass of the dead rabbit still lay near the fence, where he'd seen it from the drive. He took a quick inventory of his pilfered supplies, Mycroft's plush robe and terry belt, a wooden spoon, a pair of scissors, a pen light, and several rubber condoms. Thank god, Mycroft doesn't have a latex allergy. Sheep skin wouldn't work. I need an insulator.
He then looked around, making his way towards the electrified fence and the dead rabbit. The smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils. Christ, it smells like I've found the poor thing. He shone the light down on the creature's body, gaging from the odor, then tears filled his eyes when he noticed the maggots that ate at its once beautiful brown eyes. Alex. His beautiful blue eyes are now gone—rotted away. Though he couldn't spare the time, he sank to the ground, keening into the folds of Mycroft's robe. He then took a deep breath and tied the rabbit's legs together, with one of the condoms, attaching the wooden spoon to one end. When the rabbit's body hit the electrified fence, it lit up like a Christmas tree. The smell of burnt meat filled the air and he gagged again, but kept a tight grip on the wooden spoon.
Then the rabbit's body stilled for the last time. It fell at his feet in a charred pile, no longer an animal, but a pile of mutilated flesh and fur. He bent down, pulled one of the legs lose and threw it against the chain-link. Nothing. The fence had flatlined. Its electricity could no longer sear his skin. He slipped on Mycroft's robe, putting the scissors in one of its deep pockets, then began to scale the fence. When he reached the top, he paused then cut into one of the metal barbed wire circles. Though he knew that the scissors wouldn't cut all the way through, he hoped that he could loosen their circumference enough to slip through. He swore when the strength of the scissors gave way. They fell apart and landed with a soft thump beside the rabbit's body.
He pulled the terry belt out, wrapping it around one hand. Then he slipped through the wire, holding back a scream when it bit through the robe and ripped his flesh. Fuck. His body fell through the air, then hit the ground. He took a moment to get his breath back, then ran bleeding into the night.
***
Lust had overtaken them both. John grabbed Sherlock's waist pinning him against the ground. "Case or no case, it's time for you to be the fuck toy." He sighed when Sherlock's eyes clouded with lust—all reason gone.
"Fuck, yes, John whatever you want."
"Put the pink panties that I was just wearing on."
He palmed his groin, while he watched Sherlock comply. "Now, put on the plaid skirt, you made me wear." When Sherlock started to removed his purple shirt, he stopped him. "No, keep the shirt on. I want to tease open the buttons with my teeth. Now, hands against the wall and spread 'em."
He shivered when he looked at Sherlock's plumb ass. It's just waiting to be eaten. Watching him squirm was the best part. Then he dove between his legs, nibbling at the pink thong, as if were an impediment to his ultimate goal—rimming. When Sherlock began to make small noises in the back of his throat, he lost it. "Sherlock, stop with the whining or I'm going to come."
"Aaan."
"That's right. Spread your legs further apart, so I can taste your nectar." He lowered his head, pulling at the thong with his teeth, until it worked itself around Sherlock's thighs. With one swift move, he pulled them down and began to flick his tongue where the string had rested.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"That's it Sherlock, hang on let me taste you. Tell me what do you want?"
"I thought you were in control. I'm out of my mind, John. Give it to me hard."
"Are you sure? I haven't gotten any smaller and I don't want to hurt you. Let me give you head."
"No."
His groin lurched when Sherlock, licked his finger, then inserted it where his tongue had been. "Jesus, Sherlock you're killing me. Go over to the bed and lie on your back." When Sherlock complied, he joined him, undoing each button on his sexy purple shirt with his teeth. "Just as promised," he whispered, while Sherlock writhed beneath him, arching his hips when he licked his nipple.
"Fuck, John, I can't....."
He watched while Sherlock's body tensed, then slumped in humiliation. "Sorry, I came too fast..."
"Ssh, it's okay," he soothed. "I've got enough to spare, don't you think?" He smiled, then moaned when Sherlock's greedy hands reached for his cock.
"In me now, John..."
"Your wish is my command, my annoying dickhead." Then he put on a condom, lubed up, and massaged Sherlock's ass cheeks until he relaxed. His head snapped back and he bit on his lower lip to maintain control, when he breached Sherlock's sphincter. "Fuck, Sherlock, you undo me every time." He then lifted Sherlock's skirt, laced their fingers together and thrust, deeper and deeper, until they were fused in a tight wad of moist flesh. Sherlock, god, Sherlock...
***
Mycroft smiled when he found the dead rabbit. "What a clever thing he is my Danny." My Danny? The thought froze the smile on his face. Danny wasn't his. He would never be his. His heart belonged to another. I'm going to put a bullet through the little prick's head. How dare he abuse my hospitality? Maybe I won't find him. This thought slowed him. Then the hunter in him took over and he kicked the rabbit's body to the side. I always get my prey—always. And I have always left the quality of mercy to others. I will catch him. I will interrogate him and I will find the cipher. I long for this to be over. Perhaps, Mrs. Hudson is right. Perhaps, I do need a vacation, on a sunny island with lots of half-naked cabana boys parading around. Stop, focus. Then he crept along the fence and opened a gate further down, making his way to the other side of the fence to where his robe lay, streaked with Danny's blood. He held it in his hands, then let it drop to the ground, where it faced the burnt out skull of the rabbit.
