verucasalt123 | Sherlock FIC

Artist/Author: verucasalt123
Type of work: fiction
Title: Memory Lane
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing(s) or/and Main Characters: John/sherlock
Type of Spanking: Punishment
Implement(s): Cane
Summary: Sherlock’s been very poorly behaved.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count or Length (videos, podfic, etc): ~1350 words
Notes & Warnings: I wrote a birthday fic for

selana1505 over at

spanking_world, and was asked for an expansion. So, here is the story of why Sherlock is so afraid of the cane.

Their day had been long and frustrating. As expected, Sherlock had reacted by acting like a colossal dick to anyone who got near him. Including John. He’d recognized his mistake immediately, and attempted to make up for it, but clearly he’d not been successful.

By the time they got back to Baker Street, John was fuming. They’d been together for a while, and the dynamics of their relationship were quite clear. Out on a case, Sherlock took the lead, John following or at his side. But at home, it was a completely different story. John was in charge at home, no questions asked. And if he found Sherlock’s behavior lacking, there would be punishment. At the time, no explanation of that statement was given, but it wasn’t really needed. Sherlock knew exactly what John meant, and he’d agreed without hesitation. Over time, even without any kind of discipline, he was learning to be a better man as a result of what he and John had together.

Some days, though…some days Sherlock couldn’t hold back with his nasty comments, snide remarks, barely-veiled insults. Even to people who were his friends. Even, apparently, to John, which was a grave error on his part.

“I’m terribly disappointed in you, Sherlock. You were ugly and hurtful to several people today, including myself. I know you were frustrated but that’s not an excuse, not anymore. You know better, I’ve seen it myself, and I can’t say I’m sure why you decided to behave this way today, but I’m going to try to make you understand how unacceptable that is. Do you understand?”

Sherlock had gone in a moment from a defiant stance to a submissive one at the sound of John’s growling reprimand. “I do, John. I expect you’ll punish me?” He wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, but he wasn’t going to argue, since he’d already agreed to this when it was still just something theoretical.

“I am. Remove your trousers and pants, then bend over the back of the armchair. Now.”

Knowing better than to argue or hesitate, Sherlock did as he was told. A feeling of nervous anticipation was creeping through his gut; he didn’t like not knowing exactly what it was he had coming. Corporal punishment, surely, and something designed to humiliate him. He didn’t think for a moment John wasn’t capable of it.

He watched John as he moved out of the room, then returned holding a thin rattan cane. His first thought was, where the bloody hell did he get that thing, but he remained silent.

Sherlock had been caned before, in public school. He remembered that it hurt, quite a bit, and that it knocked him down a peg or two. He’d thought that part of it was because Mycroft had found out and teased him about it mercilessly, but maybe not. That incident had been different, though. Yes, it was painful, but it was over his trousers and he was only ten years old, small for his age and never having been punished before for anything in his life. Spoiled, the headmaster had said. Sherlock had thought he’d deleted that comment, but apparently not. It was true, though, he was spoiled. His brother was much older and had no time to pay attention to his antics, and their mother never seemed to get angry with him, bearing his unusual behavior with smiles and half-hearted apologies to her friends.

So yeah, John was going to use the cane on him. It would probably hurt more, considering his bare backside, but nothing he couldn’t handle. That was why he was so surprised at John’s words.

“I’m sorry to punish you so harshly, I know it’s the first time I’ve had to do it, but I want to make an impression. Do not move, or there will be consequences.”

That sickly feeling in his belly intensified, but hardly had time to take hold before the cane struck him across the middle of his bottom. It stung terribly for a second, but that sting almost immediately blossomed outward, shocking him to his core. Without warning, it landed again, crossing part of the line it had made previously.

Without even a moment to consider why, Sherlock immediately jumped, stood almost straight up, and let go of the chair. He turned his head briefly, met only with John’s cold glare and an order to get back into position.

“I told you there would be consequences if you moved, Sherlock. If you’re not still, I could hit you in the wrong place (was there a right place for this?, Sherlock asked himself). I don’t want this cane to land on your back, I’m not trying to injure you. I’m going to give you five, so now you can count. Start with ‘one’ and don’t miss any.”

“John, I’m sorry, I’m so – I don’t know – I’m not sure if I can-”

“All right, darling. First of all, you’ve got your safeword and you know you can use it.”

“No, it’s not that, I don’t want to, I just-”

“I’ve got an alternative. I can secure your hands to the chair. But you’ll have two more strokes in exchange. Tell me what you want.”

It didn’t take more than thirty seconds for Sherlock to know exactly what he’d say. “Yes, if you would…I don’t want to do that again.”

Seemingly prepared for the possibility, John retrieved two plastic zip-ties and quickly used them to fasten Sherlock’s wrists tightly to the arms of the chair. Now, there was no way for Sherlock to stand up like that again unless he brought the chair along with him.

“We’re going to begin again. Don’t forget to count.”

The cane came down again across his buttocks, and Sherlock bit back a groan but managed to say ‘one’ as he was thinking ‘three’.

By the fourth (sixth) bite of the cane, Sherlock could no longer hold back the scream that had been lodged in his throat. He still called out the number, though, not wanting to tempt John’s wrath further. After the next stroke, John reassured him, “Two more, that’s all, you’re doing wonderfully, it’s all right to scream."

And thank goodness it was, because those last two came down in quick succession at the swell of his buttocks, one right on top of the other. He was barely able to sob out ‘six, seven’ (didn’t even consider voicing the ‘eight, nine’ that was floating around his brain).

Before he knew what was happening, John had cut him loose and was holding him, wiping away his tears. “Please don’t make me do this again, please”, the words ripping Sherlock’s heart to shreds.

“You’ve got a couple of little spots that are bleeding. Let me take care of you now, yeah?”

Sherlock had no resistance, no strength, no will for anything at that point. The pain was excruciating, and he was exhausted. John led him into their bed, removing his shirt and laying him on his belly. With all the gentle care that had been absent for the past little while, John rubbed ointment onto his stinging backside, murmuring soft endearments into his ear.

“I love you, John, I’m sorry for making you punish me.” Sleep overtaking him with an intensity he never expected, he repeated, “Sorry. I’ll be good, John.”

The last thing he remembered before drifting off was John’s lips on his jaw, and a whispered, “Me too.” Sherlock had no inclination to find out if John meant he was sorry too, or if he loved him too, but it didn’t matter then. The most likely explanation was that he meant both.