Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4291749.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms, Atonement_(2007)
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson, Harry_Watson, Greg_Lestrade, Molly_Hooper,
      Original_Female_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Dark, dark!Sherlock, Introspection, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Read_the
      tags!, Underage_Rape/Non-con
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-07 Words: 1331
****** Temptation ******
by Lymphadei
Summary
     To be clear, Sherlock Holmes was no deviant. He'd simply fallen in
     love with someone much younger than himself.
Notes
     So yeah, this is a pretty dark one, guys. I watched Atonement the
     other night, and since then, I haven't been able to get this out of
     my head. I was trying to capture the creepiness of Benedict
     Cumberbatch's character, Paul Marshall, so he's pretty twisted in
     this. Thankfully for my psych, it's only a short little one-shot.
     Obviously, there will be some things that are different here as well,
     than in the book, to match our characters and the time the story
     takes place.
     READERS BEWARE: There are triggers in this. If you're squeamish
     reading non-con and a much younger John, then this isn't your cup of
     tea. If you've seen Atonement and these things are not a trigger for
     you, feel free to read.
     YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WARNED, SO DON'T FLAME ME IF YOU'RE SURPRISED!
     Also, SPOILER ALERT! If you plan on watching the movie and don't want
     it to be ruined for you, don't read.
     Disclaimer: All rights to Atonement go to Ian McEwan, and Sherlock
     (BBC) to ACD and Steven Moffat & co.
To be clear, Sherlock Holmes was no deviant. He'd simply fallen in love with
someone much younger than himself.
He harbored no illusions as to the wrongness of his actions. Sherlock knew what
he did, if ever accused of such an act, could grant him a long stint in prison,
but oh, how he'd wanted.
He remembers that fateful summer day in the year 1935, laying eyes on John
Watson for the first time. Sherlock had always been an acquaintance of the
Hooper family, as well as close friends with the eldest Hooper brother, Tobias.
The Hooper household was large enough to sustain the swell of visitors it
accomodated that year.
The boy had been 15, a maternal cousin of the affluent family, and also in
residence during Sherlock's stay. He'd been so young and ripe, though it was
his quick-witted tongue and those awfully blue eyes that left Sherlock craving.
That body on the cusp of manhood, yet John's face still held that cherubic
innocence that set Sherlock's loins aflutter.
Sherlock remembers watching him outside the door to his bedroom, scolding his
younger sister, Harriet, for her careless words about their parent's subsequent
divorce. John was so young, yet starving for attention, working his way through
a rebellious streak teenagers often came into when they were tired of being
treated like children.
Everything in him wanted to taste and touch, to feel that little body beneath
his hands. John's pink cheeks and pubescent body were like a siren song to
Sherlock. Why should he deny himself this temptation?
Sherlock remembered stepping into the room, unable to take his eyes off the
blond haired minx on the other side of it. The sunlight was spilling through
the windows, setting fire to the crown of golden strands. John looked like an
angel.
Harriet was positively dull and naught but a fly in his ear. He indulged the
little girl, pretending to listen, but John kept capturing his attention. The
little hellion was flirting with him, then, staring coquettishly from under
thick, dark lashes.
Sherlock compliments John on his trousers, and the boy is thrilled that he is
being treated like an adult. His mouth is moving, and Sherlock is his captive
audience, hanging onto every word from that lovely mouth.
Harriet was nattering on by then, but Sherlock's heated stare was fixated on
his lush little demon, tempting him in every way. John matched his look with
one of his own, not as innocent as one would think him be.
Sherlock wanted.
He remembered the chocolate in his pocket, and tossed it to the boy in lieu of
the little girl sulking on the other side of the room, ignoring their
interaction. Sherlock is telling John about how his chocolate will be in the
kitbag of every British soldier, but none of that matters, because all he wants
to see are those lips wrapped round something solid.
When John catches the candy, he eyes it curiously, then places his lips round
it, but Sherlock is impatient, because all he wants is for John to, "Bite it,
you have to bite it."
The words come out as a low growl. Sherlock is aroused and ready to stake his
claim, but the little girl is still there, and it's hardly the place or time.
---
Sherlock finds the perfect opportunity to isolate John when the news comes that
Harriet has run off, angry with her older brother and throwing a fit that will
be forgotten by the end of the night.
Everyone is flustered and panicking, speaking excitedly across the table with
one another, gearing up to form a search party for the little girl.
A more brilliant idea couldn't have come to Sherlock in that moment. Outside it
was dark; no one would be able to see them together.
He finds John searching for his sister near a grotto, flashlight in hand as he
scours the area, though he doesn't see Sherlock's approach.
His fingers are already tingling with the need to feel tender, young skin
beneath them. Sherlock pushes John down to the ground from behind, hearing the
younger male grunt in pain and surprise. It invigorates him, makes Sherlock
crave for more of those breathless noises.
He pulls those scandalising trousers down to reveal a smooth, blushing derrière
that makes his cock stand.
Before he realizes, Sherlock has his hand around the boy's mouth and his prick
is pushing in. It is ecstasy and pain, and sweet, sweet glory. The chafing of
their dry union is uncomfortable, but he needs into John. It will have to
suffice.
John is gasping uncomfortably and the muffled cries of pain filter through his
hands; Sherlock can feel the trickle of wetness on his hands. Sherlock wishes
he could see flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, but he's inside, now, and
that's all that really matters in the grand scheme of things. It's marvelous
and hateful, because Sherlock knows this cannot last, but John is so snug and
tight around him, and his flesh so yielding beneath Sherlock's larger hands.
Suddenly, there is a bright flash of light, and Sherlock is pulling out,
scrambling to get away and out of sight. It's self-preservation and cowardice,
because Sherlock would rather see John another day, than be caught in flagrante
delicto with a minor, and sentenced to several years in prison.
The flashlight fumbles and catches on the shocked face of Molly Hooper.
Fortunately, she is blinded by the light, and Sherlock uses this temporary
distraction to his advantage and flees on swift feet.
It's a shame to leave John in such a state, but he knows that Molly will call
for help, and Sherlock cannot be there when it comes.
---
John is carried into the house by Tobias, and taken to one of the multitude of
rooms. Sherlock imagines the doctor is looking over John with pity-filled eyes,
as are the others in the house. Sherlock lounges on the couch as the
authorities conduct their investigation, overexerted and falling quickly into a
light doze.
It doesn't last long. The house is filled with a raucous crowd of people, all
alarmed by the series of events, and the atmosphere is cluttered with tension.
Sherlock is not worried that he will be caught, or else he would have fled the
moment he'd been found out.
Sherlock didn't have to wait long. Molly Hooper was a young girl, foolish and
blinded by petty sentiments, such as jealousy. She turned an accusing finger on
one Greg Lestrade, the secret lover of her sister, Margot, and the
housekeeper's son.
Molly is clever, and finds an incriminating note that merely cements her
accusation against Lestrade, and never once does John object. John was not an
idiot by any means. He'd known who was behind it all along, but like the good
little boy Sherlock knew he was, he'd kept their little secret, and played the
game.
All of it was very childish and beneath him, and Sherlock didn't bother coming
forth. Lestrade was a good man, but not worth the trouble. Besides, it was a
prime opportunity to finish what he'd started with John.
---
With the divorce between John's parent's final, there wasn't much argument when
Sherlock brought John back to London as his charge. When John came of age, he
didn't leave, and never uttered a word of what happened that night, nor the
many thereafter.
In the end, Sherlock got to keep his precious, little treat.
Molly Hooper eventually spoke the truth of that night, but by then, anything
that came from her lips couldn't be trusted; not that anyone would believe her.
Sherlock was an upstanding citizen of London, and not a word could be spoken
against him. Just the idea that he could ever do something so appalling as
inappropriately touching a child, just couldn't be believed.
The truth of it was that John would never speak against him, given the chance.
And the rest, as they say, was history.
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