Title: Amplification

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Rating: NC17

Warnings: References to past rape

Sequel to 'Sherlock's Bane' (link here .net/s/6705082/1/Sherlocks_Bane).

Disclaimer: Belong to the brilliant minds of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss & Stephen Moffat. I'm simply borrowing…

Summary: Six months on, Sherlock and John are still dealing with the repercussions of Sherlock's attack, when new revelations force it all to the surface once more.

Author's Notes: Seeing a snippet preview of the new season (here .com/watch?v=d3OUr55Rs8Q&feature=related) started my bunnies up for a sequel to my other fic. Enjoy!

Mycroft leant back in his chair and picked up the bottle of brandy, pouring himself a liberal amount. He felt he deserved it. After all, a three-hour long conversation with the United States President, regarding taking measures in ceasing a second global financial crisis, was enough to tire even the most intellectual of minds.

Certainly, Mycroft counted himself as in league with such figures as Hawkings and Sagan. As such, other people felt it necessary to consult him on the most tepid of issues.

Being a genius could be insipidly arduous, at times.

He lifted the tumbler and swallowed, feeling the liquid pleasantly burn his throat. As though aware he was taking even a moment out from his hectic schedule, his intercom then buzzed.

"Mr. Woolley to see you." His secretary's voice was almost masculine in it's huskiness.

"Certainly." He picked up the glass and bottle and walked over to the cabinet to the right side of the office, placing them in and locking the door. "Let him in."

He settled himself back into his leather office chair, when the door opened to a bespectacled, balding man in his early thirties. He patted his bald patch, fingers twitching in his usual nervous manner.

"Ah… Mr. Woolley." Mycroft stood up and walked over to shake his hand. "How can I be of assistance?"

Mr. Woolley cleared his throat. "As you are aware, the SIS picked up Terrance Loggings yesterday."

Mycroft nodded, waiting for the usual accolades, for being instrumental in discovering the whereabouts of the terrorist. Loggings had been responsible for the bombing of a well-frequented pub in the centre of London. Twenty people perished. Double that were injured. Before Mycroft became involved, he was off the grid for two years. There was a marked competitiveness between Mycroft's people and the people of the Secret Intelligence Service. Nevertheless, they finally went to him out of desperation. Mycroft was able to locate him within two days of becoming involved. It had been not a minute too late. Loggings had set up bombs in a London football stadium, designed to go off at quarter time. The SIS had managed to disengage them without alerting the public.

"Have you had any success in interrogating him?"

Perhaps accolades were not to be forthcoming.

"Some… this is what I came here talk to you about."

"Oh?" He walked back behind his desk and sat down. "Please sit." He gestured to the chair in front.

"He has… extra information, in regards to your brother Sherlock Holmes." Woolley continued to stand.

"And what would that be?"

What has my brother been up to now?

"He claims that six months ago, he set up secret video cameras in the labs at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, in order to gather information to co-ordinate an attack there."

Mycroft felt his heart start to pound in his chest. He didn't need his genius to trace back the timeline.

"But then he says he and his partner, disengaged them, when they came up with the football stadium scenario."

He placed his briefcase on the desk and pulled out a folder, opening it to a large black and white photo of a surly looking man with hooded eyes and lank looking long dark hair.

"Roy Cohen. Loggings said he went awol a few days ago, after Loggings discovered him watching a tape that he had thought had been destroyed. Loggings denies having any knowledge of what was on the tape before this. He claims that when the cameras were destroyed, he was sure the tapes inside had been destroyed but Cohen had evidentially kept this one."

Mycroft kept his face deliberately stoic, though his innards were in turmoil.

"Certainly, he could be lying. That's why I had to come here and ask you in person."

Mycroft knew what he was going to say and mentally prepared himself.

"He claims the tape shows Sherlock Holmes being sexually assaulted."

Mycroft felt his stomach cramp.

"Where is the tape now? Surely you can see for yourself?"

"He says Cohen still has the tape."

Mycroft tried to control his frantically hammering heart. This man Loggings could be lying, he told himself. Perhaps this is a ploy of Moriarty. But to what end? Why create such an elaborate set up?

He did not want to even consider the other alternative. Logging's partner discovering the sexual assault on the tape and keeping it (for six months… six months! Mycroft inwardly winced as the screw in his stomach tightened.) not telling even his partner, just watching it … in secret…

"I need to talk to Terrance Loggings." He stood up and reached for his coat. "Take me to him."

###

John lay awake in the dark, hand reaching out to the cold pillow beside himself.

What just happened?

It had started out innocently enough, the usual kissing, stroking, licking. Then Sherlock had looked at him with such a focused expression that John felt the hairs on his arms stand on end.

"I wish to penetrate you, John."

Not exactly the most romantic come on John had ever had but the doctor was more than happy to oblige. He had dropped hints, in the past few weeks of wanting Sherlock to take charge more.

It had been years since John had been penetrated so, despite quite a lot of preparation, as Sherlock entered him, he instantly tensed in pain.

"It's ok, it's ok. Keep going." He said, in response to Sherlock's concerned expression.

As his lover started to move, hitting his prostate, John felt the pleasure start to overtake. This was what he had wanted for so long. Now he and Sherlock knew each other, completely. He was content to give up this part of himself, to show his lover that he trusted him to take control, to be the vulnerable one. He groaned, thrusting his hips and falling into a rhythm with the great detective.

"Sherlock yes!"

Sherlock moaned. "John…" He fell silent. "So good John so… no no! Salt! Salt!"

Salt was their safe word, for whenever Sherlock felt uncomfortable when they were making love.

He suddenly and abruptly pulled out so fast that John yelped in pain.

"Damn, Sherlock, what the-?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry John."

"Sherlock… talk to me…"

Only the young man was already up from the bed, pulling his dressing gown on.

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock left the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving John in darkness.

Well, that was… what was that?

He was suddenly aware that his erection was completely gone.

What to do now?

He punched the pillow and grabbed his own terrycloth gown, shrugging it on and forcing himself out of the bed and room, stomping down the stairs.

Sherlock lay on the couch at the bottom, staring up at the ceiling, fingers templed together.

"Must you follow me around like a stray dog? Can't you ever leave me in peace?"

"What the hell happened back there, Sherlock?"

The young man didn't reply.

"Was it a flashback?"

"I don't want to have sexual relations any more."

John felt a knife slice into his gut. "Excuse me? Hang on a second. Hold that thought." He grabbed the armchair and pulled it forward, until it sat barely a metre before the couch, then sat down.

"I'm very tired…" Sherlock closed his eyes.

"Sherlock… I deserve to know what happened up there."

"Why? Why are you worthy of anything?"

John closed his eyes and counted to ten. It was the only way to cease from losing his temper, when Sherlock was in one of these moods.

"Because we were just doing a very intimate thing. On my part it's been years since I've allowed a man to… to make love to me like that."

Sherlock opened his eyes and turned his head to face him. "But you've penetrated countless women and men."

"Not countless… look, doesn't that tell you something about how I feel about you?" He lowered his voice. "I was really enjoying it. You… seemed to be too… at first…"

Sherlock scowled at him, then turned and faced into the couch. "Leave me alone."

"Fine." John stood up. "Be that way. You know, you're being completely irrational."

He shook his head and then stomped back up the stairs to the bed. He lay awake for at least an hour, in the hopes of hearing Sherlock's familiar light step. But it never happened.

###

Sherlock sat down in front of Emma, feeling chilled to the bone despite the warmth of the open fireplace across from him. He shuddered and folded his arms tighter around himself.

"So…" Emma poked the burning logs a little, forcing the flames to lick higher. "Last time you were telling me about the case of the giant hound that-"

"I've been here for over six months and we're not getting anywhere."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Do you really believe that, Sherlock? I think you've made a vast improvement. By your own account, both the nightmares and flashbacks rarely occur now and you've started work again. You're in a good solid relationship-" She caught Sherlock's frown. "Did something happen with John?"

"Nothing that I wish to discuss."

Sherlock recalled John's face that morning, upon walking into the loungeroom from upstairs. As was normal for the doctor, he attempted to talk to Sherlock.

The great detective was beyond words, however.

Except to say he'd take his own taxi to see his psychiatrist and that John needn't follow.

"I notice he wasn't in the waiting room today."

"He's not a pet." Sherlock snarled.

"Of course not. A man of your intellect would be bored within a minute of someone who obeyed your every command."

Oh but why should we always talk about me?

"She was sixteen, wasn't she, when she suicided? Your daughter?"

He felt absurd satisfaction at the anguish that momentarily sparked in the usually calm brown eyes.

"Why? Weren't you a good enough mother? Is that it?"

"If you want to hurt me you'll have to do a hell of a lot better than that."

"Why would I want to do that? I'm merely asking out of a detached professional interest."

"No, something's hurt you and you want to, in turn, hurt someone else, to restore the balance. Is that what happened? You hurt John?"

"No… I would never…"

Not John. Never John.

Sherlock relented. He unfolded his hands and looked down at his long fingers. "We were…I've never…to John… so we tried…"

"You're talking about sexual intercourse?"

"It was very stimulating at first. Then it suddenly came to me that this was what… this was what Toll must have felt when he was… penetrating me."

"Sherlock…" Emma spoke very quietly. "How was John reacting?"

"He also seemed to be finding it stimulating. But after I.. .had that thought, I said our safe word and ceased the penetration."

"Did you tell John why you stopped?"

"No… I couldn't…"

"Sherlock… you've told me that you and John have rather an active sex life. What was it about this encounter that was so different?"

"I told you! This was the first time that I penetrated John."

"So you say you were both enjoying it, when you had the thought that this was what Toll felt when he was raping you, correct? Tell me, Sherlock, was John struggling, screaming? Did he say no? Did he say the safe word?"

Sherlock felt his stomach ice over. "No! No he wanted to!"

"Sherlock, what you felt was not what Toll felt. You love John. It was just as much about him enjoying himself as much as you, is that fair enough for me to say?"

Sherlock nodded.

"By your own account, Toll beat you, strangled you, raped you so viciously you needed stitches, the entire time verbally humiliating you. What he felt was power, control, dominance. What he felt was what it was like to beat and hurt another human being, the worst way he could think of."

Sherlock took a deep, shaky breath. "It makes sense… intellectually, of course. I just…I thought it was over. I thought I was…well I'll never be normal but…"

"It's alright to fall down, Sherlock. Even a genius is only human."

###

John was nowhere to be seen, upon arrival at 221b. Scowling, Sherlock turned on the television and flicked through the channels. He finally settled on a Bill rerun. About half way though the episode, just as Mickey was about to apprehend the suspect, he heard the key turn in the latch, followed by John's voice.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock pointed the remote at the television and switched it off, then stood to face John. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"Hi Sherlock." He sounded oddly formal. "Mrs. Hudson made us cake. Again…I swear I'm going to have to start a gym membership." As he talked, he wandered to the kitchen and placed the cake on the dining table.

"I thought it must have been what Toll felt." Sherlock said quickly.

"Huh?" John swung around to face him.

"When we were… that's why I stopped. I was enjoying the relations… but then it came to my mind that Toll must have felt the same way, when he was penetrating me."

Something flashed in John's eyes.

"Damn it, Sherlock!"

Now the expression was clearer.

Pure frustration.

"Toll raped you! He beat you, strangled you-"

"Yes, that's what Emma told me."

"Do you think I feel like that, when I'm making love to you? Do you think I'm feeling like I'm raping you?"

Sherlock felt the blood run from his face. "No… not at all…"

John took a deep breath. "I wanted it. I've been wanting to try it for quite some time."

"I'm aware I'm psychologically damaged-"

John walked over to him and stood directly in front of him. "Do you want to hurt me, Sherlock? Beat me? Force me? Make me cry-"

"Stop this!" Sherlock could barely hear any more.

"Answer the question!" He demanded.

"No, of course not!"

"Then what you felt wasn't what Toll felt, ok?" He reached out and took Sherlock's hand. "It's ok that it felt good. It's meant to feel good."

"I would never… John I wouldn't…"

"I know." He put his arms around the taller man. "I was just making a point."

Sherlock placed his own arms around John, feeling the soft warmth of his baggy jumper.

"It's ok, Sherlock. I want you to be in control. I trust you, ok? I trust you."

###

That night, a lacklustre night of television led to some frisky action on the couch, leading up to the bedroom. Sherlock felt anxious but was determined to go through with it.

This time, he was successful. He simply allowed his immense mind to let go.

Afterwards, both lay panting, side by side, on the bed together.

"Wow! That was…"

"Agreed." Sherlock said.

John turned and started nibbling his ear. "Poor old Mrs. Hudson's probably never getting any sleep."

Sherlock laughed, rolled so he could lazily kiss John on the mouth.

"Sleep." He said, after they released. "I'm expecting a client at nine am."

John yawned loudly. "Good night sexy Sherlock."

"Good night… jockey John."

John burst out laughing.

"I apologize, there aren't many adjectives that start with J."

"."

"Go to sleep." Sherlock pecked him on the mouth then closed his eyes, falling into a deep slumber, only to be awoken by the seven am alarm clock.

Tbc…