
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/320219.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/Horse, Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson, Mycroft_Holmes
  Additional Tags:
      Pony_Sex, Underage_Sex, Harm_to_Animals, Angst, Dark
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-01-14 Updated: 2012-01-21 Chapters: 2/? Words: 2467
****** Zeichenkohle ******
by ThreePipePr0blem_(7percent)
Summary
     Sherlock has always loved horses, so why has he blinded six of them?
Notes
     After a conversation with girlsinkhearts I wrote this fic. I hope
     that it will meet your expectations. I don't know how long this fic
     will be, and I have based it upon a play that is known to be
     disturbing. 'Equus' by Peter Shaffer, I recommend it. I also have no
     beta so all mistakes are my own. I also don't ride horses so the
     terminology may be incorrect, feel free to correct me and I'll change
     it.
***** Chapter 1 *****
“So let me get this straight, you blinded six horses. Six horses, Sherlock! Why
would you even think that was a sane thing to do?” John exclaimed at the high
functioning sociopath. Sherlock was sat on the green leather chair he favoured
in 221b, dressed in a blue satin robe, but the clothes underneath this were
covered in two liquids. One a viscous crimson, the other a crusting off-white
colour. The flat had the stench of iron and sex wafting through it, when John
had first noticed the strong odour emitting from the living room of their flat
in Baker Street he had opened the cold-frosted window to let the city's winter
air in an attempt to remove the smell from their presence. It stunk of cold
blooded murder.
Sherlock looked up to the doctor with a foreign look upon his face. It was not
a look you would usually see in the detective's pale grey eyes, regret.
Sherlock Holmes regretted what he had done. He was normally a man who was so
sure of himself, and would do what he wanted with no second thought. John felt
a pang of guilt hit his lower stomach. He didn't mean to shout at Sherlock, but
who would go out and blind six horses. The older man didn't think he could
forgive Sherlock if he has uttered the word 'experiment.' Instead of carrying
on demanding answers from his flatmate, John sat on the floor opposite Sherlock
and put a hand on his foot, trying to show comfort only scaring the younger
man. Long limbs protected the smooth pale chest of the sociopath, a voice in
John's mind wanted to call him a psychopath, but even Sherlock must have a
reason for this. No matter how peculiar.
“Kill me.” These were the only words uttered in the flat and they had taken
John by shock.
“Sherl-”
“Kill me!” He yelled. His hands gripped his head tightly and he slowly started
to rock his lithe body backwards and forwards. That wasn't what made John's
heart clench the most. What hurt John was the fact throughout the insistent
rocking of his best friend he saw a few tears travel down those high
cheekbones. The contrast of the salty water and Sherlock's too pale skin was
strangely beautiful, something the ex-army doctor had never thought about his
flatmate. Of course had noticed that Sherlock was good looking, but to be
beautiful, that is a completely different thing. It was a heart breaking sight.
“John... I'm sorry.” A soft sniff could be heard behind the tangled arms that
Sherlock had used to cover his face. He didn't want to show John how much this
bothered him. How much it hurt him to know he had done wrong in the eyes of his
only friend. He didn't want to be a failure to John. It was John who had taught
him to be human, now ruined by having one night where he allowed his emotions
to take control. He was always so careful to make sure that he hid emotions
away. Although that had all changed when Mike had introduced the crime solving
duo. “I did it for you.”
John could feel the bile rising up in his throat. He quickly got up and ran to
the kitchen sink. The retching sounds were the worst sounds Sherlock had ever
heard. It was worse than the screeching of his violin when he wanted to annoy
Mycroft as a child. It was that memory that his mind drifted to the first time
he encountered a horse, and how much he fell in love with the majestic
creatures.
*
The first time Sherlock Holmes had encountered a horse was when he was a young
boy, no older than five. His mother had decided that she would take him down to
the Holmes stables one summers day when Mycroft had one of his many horse
riding lessons. It was a well known fact that the Holmes family owned a stable,
and that the horses that resided there were winners in most categories at
shows. Sibyl Holmes had taken her two children towards the stable when the
youngest Holmes had noticed a lone grey stallion in the field. He had stopped,
holding his mothers hand, mesmerized by it's beauty. It stood tall on it's tall
strong legs and had glanced towards the Holmes boy, it was right at that moment
that Sherlock knew that horses would become a large part of his life. The
stallion had large brown eyes that seemed to peer into the boy's soul, slowly
sucking it from him. The curly haired boy felt his hand being tugged and had
followed his mother and brother towards the stables where they had kept the
horses. There where many breeds of horse that the Holmes' took care off,
Sherlock was given a young foul to start his riding lessons with. Sherlock had
been reluctant to ride at first, clinging onto his mother's leg begging her not
to let him. It wasn't until Mycroft had pulled his younger brother on to his
horse, and rose with him that Sherlock realised that he rather enjoyed horse
ridding.
Over the years over his childhood Sherlock trained the foul and had named him
Zeichenkohle, due to the animal's charcoal coat. He had won many show jumping
competitions, a achievement that surprised no one due to the long line of
elitist horses that Holmes' had brought up for generations. It was only natural
for Sherlock to have the same skill as the rest of his family. Slowly Sherlock
lost interest in the horses and by the age of fourteen the teenager had moved
on from riding horses to his chemistry set that his father had gotten him.
Sherlock soon became obsessed with chemical formulas, and the scientific
theories of famous scientists. His walls, once covered by horse posters and
drawings of himself and Zeichenkohle where hidden by a poster of the periodic
table and his scientific idols.
However he felt guilty. He felt guilty that he had left his childhood friend
for another interest. Sherlock was not one who normally felt guilt, but while
laying in his bed at night the feeling would eat him apart. On one winter's
night the teenager decided he would take a trip down to the Holmes estate
stables and confront his long missed friend. During his riding hiatus Sherlock
had researched about his faithful animal. Zeichenkohle was an Iranian Caspian
horse. His father had imported a Caspian mare and bred her to make sure that
his two sons would have horses of their own. As he slowly approached the
stables, he could hear the soft sighs from the residing horses. Feather light
feet stepped upon the cobbled path towards Zeichenkohle's stable. Long, thin
fingers worked the latch and the wooden door whined as he pushed it open.
Sherlock wondered up to the horse, who was now at his prime age. He stroked his
midnight black mane, and threaded his fingers into it. He looked into the dark
eyes of the majestic creature. The teenager walked back outside the stable,
leaving the door open and walked towards a shed on the opposite side of the
stables. Inside the shed, he grabbed the dark, leather coated saddle, placing
it upon on of his arms and carried the brit and bridal in his hands. He brought
these over to the horse who had stepped out into the courtyard of the stables
slightly. Sherlock got him ready and rode out into the darkness of the night.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Still unbeta'd all mistakes are mine.
John wiped the vomit from round his lips. He stood leaning against the sink,
his arms and legs felt as though they would collapse if John let go of the
sink. Sherlock had said that he had blinded those six horses for him. For John.
Why would he do such an inhumane thing for John. Bile started to rise back up
John's throat but he tried to push it back down. Sherlock was human, John knew
this. What ever drove the consulting detective to do such a horrid act upon
these animals must have pushed him to the edge.
John groped for a glass, once finding one covered in small flecks of dust, he
pushed it under the tap and filled it with water. He washed his mouth out, and
spat out the, now acidic water into the sink, followed by taking a small sip of
the glorious liquid and turned back towards his flatmate. The fresh, cool
liquid was pure pleasure slipping down John's throat. Dark blue eyes caught the
lost look in grey. Sherlock jumped when he felt a hand on kneecap and saw the
doctor looking down at him with care in his eyes. The sociopath opened and
closed his mouth, trying to form words but only one slipped out.
“Ek.” There was a pregnant pause, the utterance that came from Sherlock's mouth
had been so frail and broken, as though it shouldn't have been there at all.
The detective looked up with red rimmed eyes. John had never seen his friend
like this. He slowly and softly grabbed hold of one of his long thin hands and
rubbed circles of comfort into them. John then moved one of Sherlock's arms
down towards the armrest, then did the same with the other. All that was left
that protected Sherlock was his endless legs. He held the detective's left
foot, massaging the balls of his foot and slowly lowered his foot towards the
itchy carpet of the living room. Sherlock sighed softly.
“I-”
“You blinded six horses...”
“Yes. I-”
“For ...me?”
“John... I couldn't let them see the things I was doing.”
“Sherlock?” The younger man sighed and removed his right foot from his
favourite chair. Before he could word a sentence together, Sherlock remembered
one night when he was fifteen and had taken his beloved creature out to the
forest one night.
 
*
 
Sherlock clung tightly onto Zeichenkohle's strong neck, he could feel the
perspiration seep from the horses body onto his own, passing easily through his
light clothing. The majestic creature was pressed up close to the teens body,
and the vibrations of riding were not helping the young boy's anatomy. They
closed in on a small passage, hidden by golden tress with speckles of reds and
oranges where autumn had attacked what used to be a brilliant green leafed
tree. The young boy dismounted his transport and removed his helmet. Black
curls fell onto his face, covering his eyes slightly. Soft neighs could be
heard as Sherlock slowly unbuttoned his loose fitting shirt, not taking his
eyes off the prize for one minute. The creature snorted slightly, turning his
head away from the boy. Sherlock walked up towards the animal, and moved it's
head towards his own. He softly placed his lips upon Zeichenkohle's. His first
kiss, with the only person who understood him in this world. Sherlock looked
into his mate's eyes. Peering into his soul, Sherlock could tell that this
majestic creature wanted it as much as he did.
The teen removed the two lengths of rope from around his waist, he had tied it
there before he left the Holmes estate that evening. He carefully removed the
shirt he had previously opened. As the boy reached for his trousers he noticed
the animal shift, slowly descending towards the ground, sitting there waiting
for it's master to finish undressing. Shirt on the mud filled ground and
trousers around his ankles, Sherlock removed his riding boots, slowing
caressing them as he pulled the pieces of string away from each other, the
boots becoming less constricting on his long, thin legs. Shaking his legs,
Sherlock removed the material that was hanging around his ankles and stood in
the secluded area with nothing but his boxer shorts on. He stalked over to the
animal. Grabbing the rope, Sherlock tied up his friend's hind and front legs.
He didn't want the majestic creature to react in a violent way. Sherlock had
planned the most devious of plans. He wanted to pleasure the horse. Curiosity
got the better of the teenager. He had heard from other boys about woman and
how one could pleasure a man if certain things where done, so Sherlock couldn't
see why his most faithful companion couldn't do that for him too. Sherlock
wasn't naïve, he knew what he was doing with Zeichenkhole was wrong on many
levels. That didn't stop him though.
The boy grabbed hold of solid flesh, feeling the muscles flex under his hands.
He caressed the creature beneath him and slowly entered his hard length into
the anus that presented itself to him. There was no need for preparation.
Sherlock moved his hips slowly, deeper into Zeichenkhole, until all of this
manhood was inside him. A shuddering breath came from the young boy's lips.
This was a new experience for Sherlock. Not once had the boy thought about
pleasure himself like this. He also had never though about pleasuring anyone
else for that matter. The boy was aware of how to pleasure himself, but he
never thought that it would be this good. The added thought that he might be
caught doing this sin by midnight walkers sent a shiver of anticipation down
his spine. Hips thrust faster, moans became louder and before Sherlock had the
chance to connect with these new found feelings, he came. It was a quick
release. The teen pulled out and slumped towards the ground, petting his horse
affectionately. That's when Sherlock noticed it out of the corner of his eye.
His beloved horse had an erection. The long thick length intrigued the teen, so
he reached out with shaky hands and touched it. The horse made a noise that one
would describe as a moan.
Sherlock tightened his hand slightly and got the same response form
Zeichenkhole. He removed his hand, and crawled into a better place to pleasure
his friend. As soon as he positioned himself he laid a soft kiss upon the
creature's strong, powerful leg. Shakily he grabbed the horses length once
again and felt the weight in his hand. It was a lot different to his own.
Slowly Sherlock found himself moving his hand up and down the length,
increasing the pressure near the base of Zeichenkhole's penis while loosening
it as he got to the tip. Sherlock could hear the soft sighs created by the
horse, it tried to buck his legs, wanted to get away from the attention the boy
was giving him. Sherlock didn't want to leave his friend frustrated due an act
that he had started. He wanted his companion to feel the pleasure he had. So he
sped up his hand movements, and soon a protest left the creature mouth, and he
came.
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