In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

[ihadabadday]

No one knew how long Gods had walked among the mortals. They just knew they had. Some remained in their country of origin, some branched out and traveled. Others started business or charities. Some just went through existence simply being. Belief didn't have much to do with how the Gods chose to lead their lives.

This tale though, it focuses on the Greek Gods of old and Mount Olympus (which is a real place and traditionally is where Zeus is said to live with Hera).

John Watson didn't care for the politics of the Gods that surrounded them every day. He had other things to focus on, to pay attention to. Like medical school, and then the military. It wasn't until he was shot and laying in the desert, bleeding, did he whisper things to the God of Death, to Hades. To a god he didn't believe in. Blood whispers they were often called. And gods hardly paid attention to them, most believed they were the whispers of dying men.

But John Watson survived when others with the same injury had died. What was different about him?

He returned to London on an army pension and a cane. He shuffled through his life, a constant ache in his chest, like there was something missing. Though he had little to no idea of what was missing. He helped others where he could, donating his time and what little money. A homeless veteran (it boiled him so to see those who helped their country be left behind) once called him a beacon of light.

A beacon of light huh?

Most days he didn't feel like one. Most days his mood was dark and everything was shit.

One night when he was limping slowly back to his dismal bedsit, something caught his attention. He glanced down an alley and saw a tall man dressed in black, being mugged by some ratty youth. The man was far too posh for this neighborhood. So why was he here? But that didn't matter. John, on two strong legs, charged into the alley and used his cane to knock the criminal away. He didn't notice, but there seemed to be a light around him, an otherworldy aura to him.

He held the cane like a sword and pointed it at the would be thief. "You need to leave here." John commanded. It had been easy for some to forget that he had been Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers in Her Majesty's Army.

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[seaweed_writes]

Oh, how Sherlock had missed this, the screams of a mortal, being taken, defiled, utterly buggered by him. That Irene lady had lasted longer than most mortals had. But she was, after all, just a mortal, and eventually she was added to the Pool of Souls, like everyone else.

But John, this John, he was more, wasn't he? Sherlock had lucked out, finding a hidden demigod. Mycroft wanted to know HOW he had remained hidden, and he would get to talk to this... soldier fellow later.

Not until Sherlock was done playing with him, though.

And his appetite was RAVENOUS.

There was no tenderness, no mercy, nothing but wanton need and desire. Sherlock's claws dug into John's back, digging red, bloody lined that dribbled down towards his ass..

He took the man, hard and fast, pounding with every bit of his size and weight. The harder and faster he went, the more his body heated up.

[ihadabadday]

John couldn't help but sob. He wasn't sure if it was from relief or pain or pleasure. Everything was bubbling over at once and he just... This was... He just. Ached. His cock ached, his knees and shoulder ached. His arse ached.

The heat was increasing, an ever pressing need to achieve his release. But the heat wasn't consuming him, devouring him, as it did to some mortals. John seemed to relax under it. If Ares, the god of War, was part of his parentage... It would explain it. Some societies associated Ares with Mars and fire. So the power inside John was taking that heat and consuming it, growing with it.

And he didn't know what he was, he didn't know why it was a big deal....

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock had no intention of letting John get any release or relief from this. He tightened the metal 'cock ring' around his member, heating it up as well.

His claws made short work of John's back leaving long, bloody, dripping trails from shoulder to right above his arse as he continued to fuck this man who was more than just a man. He could feel the power and heat radiating from himself, radiating back from John's red, inflamed skin.

Sherlock chased his release, he could fill himself building to a crescendo, he needed to mark this man, to break him, to make him his own.

[ihadabadday]

He didn't pass out, no, he seemed to thrive under the pain and the assault of power.

In the moment, he vowed silently, to himself (and not to any god) that he would get away. That he would thrive on his own and be his own person. Not a plaything for a god that would discard him when he was tired of him.

He whimpered, but he wasn't sure why. He wanted more, but he wanted no more. He was torn between the precipice of pain and pleasure. And he hoped that this god would get someone to tend to his back, because of the searing pain from it, there was no way that it was anything but a shredded mess.

[seaweed_writes]

The whimper only managed to stir Sherlock on further. His pace was relentless, slamming as hard as he could into this little plaything below.

And finally.. finally.. he could feel his release coming.

When he did, he leaned down and bit down hard on the John's injured shoulder, his sharp teeth easily piercing the flesh.

There was a deep, gutteral, demonic roar that filled the room. Sherlock pushed forward with every muscle, every bit of weight that he could. The giant cock flared, stretching him beyong his limits and the man underneath the god was filled with a lava-hot torrent of his seed.

[ihadabadday]

A scream ripped from John at the sensation of being filled, being stretched and the teeth digging into his shoulder. He was trembling as he came down from the high of everything. He was painfully aware that his own cock was still hard, that he was chained in a way so he couldn't crumple to the floor.

John hated this god more than anything in the moment. For doing this to him, for forcing him, for taking him from his life. He kept that anger and hatred inside him, using that the fuel his rage. The rage in him burned white hot. Hot as the sun and just as powerful. He knew he would find a way to shatter these chains, to stop the damn three headed beast and get out of here. He was not going to spend the rest of his life as this god's plaything.

No.

[seaweed_writes]

The scream.

Oh, the scream.

*THAT* was what he had wanted to hear the whole time. It fed him, sustained him.

Even when he was done, he stayed inside of John, somehow he was still hard, still leaking just a few tiny dribbled of his firey hot essence.

With a few wiggles of his fingers, he conjured up what looked like a butt plug from the stones around them, forming the stone into the right shape- except that since it was made of stone it was jagged and uneven instead of smooth.

Sherlock pulled out of the man, at the same time jamming the plug inside. He had no intention of letting any bit of himself be wasted.

Finally satisfied, he walked back around to the front, not bothering to reclothe himself, to look at his handwork, at the wrecked and ravaged man in front of him.

[ihadabadday]

John raised his head and stared at Sherlock. There was a hardness to him that hadn't been there before. Even now, the edges of his eyes bled form blue to gold. The power of his paternal line was coming through. It almost seemed that it was taking over, merging. Bringing the mortal and immortal sides together.

He didn't say anything, no. He just chose to defy the God in other ways. He would not give him any further satisfaction of hearing noises from him. The god seemed to thrive off those.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock made a mockingly cute face. "Ahh, isn't that cute. The little mortal is playing tough, are we?"

He leaned down, touching John on the forehead where he had burnt him before. He held the finger there longer this time, letting the skin burn and bubble, letting a terrible stench into the air before he finally drew his finger away. That was as scar that no matter what, he would carry for the rest of his days, Sherlock knew. His mark.

"I have been merciful to you so far, only because my meddling brother thinks you may be of interest to him as well. But he never mentioned what state you needed to be in. I feel like my mercy is coming to a swift conclusion." The mock smile faded from his face, pure evil radiated from his being.

He turned around without a further word and left the room, still naked, still hard. Where his cock dripped it sizzled onto the stone floor below.

[ihadabadday]

The man that used to be known as Detective Gregory Lestrade seemingly appeared at Sherlock's side as he stormed out of the room.

"You do realize you have done something incredibly stupid." He noted to the man. He was the Fates. He could see all, Past, Present and Future. It was a bit, muddling at times, but at others, it was useful.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn't give a shit whether he was unclothed in front of the Fates. It wasn't like he hadn't seen naked bodies before.

He turned away from the man and made a shooing motion.

"You do realize you aren't supposed to interfere, right?" He asked, slumping down on his throne, iddly watching dead souls waft past him towards the Pool of Souls.

"So why do you care what I do? What is wrong with playing with a mortal? This isn't the first time. Shouldn't you have stopped me about 4 eons ago?"

[ihadabadday]

"Not only is he the son of Ares, the only son of Ares..." Greg said firmly, "He's the son of a witch. What he's done, has been nothing to do with Ares."

Which begged the question, just how strong was John Watson?

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock had been looking at his claws, iddly picking at them before, but that made him sit up and look at the Fate.

"So. I was right, that warmongering hothead went and had a little rendezvous with a mortal." He smirked, reveling for a moment in the fact that he was right, until Greg said what he did next.

"That power.. it was from a mortal? That is impossible. You must be wrong. There is no way a mortal son of a moral woman would be able to break my chains. That would take a god, or a demi-god at least. Witches are mostly a farce, hunted and burned at the stake by those stupid humans."

He looked hard at Greg. "And why are you telling me this, anyways?"

[ihadabadday]

Greg just grinned at Sherlock and turned to go. "Oh you know, meddling in things I shouldn't be meddling in." He waved to the irritating tosser as he left.

He left Sherlock to stew on the information that he had delivered about John's lineage.

[seaweed_writes]

Well, that was annoying. He ran a hand over his face. Now he kind of wished that he hadn't pushed Greg away. he was one of the lesser demi-gods, but he was by far one of the least annoying of the whole pantheon.

Not that they were... friends or anything.

Sherlock conjured up a robe around himself and scryed up to Mount Olympus, summoning Mycroft.

"I can't talk right now. Ares is being questioned." And that was it, he rung off before Sherlock could say a single word.

Sherlock growled and set his lightning off in front of him, shattering a far wall. He was frustraged, even fucking that.. whatever he was hadn't put him in a better mood.

Maybe he would have to torture him for information. It was always nice to have something to lord over Mycroft with.

[ihadabadday]

John had soothed his injuries with the magic that lived in him, from his mother's side. He couldn't do much without the full use of his hands, but he was able to stop the bleeding and at least try and expedite the healing process.

The magic in him seemed to curl around the white hot rage, at the center though, there was something else there. But it was mostly rage. His unyielding rage at his situation. At the god that brought him here.

He barely noticed when things started to tremble.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock shed the robe before he walked into the room, he liked showing himself off to this pathetic little creature.

He immediately noticed that he was not as hurt as he had been when he left.

"You never cease to amaze me... John Watson." He almost purred. he put his hand on John's chin, making the man look him in the eyes, his fingers burning his skin.

"So, your... daddy was a god who diddled with a mortal. But who was your mother? Apparently not just some random whore that Ares found.. interesting. " He hadn't actually intended to tell John his parentage, but in the long run, it didn't matter.. he would find out, or die.

Or both.

"So, who was your tart of a mother? Obviously she had some.. powers.. Was she a demi-god herself? Ooh, wouldn't you be special, three quarters god... still not good enough to get into Olympus though."

[ihadabadday]

The rage exploded in a white hot burst of power. It resonated in the large room. Any mortal should have died. But neither of them were truly mortal.

John tugged and twisted at the restraints, his rage fueled magic working at deteriorating the metal.

People seemed to forget how powerful rage could be. How it could spike magic. People tended to think only love or fear could do that.

[seaweed_writes]

The burst of power shot through and around Sherlock, blowing through his hair like he had stood too close to an explosion and cause the blast. Of course, it didn't hurt him, but it did surprise him.

"STOP." Sherlock's voice boomed, so loud that it reverberated around the room, shaking small parts of the stone roof loose.

He held his hand flat our towards John. "Stop." He said again, in his regular voice. "Do not attempt to escape. I will use my lightening, and you have already seen what it can do. Twice."

[ihadabadday]

"Let me go." He snarled at the god. The rage fueled magic flickered and threatened. Dancing close to the god and then away.

"I don't give a fuck who I am. I will not be treated like a prize to be won."

Very few had seen John Watson fueled by the rage he kept securely locked away. And even fewer lived to tell the tale.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock chuckled. "And if I let you go, then what? I still can't take you back to the Overworld. I've already told you that twice. And I don't have any other way to get you back up to your world. So.. What would you do? Watch me ferry souls all day? Play catch with Redbeard?" He looked over to the dog, who was resting its middle head on its giant paws, still guarding John.

"You are no prize, John Watson. You were a mortal who interested me because you whispered to me when you thought you were going to die. Do you remember what you said? What you told me? Because I do. I remember *EVERYTHING* anyone ever whispers to me in their dying moments."

[ihadabadday]

"I didn't beg for myself. I begged for my men. The soldiers that risked their lives day after day. So don't you dare throw that back at me." He hissed.

The rage fueled magic reared up, like it was going to come crashing down onto Sherlock.

"If you will not return me home, you need to find someone who can." He demanded.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock's voice was annoyed. "I am not sure how many different ways that I can tell you that I cannot go back to the Overworld for another mortal year. And I have no one else here to send you back. I am not going to tell you again. You are apparently not nearly as intelligent as I thought at first. A shame. I thought you would be a fun little plaything. Maybe I should just get rid of you now. I'm willing to take my brother's ire."

Lightening crackled from his fingers. He started to advance on John, his eyes dark.

"I'll give you a moment to beg for your life before I kill you."

[ihadabadday]

John stared at him defiantly. "Then kill me. I will not beg."

What had this solider been through?

He squared his shoulders back as he rose onto his knees. He refused to grovel. He refused to bend to this God's will any longer.

[seaweed_writes]

Lightning flew from his fingers. Once again, it struck John.

It was enough to knock him out, and Sherlock kept going, enough to really hurt him, but not quite enough to kill him.

When the man was unconscious, yet again, he undid all of the chains on his neck, hands, feet, and cock.

He levitated the man into another part of the cave, it was an empty room, one he never used, he didn't need it.

Sherlock created a bed, large, with a lot of pillows and sheets with a stupidly high thread count. He made some food, the man hadn't eaten in quite a while.

He moved John over to the bed and laid him down gently, then walked out of the room. The last thing he did was make thick stone 'bars' across the entrance like a jail cell, a part of the cave, so they were practically unbreakable, they were a part of the earth that surrounded them. He also electrified the bars, as an extra precaution.

When he was done, he headed back to his throne room. He had a lot to think about.