Summary: Given a choice between Sherlock's life or further desecrating his already tarnished psyche, John knows it's not much of a decision. Based upon a prompt that asked for John to have to rape Moriarty to save Sherlock's life, and hurt!Jim whom John is forced (by the situation) to recognise is an actual human being. This can also be found on AO3.

Pairing: Forced!Jim Moriarty/John Watson, John & Sherlock, implications of John/Sherlock.

Warnings: Rape, violence, language, dark!Mycroft, angst, hurt!Jim, hurt!John.


Chapter One

Mycroft Holmes sipped unhurriedly at his tea whilst eyeing his laptop, scrolling through the numerous and diverse images –though always of the same two subjects– that he'd received recently, courtesy of the operatives he'd stationed around Baker St. He frowned infinitesimally, brows barely contracting. He didn't need to watch any live footage to read the progressively strengthening bond that was forming between the two men depicted there. He'd been over to 221B enough times to witness it first-hand.

He set down his tea with a tiny clink and propped his elbows on the arms of his chair, quelling a sudden upsurge of emotion with practised ease. He laced his fingers together beneath his chin and brooded for a while on the good doctor, Mr. John Hamish Watson. Wounded soldier, seemingly dedicated friend, grouchy or tender when the moment called for it, so bluntly honest that his company almost wasn't dull, and a not-so-secret lover of what Sherlock had termed "the game".

Those things considered all together, maybe it wasn't strange that Sherlock had been drawn to him. What was odd, at least in Mycroft's opinion, was that Sherlock seemed to have developed a heart. Worse still, it appeared that it belonged in John Watson's pocket.

An unfamiliar rage pooled in Mycroft's gut as he regarded the images again, emotions creeping through his façade of inner calm like water rushing through a sieve. It didn't show on his face, of course, but it was disconcerting nevertheless.

Mycroft realized quite abruptly that he absolutely despised the man. He never should have encouraged him to stay with Sherlock. He'd been sure Mr. Watson would last a mere two weeks or so before moving on; perhaps a month at most. His little brother only happened to be the most insufferable person currently inhabiting Britain, after all. Defying all statistical probabilities, Mycroft's assumption had proven to be incorrect and Watson had stuck around for well over a year. Now, the situation was beginning to get out of hand.

He would have disliked Watson anyway, for the simple fact that he followed his silly little brother around like a lost puppy. Chasing, chasing, chasing. So deliciously desperate to retain Sherlock's favour even if he wouldn't admit it to himself. So eager to have a bigger part to play in this small, convoluted planet of theirs. Mycroft smiled thinly over his fingers without a veritable trace of amusement. The shocking matter for him was that Sherlock couldn't seem to discern what a grovelling, inept fool his new partner was… aside from his admittedly excellent marksmanship skills. The amount of trust he placed in the man was immensely astonishing.

No one had ever cared for Sherlock as Mycroft did, not even their parents, he was certain. He was always the one looking out for his baby brother; always there to catch him if he fell, as he so often did — yet, Mycroft was loathed, thought of as Sherlock's arch-enemy!

Over the years he'd tolerated the rudeness, the insults, the complete disdain Sherlock felt for him despite his superior skill-set. Since the arrival of John Watson in his life, Sherlock had become progressively more unbearable, and Mycroft found he wasn't so patient as he'd once been. Perhaps it was his age on top of everything else, but...

He relinquished the tenebrous thoughts after glancing at his watch and realizing it was almost five. Time to play more games with he and his colleagues newly acquired criminal mastermind, Mr. Moriarty. He stood, closed his laptop with a quick flick of his wrist, drained the dregs of of his tea and walked out the door, the seeds of jealousy blossoming quickly into something he wasn't prepared to pay particular attention to just yet.