John almost couldn't believe he was going to miss out on, possibly, the most thrilling case they ever could've taken on in months. A high class murder ring at a new Night Life hot spot called The Cassion Club. A hotel, club and casino that held themes every night. He could almost taste the champagne. See himself at the poker tables gambling all night and wouldn't have a care in the world!
But nooooo, he and Sherlock have been kneeling in the bloody parking lot for the past three hours! Something in him should have known it was going to be a bloody stake out!
"I still don't see why you had us dress up if we're not going inside." He quietly sneers.
Sherlock only scoffs as he fixes a cufflink. "Dull. We've no need to go inside but blending in is essential. I just need to see the interior of Genova's Rolls Royce if I expect Scottland yard to make any kind of arrest."
"But tha- Oh, nevermind." John sighs, yawning, trying to keep himself awake.
He'd hardly had any sleep these last couple of days and it was taking it's toll. A moment of silence passes between them as they watch the front doors.
"You pull it off quite well... this look." Sherlock says peering at John from the corner of his eye.
"Oh, um... thanks?" John manages.
Sherlock nods absently and clears his throat. "I, suppose a few drinks wouldn't hurt."
John's lips purse, a suspicious glint in his eye.
"Really. Just promise that you won't completely lose yourself to Roulette tables once we get in there." He smirks.
"Piss off..." He says shoving at Sherlock's shoulder playfully. "Course. No, yeah. I promise."
"...Good."
"So. You're sure it's him then? Genova?"
"I'm always sure, John."
"Right. Okay, off you go then you git. Make it quick. Car's gonna be pulling in soon."
Sherlock winks and leaves John rolling his eyes as he sprints out of the parking lot and up to the front of the building. The doors are manned by a young valet who shifts around nervously as Sherlock approaches him.
John watches as the genius lays a confident hand on the young man's shoulder, mumbling something in his ear. Hand gestures, pointing at his watch. He can't see or hear much from his position but in moments he sees the valet casually saunter off into the club, having left Sherlock to manage the entrance and wait for Genova's car.
John places a careful hand on his Sig, ready to fire perchance someone might recognize the detective, because let's be honest, not all of his disguises are fool proof. But Sherlock Is a professional. It's dark out and he keeps his head lowered so his face is well hidden in shadow.
All of two minutes pass before the vintage car pulls up. The driver, who could easily double as two body guards, steps out, handing the keys over to Sherlock and pulls open the back door for Genova and two, extremely young looking women. Sherlock hands him their number and waits until the group is inside to slide himself into the drivers seat. But as soon as he's got the door closed, John notices, too late, two dark figures creeping up from behind the car. Without warning, they're pulling the doors open, grabing hold of Sherlock who trashes out violently, resisting the savage hands and calling out.
"Wha! You- Get your damn hands off me!"
John curses, wide eyed, gun in hand and sprints over to the car. He's only made it halfway when something hard and heavy connects with the back of his head. The floor rolls beneath him, slipping away in seconds as he falls to his knees. He gets one last blurry sight of Sherlock being dragged away before everything goes black.
~oOoOoOoOo~
John jolts awake hours later gasping in a panicked lungful of air. His head reels when he tries to have a look around, wincing at the painful tugging sensation in his arms.
"Sherlock?" John tries.
"I'm here, John. Are you alright?" Sherlock calls out right behind him.
"My shoulder." He strains.
Sherlock leans forward and John feels a sharp tug in his left arm and the fire spreads further through his chest. He tries, in vain, to supress the cry that tears from his throat. Why? Why tie them together?
"I'm- I can't get our arms loose. These- the ropes are too well tied." Sherlock curses.
"No, yeah, it's alright." John breathes, contemplating.
There's only two things he can make out right away.
1. He and Sherlock have been taken bloody hostage!
2. There's music bleeding through the walls. A sort of Electro Swing by the sounds of it. Of course, the party! They've got to be in a room underneath the club. Though it's too dark to tell.
As if on cue, peircing white lights flash on and they're nearly blinded. They blink, white spots dancing in their feilds of vision when John looks down and notices he's been reduced to nothing but his trousers and vest top. He looks over his shoulder, it's the same for Sherlock.
"Did you get a good look at them? Genova's men maybe?" Jonh asks, tears stinging his eyes as he trys to get a look at the rest of the room, which is nearly impossible due to the position of the lighting.
"It was too dark to tell but there was something that seemed-"
"HULLO BOOOOOYS! Looovely seeing you again."
John's blood runs cold and imediately feels the detective stiffen behind him as they register Moriarty's familiar sing song voice.
"Sherlo-" John squeaks.
"Don't say a word."
"He's supposed to-"
"I know, stop talking!" Sherlock hisses.
John nods dejectedly as Moriarty steps into the light from out of the darkness, only to stare at them with his abysmal dark brown eyes.
The way he looks at them sends a cold chill down John's spine, remembering that time at the pool... that day at Bart's.
"Hope you boys had a nice nap." He keens. "I can't wait to catch up on all that we've missed these past few years." A slight smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he speaks. "Can you imaaaagine the monotony? Well, I know Sherlock doesn't have to. He knows how booorrring it can be. BUT! Here, we are, now. I don't think I need to introduce myself. I wasn't gone that long. But my auxiliary, you've yet to meet." He says.
Just then, two figures emerge from out of the darkness. The two figures that had pulled Sherlock out of that car.
"I'm sure you're already familiar with Victor here, Sherlock. It's my understanding, that you two were actually... quite close. But for your sake, Dr. Watson." He chuckles. "I introduce my cohorts, Victor Trevor and Sebastian Moran. We'll be your hosts for the remainder of the evening. So please! Make yourselves comfortable. Because we're gonna be down here for a while." He says, offering them a sadisticc smile.
"Well. I suppose. That depends on how... cooperative, you're both willing to be." He adds.
John looks at both men, trying to figure out what he might be able to deduce. He can't tell much, other than the fact that they're young. Moran stands there, an eagerness to his air, he doesn't seem very threatening.
"It's a pleasure to officially meet you both." He says sweetly.
The only dangerous thing about him is the Thompson Submachine gun in his hands.
But John's insides coil as he looks over at Trevor. Who just stands there staring back at him, a Makers Mark between his teeth. He'd never seen a man more stoic. His posture, the look in his eyes shouts RED, in every mood, shape and form.Not because he's working with Moriarty. But because he was apparently someone who was once close to Sherlock.
Victor's dark eyes roam over him and linger on the detective through the thick smoke. He never says a word.
"Enough chat." Jim says shoving his hands in his pockets. "We've been in this situation before. Only now, I have more leverage. So we're just gonna play a couple of games."
"What kind of games?" John breathes out desperately.
"John!" Sherlock snaps.
"Could never resist my charm, could you?" Jim coos, kicking at the dust on the concrete floor. "Don't worry. As much as I'd like to see you both buried. You're more fun to play with alive than not."
"Right." John sighs, no tension relieved. "That clears everything up."
"Let the games begin, gentlemen."
Neither John or Sherlock really know what to expect but it's not the intense silence that surrounds them before Victor puts his cigar out and speaks up.
"Hello, Sherlock."
"Victor."
"I'm sorry about this."
"Oh, I'm sure you're not."
"Don't take any of this personally."
"Can't imagine why I would."
"Right. How long has it been?"
The detective sighs, bored already. "A decade. Give or take a few years."
"How are you?"
"I've been through worse."
"Where did you find him?" He asks gesturing to John.
"A mutual friend introduced us."
"How long have you two been together?"
"We're not-"
"About three years." Sherlock interupts.
Victor's eyes fall to his shoes before he looks back up at John.
"Doctor, Watson, right?
"Captain." Sherlock adds.
"John Watson, that's, yes. That's me." John grits trying to adjust his numbing hands.
"How is he?"
"Sherlock? He's, good. He's ah, yeah, he's been fine."
"Is he smoking?"
John peers at the question. "Uh, only once or um, twice. Since we met."
Victor nods like he understands. "Well. The sex must be phenominal."
"We're not, no. We work together, that's-"
"Even if we were in a sexual relationship, what interest would it be of yours? Your business is with me. Not the pair of us." Sherlock retorts furtively.
Victor stares at him, his lips tight, eyes despondent. "Don't be so sure."
Jim clears his throat and grins. "Did you know that Victor's an adult film star now, Sherlock?"
Sherlock's head snaps to the side and stares wide eyed at Victor, who just nods impassively.
"You should see his work. Well. You know what he's like." Moriarty winks, picks something off of Trevor's shoulder. "Can't imagine why you ever let him go."
John turns away to look at the floor, shifting uneasily in his seat. He didn't like where this was going. No good was going to come of this. It was none of his business. This was Sherlock's past and it shouldn't matter to him.
"I have the audition tape he sent in. Care to watch?"
"As if our answers would make a difference." Sherlock remarks.
"You're right. They wouldn't. Besides. I think John deserves a glimpes at the famous cock slut, Sherlock Holmes."
John's eyes widen at the bluntness and depravity of Moriarty's words. What the hell was he talking about?
"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asks just as confused, but with an urgency in his voice. "Victor, what is he talking about?"
"You were such a slag in Uni, Holmes. Still are, probably. Not even you can deny that. Hell, the way you'd tease me with that tight arse of yours. The way you'd beg me to fuck you at all hours of the day. You're body and pretty face are the only things keeping you from being an ordinary psychopath."
"Oi, that's enough!" John snaps.
"John, stay out of this!"
Moriarty sighs as Victor chuckles at his side. "Alright boys, put the testosterone aside."
John just glares at Trevor who in turn laughs and roles his eyes before continuing.
"I told a couple of my mates what a great fuck you were. They wanted proof. So I filmed us one night."
John sucks in a quick breath and feels the blood drain from his face. "This isn't happening."
"Oh it's happening." Jim whispers, leaning in close to John's ear. "Does this make you uncomfortable, Dr. Watson? Or does the thought of Sherlock at it, do something for you?"
John cringes away, grimacing at the question and says nothing, trying to keep his attention on the very interesting non existent pattern on the floor becase, yes, something hot and angry is stirring deep inside him.
"I know it does something for Sherlock." Moriarty drawls. "He likes being watched. So watch him John. Make him happy."
John shakes his head and keeps his eyes locked on the floor, stubborn and defiant, before hearing Moran cock his gun.
"Fuck... " He curses, forced to turn his attention to a large flat screen television mounted on the wall on their opposite side.
The receiver flickers to life and John watches as a dorm room comes into focus. There are two beds, one of which a younger Victor Trevor lays lazily upon, reading some paperback. The other, Sherlock's no doubt, as it's covered in books and papers.
"John. Before you. I'm- I was young, the drugs were no excuse but-" The detective pleads.
"Don't. Just- it's not your fault, Sherlock. Okay?" John attempts to assure.
A few minutes pass by before a younger Sherlock rushes in, slamming the door hard behind him. He's in school uniform but it's toussled and only half made up, shirt untucked, buttons undone. He looks absolutely, out of his head, wired. All jumpy and wide eyed, mostly likely on cocaine. On screen, Victor looks away from his book and up at the eager young man.
"Fuck me, now." Sherlock orders, voice still just as deep.
But John notices that it's empty, flat. Like it's not him that wants sex but the drugs making his body talk.
Young Trevor just sets down the book and sighs. "Give me a break, Holmes."
John's breath quickens, watching as Sherlock falls to his knees at the foot of the bed and eagerly shoves his face into Victor's lap. Rubbing his mouth and cheeks all over the younger man's growing erection.
"You were always so impatient." Victor offers suddenly beside them, making Sherlock jump.
The doctor swallows, knowing this is completely wrong but finding himself slightly aroused by the display. He lets his chin rest on his chest and breathes through his nose slowly, allowing himself a few seconds of composure.
"Best part's coming up, Johnny."
John looks back and finds that Trevor's grabbed a handful of Sherlock's black curls, pinning him face down, his other hand at the small of his back. The future Consulting Detective moans explicitly into the sheets as Victor shoves into him.
"We've seen enough, Victor, turn it off." Sherlock demands.
"I don't think John's had enough." Victor quips, staring at the doctor who's flushed red and short of breath.
Back on screen, Sherlock suddenly twists himself around, taking a new position on his back so he's looking up at Trevor who's managed to keep thrusting.
"Choke me." Sherlock orders. His eyes glazed but wild.
"Fine by me." Victor says in between breaths, reaching down to wrap his hands around Sherlock's throat. "Only fucking time you shut up's when you sleep."
Sherlock lets his young eyes flutter shut, his mouth formed in a nearly soundless gape as strangled moans tear out of him.
"THAT"S ENOUGH!" Sherlock growls, causing everyone's eyes to slip off the screen. "What is this? Some sort of Extortion? A woeful pursuit at blackmail? Hm? A pathetic attempt to mortify John? Shame me?"
All three of them laugh. Moriarty nods a sign of approval.
"If there's one thing you've ever learnt about men like us... Is that we just want to watch the world burn." Victor says, approaching Sherlock.
The detective's breaths come hard and heavy and suddenly, Trevor's straddling his lap.
"It's the fire that excites us." He whispers in Sherlock's ear. "The sensation that settles in your chest when you know you're in control... You've felt it before. It's risk. It's what you replaced the drugs with. But you're no different from man I used to know. You're still a mashochist, Sherlock Holmes."
John feels Sherlock strain against the ropes, writhing underneath Trevor but saying nothing.
"You like being strapped to this chair." Victor presses.
"Get the hell- I- If you touch him I SWEAR TO GOD!" He screams, unable to see what's happening behind him.
"Let me wrap my fingers around you again." Trevor continues to whisper, teasing his hands up the sides of Sherlock's chest, ultimately finding their way around his slender neck. "You'd fancy that wouldn't you?"
"Get your bloody hands off him, you bastard!" John shouts, his voice bouncing off the walls and mixing with the background noise.
He hears Sherlock's breath hitch, uttering a small suppressed moan followed by the distinctive sounds of kissing, the music around them seeming to get louder. His adrenaline spiking when he sees Moran prowl towards him.
"Don't you fucking- Moriarty, call your fucking dogs off now!"
"I don't want to." Jim pouts.
Before he can answer back, Sebastian sets himself down in his lap, all calm and collected.
"Jesus ff-" John sucks in a quick breath, tasting blood when he bites down on the inside of his cheek.
He tries to concentrate on the sound and feeling of the bass leaking into the room. Whatever he can to take his mind off the picture behind him but wishing Sherlock would've phoned Lestrade.
"You're a top. I can tell." Moran says after a while. A cocky grin on his face. "And a power bottom. Not surprising."
He slips a hand under John's vest and it doesn't take long for him to find the scar.
"I've had military men like you before, you know." Sebastian whispers, his breath ghosting over John's chin as he caresses the ridged flaw. "You lot like it rough. Being in charge. You miss barking orders."
"Yeah, kindly fuck off." John fumes, eyes glued to the floor, avoiding Moran's as he tries to lean back in his chair, like a few inches between them would mean all the difference in the world.
"Easy." Seb says shifting his weight, reaching for something inside his front pocket. "There's no need to be so unwilling. I don't usually share, but it'll take the edge off. I usually prefer K, but then, this isn't for my benefit."
He slips something into his mouth and without warning, crushes his lips to John's. Pressing his body closer to the good doctor. Then time just sort of, slows down.
John stills, registering the sensation of Moran's tongue working against his, claiming territory until he looses track of how long they've been tied up. How long Moran's been kissing him and the strange, wet, eager intensity of it. The pounding of his quickening heart in his ears when warm hands splay across his chest, setting off gooseflesh that spreads across his bare shoulders and in between his legs. When a tickling starts at the back of his throat. A curious heat flowing on the surface of his skin and establishing itself in his head before Sebastian leans back with one last coy tug on his bottom lip.
"John. John. Lis- John, listen to me. Everything's going to be alright." Sherlock intones, his voice thick as the words pour from his mouth.
"Sherlock? What?" John asks, his head filling with cotton.
"We've been drugged."
"Ughh." John moans, his head falling forward. "What with?"
"Methylenedioxymet-"
"Oh- for Christ's- English, please, Sherlock!"
"MDMA, and Sodium Pentothal, a truth serum, crushed to a powder. Which was transfered orally. You're- You'll, ffuugh- feel the effects. Twenty minutes." He gasps. "Normal reactions to follow are usually extreme arousal. Hypersss- ugh. Sensitivity! To mostly all senses. With a great mental and physical euphoria and vocalization increase."
"Doesn't sound too bad.. how long's it last?"
"Depends. Short term, four hours. Body distribution plays a-" He stops to breathe. "It plays a big part. Though the sodium pentothal enters the system faster than ecstasy."
"Lovely."
"Not quite."
"So, John, how did you feel about Sherlock's little movie?" Jim asks between them. Victor and Sebastian still straddled comfortably.
"Aroused and angry as all Hell." John says, the words just slipping out of him.
"Ooooh! Because Victor got to his tight arse first?"
"Yes, argh!" John blurts, shaking his head angrily.
"Want John to shag your brains out Sherlock?" Victor coos.
"I do." Sherlock mews quietly.
"Tell us what you want from John, Sherlock, and we'll untie you both." Trevor bribes, unbottoning Sherlock's vest top, slipping it off his shoulders to reveal the detective's smooth, pale and well toned chest. He gasps when his sensitive nipples perk at the cold air.
"I want the Captain to overpower me. I want him to pull rank and shout in my face about how hot I make him."
"Fuck... Sherlock..." John breaths.
"Tell John about all your flithy thoughts." Jim whispers, giving the go ahead to untie them.
"I want to suck you, John. I've thought about pleasuring you often as a form of stress relief. Sometimes while we're high on a case, I think about you taking me by force up against an alley wall where passersby might see us in the dark. Or how I'd like you to take my scarf and have you tie me to your- John? John?"
"Sher?"
Suddenly, John being shaken by the shoulder, violently. A deep voice in his ear.
"John? Wake up!"
The doctor's eyes snap open and he looks around, a hand clutched at his chest.
"Jesus! Fu- Sherlock? What's-"
"I've already checked the car and phoned Lestrade. You fell asleep. I didn't wake you right away. I know you haven't had much sleep these last few days so..."
All color drains from John's face, his eyes go wide.
Sherlock digs his phone of of his pocket and texts away.
"I think we'd better get back to Baker Street. You look exhausted."
FIN