Sherlock BBC is not mine - sigh. I wrote this one for Sadyna and her beautiful art *33* 33 I hope you all like it :D

Grasping for air

His head is still fuzzy, when John finally opens his eyes. He can smell a strong perfume – it seems Cologne, but he's not really sure – in fact it could be anything.

Something is wrong with his body; he can feel warm spreading on his chest and slipping slowly to his left shoulder, where a hand is moving, touching his scar. He tries to see what's happening, but still he's confused, trying to understand what the hell had happened before he passed out.

"Oh, Johnny Boy, don't force yourself, I'm here with you."

And suddenly, his blood freezes in his veins. He looks at himself, finding his body naked. He tightens his eyes and tries to focus – he must remember, he must, he must, he –

Moriarty. He can see him behind his eyelids, smiling and then hitting his head. "We're going to have fun." he said, before John closed his eyes. How could he possibly let that man enter in his house, he can't remember at all.

"I'm so glad to see you again, Johnny Boy. You know, Sherlock is so greedy, he never wants me to see you and… I just came and took you." Jim says, and kisses his neck, biting him a bit. John stops breathing, trying to think – but it's really difficult, when you're naked and your worst enemy is touching you so slow you could become mad. He tries again to raise his hands, but when he does it, something grips on his neck, choking him for a bit. Moriarty laughs, and while he kisses his cheek, John can feel something cold rubbing on the other one. "What the-"

A riding crop. A bloody riding crop. He thought that Sherlock was the only mad having something like that at home. "Do you like it? I've… borrowed it. Sherlock let me take it, he thinks it'll make yourself more… comfortable."

John's stream of thoughts stops with Jim's last words. It's just too strange, why should he talk as if Sherlock is there? It's impossible, definitively impossible. He raises his head and watches in front of him, looking at the man hidden in the shadow of a corner. He swallows, and he can't believe his own eyes.

"Sherlock..?"

"Surprise! You are happy, aren't you?" Jim says, his voice quite loud. "I invite him as well, I knew you would be glad. Am I a good boy? Oh, you don't need to answer. Come here Sherlock, come! Don't be shy!"

Sherlock steps forward, looking at the madman emotionlessly. He just stops when he is near to John, but he doesn't look at him, he doesn't say anything.

He doesn't touch him.

Jim's hand run over John's stomach, stopping on his pubes and touching his hairs while his tongue tastes his ear; John can't hold a whining, his cheeks flushing.

"Do you like him, Sherlock? I've chosen the red one," says, and his finger goes behind a collar and pushes a bit, letting John without air for a few seconds. "I think it suits him so well."

The glance he gives Sherlock is full of malice, and when he presses his fingers on John's cheeks to obligate him to open his mouth, he can feel the air around the detective trembling, his voice turning into a frustrated groan while Moriarty starts to kiss the doctor.

Sherlock follows their moves, lips ravishing and tongues weaving. He can see in John's face his disappointment, the desire to run away, to come back home and hide somewhere to not be found again from that man.

He likes it. He would have never thought he'd enjoyed this so much. He swallows, another step forward, his hands raising a bit, waiting for a sign, for something.

Moriarty laughs, nodding at him and letting John's mouth free. "You can have him, if you want."

Sherlock doesn't wait. It's just a few seconds, and John is pulled forward, his flatmate holding the rope that ties his wrists and goes up to the collar. "Sherlock…" he whispers, staring at his lips, biting his own just because – God, he's so near, he has never been so near and his head is still spinning and…

Sherlock presses his lips to his mouth, and John's world turns upside-down. Sherlock is rough, deep, idesperate/i. Both of them feel like they have wait too long for this, and fuck Moriarty and his creepy deflect mind.

Sherlock grabs John's thigh, and he moans loud when he feels the other rubbing against his lower abdomen, starting to thrust more and more. Heat comes from his flat-mate, wrapping him and shaking his body in pleasure.

He calls John's name, licking slowly his lips.

Moriarty watches them for a while, before clapping and laughing satisfied. "Oh guys, I love you. You're so… interesting. A pretty nice entertainment indeed."

He steps forward, clinging on John's hips, his cock rubbing between his buttocks. Their moans fill the air, and any other thought is much too far from them right now.

He should kidnap them a bit more often, Moriarty thinks, sinking on John's body.