After about twenty minutes of wandering around and sneaking peeks through the various doors around the ballroom that lead into the rest of the mansion, John was able to conclude that he was well and truly fucked. Moriarty was right about the security: there was no way he would be able to get through the security locks on the doors and evade all of the hired guns on his own. Not to mention he still hadn't managed to pinpoint with any accuracy where they were keeping Sherlock. He couldn't see any other option besides taking Moriarty's offer. Mycroft's men weren't really an option. The man himself was overseas trying to sort out just who had managed to get one of his agents to sell information on him. John didn't trust any of Mycroft's people very much in the first place but especially now after even Mycroft didn't know who he could trust. Sherlock's brother wasn't due back for several more days and since Anthea had gone with him John couldn't risk trying to contact Mycroft by himself. As much as John was dreading it, he really couldn't see another option. Sherlock had already been in these people's hands for two days, and he didn't know what kind of shape the detective was in. If the multi-talented man hadn't managed to escape by himself already, then these people were more dangerous than they had thought. Either they drugged the consulting detective or found a way to restrain the man who knew as many tricks as a professional escape artist. John knew from the note the detective left he had until dawn before Sherlock would be killed, if he was right about the cult's ritual. No, he really couldn't afford to wait. John steeled himself for the conversation ahead and started walking towards Moriarty. The criminal was standing in a corner near the bar with a full glass of champagne in his hand. As he spotted John making his way over, the expectant look on his face changed to a smile of gleeful triumph.
Jim couldn't contain his excitement when, about twenty minutes after he had left Sherlock's pet, he spotted the doctor quite reluctantly making his way across the room towards him. Jim knew the doctor had checked to see if he had been lying about the security measures and had finally realized that Jim was right: he had no chance of rescuing Sherlock that night unless he accepted Jim's terms. As the doctor walked towards him, Jim let his eyes trail over the other man's form, anticipation a slow curling heat in his stomach and moving downwards to his cock. Half of Jim's desire for the man was because he was unquestionably Sherlock's, and putting his mark on something of Sherlock's in a way that the consulting detective wouldn't be able to forget about anytime soon was a heady thought. The other half was due to the doctor himself, the short hair made of multiple hues of gold, the blue eyes that became absolute glaciers when he was mad, and the short, stocky body formed from his years in the army and kept fit even after he was shot and sent home. Jim was fascinated by the man's devotion to Sherlock, considering he received no compensation (not even sex, apparently) According to his sources, the man even turned down a guaranteed five figure monthly income from Mycroft Holmes because he refused to inform Sherlock's older brother about what Sherlock was up to. Yes, Moriarty wanted to see just how far that devotion would take John Watson, and what he would be willing to do along the way.
John came to a stop about a foot away from Moriarty, needing at least some space between himself and the insane criminal in front of him. A mixture of dread and revulsion in his stomach made him want to find a bathroom to throw up in. The only thing that kept him in place and not running away as fast as he could from the psychopath in front of him was he had no other choice. If he wanted to save Sherlock he had to do this. At Moriarty's expectant look, he began to speak, grateful that none of his inner turmoil and uneasiness came through in his voice; it remained steady and calm.
"If I do accept your offer of help, what exactly is the price I'm going to have to pay?"
Jim pretended to think for a moment, finger tapping against his mouth, before making the motions of an "ah ha!" moment. He lowered his voice deliberately and all but purred his demands, putting his champagne glass down while stepping closer to the doctor, and brought one hand up, splaying it on John's suit right, over his heart.
"Why Johnny boy, all I want is this for a night." He patted the hand over John's heart twice. "I want what you give Sherlock freely every day. Your utter devotion and loyalty, your obedience to every one of his whims, no matter what they are. For the rest of tonight, if you will be mine, I will guarantee Sherlock will be found and freed before dawn. That isn't really too much to ask, is it, Johnny?"
John's eyes narrowed and he tried not to shift at the uncomfortable feeling that Moriarty's hand on his body, even through the clothing, was giving him.
"What makes me think that you'll keep our deal? After all, according to you, 'You're soooo changeable,' remember?" The last bit was said in a high pitched imitation of Moriarty's words from the pool.
Moriarty's face twisted into a snarl as the hand he had on John's suit clenched and twisted while yanking John forward close enough that it looked to outsiders as though they were about to kiss. At the bar an elderly couple sneered in their direction and walked off in a huff, obviously under the impression the two men were about to start kissing in full view. Little did they know John was viciously restraining the urge to haul off and hit the man in front of him. The amount of hate that he felt towards the criminal was the most John had ever felt towards anyone, and he knew his restraint would be sorely tested tonight if he took this deal.
"Don't mock me, Johnny boy, not when I have the advantage here. It's not nice, and might inspire me to… make things more difficult for you." Moriarty unclenched his hand and went about smoothing out the wrinkles in John's suit as he continued to speak. "You're right though; I am quite changeable sometimes. But in this, if I get what I want, I won't need to change things up. After all, I want dear Sherlock to be out in the world again. He is much more entertaining alive than he would be dead and he really is the most fun I have had in years. I don't want that to end just yet."
Moriarty's tone was friendly but the way he emphasized the word yet gave John a chill. Words like that did not bode well for the future, after this case was over and Sherlock rescued.
Jim felt the exact moment the doctor decided to cave in and accept Jim's deal. It was in the way his muscles tensed, his jaw clenched as his teeth ground together, and the look of trepidation in his eyes. The rush of triumph was almost too much to contain. His blood began pumping a little faster with his sense of anticipation, and the adrenaline was making him eager to begin his plans for the night.
John couldn't see another way, other than accepting Moriarty's deal and having to trust that Moriarty was too invested in his games with Sherlock to change his mind at the last minute and let him be killed by the cult. He tried not to think too much on what Moriarty said he wanted, and what that actually meant. If it was the only way he could save Sherlock, then he would do it first and think about the consequences later. First, though, he had to make a few things clear to the consulting criminal.
"If you want what Sherlock gets then you also get the same rules I have with him. I won't hurt people on purpose unless it's in self-defense and I… I also won't take any sort of drugs, I don't care what they're for, it won't happen."
John's hesitation was brief but telling. He knew Moriarty could very well have access to drugs for later tonight if he decided John was being difficult and the criminal had no qualms drugging him the last time they had met.
"Don't try to change my mind about this because you won't, that's where I draw the line, with Sherlock and even more with you."
Jim studied the doctor for a moment after his little speech and tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. It was a bit of a pity, those rules, but seeing the conviction in the blue eyes in front of him and the set of the doctor's jaw, it was certain that changing his mind would take more time than Jim wanted to waste. After all, he only had Sherlock's pet for tonight and Jim wasn't about to waste one more second than he had to. Not to mention the doctor said he wouldn't take a drug. If Jim decided to inject him, it's not like the man would have a choice anyway. Then again, it wasn't likely Jim would give him one; he didn't want to give him something to blame for what would happen tonight.
"Hmm. Very well, Johnny," he sighed theatrically. "I agree. You can keep your silly little rules. But, in return, you are mine in every way I want you tonight. You are going to give me your loyalty, your devotion, and your obedience in whatever I ask you to do. You refuse anything and our deal is off, do you understand me?" At the last sentence, his voice dropped and became cold as steel, emphasizing his seriousness about the deal breaker.
John swallowed, his throat dry and his heart racing. He couldn't believe he was about to make a deal with the devil and prayed that he would come out of this relatively intact. If Sherlock came out of this free and alive, it would be worth it. John could handle whatever Moriarty came up with, he really could; he had survived torture from the Taliban and a lifetime of emotional abuse from his sister and father. Whatever happened tonight, John would get through it and have Sherlock home by the next day. With that thought John drew in a breath and straightened his posture automatically, handing himself over.
"Alright Jim. You have a deal: get Sherlock out of here by dawn alive and intact in exchange for me tonight."
Jim couldn't stop the slow, self-satisfied smile of triumph spreading across his face at the words that came out of Sherlock's pet's mouth. John Watson, the only person Sherlock gave a damn about, was his to do with what he wished for the next (Jim quickly looked at his watch) seven hours. Taking the other man's right arm and looping his left around it so they were arm in arm, he turned them around and began making his way out of the corner and onto the ballroom floor.
"In that case, pet, it's time for us to dance." Jim laughed as he pulled the doctor out onto the dance floor, delighting in his obvious discomfort and unhappiness. This was going to be so much fun; there was so much he wanted to do with his new pet. But first, he was going to dance to his success with his prize in hand, literally.