Your shadow I follow

Chapter 2: Creating the Shadow

Notes:

ATTENTION: A section of this chapter contains relationships that are non-con/rape. In AO3 these types of notices are allowed in the description so it's already added there. However, lamentably FF doesn't give that option so I need to warn you. Anyway, it's only a small section of it and if you skip it I don't think you'll miss anything.

And with that said, I'm letting you read.

"The Leader requires your presence dog,"

"Tell him that he can go fuck himself as much as he is able,"

The bucket full of icy water that fell on him made him clench his teeth and cringe, stifling a gasp. The chain that was tied to his feet jingled when he bent his legs, trying to cover himself as he trembled. The thick links of the chain tightened, exerting resistance against his trembling movements. He slowly closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cold concrete wall, remembering why he was doing this. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

He had spent a whole week locked in an interrogation room in the era where the television in color was invented and tinted glasses were necessary to maintain the identity of spying listeners safe. The room was gray and aseptic. The walls were made up of cement and brick, and in the center there was a drain. He would rather not want to imagine the reason why an interrogation room would need such thing, although he perfectly knew too well the answer to the question. His ash blond hair was long, it uncomfortably stuck to his forehead and began to rub on his irritated eyes as it fell forward. His head itched from the dirtiness stuck to it, which didn't help with him being dead cold. There were air currents that would enter through the vents, through the holes in the wall, and through the small space under the door, which was barely a few millimeters wide. And in addition to all of the harsh environment, he was naked. His clothes had been stripped off his body when he got to this place. He was forced to walk through the corridors as if he were an exhibit, until he reached to the place where he currently was. However, the only part of his body that was covered were his eyes, with a thick plush bandage. He assumed that it was necessary so that he wouldn't be able to remember the path that he was forced to walk, minimizing the risk of him possibly escaping. At one point he was able to inform himself that his possessions had been burned off.

"Get up. Now!"

He clenched his shackled hands. His poor wolf had been placed in a cage in the same room as him. The cage was electrified, creating a power grid that hurt his wolf if he tried to push his nose through the wire mesh. The animal was cowering in the small space, whimpering to the sounds of his owner suffering. He knew that he had to give up, he had to obey if he wanted to get away from all of this. However, at twenty-one years, he was hardly an adult in an unfavorable and unpleasant situation, and his youthful instinct told him not to escape in this situation. It told him to fight through it.

And if he didn't have his hands free, he could at least use his tongue.

"Go. To. Hell."

The blow fell heavily on his cheek, cracking his bones and hitting his face against the wall. The bastards had learned that if they wanted to hit him without leaving any visible mark they had to hit him with a wet towel, so that the weight and force of the impact was considerable. He hunched his arms over his head to protect his face, and blows fell furiously on his arm and ribs. He bit his lip to stop himself from screaming in pain, and in result he emitted low growls in protest. Near him, he could hear his wolf snarling along him, whimpering.

He thought of the black raven, in it pale eyes looking at him with sadness and helplessness. How it had stayed with him after nearly breaking its beak trying to help him escape. How it had flown down for him, despite the danger it was facing...

"Enough Ethan. Bring the dystopian upstairs. Jim is starting to get impatient. And if you leave any marks on him…"

"Calm down Moran. I was only putting the freak in his place,"

He raised his eyes in the darkness and found himself looking at the eyes of Moran's Bengal tiger touching their noses. He breathed calmly, watching as the white fangs peeked under the hairy lips. A growl came from the depths of the animal, who wagged his tail gently.

"Who are you calling a freak, you moron?" Asked Moran, tackling Ethan to a side with force.

Blinded by the glare of the open door in front of him, he blinked, his eyes aching from the clarity. Another thing they had done to keep him there had been to turn off all the lights. He had been in the dark for a whole week.

"Let's go. Get up and don't make me angry puppy,"

He felt Moran's hand taking his arm with a considerable force, shaking him up to get him on his feet. He hissed when he felt the pain of the blows right where Moran was holding him. Slowly rising, he felt the tightness of the chains. Something brushed past his neck, hard and cold, tightening itself up until it made his breathing labored. The tension in his legs disappeared with a metallic clatter, and he did not flee because of the leg cramps, he felt them loose from spending so much time with them unused. He had to use all his willpower in order to prevent himself from trying to make an escape attempt. It would not do any good for him.

His hands were still bound by the shackles, so he closed them into fists, digging his nails into his palm.

"Remember why you are doing it. Remember why you are doing it…"

He heard the groan of the hinges of the door as it was being opened, and the hum of the electricity. He could only remember the electric rod which they had captured his wolf with, Garm. He would have never imagined that all that was needed to subdue an animal spirit was a little of voltage. And now that he knew about, he would have liked for it to never have happened.

Hearing the violent growls of Garm, he could easily picture him with his sandy fur bristling, his bared fangs and bloodshot eyes. If his wolf was going to get, they were going to hurt him.

"Shh, Garm. It's okay…"

The wolf continued to snarl, but its threats lowered its tone down until they became muffled warning sounds.

He felt a tug on his neck and then he understood.

They had put a leash on him.

He could feel the astral heat from Moran's Tiger at his side, walking with parsimony. Little by little, his vision got clearer, and was hardly aware of the cold metal floor of the freight lift. He waited quietly, watching the indicator. They were on the floor minus two, and they were heading to the tenth floor. He had plenty of time.

Clearing his throat, he felt his voice was thick from the lack of use.

"Why are you doing it? Why… are you helping him?" He said hoarsely.

Moran didn't even look at him. He was looking forward, watching the indicator with the numbers, which changed every second.

"It's not your problem,"

He heard the tiger growl and saw how Garm looked at him, waiting for him to say something. He shook his head and the wolf sat on its hind legs, very close to him, without stopping to watch at the tiger and its dystopian occasionally.

"But you…"

Moran turned around to look at him. His expression was hard to read, but he wasn't intimidated.

"I told you that it's not your problem. Now shut your mouth,"

The doors of the lift opened and they appeared in a clean room, full of corridors and secondary rooms. Probably they were in an empty floor of an office building, but with the interrogation room this could only be Scotland Yard.

At the end of the corridor, there was a lone figure with its back against him. It was talking on a cellphone.

"Ethan, take the dog directly to Buckingham. Let them put him in the outside cages,"

He suddenly got into a panic mode. They couldn't separate him from Garm. They couldn't.

He squirmed, trying to avoid the inevitable movement, but Moran pulled from his leash and passed a leg under his feet, making him fall on his knees and banging against the hard ground. His wolf growled and jumped towards Moran in order to bite him, however Ethan's electric rod fell on top of the animal. A spark of static was heard and his wolf shimmered, falling on the floor, moaning. He felt the discharge in his own body, traveling him entirely. He tried to launch himself towards Ethan again and again, but he couldn't reach him.

"No! Please stop!"

Another jerk from the leash pulled him towards Moran, making him fall on his back. He still had his hair wet from the freezing water, and the leather of the collar, it was without a doubt leather, began to irritate his skin, and it could maybe even cut it.

Ethan disappeared through the lift with Garm, and he saw how the doors closed. As the apparatus went down, the pain still went through his body. It was as if he had a hand holding his heart, squeezing every time more, cutting his respiration.

Moran's hand closed again around his arm, pulling him, and once he shakingly stood up, he pushed him forward.

"Walk,"

And he did. He walked with his feet intertwining from the pain and the lack of use. He continued until they walked into the wide room where the man with the back facing them continued talking with his phone.

"... and if they blow another of the barricades in the tunnels, I'll make sure that someone takes up your place. Is it clear, Dimmock? Good. I expect the report tonight,"

They made him stop just two meters from the suited man, who had hanged and was rubbing his face with his hands, as if everything were very complicated. He turned aside and looked at another man. He was a redhead, dressed in a three-piece suit and wearing an old umbrella in his hand, at which that time he was clinging tightly, until knuckles turned white.

He had sometimes seen symptoms like those, in the shelters of the dystopians which stood in the outskirts of the 'Lion Den'. They were located under the bridges in the banks of the Thames to assist those who were wounded, but the few that were able to escape from the 'clean' side after being captured and separated from their animals. It was the distance, the pain inflicted to their other side or their spirit, which caused the physical pain. And the same thing was happening to him. He wondered what they were doing with the animal of this poor dystopian, and where it was located. And how long it had been there.

"Seb, I'll need you to attend the barricade at Embankment station. In the Bakerloo and Northern line. And if it's necessary, make them open a gap and make Thames fall on top of them. I don't care. Go and fix it. Now!" The man screamed, and he swore that he had seen one of his veins in his temple throb. Moran hesitated. He couldn't let go of the leash or he could let him go. "Ugh, for the love of God and the Blessed Virgin. Give Holmes the leash and go! NOW!"

He saw how the leash changed hands rapidly, and Moran running towards the lift, with his tiger trailing behind him.

Holmes looked embarrassed, maybe uncomfortable. He looked at his boss almost unblinkingly, he was holding the leash in a way that implied that at any time he was going to throw it away, but when Jim opened his eyes, his grip turned firm and his features cooled off. He shivered helplessly.

"Well. I can't believe it's you, wolfie. You have been a very bad boy," Said Jim, with a nasty smile on his face. He approached him and stared. He felt bad about having to look up to center on his eyes on him, but he did it anyway, standing at attention. "You have been for a long time trying to escape from me, but now it's over. Isn't he naughty, don't you think Holmes?"

"Tremendously,"

He pursed his lips. Holmes was answering indifferently, with a neutral tone. As if he were trying to control everything that was happening inside him.

"For how long has he tried to escape?"

"Two years and a half,"

Jim opened his mouth and eye, as if he were genuinely surprised with the information. As if he had never received it.

"Impressive,"

He noticed that the chain was loose. Holmes' arm was tense, but he wasn't putting any pressure on it. Which only meant that to a certain point he was at his side, right?

"You see?" Asked Jim, with a smile, touching his chest with a finger, satisfied. "You're special, Johnny,"

John tensed. He did not expect Jim to know his name. In fact, he wished that he hadn't known. He noticed the Leader's eyes go over his body up and down, and when he licked himself, he gagged, remembering for the first time since he was in the room that he was naked. He wondered, with some black humor, if he would get killed if he vomited over him, and what would his face look like. What he found most surprising was that he noticed that he wasn't much older than him.

When the news of a new order reached every corner of Great Britain, John thought it would be some type of trick from the radicals that some old glory would be trying to regain the position and change the things a bit up. When everything began to change and the people began to disappear from the streets, when the dystopians began to get marked and 'reassigned' to another area of the city, in his head the 'Leader' had always looked like an extremely intelligent adult. However, the person that he had in front of him was… disappointing.

"But you're just only a child,"

It seemed that the information was not well received, because Jim's face transformed itself into an angry expression full of excessive violence and madness. John felt that he had just signed his death warrant. The gentle pull of the leash told him that he shouldn't have said that.

Jim stepped forward when Holmes' voice stopped him.

"I have just been informed that the French Governor has just arrived at the meeting hall along with the Austrian Representative. You should leave now, or you will not arrive on time,"

Jim stopped halfway, glaring at John with his eyes during a few seconds. He closed his eyes as it take a human heart to beat a few times, and when he opened them, he seemed much more calm.

"He has completely lost his head. He's mental."

"Damn frogs that don't know how to behave… I'm leaving. Help him get dressed and take him from here. I want him clean and in my room when I finish the meeting," He ordered, straightening his jacket. He grabbed John's face with one hand, clenching his jaw with his nails. "See you later Johnny," He whispered in his ear, as if they were lovers and that their big secret. He bit his ear and left.

The nauseas came back with more force, at the same time a pang of pain went through him. He grunted, cowering.

"If you want to die, John, there are better and cleaner ways to achieve it rather than insulting him," Said Holmes. He dropped the leash and threw him a ball full of white clothes. "Put this on. Fast. We need to be in Buckingham in half an hour,"

John took the clothes with his hands, still shackled, and looked at them. They were basic, made of white cotton, undyed. The short-sleeved t-shirt and the pants were baggy. It looked more like a sporty tracksuit than anything else.

Holmes fingers pressed some point in John's shackles, which were electronic, introducing the opening key. With a click, the metallic plate that closed his hands fell to the ground, and John saw his opportunity.

"Don't try it, unless you want to die. And I believe that would be inappropriate,"

John looked at him. Holmes watched at him from his position, alongside a window. His eyes were closed and his jaw was clenched.

He noticed for the first time in his appearance, since he entered the room for the first time. The suited man had dark circles under the eyes, and licked his lips at a regular basis. John knew those symptoms. They were the reactions of a drinker. His body under under the suit was little for a man his age, almost bordering on anorexia. The locator chip on his right ear told him that he was currently living in the 'Lion Den', and in not very good conditions. He presented mild symptoms of malnutritions, maybe even in the early stages.

However, and, despite the circumstances, he was not in a completely unfavorable situation. John had treated some cases of people from the 'Lion Den' which had a closed stomach from the lack of food available, with their bellies swollen but empty of all food. When they reached the mobile stalls of the health care under the bridges, the medics knew that there was nothing that they could do to help them rather than give them shelter until they died.

There was one type of food that could probably save their lives, but in London it could only be found in the Royal Hospital, and they could clearly not access it.

"Would you try to kill me if I tried?"

Holmes looked at him, tired.

"If you ask me, go. However, there are guards in every corner. This is a building belonging to Scotland Yard. You couldn't walk more than twenty steps before they catch you. You've been caught John. The less time you take to accept that your life has ended, more time you will survive."

John stared down again at the clothes in his hands, until the cotton slid across his skin. He could feel his wolf, somewhere, very far from him.

The image of the crow return to his mind. The dream of that night had been so comforting…

Mycroft rebound the collar to the strap and closed his hands between the electronic shackles. John looked at him, surprised by the new replacement.

"I'm sorry. They're orders,"

John nodded. If it was true that he would not be able to escape, at least it would make life easier for Holmes, who seemed to not enjoy his work at all.

He could not stop dwelling over his head, thinking what could Jim possibly want from him. He had heard stories about what they were doing to the dystopians in Buckingham, but he preferred to think that they were just that: stories. Holmes led him to the lift and both were alone in the metal space as they descended to the ground floor.

"I'm not going to say what will happen to you because I'd be lying," Said the man beside him without looking at him. John saw how his hand clung tightly to the handle of the umbrella again. Suddenly he cringed lightly, grimacing with undisguised pain and to lean on him in order to be able to stand. "But you will learn to control it… if you live long enough."

John knew what he meant without asking.

"For how long have you been working for him?"

Holmes took a pair of deep breaths before answering him.

"It will be four years since I started. But it feels much more,"

When they reached the ground floor, Holmes snapped to attention and straightened up, changing his face. So much that had he not have been looking at him, John doubted that he would have been able to appreciate that under the mask of coldness, there was a man. He stepped forward, pulling the leash around his neck. The policemen that were standing at the entrance of the central parted, careful to not touch John. He couldn't understand why there were so many objections against them when they wouldn't have had any problem in throwing things at his head, insult him and push him when he had arrived the first time. He hadn't seen their faces as he had his eyes bandaged, but he hadn't moved from building to building in the whole week, so he was pretty sure that none of them had been absent that day.

He remained in silence, throwing glares at the agents who, were supposed, to maintain the order and public safety, seeing for the welfare of the people, and not assuring themselves that they would be captured, tortured and denigrated. Had had the authorities been bribed at the beginning of the new regime it said much about the current state of the government.

John's martial steps were beginning to make the policemen that were watching him feel uncomfortable, up to the point that many of them looked away, intimidated.

John had been a part-time emergency medic in the small hospital posts under the bridge, yes. However, he also was, and above all, a rebel.

He was one of the causes why a battalion was trying to blow up the barricade of the underground tunnels at Embankment station. Because that was the distraction. His real goal had been to recover the District line at the blockage of Putney Bridge station. He had been the captain that who was in charge of the assault to point E. And it was to be expected that he would be captured. He was playing with his life everyday.

His best friend, Sally Donovan, a guerrilla which was a former agent of the old Scotland Yard which had a panther as an animal, had been engaged in his side in his squad in Northumberland, and more than once she had asked him why hadn't he engaged to only be a medic, knowing that he still had a chance to change. Sally had joined the rebels when she had learned from a dream that her soul mate had died.

"I don't have anything to lose, John. But you do. What about your soul mate? What would happen to them if you get caught?"

"They won't be able to catch me,"

Within the group they had a bit of variety. A pair of Spanish soldiers, Christian and Silvia, who had arrived in the early months of the change and were trapped there, an Irish woman called Wanda with a fondness for explosives which was very disturbing, three frenchmen who had survived to the attack on their platoon, and a pair of retired soldiers from the US Marine Corps, which the dictatorship had caught them and closed the fronteers while they were on holidays in London.

He could still remember how they had armed themselves that morning. They knew that their group was part of the special mission in which had to provoque and trip over their feet, as they could die any day by a stray bullet or a poorly controlled explosion. They also knew that they risked their lives more than any group, but it did not seem to matter to them. Silvia had been the first one to venture into the tube tunnel, with the flare lit to illuminate the way.

"We're going to put those bastards in the place that they deserve!"

That was the last time John was with the whole group. When he separated to give them coverage while they lit the fuse, he was knocked out and taken away. The last thing that he heard was the withdrawal, and how his group scattered around, hiding themselves in the many hideouts of the sewers and the old ventilation corridors.

He wished he would have listened to Sally's words.

It took less than he had thought to get to the black car with its tinted windows that was waiting for them, parked in the sidewalk in front of the building. Holmes made him climb to the passenger seat, tying his hands to the door. Then, he moved to the driver's seat and started the engine.

"I know why you are here John. I know who you sister and your mother are, and I know where they are located," said Mycroft, pressing a button in the glove compartment. John looked at him in horror, squeezing his hands into fists. "Don't worry, I won't say anything. Jim doesn't know about them, and if he figures it out, it won't be from me. Give me a little credit captain."

The mentioning of his rank made an icy finger climb up his back.

"How…?"

"I haven't been spying on you, if it's what you are thinking. I have only observed. You walk like someone in the army would walk, but you are too young to have been able to enlist yourself before this started, so surely you belong to the rebels. By the way you behave, you have discipline and authority, so that suggests a certain range. Not so low to be lieutenant, but not high enough to be higher, so it's clear that you are a captain. From the Northumberland group, from what I have understood. In the 'Lion Den' there were some comments the other day that they were ambushed in the tube and one of them was taken. I also know that you are a doctor by the look of your hands. They are firm, secure and prepared for hard jobs. Besides, I think I've seen you in one of those mobile stations under the Millennium bridge sometime,"

John blinked in surprise. He could now understand why Jim wanted Holmes to be at his side. To be able to know everything about a person by just looking...

"Then why are you here? Were you also captured by them?"

Holmes laughed. It was a serious and humorless laugh. His hands were gripping to the wheel while he slowed down, stopping at the light at Piccadilly.

"You could say that. The authorities found me and condemned me to death, but my parents occupied my place. Moriarty offered me a job at his side in exchange for accepting the exchange and for me to be able to take my little brother with me. He also… well. Died,"

When he said it, he looked at John, and something in his eyes made him think that the last thing was not entirely true, but did he not dare say it out loud for fear that someone or something could be recording their words.

He nodded.

"I am sorry. Can I ask how he died?"

"Cocaine overdose,"

John frowned.

"Did he… regularly consume it?"

He had seen drug addicts in the smoking rooms in the 'Lion Den'. There were many, as well as brothels and other… recreational centers. In the end, it was a way to gain a little bit of extra food and the basics for survival. John didn't judge those who worked there, or those who, cornered by the hunger, would seek refuge in the drugs, which were almost given away. But he could not help think how someone who could not barely pay for a meal would precede the pleasure to something as basic as eating to maintaining alive.

The major cause of mortality in the 'Lion Den' were the overdoses, right after the malnutrition.

"He did. I tried… to stop him. Several times, but it was useless to argue with him. He had Asperger syndrome," he added. The car started when the light turned green, and they set off towards Buckingham through the now cleared streets. "His name was Sherlock."

When they arrived at Buckingham, John was moved to one of the upper floors, following the large and luxurious rooms. The golden decorations were making him feel sick. All of the food that you could buy with that… just one of the columns were enough for fifty families to sustain themselves in the 'Lion Den'.

Watching scenery through the window of the car had been horrible. After years of living in the 'Lion Den', where time seemed to have fallen back two centuries and the streets were dark, where the asphalt was chipped, cracked and bulging, and electricity was only active for two hours a day, and none of them was during the night. Where people washed their clothes in the dirty waters of the Thames because they couldn't use the washing machine, where children younger than five didn't know what a car was because in the streets in the 'Lion Den' were little to no use and gasoline and car maintenance were too expensive for the people living there…

It was strange to see again the streets of London in which he grew up in, in the London where there were green parks and people were cared, where the streets oozed with life, and traffic was suffocating, but steady, it was as if an immense and invisible heart would pump it through the veins of the city… blood made up of metal and gasoline… He grew up in a London where the traffic lights would work and the streetlights were promptly lit when the light left the horizon and weren't turned off until dawn appeared… Where children played without fear of being assaulted by the authorities.

It was a London where no one had an animal along with them. It was a London where the people were so alone and lost as if they were meteorites, wandering in the cold and vast space.

Right now, in the luxurious room, being baroque until it was enough, Holmes had made him have a bath. The simple smell of soap made him want to cry. It was real soap and not soap made up of grease and caustic soda, which was harsh and unpleasant. The water in the bath was also warm, without the need of being boiling against his skin by the heat of the fire, or freezing and being from the Thames, which happened when the gas broke down. And when he was little he never wanted to have a bath… For God's sake, what a delight… He would have wished to have a longer bath, but remembering why he was here and who was waiting for him made the desire he had to have a bath fly away.

He emerged from the water quickly and, when he went back to get the clothes, they were gone. When he asked Holmes about the clothes, he said it was better that way.

Again, he felt like vomiting.

The leash went back to his neck, tying him to the ground, however, the electronic shackles didn't come back. John raised an eyebrow when Holmes grabed a gun, similar to that of the tatooists that are going to insert a piercing, but with a round and flat lid that was colored in black around the trigger.

"I'm sorry, but if he comes back and it's not on you..."

John stood still, feeling the cold in his bare skin. The windows were closed, but the mere air circulating around the room was enough to make him shiver.

Or maybe it was only the stress of him knowing what will happen to him when Moriarty crossed the door.

He felt the cold of the cotton with medical alcohol cleaning the area of the puncture, and gritted his teeth before he felt the sharp sting in the ear from the needle that contained the locator chip, and a flash of pain that ran down his spine. He resisted the urge to kick Holmes to get rid of him.

"I have seen others that have arrived here before you. And I have seen many others go out. If you want my advice, the best thing is to not fight it back. What will happen will happen whether you like it or not. And the more you resist, the longer he'll prolong it," He pointed, leaving the gun in a drawer. He turned John¡s face to wipe the blood from his ear. "I wish we had met under different circumstances, John. I have the feeling we would have been good... collaborators."

John smiled.

"Your animal..."

Holmes smiled.

"A blue chinese dragon. It's called Tatsu."

"But that's Japanese."

The redhead's smile grew wider, and John swore that this time, it had reached his eyes.

"Great observation, Captain. I hope, sincerely, that we don't see each other again."

John would have taken it as an insult, but after thinking about it a few seconds, he asked himself if it was some kind of friendly farewell, as if he were genuenly wishing him luck. Holmes seemed as the typical person in charge of cleaning Moriarty's shit. If he were the one responsible of the disappearances of the dystopians that were no longer necesary, and as John tought, he knew that truthfully, that as a farewell it wasn't one of the worst.

He extended his hand.

"John Hamish Watson."

He stared at it for a moment and shook it vigorously.

"Mycroft Holmes. I wish you all the luck in the world."

And with that said, he left the room, closing the doors after him.

John had just returned from a reconnaissance mission around the perimeter, when he met Ethan, who was looking for him.

He had also just turned twenty.

John had grown little during those seven years, and because of that he had been shorter than the majority of his colleagues working on Jim's entourage. He was stronger and more agile, and he was able to keep fit by using the little free time that the Leader allowed him to continue training, and it was all as a reward for his work.

A year after entering Moriarty's service in order to protect his group, the rebels and his own family, John would have felt revulsion for someone in his situation, and because now, after so many years of wear he had reached a point where he had really stopped caring if anything dangerous happened to his body. He sincerely hoped that the situation that he was in would change someday. That the madness he was surrounded in would disappear and everything would go back to how it was before Jim changed him, but he knew it was nothing but a dream. And dream were for children.

Those seven years had tanned his skin, his mind, his body and his heart. He was harder, stronger and more experience than when he had been when he was captured. He began to reach his thirties. He had traces of a beard in his face, and his eyes, although young, they looked like those of an old man, tired and wise, they were the eyes of someone who had seen too many things. Someone who had lived too much.

John had discovered that Jim had a talent to wear down those that were around him. It was as if he knew exactly how to extract the vitality of their bodies, how to consume their hopes, until nothing mattered except the concept of survival. Until you became an automaton of perpetual motion with a list of tasks that had to be complete before collapsing on the hard mattress in a narrow and wet room.

He could remember with clarity the first day that he had stepped into Buckingham becoming Jim's plaything. The day that he learned that each and every one of the rumours that ran by the 'Lion's Den' didn't only reflect with cruel details what happened everyday at the other side of the river, but they fell short. The only thing that he hoarded with certain affection, was the conversation that he had with Mycroft, whom he had not seen since then, although he knew that he was fine thanks to secondary sources, such as Molly Hooper.

"Jim wants to see you, Watson," said Ethan, with a certain derision. He carried a rifle on his shoulder. He probably came from one of the lines that connected with the 'Lion's Den'.

John pulled out the gloves of his attire, flexing his fingers. He sighed, frowning. He knew that this day was coming.

The first time that Jim wanted to see him was the day that the was captured.

After waiting nearly five minutes, completely naked and tied with the leash to the ground, he finally arrived. He was unfastening his tie, and when he saw him standing there he stopped, watching him. John came to attention, staying still, as much as his nerves and his own body allowed him, and albeit that, he could feel the accelerated heartbeats, pumping adrenaline through his system, and his accelerated respiration. Eyes fixed on the face of Moriarty, as he watched him.

"Well, well. It seems that Holmes has done a good job with you Johnny. You take away the hiccups."

John gritted his teeth, without losing sight of Moriarty. He did not struggle, he didn't move. He did not even try to escape when Jim bent down to untie the knot that tied the strap to the ground, and took the leash to pull him towards a pair of white doors on the other side of the room.

"I'm going to teach you Johnny. I'm going to tame you."

Jim brought him to a room where a double bed lay. Morgan's tiger was lying in a corner, and John looked for him around the room, without success. He would probably not be far off. Perhaps he was standing guard at one of the gate, in case he tried anything. When Jim tied the strap to the bed and then held him, tying his hands on either side of the headboard, and his feet to the legs, when he began to feel something akin to panic. He frantically sought a way out, a way to escape, but all of them went with assaulting Jim if he could even break free, and all of them confronted the security when he would leave the room. He tried to regulate his breathing, remembering the words of Mycroft. 'If you want my advice, the best thing is to not fight it back. And the more you resist, the longer he'll prolong it.' He wondered if he had also experienced the same.

And all that he could think when he felt Jim's hands over his body, was that the rumors were true. They were damn certain.

The dystopians weren't only targets to kill or torture for the Leader and his entourage.

The dystopians were someone that would warm up their bed. The dystopians were their toys.

John turned his head in order to stare at the eyes of the tiger, which looked at him as if it were bored, it was as if he had seen this scene so many times that made him find it all the same. He wagged his tail slowly from time to time, and kneaded the carpet with its claws. John stared into its eyes again as he felt the movement of the mattress when Moriarty climbed into the bed after him. Which made him start to disconnect his survival instincts, which sounded like a warning alarm in his head, yelling at him to turn around and break Jim's face.

Remember why you are doing it. Remember why you are doing it...

Harriet and his mother were 'pure'. They had never shown any symptoms of dystopia and it was why when his father died and the regime began, that John knew that he had leave his home to keep them safe. If the government discovered him there, he could not think what they would to them. So he disappeared, leaving a note. He moved on his own feet towards the 'Lion's Den', bypassing the chip controls. And when, in one of his visits and wanderings through the subway tunnels, he found the base of the rebels in the old station of Mordan, practically out of the city in the Northem line, he decided that this was where he belonged.

The vents had become fireplaces, and the food that they received came to them periodically through anonymous donations. Some people even escaped far enough from the sight of the frontier and went hunting for a few months until they came back, with enough pieces to put them in salt and hold a couple more months. They were generally saved for the winter, when the food became scarce even in the 'Lion's Den'.

It was there where he was given a new family, where he joined the resistance and learned the trade of being a doctor from one of the surgeons that had retired from the army when the superiors were purchased by the Leader. It was there, sleeping in the subway cars that had been adapted to make them into barracks that were livable, where he met Sally and the rest of his team.

It was there that he was given hope, when he thought that there was nothing good in the world.

If he was kept prisoner of Jim, he could pass important inside information to his team through clandestine letters, encrypted messages, using the old German ENIGMA machines from World War Two, which they stole from the British Museum, on the radio frequencies that no one was watching, and encrypted codes written in ancient Egyptian. If he was kept prisoner of Jim, he could keep his family safe, away from his claws.

Keep your friends close and your enemies even more.

Well, John could not get closer to his enemy. Unfortunately.

Saying that he didn't scream at some point in the night would give too much credit. Jim had made sure that every single moment of the process would result in fucking hell. Preparation? For what? What he intended was to mark him, not to pleasure him. The phrase that was repeated the most times during the endless hours, was one that would haunt John in his deepest nightmares.

"You're a pet Johnny. You're my pet. And I'm going to tame you. I'm going to make you bleed. I'm going to make you burn."

He lost count the times that he was hit with the belt, or the many times that he was bitten until he would bleed. Or when he picked a knife and began to cut him to just see the blood flow out and then lick it. Or when he circled his neck with his hands, with unexpected strength due to his constitution, until he was on the verge of unconsciousness. John slid into a haze in which made him aware of everything that was happening, but everything felt like a dream.

When everything finished, Moran entered and made a wobbly John get dressed with the white clothes which he had arrived in, and took him to the infirmary, John understood why they used such white linen.

The blood of his wounds and the tear that they surely had, stained the cotton without dyeing the garments, and it was as if he was going naked.

John felt himself naked when the people that they were passing by looked at him, still being pulled by the leash. Some with compassion and understanding. Others dryly. There were many that were mocking. Ethan was among them. When he arrived at the infirmary, Molly Hooper attended him, carefully and delicately. They had made her come from St. Bart's in order to attend him, and it seemed that it wasn't the first time that someone was in the same state as him.

John held, stoically, until the following night arrived. They let him sleep attached to one of the beds in the infirmary. He still wore the leash around his neck, but there were now thick layers of bandages, separating the skin from the leather. All of him looked like a mummy, full of bandages, patches, and stitches, in the places where the blows and the cuts were too deep. He also had bluish marks throughout all of his body, which he wished not to look at. When he lay back, he felt all of the punctures that his aching body suffered. In the intimacy of the closed and solitary infirmary, he let his tears fall down. He felt dirty, broken and abandoned.

He had always thought that he could be happy. That he would find the a way to avoid the dangers of the world until he could find his other half, but now that the darkness had bitten him, tearing and dragging him to the shadows, he felt as part of it. How would anyone want to love him after that, even if it were his other half? Why would anyone waste their time in piecing something that was so broken that he himself could recognize? He could hear his wolf howling in the distance, expressing his pain.

That night, he dreamt with the crow again. And this time, he saw himself tied up with thick chains to a black moss-covered stone throne. No matter how many attempts that he made to break himself free, he did not succeed, and the neither the raven could. But the simple fact that he stayed with him the rest of the night, was enough to renew his spirits.

Perhaps he was already broken, and that had no remedy. But at least, he would be the greatest pain in the ass that James Moriarty had ever had. For as long as he could endure it.

To hell with the advice that Mycroft gave him.

So the next time Jim required his presence, he resisted. And the one after. And another and another, until it had been six months that he had gone in and out of the infirmary. When Molly complained about his condition, in front of his face, he decided it was time to stop. So the next month, when he was brought to Moriarty's Hall, he was obedient. He did everything that he asked him to do and he never protested. When everything finished, faster than usual, Jim released the leash.

"Very good Johnny. I enjoy it that way. Good boy."

Welcome pet.

"Good," He replied at Ethan, without looking at him. He lowered his gun and discharged it, disarming it before storing it in its assigned locker.

He took off the essential part of the uniform and then closed his locker, towards his cursed fate.

"That's it! Run with your master, little bitch."

John didn't even think about it. Had he done so, he would have probably not done it, but Ethan Scott was getting on his nerves...

He grabbed his Sig Sauer and shot him in the leg, outside of the zone occupied by the bone. The bullet entered and exited cleanly, piercing his flesh. He placed the gun back to his belt and when he entered the living room, he found him at a desk, surrounded by the paperwork.

During the time that he had been working, John had managed to pass tons of information to the other side, although his effort had cost him. And, apparently, his sacrifice was bearing fruit. They had contacted with a young chemist who had managed to move to the clean side of the city, but had not yet given them the address or his name. He signed all of his warnings with an S, and had a brilliant plan to overthrow Jim's government. The only problem was that they only had one occasion to act, and they had to do it right the first time, which was why the process was going so fucking slow. John could not wait to get out of this hell.

"That was fast Johnny! Have you missed me?" John grunted and approached the desk, avoiding answering. Jim leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on the wooden desk. He snorted, "Bah! You and Seb are always the same at communicating. Cavemen! There are more words in the dictionary than monosyllables.

"I just arrived from Rotherhithe Tunnel, what the hell has happened here?"

Jim sighed dramatically.

"Those filthy monsters have been raiding food trucks again. None of my agents have been able to stop them. I want you to go there and get rid of them. Take any team you want with you, but I want Ethan to accompany you."

John smiled a moment before containing himself.

"Ethan is indisposed. He has just gone to the infirmary."

"And why is that?"

John read the report of the mission and then put it back on the table.

"He's been shot in the leg. I'm going to take Dimmock."

The tone that he had used must have made Jim suspicious, but he said nothing. He grabbed an apple from his desk, and started playing with it when John saluted and went straight towards the door.

"I'm bored, pet."

John tensed for a moment. He clenched his eyes tightly, with his hands tense on both sides of his body. He took a long breath.

Remember why you are doing it...

"Of course Jim"

The double doors of the room closed with the click of a latch being moved in place.