` Thanks to the information given to John by Sherlock, finding Harry's previous owner was quite simple. The family lived in Bristol and John felt nervous as he stood on their doorstep, knocking loudly. For a while it seemed like no one was home but then he saw some movement in the window upstairs, just a figure sliding the curtains back to look and then they disappeared. A few moments later the door opened.

"Can I help you?"

The girl who answered the door looked to be a few years older than John, just about Harry's age. She was pretty with light brown hair but she looked positively exhausted. The circles under her eyes were deep and dark, as if she hadn't slept for weeks.

"Are you Clara?" he asked, reading the name off the sheet Sherlock had given him.

"Yes." She looked suspicious and hugged the door tighter to her body so John couldn't see inside at all.

"I'm John Watson, according to the information I was given, my sister was your pet?"

"You're John?" she said, warming slightly as if she recognized the name.

"Yes."

"Oh well come on in." she said holding the door open for him. He was confounded by the rapid change in her mood but stepped in all the same. "Harry talked about you often."

She was talking in the past tense, which made John's blood run cold. "Is she here?" he asked, hopeful.

"No I…perhaps we better sit down." Clara said, staring down at the floor. "Would you like some tea?"

"That would be lovely, thanks." He said following her into the living room. He sat down on the couch while she disappeared into the kitchen. John looked around at the place his sister had grown up. It was a nice house, nothing too fancy but not in shambles either. It would have been a nice place to live as a child and Clara seemed pleasant enough. Things could have been a lot worse. The only question was, where was Harry now?

"Here you are John." Clara said once she'd reentered the room. She held out a cup that was perfectly warm. John cradled it in his hands and took a few sips before asking about his sister. Clara did an audible sigh before putting her tea down and sitting up a little straighter.

"A few years ago, Harry and I were pretty wild. We both liked partying, going out to clubs and getting pissed. There was some drug abuse and a lot of men and women both. We were pretty promiscuous. I want you to know that I adored your sister. She was my best friend and sometimes I think I loved her, not just as a pet but as a person."

Clara swallowed hard and glanced away, staring out the window wistfully. "After my parents died, it was just Harry and I. They left me this house in their will. It turned out to be more than I could afford. There was a mortgage on the house and I was working as a waitress. Harry helped out as best she could but two minimum wage jobs weren't going to pay for the house. I started borrowing money, more than I could ever hope to pay back. Finally, someone came to collect."

"And you gave them Harry." John filled in for her.

"I had to!" she insisted desperately, breaking down into tears. "They would have taken the house if I hadn't. This is all that's left of my parents. I couldn't just give it away."

"Clara." John said doing his best to remain calm. "Who has my sister?"

"There was a name. That's all I ever got was a name. I never saw him in person. Two thugs came and collected her. I never even got to say goodbye."

"What was the name?"

When Clara was finally able to speak, her eyes showed just how terrified she was. "Moriarty."

XXXX

Whoever Moriarty was, he was not easily found. There were whispers, nothing more. Each person John talked to either shied away from the subject or just flat out refused to talk to him. Once he had even gotten a thrashing for his trouble, a beefy man he'd approached on the subject had beaten him senseless.

It took two months before John found someone who could possibly help him. He was sitting in a bar in Lancashire, waiting for his contact. He sipped his pint and watched the door. He shifted uneasily against the wooden bench beneath him, nervous about this meet up. After months of approaching people, this person had finally found him. There'd been a note slipped under the door of his hotel room with a time and a place scribbled down hastily. Now John was here and he worried about what sort of person would come through the door.

He instinctively reached up and patted his chest pocket, where he kept Sherlock's letter. He knew it was worn through in the corners and creases from him reading it each night. He missed Sherlock more than he cared to say and found the letter to be a comfort. He'd often found himself at payphones, a few numbers in to Sherlock's phone number before he'd hang up. He was afraid hearing Sherlock's voice would be too much and he'd return home. He couldn't do that, not without seeing this through. So until he could go home, he would have absolutely no contact with his former owner.

A man entered the bar and looked around, making John assume that was his contact. The man was very odd looking, with dark hair and beady eyes. There was something about him that made John dislike him instantly even though he had no reason for it. The man made his way over, glancing around like he was expecting someone to stop him.

"You John Watson?" he asked standing next to the booth.

"Yes." John nodded and the other man slipped into the booth.

"Anderson. I understand you're looking for a way to find Moriarty."

"That's correct."

"Are you suicidal?" Anderson asked, his eyebrow cocked.

"No."

"Then I suggest you give up now. It's a fool's errand."

"Can you get me in or not?" John asked impatiently. He'd had two months of this shit and he was at the end of his tether.

"I can show you where to go and how to get in but I can't take you there myself."

"How do you know where he is?" John asked, skeptical of this information, especially because it was being offered up freely.

"I used to be one of his pets."

"He has more than one?"

"Are you kidding?" Anderson replied, looking at John like he was an idiot. "Moriarty never has less than twenty pets, usually he has more. They're his own personal slaves and occasionally his harem."

John shuddered, thinking of his sister in that situation. "But if he's mistreating pets, why doesn't someone do something about it?"

Anderson snorted. "Like who? Moriarty got half the political bigwigs elected, they owe him. He's loaned half of London money. Basically the man is untouchable."

"Then how did you escape?"

"Got lucky. There was a flaw in the security and I managed to slip through it."

"How?"

"There's a vent that leads to the outside, it's too tall to reach on your own, thankfully I had help. We had a five minute window in which that vent would be unguarded and we both would have made it out if they hadn't decided to do their rounds early. I was in the vent and ready to pull my partner up when they caught her."

"So I can use the vent to gain access in."

"I believe so, yes. They won't seal it off or it will fuck up the ventilation system. You should be fine."

"Ok." John said getting out a notepad and a pen. "Tell me everything. The layout, the grounds, where he keeps the pets, everything."

XXXX

John was crouched in the weeds, staring up the largest and most extravagant mansion he had ever seen in his life. He'd always thought the house he'd grown up in with Sherlock was nice but this was just on a whole other level. It was a large brown Victorian with the grounds neatly kept. He could see the guards walking around, patrolling the massive estate.

Thanks to Anderson, he found a hole in the fence that surrounded the house and slipped through undetected. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the rather crude map Anderson had drawn him. He checked to make sure he was on the right side of the house and then put it back, scanning for the vent. He found the grill hidden in some bushes and got to work unscrewing the corners. It was all working just like Anderson had said.

He was appreciative of his small size as he began climbing along the small piping of the vents. As he moved, he made sure the loudest thing was his heartbeat in his ears. The vents were cold and it was taking everything in him not to shiver. Then he heard a popping noise and what sounded like something tumbling towards him. He looked around desperately for a place to retreat but was suddenly smacked head on with a burst of air. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so if he weren't so cold. He relished in the heat for a moment and then continued moving.

He only took the map out one other time, to make sure he was headed in the right direction. If he dropped out of the vents in the wrong room, he could be caught instantly. When he was certain he was headed the right way, he folded it back up and slipped it into his pocket. As he moved along the vent, closer to the main part of the house, the tunnel he occupied grew warmer, making the bursts of heat uncomfortable.

He was sweating under his dark jeans and long sleeved black shirt. He cautiously brought his hand up to his brow to wipe away the sweat accumulating there. He took a few deep breaths and listened for any kind of movement. When he was sure he was alone, he pushed the vent opening down, and peeked out to see if anyone had noticed.

He held for a few moments before beginning his descent. He put his legs in first and held himself by his arms with most of him sticking out. It was a twelve foot drop but it wouldn't be too bad as long as he didn't land on his ankle funny or something. He slipped down further, so he was hanging by his fingertips and with one final deep breath, let go.

He fell to the ground with relative ease. There was a quick pain in his legs from dropping his full weight on them but he recovered quickly. He was just reaching into his pocket for the map when two guards rounded the corner and spotted him. John wasn't sure if they had heard him fall or if he was just unlucky but either way, they were advancing quickly.

He took a step back to retreat and bumped directly into someone. He was surrounded and they all looked ready to kill him in a second. Without hesitation, he brought his arm back and socked one of them in the jaw, trying to open up a path. Within seconds, large, strong hands were on him, holding him down. He struggled against their grasp to no avail.

"Bring him." The man John managed to hit said to the other two while massaging his jaw. The tall, sandy haired man turned and John was dragged after him. He hung his head in defeat and wondered what fate awaited him.

XXXX

Back in London, Sherlock Holmes had grown cold. He had always been rude and standoffish but now he had becoming intolerable. Greg, who had basically grown up with him was probably to the only one who could spot the difference. He knew the cause as well and since John was off having adventure's, there was really no way to fix Sherlock's rotten mood. So instead Greg brought him cases to distract him.

"Have you heard from him?" Greg asked Sherlock after they had just finished solving a brutal triple homicide. He didn't say anything more, they both knew whom he was referring to.

Reflexively, Sherlock reached up and clutched the dogtags that were around his neck, hidden under his button down shirt. Greg saw this but didn't comment. Sherlock had been wearing John's tags since the moment he'd discovered them on his pillow. He'd had the chip deactivated so he wouldn't be mistaken for a pet or run into any trouble. He liked the feel of them, the weight and the cold chain around his neck. He liked to look down sometimes and see John's name engraved there.

"No." Sherlock replied his face unreadable. "Have you?"

"Not for a while." Greg admitted. "The last time he called was about three weeks ago. I'm getting kind of worried."

"Did he call you regularly?" Sherlock inquired, trying to keep the interest out of his voice but Greg could hear it.

"No, just when he could."

"Then there's no reason for concern. He's probably busy trying to find his sister." Sherlock said waving it off but Greg could almost see the wheels turning in his brain, looking for an answer to some unknown question.

"He told you about Harry?" Greg asked in surprise.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, his eyes suddenly much sadder than Greg had ever seen them. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Oh no reason, just the last time John and I talked about it he was…hesitant about discussing it with you." Greg shrugged.

"No, he told me." Sherlock said quietly, his mind obviously somewhere else.

"It was good of you to release him, I know John appreciates it." Greg gave him a friendly clap on the back in gratitude.

Sherlock's eyes flickered with something Greg couldn't place, it wasn't something he'd ever seen on the man's face before. He'd never seen Sherlock this expressive and it was obvious that he was in pain. A lot of owner's took the final separation from their pets hard. Greg had solved enough murders where owner's ended up killing their pets because they couldn't take them being free, usually because the pets abandoned their owners the moment they were released. He'd often worried Sherlock might react in that way when he finally let John go.

At least Greg didn't have to worry about anything like that with Mycroft. They'd been rather detached from each other for their last final years together. Mycroft had already been knee-deep in all his Government business and so when Greg asked to be released, Mycroft had barely batted an eye. He'd even gotten Greg a job on the police force, for which Greg was thankful. He thought he'd end up being a dock worker or something much more physically strenuous. Instead he got to solve cases and live in relative comfort. It wasn't a bad lot in life, all things considered.

The most surprising bit had to be the fact that Mycroft still kept in touch. They'd go to dinner every once in a while, occasionally they'd shag if the mood struck them. Greg's flat was filled with lavish things that Mycroft had doted on him. He couldn't really complain, he had a large flatscreen TV and the comfiest sofa he'd ever been on thanks to his former owner. He knew Anthea, Mycroft's new pet wasn't not too thrilled about it but Greg wasn't about to tell Mycroft to stop.

"Is that all?" Sherlock asked in annoyance, obviously anxious to leave.

"Yeah, that's all." Greg sighed heavily as the man dashed away quickly. The whole thing with John's release didn't sit right with him. One moment Sherlock had been refusing the idea and the next he signed the papers. He didn't even make John agree to certain terms like seeing each other on a fairly regular basis. He'd known some owners that had put stipulations like that into the release contract. He was certain Mycroft had considered it when drawing up Greg's but since his schedule was so hectic, such a thing was unrealistic.

Still, there was something strange about John finally getting his freedom. Both men were actively not talking about it and that fact made Greg worry. Something must have happened between the two of them to make Sherlock change his mind so abruptly but Greg didn't want to think about it. When he'd asked John about how he'd finally managed to get free, John had mumbled something and quickly changed the subject. Greg wasn't sure he should inquire any further.

He wished John would call soon, not just because he missed his friend, but because the silence was making Greg fret. He might mention how hard Sherlock was taking the estrangement: see if he could get John to come home for a visit. But there had been nothing and Greg couldn't do anything but wait and watch Sherlock grow steadily worse.

XXXX

Two large double doors opened and John was thrown roughly into the room beyond them. There was a small, thin man with dark hair and sullen eyes sitting behind a desk in what John could only describe as a throne. The man has his feet up on the desk, his hands folded against his stomach and was watching John intently. John was forced into handcuffs and onto his knees by the two men, while the blond haired one went and stood by the desk. He leaned in and whispered something to the man, who John assumed was the elusive Moriarty. Moriarty nodded and grinned while the other man spoke and then dropped his feet, leaning forward on the desk.

"Well you must be the stupidest person I've ever met." The dark haired man said with an Irish lilt to his speech. John didn't bother to reply. "I've had a fair few people try to break out of here, you're the first that's ever tried to break in."

"We think Anderson must have helped him."

"Ah yes, Anderson. Such a pest. Really Moran, I thought you would have found and dealt with him by now." Moriarty said to the man standing next to him.

"We've been trying Jim, he's being smart about it. As soon as we find him, he'll be taken care of." Moran answered, his back straight.

"See that you do." Jim shot him a look of disapproval then turned his attention to John, his face softening slightly. "Now, what can I do for you?"

John kept his mouth shut but his eyes never left Moriarty. If he was going to die, he wanted the man to know that John wasn't afraid of him. The thug on John's right raised his hand and hit John with an audible smack. John's mouth filled with blood, which he spit onto the floor. Jim's lip upturned into a snarl. "That rug is very expensive, you'd do well to be careful about where you put your blood." Jim warned menacingly.

"Should I take him somewhere else and beat some sense into him?" Moran asked looking like he enjoyed the idea of it a bit too much.

"No." Jim raised a hand to hold the man in place. "Tell me why you're here."

Again, John was silent and received another blow, this time to the stomach. He doubled over, resting on his chained together hands while he coughed. Moran walked over and wrenched John's head back by the hair. A small knife appeared from seemingly nowhere and was held against his throat.

"I'm growing tired of your antics boy. Better speak up or Seb will have no choice but to spill your blood all over my nice rug. At least I can get a new one."

"I'm here for my sister." John said, his eyes fixated on the knife at his throat, realizing that Moriarty was not bluffing.

"And you think she's here?"

"I know she is."

"Name?"

"Harriet Watson."

"Ah, lovely, lovely Harry." Jim said with a smile that made John shudder. "Moran, go get Harry."

Moran nodded and left the room. John instantly felt better without a blade pressing into his skin. He reached up and rubbed where the knife had been. "You know who I am, you know what I do I presume?" Moriarty asked.

"I've been informed, yes." John nodded.

"And you thought it would be a good idea to break into my home and try and rescue your sister?"

"I had to try."

"How noble of you." Jim smirked, mocking him. "You probably thought you would succeed too, didn't you?"

"I was trying to stay positive." John shrugged, not engaging in Moriarty's obvious attempts to rile him up.

Their conversation was cut short by Moran returning with Harry. Her blond hair was long and she looked wrecked but underneath all that, John saw traces of his sister. Moran held her with one hand tightly but she made no attempts to escape. "Johnny? What are you doing here?" she asked, her eyes widening in shock.

"He's here to rescue you!" Moriarty chuckled with amusement.

"You shouldn't have come." Harry said quietly, her eyes not quite meeting John's.

"I made a promise." John said simply, knowing Harry would remember those nights together at the pound, clutching each other through the bars on their cages. "I'll never let anything bad happen to you." A nine year old John had sworn to his sister who cried every night. "I promise I'll always keep you safe."

"Johnny." Harry said barely above a whisper, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oh this is so touching. I think my heart just burst with the love in this room." Moriarty said putting his hand over his heart dramatically.

"Let her go." John said, his eyes never leaving his sister.

"Why should I do what you ask? What incentive do I have to release her?" Jim challenged.

"You have plenty of pets and even more staff. You don't need her." John reasoned.

"Oh but I like you sister. She's a laugh! Have you heard about her love of the bottle? Honestly it's a hoot. Sometimes we just put her in a room with a camera and a bottle of vodka and watch her go to town. It's quite entertaining."

John's hands curled into fists and he wondered how close he could get to punching Moriarty without someone pulling him back. He decided the odds weren't very good so he clenched his jaw and said nothing.

"Well Johnny, I'm waiting." Jim said in a sing-song way.

John took one last look at his sister and her haggard appearance. She wouldn't be able to withstand much more of the treatment she received here.

"Me." John offered, meeting Jim's intense gaze.

"Johnny no!" Harry gasped, trying to get free of Moran's grip.

"Oh." Moriarty said, his eyes widening, blazing with interest. He slipped from his chair looking like some kind of deadly snake and stalked over. "You're offering to take her place? Exchange her freedom for your own?"

"Yes." John nodded.

"Hmm." Jim said circling John like a vulture. "Strip."

"Excuse me?" John asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Strip." Jim repeated. "Take off your clothes."

"I'm not yours yet, you don't get to tell me what to do." John said being obstinate.

"Ooh." Jim said leaning down so his face was level with John's. "You're feisty, I like that."

Jim's backhanded John across the cheek. John raised his chained hands of lightly touch where it stung.

"Listen up Johnny boy, if I'm going to agree to this deal, I have to know what I'm getting myself in to. So you can either strip for me now or I'll have Sebastian break your sister's pretty little neck in one swift movement. Got it?"

John swallowed hard and got to his feet. "Uncuff him." Jim ordered and one of the goon's produced to key to John's cuff's and unlocked them. "You'll behave, won't you Johnny boy?"

John stood up straight and began undressing himself, slipping his shirt over his head. Jim licked his lips as he watched, obviously enjoying the show. He began circling again and stopped to look at John's back. "Oh, you've been someone's pet before." Jim said tracing the scars from Sherlock's riding crop. "You just get more interesting by the second John."

He ignored Moriarty and began unzipping his trousers, tugging them down. Jim stepped around to face him, closer than was comfortable so they were breathing each other's air. Jim fingered the waistband of John's underwear and then slipped them down to join his trousers pooling at his ankles.

Moriarty took John's flaccid penis in his hand, holding it and examining closely. "It's workable." Jim shrugged tracing his thumb over the head. John flinched from the touch but didn't move. Jim went around to inspect the back. His hand grazed over John's bottom. "Hmm, now this is much more impressive." He gave it a little squeeze. "I'm going to have fun with this magnificent arse."

He slipped a finger into John's hole and he squirmed in response to the probing digit. Moriarty worked his finger in and out slowly. "You're tight but not virgin tight." He moved closer so his lips were almost brushing against John's ear. "Someone's had a taste of you, haven't they?"

John didn't answer but he couldn't keep his eyes from shutting tightly. He bit his tongue to keep from making even the slightest noise as Moriarty continued to work him with his finger. He felt a tongue on the crook of his neck, quickly licking once and then disappearing, as if Jim was tasting him.

The finger finally left John's bum and he breathed a sigh of relief. "I accept." Jim said and John's eyes snapped open. He looked at Harry, who was staring back at him, mortified. John bent down and pulled up his underwear and trousers, leaving his shirt on the floor.

"Bring Harry to my room, I'll be there momentarily." Jim said dismissing them.

"Wait, you said you'd let her go." John yelled accusingly.

"And I will, just as soon as I'm done saying goodbye." Jim answered, grinning mischievously.

"John!" Harry cried out as Moran led her away. John took the opportunity of his lack of restraints and hurled himself after her. He quickly wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"Holmes." He whispered into her ear. "Find Holmes."

It was all he got out before they were wrenched apart, Moran tugging her down the corridor and the two other thugs grabbing John to hold him back. He could still hear Harry calling for him long after she had disappeared from sight.