Sherlock had never been so glad to win a chess game in his life.
For a moment after checkmate Moriarty's face went very still. Then he broke into a wide and rapturous smile. "I knew that would give you the proper motivation! That was a delight. I haven't lost a game of chess - literal or metaphorical - in years, just years; it's been sooo boring. We'll have to play again tomorrow. Raise the stakes a bit. Sebby..."
Moran looked up from the newspaper he was reading, his legs sprawled on the floor and his back leaning against Moriarty's legs, in which position he'd had his hair petted and played with absentmindedly by his employer as the adversaries had played in silence. He didn't seem to mind, but hadn't specifically acknowledged it either. "Yes, Jim?"
"Get him ready for the night. I'll be back in a moment."
Folding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm, Moran got to his feet and moved over to Sherlock. "Yes, Jim."
Moriarty put his chin in his hands and twiddled one foot like a schoolgirl. "You've been excellent today. Do you want to join us? I'll let you touch me, but not mine."
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
"If you ever touch Sherlock in a way other than what I've specifically said you can..."
"You know I never would," Moran replied soothingly, fumbling for another syringe. "Oi, Sherlock, if you want another drink of water tonight it'd be best to have it now."
As he got up to leave, Moriarty placed a small, fluttering kiss on Moran's cheek. Moran grinned and smacked Moriarty's arse by way of reply. He was rewarded with a mock-indignant look as the consulting criminal headed out the door, spending considerable time opening and closing the many elaborate locks.
After his drink of water Sherlock said nothing, only hissing a little as he was injected with another dose of the drug designed to weaken him. Moran helped him to the toilet, and then to the sink, where he presented Sherlock with a toothbrush and toothpaste. Sherlock knew it was no coincidence that it happened to be the very same brand he used at home. He thought about his own toothbrush lying next to John's tonight, unused, and if it hadn't been for the dizzy lassitude this latest dose was giving him he would have punched something, possibly even Moran.
He remained silent and unresisting as he was stripped naked, then arranged on the bed with hands chained to his waist - so they could be in front of him, making sleep easier, but without the risk of him attempting to strangle one of his captors - and shackled feet, though at least his feet were only bound to each other, rather than to the bedposts in an uncomfortable stretch. He did, however, balk when Moran brought out the new gag, a leather strap meant to fasten a long rubber shaft inside his mouth and throat.
"No. No. I'll choke."
Moran lightly stroked Sherlock's cheek as if to comfort him. "It's all right; you're going to be hooked up to a heart rate monitor, so an alarm will sound if you're in any danger. Besides, the dildo isn't even as big as Jim is. He's considerate enough to train you in stages. Open."
When Sherlock wouldn't, terrified, Moran sighed, sounding more in sorrow than in anger. "We were getting on so pleasantly. Jim has specifically said I'm allowed to discipline you, you know, as long as I don't cause any lasting damage or use you for my own fun." He produced another, similar item. It was larger than the first. "This one is going up your other hole. And if you don't cooperate after that, I'll take it out, coat it in one of those muscle-ache creams that burn for hours, and slide it back in you. Given how raw you already are down there, I doubt you would sleep well."
When Moriarty returned in black silk boxers and a dressing gown that looked like it cost as much as a years' university tuition, he clapped his hands, joyful. "I've always loved stuffed toys."
It took more than half an hour for everything to be completely settled. When it was, Sherlock had to resign himself to one side of the large bed, the heart rate monitor beeping quietly beside him, with Moriarty cuddling him like a possessive starfish. Moran spooned Moriarty from the other side, the two of them softly discussing tomorrow's plans and occasionally making little jokes Sherlock did not comprehend. The covers were soft, clean, and very expensive. The pillows were the finest down. Sherlock tried to turn his head away and pretend none of this was happening.
"Feeling neglected, Sherlock love?" Moriarty asked, nuzzling his ear. He slipped a hand under the covers to stroke Sherlock's limp cock. "One day I'll find a way to make you come, my dear, but until then you'll have to be satisfied with knowing how happy you make me."