A/N: Greetings once again! :D

Again, I apologize for my lateness. :D I have solved my conundrum, posted several parts of another story someone else requested, started yet another Sherlock one, and still have managed to get my abode cleaned, my children (I love them so very much) taken care of, and get over two Autism melt-downs (hate that description - sounds too much like a temper tantrum when they're not really - neither here nor there; sorry).

I really wish I were not so mentally and writingly (?) driven into angst and drama. I would seriously love to be able to write a first-time Johnlock or even a Johncroft (there aren't enough of those out there) without all the drama that is naturally occurring to me, without a lot of pain, though a small amount of torture would be okay (small torture?), and definitely without any sign of Moriarty. However, I just can't because I am not warm-fuzzy Feels oriented. and more's the pity. Anyway . . .

It is with humble gratitude that I truly wish to thank all of you; my Followers, my Favoritors, and my Reviewers! I would like to say, "I love you all," but would that make me sound weird?

Oh yeah, they aren't mine and no money. :(

SH/JW/SH/JW

He switched on the microphone and both men stiffened as they recognized the sound. John tightened every muscle in his body so as not to shudder at the Lunatic's voice and Sherlock rested his hand on his friend's stomach, then sat, almost looming protectively over him. The tremors that had threatened never came, and John inhaled glad that he had gotten some modicum of control over himself.

"I've been watching you," The Lunatic's hated, overly pleasant voice oozed over them and they looked at each other, then back toward the speaker as he continued. "And I have to tell you that I'm most impressed. I've also had the most wonderful idea," he actually giggled and Sherlock felt the muscles in John's stomach as they clenched tightly. He absently massaged the suddenly taut muscles, and slowly they relaxed under his touch.

"Idea?" John asked, his tone strained, and the Lunatic nodded.

"Yes. You see, since I can't seem to touch you without your freaking out, and your lovely friend there can, I'm going to let him touch you for me!"

"What?" John's eyes went round and his mouth fell open as Sherlock jumped up, obviously ready to deliver an eviscerating deduction of the Lunatic, his ancestry, and no doubt those of every pet he'd had the misfortune to have ever owned.

"Sherlock," John looked into the camera over him. "Calm down. Don't give him a reason to come in here." John swallowed, hard, and looked up into the camera. "Just exactly, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I like what that little scene you just played out was doing for me. I especially like the lengths the Alabaster god went to, to try and heal his little mortal plaything. So sweet, so tender, so delicious," his tone made what Sherlock had done for John seem almost pornographic, and Sherlock closed his eyes as the Lunatic's twisted logic presented itself to his mind.

"You say you're not together," the Lunatic continued. "You, the ever in-control Detective, and you the dear oh-so-not gay Doctor. You are just friends," they almost heard the slurp of saliva as he drooled. "But you could be so much more, couldn't you? With just the right impetus, it would be so easy for you to be partners in every sense of the word," they heard the salacious shiver in his voice. "But you aren't. You won't because you respect each others' boundaries far too much to cross that last oh-so-delectable line. But, you see, I still want my revenge. But I don't want the screaming. Oh, what more of a revenge than to have you take him?"

"It's bad enough that you have trapped us here and you were threatening to hurt him. I will not be used as your surrogate rapist!" Sherlock snarled into the camera across from him and curled his hands into fists. Exactly what though, those fists were curled at; the man, the situation, or his own helplessness he didn't know. "I will not hurt him for your perverted pleasure."

"What the hell makes you think you have any choice in what you get to do!?" The Lunatic suddenly demanded, his anger overriding his attempt at being pleasant and 'normal'. It was an obvious effort that he dragged his ragged breathing under control, and when next he spoke, his voice shook with the effort to continue to be pleasant.

"Look what you made me do," he exhaled slowly. "Really, losing one's temper is so counter-productive and really not acceptable in public is it? I've worked so hard on learning to deal with my anger issues, and yet, here you are breaking my hard-won control . . . again. You also made me lose my hard-on and that is unforgivable."

"A-ny-way," it was clear that the Lunatic was still picking up the pieces of his false persona, and he swallowed audibly. "Where was I? Oh. Yes. No choice . . ." he paused and his voice turned thoughtful. "No actually, come to think of it, you do have a choice, two of them actually," they heard him shift, and gazed at each other worriedly.

"May I direct your attention to the vents at the top of the walls?" He waited as John and Sherlock's eyes automatically went to them and he continued. "Those, as you may have already deduced," he somehow managed to make it into a curse word. "Are gas vents, which I can use to simply gas you into unconsciousness, re-chain you Consulting Detective," again, his tone made the word foul. "To the wall, and send in my people – you've already met them – and release them on our Doctor friend after you've both woken up."

"You see, from here in my monitor room, I can simply turn the sound off and I won't hear his screams. I'll still get off and you'll be forced to watch, and maybe I'll let you pick up what's left of him before I kill you both just as your precious brother comes to rescue you," he giggled and licked his lips. "The second choice is that you, and you alone, can do him. I'll even be generous here and give you gentlemen time to talk this over," the microphone clicked off, and John blinked at Sherlock.

"I would rather you do it, you know this, Sherlock . . ." John swallowed and Sherlock looked away.

"As I'm sure, he knew you would. Clearly," Sherlock said. "That choice was no choice at all."

"The thing is," John licked his lips. "You also know that he's absolutely insane. He's crazy, Sherlock; you know he's not going to let you do anything slowly. He's going to make you hurt me . . ."

"I won't," Sherlock's voice was low. "I made it good for you in Paris, I'll make it good here. Then when the time comes, I will kill him," Sherlock said, his tone steady, solid, and final.

John nodded, "stand in line," he suddenly blinked as his vision tunneled, and Sherlock collapsed to his knees beside him.

"Oh dear gods, no," John couldn't stop the tremble that took over his body.

"He was just . . . playing with us. He turned the gas . . . on us anyway," Sherlock said and his voice faded as both men lost consciousness.