"Sebastian." John said, the slight crack in his voice giving away the terror he was trying to hide. Sebastian laughed, the noise echoing through the empty apartment. "Didn't think you'd be seeing me again?" John stayed silent, weighing up his options. Was it worth it to end the game early and die now rather than wait for the inevitable to come? "Then again, I didn't expect you to meddle in my affairs again. Just couldn't help himself could he, had to solve the case, Jim was the better man, should've won. Don't worry though John, I'm here now to finish his job. Burning the heart out of Sherlock Holmes and killing you. Funny that, how my interests fit with his so well." John frowned. Burn the heart... Oh. He was Sherlock's heart. "Don't cry Johnny boy, the tin man didn't really need a heart anyway." "I'm not crying Sebastian, but more to the point, why are you here?" Sebastian growled and pressed the steel harder against his throat. One cut and he'd bleed out. "I am here to finish what Jim started. But I plan on having a little fun first." he whispered, sickly sweet breath invading John's nostrils until he felt ill. John couldn't move for fear of being slashed across the neck, nor could he speak without the pressure increasing. Smiling, Sebastian's left hand went into his pocket. John had not noticed the cylindrical shape that protruded from it before, Sherlock would have. There was a hiss as Sebastian lifted the canister to his face and the air became foggy. John's vision blurred and he felt as if he were swaying, lines between objects softening until the world was one giant mess of colour. "Don't you worry Captain. I have big plans for you." The voice swirled round in his head until a vacuous dark fell on him and there was nothing more.

Sebastian was pleased to find the new gas worked even better than the last, the twelve minutes of hallucination had really been a spanner in his plans. Now that Watson was asleep he could finally take a look around the place he had watched for so long. It felt surreal being inside after staring through windows for such an extended period, Like a film star at a premier. The game was simple. Sebastian had calculated it all very carefully, he had promised Jim that if there came a point where he was out of the picture that he would take over. The genius would be compelled to search for his blogger and his brother would provide a perfect middle man, his extensive cctv would finally have a use. Jim had gifted him all of his favourite toys, using them to fulfil his wishes seemed rather appropriate. The upstairs room housed John's uniform and though it was not integral in the scheme of things it was a personal touch, a warning. He bounded down the stairs with it in his arms and dressed the unconscious doctor in it, glaring at the captain's badge on his sleeve. That was the place to begin. When he was fully clothed Sebastian tossed him on the sofa and ate some food, knowing it would at the very least rile Holmes. Lighting a cigarette, Sebastian leaned back against the counter and looked at the London streets far below, filled with people who had no clue how very different their days would have gone had John not returned. There was no need to be cautious now, his audience would be watching carefully regardless, glued to the screen. He giggled, the motion wracked his body for a minute or so and then he sidled back to the couch. He threw the limp form over his shoulder with ease, constant training and exercise had made him incredibly strong. Jim had liked the muscles. Sebastian tightened his grip around John and slammed the door shut with a low click.

Sherlock had taken his time with the incident report, after all he hadn't actually pushed him, he had simply brushed past with the knowledge that his equilibrium was off already. Lestrade had sat across from entire time, filling in similar forms. They were compainionable in their own way, a deep friendship that had formed over many years, but nothing close to how he had first felt about John. Rightly so, John was much more intelligent than Lestrade, and kind, and brave to boot. "If you keep sighing I will have to kick you" Lestrade said wearily. He just wanted to go home and have dinner alone with Mycroft for the first time in a good five days. Sherlock hadn't realised he had been sighing at all, but maybe he had been. He signed the bottom of the page with a flourish and handed it to Lestrade. "Call if Moran strikes again." with that he was gone in a dramatic flurry of coat tails and clicking heels. If there was ever a reason to go home John was it. Even in sleep he was what Sherlock wanted, needed even. If Sherlock straggled into bed as the sun rose John simply moved over to make room for his against his skin. That was what Sherlock was looking forward to on the drive home.

While the Moran case was interesting by it's own merit, they knew the culprit and his main motives. All they could really do was wait to see where they could catch him and then do that. Not exactly worth missing quality John time over. Sherlock almost recoiled at the thought, he sounded awfully dependant. John wouldn't mind. Back at Baker street he took the steps two at a time, long legs barely whispering against the steps in his attempt to preserve the silence.

He opened the door and a light breeze rolled across his face, the window was open. The window was open. It had not been open when he left, it had been opened from the outside. "John?" the apartment still smelled of John, but there was something more there, a tangy metallic taste that was common with anesthetic, cigarette smoke and a sickly sweet note of decaying fruit. Sherlock's heart was beating hard in his chest, pounding against his ribcage and threatening to beat the oxygen from his lungs. Someone had been in John's old room. Sherlock bounded up the stairs and almost fell to the floor when he reached the open door. Slowly but surely John had been moving his clothes and books into their room, leaving only his army gear behind. The wardrobe was empty. It was as if he was in a dream when he walked down the stairs again, his feet moving mechanically towards the bedroom where he'd left John less than a few hours ago. He had known before opening the door that the bed would be empty, the body that should have lain there gone, long since.

Sherlock fell to his knees, faster than he had that day by the pool, but he didn't even register the feeling of his knees thumping the ground. John was gone. His phone buzzed softly, more and more insistent. He tore it out of his pocket and held it up to his ear, ready rolled spit venom at whoever it was. Mycroft's voice came through, and even Sherlock could hear that all was not quite well. "Sherlock, I take it John's disappearance has come to your attention as it has to mine. It would be best if you came to the club." Sherlock paused. "How did it come to your attention?" "Someone has hacked into the cctv system and is sending video footage live as we speak." Sherlock was running, feet tearing the pavement apart in his race to get to the club. Mycroft's voice was fluff in his ear and people were of no importance as he shoved them out of his way, mapping London in his head.

John awoke in a dark room, the sound of dripping water tethered him to reality once again. He tried to move, but he could only struggle slightly against the belts that held his limbs in place. The fabric against his skin was very much familiar. He tried to raise his head but found that was impossible. He could however just barely see himself in the mirrored ceiling. The army uniform. Of course. Tiny red lights pulsated from various points around the room and John could tell instantly that they were cameras. A door creaked open and he tensed, preparing for what was coming. The clack of steel wheels on stone flooring caught his attention. As Sebastian wheeled the trolley of implements around so he could see them John wondered if he'd be as susceptible to torture as everyone else was. They had been briefed on it in the army of course but that would mean Sebastian knew what he would expect, what he would be doing to cope and how to get around that. He had had this nightmare before.

Sherlock arrived at the diogenes club in under fifteen minutes, sprinting to the last. Mycroft's lackeys were waiting at the door for him and simply pointed to the farthest door down. Inside Mycroft was staring intently at the screen while Lucia (Anthea as John called her) sat in the corner, texting furiously. Sherlock sat in the chair across from Mycroft and made to turn the screen around but Mycroft's hands stopped his with a soft but firm movement. "Before you watch brother I have to implore you to see past the events and into the setting, the mind of the man behind the glass. It will not be easy, and it will not be pleasant." Sherlock's knuckles were white, his whole body screamed of tension and fear. He nodded mutely and Mycroft pressed a button, sending the projection onto a large screen against the wall. The room (building clearly old, not in disrepair yet, almost empty) was very dark, but the camera was perfectly positioned to catch the only are where light shone: John. He was covered in sweat and convulsing, his whole body spasming. His mouth remained shut however. Sherlock wanted to laugh at his stubbornness, always a soldier his John, even when he's being electrocuted repeatedly... Sherlock tore his eyes away from that and focused on the surroundings instead. The table John was on looked medical or prison grade, more likely medical judging by the height of it. No windows but the door was steel, locker of some sort? Convulsion could be attributed to cold temperature. Sherlock kept wandering back to John, wincing every time the taser hit his skin. Tears welled up in his eyes and his whole body felt hollow, like the whole of his organs had been scooped out. His hand reached instinctively to the screen and rested on John. Mycroft made no attempt to move him.

John steeled again for the shock, teeth firmly pressed together though it felt like they would just drop out of his skull at any moment. He was not relieved when no shock arrived. That meant boredom. That meant a new sensation, a new wound. He could hear the thunk of wood on skin as the vibrations rattled and the sound slapped his ears. A beating he could handle. That would almost be a blessing. The mirrors did not help him identify exactly what it was he was going to face, Sebastian's body curled over it like a mother over a child.

Sherlock and Mycroft could see it however from the safety of the office. Sherlock gasped as the metal points glinted at the camera. "No!" he whispered, hands clutching fruitlessly at the projection. Sebastian's arm rose high above his head and flew down with force against John's abdomen. John didn't feel anything yet, but he soon would. He maintained his silence as nails bit into his skin, tearing into the muscle beneath. Sherlock stared at the movement on his face, there was no sound but he could tell that Sebastian was laughing. His hands wrapped around the handle once more. Sebastian twisted, pressing the nails deeper until they hit the nerves and Captain John Watson screamed.

A/N: When I started this story I didn't really expect it would go this way but what can ya do? The pov can be a bit confusing but hopefully you can kind of tell who's telling what. Just a quick thank you to everyone who's following and reviewing and favouriting or even just reading, it seriously is so amazing and I'm really grateful so... Yeah, thanks! Also, if anyone wants to (please please please) it would probably be good to get an accurate summary... The one I have is such lies... I write terrible summaries but then you all see that... Keep it in mind anyway ~S