AN: Apologies for not updating this fic for some long. I had work issues, more work issue, and family issues. Real life was waaaaaay too exciting for my comfort… I hope there are still people reading this fic. Enjoy!
Chapter 12
It took a little while for Gregory to track the boy down. He didn't want to run his picture through the facial recognition system and risk leaving trails behind. So he did it the old fashion way – he followed the boy back to his home, a small but brand new apartment in Camden. From there onward, it was easy as a breeze. He flashed his badge to the landlord, and got everything he needed in ten minutes.
Jack Healy, 19 years old, worked in a nearby restaurant as a waiter. How someone on minimum wage could afford a place like this was the cause of wild speculation in the building, not to mention the men in expensive suits and luxurious cars who came and went frequently.
Gregory tracked down Jack the next day. The boy was on a cigarette break at the back door of the restaurant, with his sleeves rowed up. The first thing he noticed was the bruise around his wrists, wide, red and very familiar looking. They were the result of being tightly bounded by ropes for hour. Gregory didn't need to see to know there were plenty more beneath Jack's white uniform. He had more than enough share of these over the years. He knew what it was like to be tied up and at complete mercy of other men.
Jack laughed when he saw the look on Gregory's face. Instead of rolling down his sleeves or hiding his arms, he showed them off like a trophy. His fingers rubbed them affectionately, eyes sparkled as if savouring the sweetest memories.
It was clear that whatever was been taken place between Mycroft Holmes and Jack Healy was consensual. While Jack might not share certain inclinations, he saw those as small prizes to pay for affection. He came from a poor family and had a tough childhood. He didn't hesitate to trade anything for scraps of attention. It was useless for Gregory to try and warn him about Mycroft Holmes. As far as Jack was concerned, Gregory was nothing more than a jealous ex boyfriend.
Jack was certainly perceptive. It didn't take him long to took in Gregory's facial structure, silver- grey hair and pieced everything together. After all, Mycroft clearly had a type.
After that, Gregory wanted nothing but to get himself drunk. He buried himself amongst empty whisky glasses at the nearby bar, with Jack's words still echoing in his ears.
Jealousy, such concept never came up in his mind until that very moment. Was this what caused his wild speculations about these murders and associating them with Mycroft Holmes? Perhaps he was hoping for any excuse to see the other man again. But such idea would be absurd! He was willing to do anything to get him out of his life not long ago.
He hated the games that Mycroft played with him - hidden goals buried underneath pretence of affection. Those moments of tenderness had been carved into his memories. It didn't matter how much he wanted to put everything behind, he found himself remembering them at odd moments, with a hollowness burning inside craving for things that he didn't understand.
Or perhaps it was just the sex, simple as that. For years, he was a fuck toy to anyone who could afford his prize. His body was so used to be played and fondled with that it was capable of even finding pleasure in pain and humiliation. His body had come to crave these attentions, despite his mind treating them as nothing more than obligations.
After years of self imposed celibation after David McDonnell's death, Gregory was forced to admit he was nothing but a slut. He would resort to any mean for a cock, how else he would found himself being attracted to Mycroft Holmes, a man who abused him for months for his own amusement. How much more pathetic he could be? It was laughable really.
He had to move on. Enough was enough. He wanted Mycroft gone, from his life, from his mind. He wanted to be free from his hold. And he was prepared to do anything.
Gregory was being roughly pushed against a wall. He was vaguely aware that he was somewhere at the back alley of the pub. He was being made to go down on his knees. A zipper was pulled down. Soon he found himself with a mouthful of cock, and he had no idea how he even got there.
Not that he cared. With alcohol racing through his vein, everything was a beautiful haze. The hand on his head pulled on his hair roughly. He was being held in place. He could do nothing but taking the brutal thrusts. For a moment, all he could hear was the groans and moans of another man; all he could taste was the bitter taste of precum between his lips. His mind was mercifully free of Mycroft and his own shame. Everything was simple and familiar.
It was everything that he had wanted.
TBC