Chapter 14
'Sherlock still hasn't shown up', John texted Mary at half past seven.
'I'm sure he'll be there. He wouldn't stand you up like that.'
'I know… Just getting a little worried.'
John tapped his phone on the table a few times. If Sherlock still hadn't shown up at eight, he'd go home to Mary. His patience wasn't endless. When Sherlock would finally arrive at the restaurant he'd probably somehow make it about John just not waiting long enough, but he could handle that. Though he would still prefer it if Sherlock walked in right now. He had been looking forward to this evening rather a lot. After having heard Mary talk about Moran's films he appreciated even more how important it was that Sherlock had avoided working with him. Not only to be able to shoot the swimming pool film, but for his own health. That it would piss off Moriarty was only a happy side effect. Yet John still hoped Sherlock's boss wouldn't somehow thwart his project. If he had once injured another actor just to keep Sherlock to himself…
John frowned. Surely Sherlock hadn't had to do Moriarty's film with the inconclusive test results. That would cause Jim endless problems with insurance and cost him a lot of money if people sued him. But John hadn't heard from Sherlock since early in the morning.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had shoved his chair back and gotten to his feet.
"Is something wrong?" Angelo asked, turning his back on the two young women he was serving.
John shrugged, already on his way out. "I'd better go find out."
"Let me know!" Angelo called after him.
Outside, John looked around to make sure Sherlock wasn't anywhere to be seen before he hailed a cab. It wasn't difficult to find the large house after telling the driver what area to go to. By the time he got out of the taxi, he had gotten himself all too worked up. Part of his brain just couldn't believe that someone who was running a company like GOFFT would actually force Sherlock into doing a film under these circumstances. But if it meant Jim could have his revenge for whatever Sherlock had ever done to him…
Impatiently, John thrust some money at the cabbie and then ran to the mansion's front door. Locked. He cursed and the feeling that something was very wrong only increased as he rushed towards the back door, where he and Sherlock had entered on the night of their first kiss. For just a moment, the panic in his mind gave way to embarrassment about the way he had accused the actor of seducing him. Then he was inside, crossing the kitchen and descending the stairs to the swimming pool. Only when he was looking into the spacious basement room did he realise that of course Sherlock would not be there. Moran's film wouldn't take place by a pool. So if they were filming, it had to be somewhere else in the mansion.
John lost track of how many doors he tried, but surely he had passed too many rooms to fit even in this giant building. Finally he made it to the first floor, and after forcefully pushing open a third door he stopped dead. The room was dark, as the windows were covered and the dark walls did not reflect any of the light John let in. Yet he could make out someone sitting on the large bed, a little slumped, their back to John. The walls were lined with racks filled with strange objects - he thought he recognised a large whip and a couple of daggers - but he didn't take the time to further investigate them before he cleared his throat.
Slowly the man turned his head and his dark eyes fixed on John's. "You..." James Moriarty hissed. "Have you come to gloat? Did he send you? I wouldn't have thought he'd sink that low."
"Gloat?" For a moment John was puzzled. Had he been wrong? Did Moriarty really not know why he was here? But no. He was just trying to throw him off. "Where is he?" John demanded.
Moriarty glared at him. "How should I know?"
"Well, you're the one making him film..." Yet Moriarty really looked like he didn't know what John was talking about.
"You know damn well he's not filming." Moriarty jumped off the bed with almost cat-like grace and walked slowly towards John. "You're the one who took the bloody test..." He cocked his head, studying John. "Did you contaminate it for him? Or just change the report from the lab?"
"He's... not filming?" John repeated slowly. "But... then why didn't he show up?"
Suddenly Moriarty's expression changed. His scowl slowly faded away into a smile that would have seemed happy if it wasn't for the manic look in his eyes. "Oh... So he's dumped you too? Got what he wanted from you? He's a clever boy, isn't he? At first, I thought you were just some fun. Or that he was hoping to make me jealous. But oh no... He had something very specific in mind for you. How did he repay you for faking his test? Did he let you fuck him? Or did he fuck you? Play one of his characters for you? Tell me... How much does the good Doctor Watson cost?"
John rolled his eyes. "I don't know what exactly happened between you two, but I don't think our situations are comparable. If he's not here, I'd better go look for him elsewhere."
"You're right..." Moriarty moved even closer, his smile starting to look like a snarl. "You don't know shit about what happened between us... What that man is capable of. You've fooled yourself into thinking you know him. Believing that he loves you." He huffed, spun around and began pacing the room.
John sighed. "Well, that's my problem, isn't it? Right now I'm just worried something happened to him. But at least you didn't happen."
This earned a snort from Moriarty. "Sherlock is not that important. Do you know how much it would cost me to go through with a shoot when one of my actors hasn't been cleared? The insurance company would close down my entire business before they were through with me." Then he frowned. "How long has he been missing?"
"Well... About an hour," John said a little awkwardly. "But I haven't heard from him since this morning. And his phone was switched off, which seems... weird. Considering."
"Yes..." All the manic energy seemed to have left him as Moriarty got out his own phone. "It does seem suspicious."
John blinked in surprise. He had expected that Moriarty would mock him about getting worried and continue to tell him what a bastard Sherlock was.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Moriarty glowered at his phone as the display lit up. "I'm going to kill that moron..."
John raised his eyebrows. "Can't let you do that," he said coldly.
"Not Sherlock, you imbecile…" Moriarty huffed, pushing his way past John, heading for the door.
John frowned. "Then who? Is this something to do with Sherlock?"
"Hopefully not," Moriarty said, pausing a moment. "Look, this does not concern you. Just go home. I'm sure Sherlock will turn up eventually. If he needs you."
"'Hopefully' not?" John repeated, his suspicion once again rising. "So there is a chance?"
Moriarty groaned. "No. Never mind. Forget I said anything." He turned his back on John and left the room, almost at a run.
John followed him immediately. "You know something. About Sherlock. Out with it."
"I don't know anything and even if I told you my suspicion, it wouldn't do you any good." Moriarty took the stairs three steps at a time.
"Stop wasting my fucking time and tell me!" John roared, grabbing the man's arm to stop him.
Moriarty slid down two steps before coming to a halt. "Moran!" he cried, his eyes flashing dangerously. "He might just be stupid enough to…. to try something…"
"No." John winced. "Can you contact him? Stop him?"
"I just tried, didn't I?" Moriarty spat. "His fucking phone is turned off."
"Where is he?"
"That's what I'm going to find out," Moriarty tore his arm away from John's grip. "If you would let me get on with it."
"I'm coming with you," John announced.
"No, you're not!" Moriarty was off again, taking the last handful of steps in one long leap.
"Don't be ridiculous!" John shouted after him. "What if Sherlock needs medical care? Are you going to wait for a fucking ambulance while you can have a doctor by your side?"
Skidding to a halt, Moriarty looked back at him. "Fine," he hissed. "Don't just stand there then." And with that he was out the large front door.
John was still struggling with his seatbelt as Moriarty practically sent his car flying out the gate.
"Why is Moran doing this?" he asked as the belt finally clicked shut. "Does he also bear some kind of personal grudge against Sherlock?"
"He is frustratingly loyal. And not very bright. It makes for a good assistant but can be catastrophic if he tries thinking for himself." Moriarty sighed. "Since Sherlock gave me the news about the supposedly inconclusive results I have been… verbal… about my displeasure with the situation. My frustration with Sherlock's cleverness. He has tried to thwart me before, but I've always been able to stop him. Except this time he had you in his corner, didn't he?"
"Yes," John said, feeling strangely proud for just a moment. "But… You're saying that while you can't keep him from doing his project… Moran will?"
"He'll try… Probably…" Moriarty kept his eyes on the road but was grinding his teeth so hard John could actually hear it.
"That's probably going to be worse than what you had in mind for him… right?" John suppressed a shudder.
"I seriously doubt that." Moriarty's smile at this moment was one of the most terrifying things John had ever seen. "But whereas I had a perfectly legal project in mind, which he was contractually obliged to participate in, Moran's plans for Sherlock cannot help but be of… questionable legality…"
John stared at him in shock. "Really? That's all you care about? That it's illegal?"
"Of course. I don't want my man in prison, do I? He may be an idiot, but he's my idiot." Jim giggled maniacally. "And besides… It would be very very bad for business."
John shook his head. "You've never cared for Sherlock, have you? All those stories about you being in love with him… You don't even care when some brute is having his way with him."
"Shut your fucking trap!" Moriarty cried.
"Mind the road," John said, clearing his throat.
"You don't know shit about what happened between Sherlock and me," Moriarty growled. "What that bastard did to me."
"I don't. But nothing can justify the way you have been controlling him all these years," John said, holding on to the car door and wondering if Jim should actually be driving in his current state of mind.
"I only did what he did to me," Moriarty said, his scowl giving way to a sinister smirk. "I'm just better at it. And less cruel."
"Less cruel?" John scoffed.
"I have been completely open about it from the start." Moriarty giggled. "We even have a signed contract. I would never stoop to his kind of manipulation. Playing with people like that."
"What did he do?" John demanded.
"He hasn't told you? How he tricked me? I'd have thought he'd be eager to brag about his greatest role."
"He hasn't talked much about you at all," John said, frowning a little.
Moriarty flinched as if John had actually struck him. "No... " he muttered. "I guess he wouldn't talk about that… to you…"
"I've only heard that you were close once," John said. "But not from Sherlock. I thought he… you know. Regretted some things that had happened. That that was why he wouldn't talk about it."
"I doubt he's capable of regret," Moriarty huffed. "But it's true. We were close. Or so I thought. I thought that what we had, both personally and professionally, was something special. Exclusive… But Sherlock didn't see it quite that way."
"He cheated on you?" John guessed.
"He was going to," Moriarty muttered. "And he didn't even tell me before they were getting ready to film…"
Phillip, John realised. Moriarty was actually talking about the film project Sherlock had been offered. The one that was cancelled because of that dubious accident... "If it was for a film, Sherlock probably didn't actually have feelings for that other actor," he commented. "Does that even count as cheating?"
"I'd only ever worked with him." Moriarty sighed. "I only wanted to work with him. And the way he'd been going on about it, I really thought he felt the same. Guess I learned my lesson. And things would have been fine if Sherlock hadn't…"
"Hadn't?"
"I told him it was over. That I too wanted to pursue other projects. That we should just forget about the one we had been planning. It was targeted at too narrow an audience anyway. It would never earn Angelo back the money he'd been spending on it." He shook his head. "That man was always an idiot. Letting Sherlock drive his business into the ground..."
"I thought he earned him a lot of money," John argued, frowning. "That's what Angelo told me, anyway."
"He'd have earned ten times that if he had tamed Sherlock. Made him do commercially viable films instead of that touchy feely crap he was churning out."
"But you did do the next project. So Sherlock somehow convinced you."
"He must have been really desperate… Desperate enough to play that one card he'd been keeping back until then. Dangling in front of me, yes, but always out of reach…" Moriarty's voice became hard as ice.
John was getting rather tired of his cryptic, drama-heightening remarks. "What? Did he ask you to marry him?"
"Don't be daft…" Moriarty's laugh sounded anything but amused. "He seduced me, didn't he? Shagged my brains out."
"Oh," John said, understanding that it must have been the first time without cameras around. Of course Jim would have thought it meant they were together. Wanting to work with him again, Sherlock wouldn't have communicated anything else.
"All the time we were writing, planning and shooting that cursed film, we were lovers. Going at it every chance we got. I was… happy…" Jim practically snarled that last word.
"So that evening after you filmed the fight… he ended it?" John said quietly.
"Of course not. He's not stupid. I'm sure he was planning to. But not until after we'd finished the film."
"But something happened that night," John insisted.
"Yeah. I… I asked him to move in with me. He tried to string me along, but… By then I knew him well enough to see through it. So I came right out and asked him. How he really felt about me. He must have realised that I would know if he lied so he…" Moriarty sighed. "He just got up and left. I guess that was all the answer I needed."
John studied him for a moment, thinking. In the short time he had known Sherlock, it had become all too clear that the actor didn't find it easy to talk about his feelings. Yet at the same time, he had found no qualms about flirting with Molly just to get what he wanted. Would he go further than that just as easily, or had he had real feelings for Jim? There was no way for John to know.
"Did you ever try to talk to him after that?" he asked.
"I never got the chance. Next day he made damn sure we didn't get two seconds alone. Ignored me completely. I wanted to kill him. Which... worked out very well for the scene we were doing, don't you think?"
Moriarty stopped the car in front of a row of dingy looking apartment blocks.
John huffed and got out of the car. "Let's just find them."
Jim nodded. "Let me go in first," he said. "If he really has got Sherlock there, I need to get the situation under control. If not... Well, then he doesn't have to know you were ever here."
"Fine." John didn't like to trust Moriarty in this, but the man was probably right, and at least he knew where to go to find them.
He followed Moriarty into the nearest building, where they took the stairs at a run. The climb felt endless as John tried to focus on the steps in front of him rather than wondering what could be happening to Sherlock right now.
Finally he almost bumped into Moriarty, who gestured that John should wait in the corridor as he turned towards one of the white doors.
John nodded silently and watched Moriarty getting out a key to let himself in, leaving the door open behind him.
For a few seconds it was quiet, and John actually allowed himself to exhale. Then a scream sounded.
"Sebastian! You twat! What were you thinking!"
"Jesus, no…" John closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and burst through in. Moriarty was standing in the door leading out of the small living room, blocking his view at first, but John pushed him aside. First he saw the blond man, the colonel, standing right next to the bed, looking sheepish. He was shirtless, but thankfully still wearing his trousers. In one hand he was holding a small knife, in the other a heavy rope, and John saw a collection of clamps, whips and needles lying by his feet.
Finally he managed to drag his gaze to the bed. Sherlock was naked, looking pale and limp. He had been handcuffed to the headboard and blinked all too slowly as he moved his head a little, but there was no sign of recognition as his eyes settled on John.
"God, no," John whispered.
"Don't be so dramatic, boss," Moran was saying, his voice somewhere far away. "I was just making sure he can't do that stupid film of his. Seems only fair, right? And I'm making you a little present too." From the corner of his eye, John saw him gesture, and for a moment he broke eye contact with Sherlock to watch over his shoulder and spot a camera set up in the corner. When he looked back, Sherlock had closed his eyes.
"What have you done to him?" John burst out, moving closer to put a hand on Sherlock's cheek.
"I drugged him, of course," Moran said, rolling his eyes. "He was struggling far too much and there's only one person who gets to bite me." He glanced at Moriarty, but the shorter man was trembling with rage.
"You're filming this?" Moriarty roared, looking like he might just attack the larger man.
"Of course I'm bloody filming this!" Moran said. "Serves him right to know that we can watch this over and over. That he lost his little game."
"Shut up!" John shouted. "Sherlock? Look at me."
"You're providing him with evidence, you imbecile… Including the very detailed confession you just provided of how you drugged him so you could subdue him before you… well…" Moriarty made an angry, frustrated gesture at Sherlock. "This!"
"I wasn't going to show it to anyone but you, was I?" Moran retorted. "And I've barely even touched him. I was only just getting started."
"And what, exactly, were you planning on doing afterwards? Let him go? Or maybe give him a ride down to the hospital so they could photograph him, test him and call the police for him?" Moriarty still looked murderous, but with a hint of desperation that, if possible, made him look even more dangerous.
"I wouldn't go so far that he needed a hospital," Moran spat. "I know my limits. He wouldn't even really need stitches."
John looked up at him in shock. "You're a monster. I hope you don't think you'll ever work again when we're finished with you."
For the first time since they'd entered the room, Moriarty took his eyes off his partner and turned to look at John, his eyes narrowing. "No… Don't do that. I… I won't let you."
John raised his eyebrows. "How are you going to stop me? As you said, I've got plenty of proof." He gestured at Sherlock, who still hadn't made any response to him, though, as far as John could tell after a quick check, his heart rate and breathing were normal.
"I'm sure we can come to some arrangement," Moriarty said, brushing the sleeves of his suit as if trying to compose himself. "Like… We won't tell your pretty little wife what you've been getting up to with my actor and you won't tell anyone what happened here tonight. After all, no harm was done. Not really…"
John snorted. "I really don't care if you tell Mary. She already knows more than you do. Your boyfriend has gone too far, Jim, and I'm not going to leave that be."
Sherlock coughed. "Con…" he muttered.
"Sherlock!" John turned to look at him and took his hand. "Sherlock, are you alright?"
"Con… tract…" Sherlock muttered. "Get out of… contract…"
Moriarty stamped his foot. "No!" he yelled. "No way!"
John stared at Sherlock, surprised and at the same time very relieved that his mind seemed to be clearing.
"Boss…" Moran said carefully. "Look, I have messed up. And if that's all he wants in return for keeping the police out of this…"
"No!" Moriarty huffed. "Do you have any idea what he's worth to me? His films take in over half of our profits."
"He's leaving the company anyway," John said, still holding Sherlock's hand and feeling a little conflicted. He didn't want Moran to walk free after this, but if Sherlock preferred it this way… Ultimately it was his choice, not John's, that mattered.
"I'm sure you'll earn it back if you start doing more films again yourself," Moran said, stepping a little closer to Moriarty. "If not all, then still enough."
Moriarty hesitated. He looked around the room at the various objects Moran had laid out to use on Sherlock. Then he glanced up at the camera. "It's been so long…" he said. "I'll need to get in shape… Practise…"
"You know I'm glad to help you with that…" Moran said.
"Good," Moriarty said, reaching out and patting his cheek. "Then I'm sure you won't mind releasing Sherlock. And taking his place."
John cleared his throat. "Better help me get Sherlock out of here before I change my mind," he said pointedly. "I don't care what you get up to afterwards."
…
At first John didn't like the idea of letting Moran touch Sherlock, but it was clear that Sherlock was still too fuzzy-headed to walk and he was too heavy for John to carry him down all those stairs. John had no choice but to let the tall man help him after he had covered Sherlock with a blanket - it turned out that rather than simply taking off his suit, Moran had taken his time to cut it into ribbons. He was, however, very gentle as he supported Sherlock, even crouching a little so he wouldn't be too unbalanced with John on the other side. He waited until John had found a cab and then helped Sherlock inside - but John couldn't get the words "thank you" over his lips. He wasn't going to forgive him any time soon.
Moran gave him a short nod and went back inside, looking rather grim at the prospect of what would happen in there, while John settled next to Sherlock in the cab, thinking that at least Moran would receive some kind of punishment. But then Sherlock reached for him, his movements slow and weak, and John's full focus was on the actor in his arms. Perhaps it was for the best that he hadn't quite woken up from the daze yet. That he couldn't fully feel the humiliation and the anger that would no doubt follow. If only John had asked to meet a little earlier… But there was no way he could have known this would happen. Or where Moran had found Sherlock. He must have sedated him right away, or else Sherlock wouldn't have come with him. Unless Moran had used some kind of ruse, but he hardly seemed to have the brains for that. John decided to ask Sherlock later, when he was sure he could handle talking about it.
Only as the taxi passed through some familiar streets did John realise that in his haste he had told the driver his own address rather than Sherlock's. But from the way Sherlock was still leaning on him, it was obvious that he'd better not be left alone. Surely Mary would understand that he wanted to keep an eye on him for the night, and if not, he could still bring him home once it looked like Sherlock wouldn't pass out halfway up the stairs to his flat in Baker Street.
Sherlock was more alert by now, yet it was still a struggle to drag him out of the cab and support his weight at the same time. Before they had made it halfway to the door, it was flung open.
Mary's expression changed from confused over delighted to horrified as she took in the sight. "Sherlock..." she gasped, rushing out to help support him. "John... What happened?"
"Moran…" John said, grateful that not all of Sherlock's weight was resting on his bad shoulder anymore. "Let's just get him inside. Then I'll tell you everything."
Mary nodded and together they managed to get Sherlock inside. "Do you need anything?" she asked John as they got him settled on the sofa.
"I'm not sure," John said. "I'll need to have a look, but I think I was just in time that no real physical damage was done." He bit his lip. "Maybe get him a glass of water."
"You got it," Mary said, hurrying off. A moment later she returned with the water.
While John checked Sherlock's body for bruises and cuts, he explained to Mary how he had found Sherlock.
"That bastard," Mary muttered, as she watched Sherlock just sit there, as if none of it concerned him. "Do you know what he gave him?"
"He injected a sedative," John said, showing her a small needle mark on Sherlock's arm. "Something fast-working. In a pretty high dose. He's recovering relatively quickly, but… Damn that bastard. I wish I'd punched him. Seeing Sherlock like this is just so wrong."
Sherlock gasped at John's outburst and blinked rapidly.
"Oh... It's okay," Mary said, stroking his cheek gently, looking as if she was fighting back tears. "It's over. You're safe with us."
Sherlock tried focusing on her and Mary smiled. "Hi," she whispered.
"We'd better get him to bed," John said flatly, suddenly noticing he was trembling. "I mean…" He hesitated and looked up at Mary. "We can't just send him home like this, can we? And the sofa's too short for him…"
Mary nodded, still smiling. "That sounds like a good idea." She took Sherlock's hand. "Can you stand up, honey?"
John put the blanket back around Sherlock, then let him lean on his shoulder to get him to his feet. "Easy now," he said. "We're just going to let you sleep this off. You can shower later, okay?"
Sherlock managed a nod. "Thank you," he muttered. "Both..."
Mary put an arm around him and together they walked slowly to the bedroom.
Once there, Sherlock managed to sit down on the mattress without support and John helped him into a pair of old pyjama trousers while Mary made a point of looking away.
"Is there anything you need?" he asked Sherlock, guiding him to the middle of the bed so there was less risk that he'd fall out.
Sherlock muttered something into the pillow.
"Sorry? What was that?" Mary asked, but Sherlock didn't answer as he was already fast asleep. She turned to John. "That poor thing. Imagine what would have happened if you hadn't found him in time..."
"I'd rather not," John said, swallowing with difficulty. "It's a good thing Moriarty knew where to look for him." He straightened and pulled the covers over Sherlock, then walked over to Mary. "Thank you. For letting him stay here."
"What did you expect?" Mary said, wrapping her arms around him. "That I'd kick him out as soon as you'd patched him up?" She looked over at Sherlock. "I just wish I had thought of this before. I mean... not like this, but... You bringing him here."
John smiled a little and kissed her cheek. "I really don't want to leave him alone," he admitted quietly. "The drugs can make him queasy and I just… I want to see for myself that he's safe."
"Me too," Mary whispered. She giggled. "So I guess we... join him?"
John bit his lip. "Do you think that's alright with him?"
She looked over at Sherlock. "I hope so. I mean, he didn't mind us helping him in here or you dressing him. And he is in our bed. I suppose I... I could go sleep on the sofa..."
"Don't be silly," John said, smiling at her. "There's enough room for the three of us."
Silently, although Sherlock looked like even an explosion wouldn't wake him, they got ready for bed. John lifted the covers very carefully as he got in, but as he lay down, Sherlock stirred and turned onto his side.
"Ssh. It's just me. And Mary will be here in a moment," John whispered.
Sherlock let out a sort of muffled grunt and flung an arm around John, pulling him close.
Mary giggled softly as she settled behind Sherlock. "I don't think he minds," she whispered.
John let out a silent laugh and hugged Sherlock, revelling in his warmth and scent. Of course he had imagined their first night of sleep together to happen under quite different circumstances, but this was nice. Sherlock was going to be alright and having Mary here as well was more than he could have dreamed of.
He lifted his head a little to look at her and smiled. Mary had snuggled close to Sherlock, spooning him with an arm around his waist. Sherlock seemed perfectly comfortable like that. Safe. Mary looked up and returned John's smile. As John let his head rest on the pillow again, he finally let relief about Sherlock's safety take over and closed his eyes.
And now there's only the epilogue, which we will publish tomorrow :)