Chapter 14
Warning: mentions of torture and rape.
The first sound Sherlock heard was a giggle somewhere to his right. Immediately after, something blunt poked hard between his ribs and made him twitch. It felt bruised, as if the same had happened a few times before.
"Wakey wakey," a voice said, lower than the one that had giggled. "You're no fun like this, Sherly." The finger stabbed him again.
Sherlock grunted, trying to figure out what was up. His eyes were hurting, so he'd rather not open them to what seemed to be fairly bright light.
He was uncomfortable. He must have fallen asleep on the sofa again. "Leave me alone," he muttered. Why was John bothering him? He was always going on about him needing to rest. Well, now he was resting, so John ought to leave him to it.
"Leave you alone?" the familiar, low voice said, way too close to his ear. "That's not what you said last time. When you were falling asleep on me."
"Huh?" That last statement did not make sense. After a brief internal struggle, Sherlock managed to force one eye open. A moment later he was wide awake. "You... What...?" he shrieked, scrambling to get up.
Moran chuckled. "Dear James didn't tell you I'd come too, then." He reached out his hand and took James' arm, pulling him closer.
Sherlock stared at James. "What?" he said again, his brain struggling to clear itself of a fog that could only be chemically induced. "But... You no longer work for him. You... You weren't lying..." This couldn't be right. No one could lie to him. Not for that long or about something so big. Especially not sweet, bright, naive James...
Who did not look quite as sweet when he smiled at Sherlock. "No, I did not lie," he said. "In fact, I never worked for Sebby."
Moran shook his head and placed a possessive arm around James' waist, looking down on him. "That would be the world turned upside down."
Upside down? So James was not working for... Sherlock gasped with a realisation that quickly turned into panic. "No..." he whispered. "You can't be..."
James grinned and bowed. "James Moriarty," he said. "Hi..." He giggled. "Friends call me Jim, but I'm not sure you qualify."
James leaned on Moran, resting his head on the taller man's shoulder. Everything about this seemed so wrong to Sherlock. And yet... It seemed to make a sick kind of sense.
"He sure doesn't qualify as my friend," Moran said. "Lying to me, being a bad fuck and then touching what is mine?" He glared at Sherlock, then forced Moriarty's chin up and gave him a rough kiss.
James clearly didn't object to the kiss nor the possessive attitude.
But Sherlock had already known that Moran's relationship with his boss was not just professional. And yet, never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that the man behind those cuts and bruises could have been James.
His James with the soft kisses and gentle eyes.
Moran looked back at Sherlock. "Problem? You never shut up when you lived with me, but now you're sitting there like a fish on dry land."
Sherlock tried for a wry smile. "What's there to say? You've fooled me. Completely. And now you've got me. I suppose you want to finish the job, kill me."
James giggled. "Oh no... Dear. Not just yet. I've promised Sebastian he could have his fun first."
"He's just being boring," Moran sighed, brushing his lips against Moriarty's hair. "I don't know how you managed to keep up the act for so long."
James smiled and turned his head to look up at him. "I just thought of you, Tiger. And all the wonderful things you'd do when you found out that I'd let Holmes fuck me."
He turned to Sherlock. "You really were a lot hornier than I'd thought you'd be," he said. "I wasn't sure we'd ever get beyond the blowjobs."
"Must have been quite frustrated," Moran shrugged, looking Sherlock up and down while he was placing his comments. "Never let himself enjoy what I did to him. I guess he doesn't fall for tall and muscled."
Sherlock would have loved to be able to make a scathing remark here, but the words made him realise that he had fallen for someone. That he had really cared about James.
A lump formed in his throat and he looked away. He had always suspected that Mycroft was right. But to have it proved to him in such a painful manner... It was almost more than he could bear.
Never again, a small voice whispered inside him. I will never let my emotions get the better of me again.
"Well, since we've all finally been introduced properly, I guess it's time you leave," Moran told Moriarty, before kissing him again. "You've got a plane to catch."
Leave? Sherlock kept his eyes down but listened more intently.
"Yes," James said with a dramatic sigh. "I'll leave you with your new shiny toy. I wonder if you'll even still be interested in little old me when I return."
"You know I'd have you again right now if we had the time," Moran purred. "But fortunately I have your marks to remind me of you." He straightened his shirt, which carried a small red-brown spot at the height of his left nipple.
James groaned and leaned in for a heated kiss. Then he left.
Sherlock did not dare move. Any moment now, Moran would turn his focus on him and the only thing he could be certain of, was that it would be bad. Really bad.
"So. Alone again." Moran's expression already seemed a little darker now his boss had left the room.
"Yes," Sherlock muttered, feeling even more ill at ease as he found himself drifting back into the voice and bearing of Thomas Stevenson when he had been trapped at Moran's flat. It was like he was back. Only, this time things were infinitely worse. This time, Moran knew who he was. And he clearly had no other plans than revenge. Revenge for his months spent in exile and revenge for Sherlock having, unknowingly, slept with his lover.
"I just can't decide what to do with you first," Moran told him. "Of course, my Jim already made a few suggestions, but what should we do first? Do you have anything in mind?"
Sherlock shook his head. Nothing this man would want to do with him seemed like a good idea to him. Except perhaps killing him quickly, and that had already been taken off the table.
"No? Still too sleepy to think much? Then perhaps we should wake you up."
"Or you could put me back to sleep," Sherlock muttered, figuring he probably couldn't make things any worse than they already were.
"Eventually," Moran nodded, walking around the chair Sherlock was tied to, until he was standing behind him. "I'm not going to babysit all the time while Jim is chasing kangaroos."
Sherlock's insides turned to ice. James was going to Australia. There could be only one reason for this. He was going after Jenny Smith. Which meant that... He'd been in on this case the whole time. And he... Oh god... Sherlock groaned. He had let him see Mycroft's secret files. All of them. Jim Moriarty, the worst criminal of them all, and Sherlock had practically handed him his brother on a golden plate.
"So tense?" Moran stroked one fingertip down the back of his neck.
Sherlock shivered and tried to pull away. Why was even the slightest touch from this man so repulsive?
Moran chuckled and flipped his knife open. After he had cut the back of Sherlock's shirt open, he folded the two flaps of fabric aside like wings and studied his back.
"Hmm... Not many scars from last time. That's disappointing. I was looking forward to cutting them all open again, but… I guess I'll just have to make new ones."
Sherlock tensed, flinching at every touch. His instinct was to beg, but he did not want to give the man the pleasure. Right now, his only defence was to try to make Moran grow bored with him so he'd either leave him alone or at least finish the job. Moran got off on fear and pain. Sherlock could do nothing to avoid the pain, but he'd be damned if he showed him any fear.
He heard how Moran sat down on the mattress behind him. Then cold steel slowly stroked a line under his shoulderblade, before the man pressed through and the first small cut was made.
Sherlock could not suppress a hiss of pain as his skin was broken and he felt a thin hot trickle of blood down over his skin. How long would James be gone? A day at least. Maybe more. He wondered what state he'd be in when he returned.
Moran kept making cuts and enjoying Sherlock's reactions for over half an hour, before he finally cleaned the knife and got up. "That's better. Do you want to know what it says?" As he didn't immediately get a reaction, he gave Sherlock an almost friendly slap against his temple. "Hey, Holmes?"
After the first couple of minutes, Sherlock had managed to retreat into his mind palace, only partially feeling what was being done to his body. But now he was drawn out and the pain hit him full force. He gasped. "Why... Why should I care?" he muttered.
Moran shrugged. "Thought you might like to know which message there is on your back. I'll show you anyway." He took his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of his back, then pushed it under Sherlock's nose, almost too close to focus.
'Jim is mine,' big bloody letters said.
Sherlock actually managed a snort. "You do realise that since it's written on me, people might think it means that he is mine, right?"
"Should anyone ever see you again, I guess you're right," Moran nodded. "So shall I clarify it a little?"
Sherlock shrugged. "If it amuses you," he said. "It's not like I'm in a position to stop you, right?"
Moran smirked. "I'm glad you realise. But I'll leave it for later. When the rest has dried. I think I want some variation."
Sherlock sighed. He doubted that he'd like this new 'variety' any better than what Moran had been dishing out so far.
"When was the last time you slept with Jim?" Moran asked.
Sherlock thought back. "Sunday," he said, wondering where this was going.
Moran raised an eyebrow. "That's almost a week. You must be gagging for it."
"Not really," Sherlock said, shrugging in spite of the pain it caused him. "As you may recall, I don't really care for such things."
"As I recall, you are a horny bastard who's had his claws on my boss far too many times." Moran started loosening the rope that tied Sherlock's arms to the back of the chair, holding his hands in an iron grip, and then immediately tied them back together behind his back, but this time free from the chair. He gave Sherlock a hard push between his shoulderblades and he fell forward, his feet still attached to the chair.
Sherlock twisted so that his shoulder would take the impact with the floor rather than his face, but the pain was still enough to make him cry out before he could stop himself.
"It wasn't... many..." he gasped. "Nothing like... what you did with... me..."
"Shut up," Moran hissed. "If I want your pathetic whining, I'll ask for it. And don't even think of moving." He crouched and yanked Sherlock's trousers and pants off his arse with a few quick tugs.
Sherlock stayed in the awkward and humiliating position. When Moran had taken him in the past, he had made an effort to be prepared. This time it was going to hurt real bad. He had not had anything inside him since he had escaped from Moran and that was many months ago.
Desperately, he tried to use all his willpower and concentration to force his muscles to relax. To loosen enough that there, at least, wouldn't be any damage.
...
When Moran was finished with Sherlock, he secured him back on the chair, not bothering to pull up Sherlock's trousers, his ruined shirt taken away, and the rope painfully tight around his wrists. He walked away from Sherlock, and a few moments later the detective heard him turn on the water in the shower.
Sherlock shifted a little in the chair, but could not find any position that wasn't painful. He kept his eyes focused, trying to withdraw again, and finally managed to drift away into a state that was not quite sleep but the best he could hope for under the circumstances.
It was quite a while before he heard Moran moving around the bed again, but he didn't touch Sherlock. Then he heard the bed creak slightly as Moran sat down on it, picked up the phone on the nightstand and ordered room service. Sherlock listened intently, trying to get as much information he could from the brief conversation.
Once Moran had put down the phone, he got up from the bed again and walked towards Sherlock.
Sherlock tensed slightly, but did not move. Feigning sleep probably wouldn't make a difference, but he might as well give it a shot.
Moran snorted and pushed lightly against his shoulder.
"Go away," Sherlock muttered.
Moran chuckled. "Not pretending to sleep anymore, then?" He pushed a little harder this time.
Sherlock sighed. "No," he said. "So you can stop that."
"Nah," Moran said. "I have to move you, anyway."
"Move me?" Sherlock looked up at him. "Move me where?"
"Just the bathroom," Moran shrugged. "In case you're thinking of being clever when they bring my dinner. Shame you're not as skinny as you used to be when you were on the coke." He turned the chair Sherlock was sitting on, tilted it backwards and dragged it with him, leaving him next to the shower.
Sherlock smiled a little at those words. John had actually remarked on his change in appearance too. But he thought his weight gain was a good thing.
"Could you at least untie me then, so I could use the toilet? Maybe have a shower?" he asked. "I mean, it's not like I can get out of here with you right on the other side of the door."
Moran looked amused. "No." He turned on the shower, then took a scarf and bound it in front of Sherlock's mouth. It smelled of James - of Moriarty. "There. Now with any sounds you make, they can only think you're singing in the shower. I'll come find you when they're gone. Don't let the spattering water get to your bladder." He moved out and shut the door behind him.
Sherlock tried to distract himself from the sound, but now that Moran had mentioned it, he could not shut it out. He tried calling out, but could only mutter through the gag.
It was almost half an hour later when he could finally hear voices in the room, and Moran chuckling. Another five minutes later, the bathroom door finally opened. "Come, you can watch me eat!" Moran said.
"Unless you want to watch me urinate while you eat," Sherlock said with a strained smile, "I suggest you let me use the toilet first."
Moran sighed. "Do you have to be so disgusting?" He grabbed the chair and tilted Sherlock over the toilet.
Sherlock snorted painfully. "If you don't want me to be disgusting on your feet, you better give me a hand."
"Oh, so now you want me to touch your cock?" Moran chuckled. "Jim really made you needy, gee. Better hurry up, my food is getting cold."
Once Sherlock had done his business, Moran actually did the effort of pulling up his trousers and then dragged him along. Sherlock's back hurt like hell when Moran moved him, but he bit back any sounds of discomfort.
"Are you going to give me any food?" he asked.
"Are you hungry?" Moran asked.
"Not particularly," Sherlock said, truthfully. "But if you plan on keeping me alive for long, I'll need some kind of nourishment. And definitely some fluids."
"Oh, you can have some water. And perhaps a leftover, but I'm hungry, so I wouldn't count on it." Moran sat down and took the cover off the plate.
Sherlock nodded. As long as Moran was eating, he wasn't hurting him, so that was good.
…
Sherlock spluttered and coughed. "You really get off on all this sadistic stuff, don't you?" he asked when he was able to breathe again.
"What?" Moran asked. "I thought you were thirsty. You should have swallowed faster." Again, he tilted the glass of water against Sherlock's lips.
Sherlock waited until he could speak again. "You know what I mean," he said. "Causing pain and fear. You love it. Embarrassment too, maybe. Or do you prefer being the one who is humiliated?"
Moran snorted and put down the glass. "Good luck trying to humiliate me from your position. Or from any position. I know which one of us is the pathetic one."
Sherlock smiled. "Oh, that's not my thing anyway. I was thinking of James. You let him slap you around and even cut you up. Even though you could easily snap him in two, so you must really like it."
"And how's that any of your business?" Moran asked, raising an eyebrow. "Trying to find out how you can win your James back?"
Sherlock laughed. "I wouldn't touch him now. I'm just trying to figure it out. Why he beats you up, but with me he was meek and gentle as a... kitten. I mean, I just had to scratch him behind the ear and he'd go down on me."
Moran slapped him with the back of his hand. "Don't you call him that," he hissed.
Sherlock grinned. "Oh right... That's your special name for him, isn't it? Does he purr for you too? When he's face down for a long lazy fuck." Then Sherlock made an exaggerated frown. "Oh no, you probably don't do that. It's all about pain and thrills with you two, isn't it?"
Moran kicked over the chair, making Sherlock fall hard on his back. "Shut up."
Sherlock cried out in surprise. "Damn it. I'm not into all that shit," he spat. "Save it for... Jim..."
Moran kicked his ribs. "Shut - the fuck - up."
Sherlock did as he was told. For almost two minutes. "Do you like it?" he asked, softly. "Because there was a time... when you and I were... living together. I got the feeling that you were angry over the things he did to you."
Moran rolled his eyes, then looked down at Sherlock. "I was only angry about having a brat like you around me all the time. And I'm beginning to see why. You really didn't learn, did you?"
Sherlock chuckled. It was pretty painful and he suspected he had a broken rib.
"That depends," he said. "What were you trying to teach me?"