Notes. Trigger warning! If torture triggers something for you, you should stay away from this chaper.
I said part two would be darker than part 1. I wasn't kidding. And I am a bit sorry for the next few chapers. Thanks to the best betas in the world, GoSherlocked, Katzedecimal and Grizzy.
We are left alone for what seems to be a long time. (I grow hungry and stiff, so I guess that more than five hours pass, but I am still not sure.) Enough time to think about a way out. Well, we are stuck in a (cellar?) room that is empty except for John's chair. No window, only one door. There are hooks all over the wall and ceiling, strong enough to carry a human being. Some are embedded into the ground, like the four that I am tied to.
It soon becomes obvious that the only way out is through the door. And the only way to reach the door is to overpower Mary somehow when one of us is free. Maybe when she changes our positions, or when she plays one of the games she surely has in mind.
John seems to be lost in thought as well. He scans the room, thinks about an escape plan (obviously) and finds time to smile at me reassuringly. I do my best to smile back, even though I still have to admit that our options are limited.
After some time he asks, "You know that we will make it out of here, don't you?"
I nod, and his face relaxes a bit.
"We will not be able to talk about a plan," John goes on, "She is surely monitoring everything I say."
I nod again and then shrug. Never mind that. John and I are so harmonised that we will understand each other without needing to talk. Our eyes meet and I can read John like an open book. He is scared but more for my safety than for his. His arms hurt from being tied to the chair. He is tired, probably even hungry. He is pretending to be more confident than he really is so I would feel safe.
I try to play along by pretending to be confident as well. I hope that he cannot read my doubt.
When Mary finally comes back, she is followed by a huge man. (Older than her, had sex with her at least three times, killed five or more people, been to prison at least twice, one parent from Russia, has no scruples about inflicting pain. Fancies men as much as women, or so his approving glances at John and me tells me. I try not to shiver under his stare.) He carries a whip that he places next to the door.
John notices the man's stare as well. I can tell by his body tension that his fear for my well-being increases.
"May I introduce you to Big Boy," she smiles and Big Boy grunts. (Apparently not allowed to speak. Not an ally then. A minion.)
"Big Boy has promised to help me with handling you guys," she explains. Then she nods at him and he starts immediately untying John from his chair. (This tells me that she has planned it, informed him of what to expect. Meaning: She is acting controlled, not simply following her gut. That could be good for us.)
Big Boy chains John to one of the hooks on the wall, his back to the wall. Then Mary steps in front of him and pets his cheek. "Don't worry, love," she says, "If Sherlock manages to be quiet, nothing will happen to you."
Then she turns to me. She looks at me for a long time. "Well," she finally says, "I must admit that I'm impressed. Never thought you could really shut up for so long." There is something feral in her smile when she goes on, "Let's find out how good you really are."
She nods to Big Boy, who unchains me quickly. Then he pulls me to my knees and holds me in place. (And he enjoys touching my body just a little bit too much.) Mary steps in front of me and takes a little black object out of her pocket. A taser.
"This is how it goes," she explains. "You and I will have a little fun with this thing here."
To demonstrate what she means she presses it against my abdomen and -
it feels like all muscles in my body cramp at once I am vaguely aware that I am falling to the ground as pain rushes through my body but I will not scream I will not scream I will not -
Then she pulls the taser away and the cramps stop instantly. Triumphantly I notice that I didn't make a sound. Mary smiles at me, which is even more chilling than Big Boy's longing glance.
"See, Sherlock," she says, "I will stop as soon as you feel like it's enough. All you have to do is tell me to stop."
Which I won't. Because the moment that I tell her, she will have a reason to punish John. What a clever plot.
She smiles even wider now. "You really think you will remain silent for ever, don't you?"
Yes, I do. But without waiting for my answer she pushes the taser into my flank again and -
it hurts and hurts and goes on and on and my legs cramp and my arms and my neck and it hurts and hurts and my head hits the floor three times four five but I will not scream I will not scream -
Afterwards I remain on the floor, panting. When I can control my body again I raise my head to look at John. He looks like he is sick. His head is shaking in disbelief and there is an expression in his eyes I have seen very rarely. Pain and hatred. A fearful mix of emotions.
Seeing that hurts me more than the taser.
Mary does not realise that the hatred is directed at her. She is still smiling, clearly enjoying her own clever plot.
I get only a short break. Once my breathing has returned to normal, Mary kneels down next to me. She grabs my hair and pulls my head up until I am forced to look into her face. "Do you want me to stop, dear?" she asks and waits for a response. She won't be getting one.
After a few seconds she shrugs and uses the taser again.
And again.
And again.
Every time my body needs longer to recover. Every time I refuse to tell her to stop. After a while I lose track of how often I have been sent into agony. I am only vaguely aware of her asking me to tell her to stop again and again. At a certain point John's voice chimes in, begging her to stop, telling her she's killing me.
That might be true. I start getting dizzy. My heart is far from beating regularly. I am so exhausted that I no longer raise my head. Would she really kill me? Most likely. Would it be worth not talking? No. John would be forced to watch me die and whatever Mary could do to punish him for my talking, he would never consider it worse than watching me die (again).
So when I am sure that I will not last much longer I finally give her what she wants. "Stop," I say, my voice hoarse, "Please stop."
The gleam in her eyes tells me that she enjoys her victory. Then something bitter shows on her features as well. Honest anger because I force her to hurt John. (Damn, she is even more insane than I thought.)
"See what happens when you talk," she shouts at me and Big Boy lifts me so I have to watch.
Mary reaches for the whip. Places herself next to John and hesitates. Then it seems like she has brought herself to do what is necessary. Her body tension shows nothing but determination when she swings the whip. The sound it makes when it hits John's bare skin will most likely stay in my mind for ever.
I watch him swallowing a moan. Then the whip hits him again and he closes his eyes. The whip hits him again and he draws in a pained breath. He opens his eyes and looks at me. Determination in his eyes, grim and cold.
The whip hits him again and he cannot help but groan. Watching him is so much worse than being tasered. I want to look away but can't. I am the reason he is in pain now and I cannot even tell him how sorry I am. The least I can do is stay with him and hold his stare.
Even when it tears me up inside.
The whip hits him again and again and again and again and again. John's skin is broken by now.
He screams for a while, then he starts to whimper instead. His eyes fall closed but I continue looking at him. His legs give in but the chains hold him in place. Then the whip hits him and he does not even whimper.
When Mary finally stops and turns around, she is panting, and tears are running down her face. "Why are you forcing me to do this?" she asks me accusingly.
But it is not my fault. It is not … I know that it is not my fault. She left me with no choice. She is to blame. She alone.
John moans again and tries to raise his head. At that Mary drops the whip to the ground and steps closer. Cups his face and presses a kiss on his cheek. (And makes sure she is standing slightly next to John so I can watch. My stomach churns.)
"I'm so sorry, love," she whispers, "So, so sorry." She kisses him again and then she says, "It is all Sherlock's fault. I'm so sorry."
John's eyes flutter open, and he blinks. Searches for me with his gaze and finds me. There is no accusation in it but pain and disgust for her.
Really for her?
Yes, of course. Of course for her. It is not my fault, no matter what she says. Not my fault and John knows it.
Doesn't he?
When I am sure that Mary is not looking at me I mouth, "Sorry".
John shakes his head immediately, so intensely that Mary turns around to look at me. She is even more disgusted by me than John is by her.
"Oh god, look at you," she spits, "You caused him so much pain and now you can barely stand to look at him." She turns around again, sighs and tells John, "It hurts him to watch you being in pain, John. Just like it hurts me. And do you know why we are both in pain now?" She strokes his hair, gentle and slowly. "Sherlock and I suffer now because we love you."
Then she presses one last kiss on his cheek and leaves without looking back. Big Boy lets go of me and I slip to the ground, my muscles sore from the electric shocks. I am aware that I am chained to the ground again. In the process Big Boy touches me more often than necessary but I am too exhausted to give a damn.
I watch him unchain John. Watch John limply drop down. Watch Big Boy catch him and lower him to the ground. Watch him chaining John to the wall again but so loosely that he can remain lying but will be able to sit up later.
At the moment, he seems to be far from sitting up.
When we are finally alone again, John looks at me. Exhausted. In pain.
"This is not your fault" he says groggily. Then he closes his eyes again and almost instantly his body shuts down. A few unsteady breaths and then I can hear that he has fallen asleep.
When I am sure that he has entered his slow-wave sleep phase I finally allow myself to cry.
Silently.
I am not sure if crying counts like talking but better err on the side of caution.
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