Fair warning: Yes. I'm still doing terrible things. But the good news is, there's no full-on Sheriarty in this chapter. It comes close. But they don't actually have sex/touch each other's fun bits. However, if you still do not like the idea of Sherlock and Jim together, you may find this chapter slightly squicky. Also mentions of non-con, though no actual non-con lurks here. HOWEVER, if you don't want to read about a bunch of Sheriarty related sexual tension, and Jim being a naked, terrible tease, you should stop after the page break. And then, because there was no feasible way I could write Johnlock smut without making this chapter a hundred pages long, and I didn't want to make you cry with an actual Sherlock and Jim sex scene, a wild MorMor appears. I love MorMor. But if it's not for you, go on and skip it. Happy times are on the horizon. Just. You know. I have plot things to resolve first.
They were some distance away from the city by the time the car stopped. Sherlock had lost track of exactly where they were. It didn't particularly matter. Mycroft would have been monitoring their movements. Still, it irked him slightly to not quite know what part of the country they were in. Not terribly far form the city. They couldn't have been driving for more than an hour or two.
Still.
The back door swung open. Sherlock had to blink a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light. Not sunlight. Fluorescent. So they were indoors, then.
Sebastian Moran appeared, grabbed a hold of Sherlock's arm and tugged him out of the van.
"There's really no need to manhandle me," Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"I suppose not. But then again, there's no need to slap you around either. And I could do that if I felt so inclined."
Sebastian pushed him forward. They began walking.
They were in a warehouse. A proper one. Not overly large. Filled with rows and rows of storage racks. Miscellaneous boxes. Contents? Probably illegal—drugs, smuggled goods, could be anything. No windows. Sherlock had thought they'd been going down a hill, but perhaps they were underground?
"You've got quite the smuggling operation going here, don't you?" Sherlock asked dryly.
"The Boss does love his projects," Sebastian chuckled. "Of course… this one mostly just pays the bills. Lots of people want things to go in and out of the country unnoticed. Not our business to ask why."
Their footsteps echoed dully of the concrete floor. The warehouse was eerily quiet. No vague noises of people moving things around. No signs of life.
"Jim must have more employees than just you. Where are they?"
"Oh, most of them cleared out for the day. But don't worry. There's still plenty of security around. No need to try to escape."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Come on, now. Nobody comes in this place without a contingency plan. What? Your brother watching out for you? Do you plan to have this place swarming with secret service within the hour?"
"That would be stupid," Sherlock snorted. "You'd kill me before they got to me."
"Damn right. This entire place is rigged to blow."
Sherlock smiled to himself, filing away that little tidbit of information. Sebastian was probably a goldmine of useful facts. If only Sherlock would be allowed the time to sit down and pick his dull little brain…
Of course, they'd anticipated his escape might be complicated. Now wasn't quite the time to worry about it. If there was one area he trusted his brother in, it was finessing impossible situations.
He'd have to find the drug as well as the trigger for the bombs. Not so difficult. It would probably be obvious.
"Jim does rather have an obsession with explosions, doesn't he?" Sherlock sighed, wondering if he could get Moran to give him any more inadvertent help.
"Yep. The bigger and more destructive the better. I think it might be a sex thing."
"How wonderfully insightful, Sebastian. I'd never thought of that before."
Sebastian placed a hand on the back of Sherlock's neck and squeezed hard enough to be thoroughly uncomfortable.
"Sarcasm will get you hurt here, pet. Careful now."
"I'm not your pet, and I'll say whatever I like to you."
Sebastian's hand inched forward, to place a threatening pressure on Sherlock's windpipe. "I could kill you right here. Sure, the Boss would be mad about it… but he couldn't stop me. It'd almost be worth it. To die, knowing I squeezed the life out of you. That I stole away the satisfaction of letting Jim do it himself…"
Sebastian trailed off, seemingly lost in his own dark little fantasy. He must know. That Sherlock came first in Jim's twisted little head. That Sherlock came before almost everything else. The detective almost felt a pang of pity. What it must be like to love somebody that could never reciprocate it.
Was that what John felt like?
God. No. He couldn't think about that right then. His heart rate increased slightly. He took a few deep breaths, allowing his mind to go blank. He focused on their surroundings. They were fast approaching a wall of the warehouse.
Not much besides two metal doors to a lift. Sebastian pushed the down button. They didn't wait long before a bell softly dinged and the doors slid open.
They stepped inside. Sebastian pressed the basement button. According to the elevator, they'd been on the second highest floor. Four stories. Down they went.
The doors slid open to a much different scene than the one above. They stepped out of the elevator into a small room, with nothing in it but another door. This one looked heavy. Metal. Perhaps mechanically locked? Sebastian pulled out a key card and swiped it. A buzzer sounded and he pushed the door open.
It was liked they'd walked through the door of a typical flat, into a lavishly furnished parlor.
There were long leather couches, cushiony armchairs, and a few coffee tables. Abstract paintings hung on the walls. The overhead lights shone down soft, filtered through pale glass fixtures.
Jim Moriarty's idea of a meeting room? Probably. Or perhaps a home away from home.
"Boss?" Sebastian called, almost uncertainly, "I've got him."
They waited in silence for perhaps a minute or two. Then Jim appeared at the far end of the room. Dressed in a cleanly pressed midnight blue suit. Hair slicked back. A reptilian smile spread slowly across his face.
"Sherlock, darling, so nice of you to show up. Oh—for goodness sake, Sebby! We don't put guests in handcuffs. Take those off right now."
"But Boss—"
"Unruly puppies get put in the kennel," Jim raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.
Sebastian huffed and puffed quietly, but he unlocked the cuffs. Sherlock rubbed his wrists, and glanced around the room. Only two exits. The door he and Sebastian had walked through, and the one Moriarty had just walked out of. Clever engineering. It looked like the mechanical door wouldn't open from either side without a key card. He'd have to lift Sebastian's later…
"Please, have a seat," Jim gestured to the nearest couch. "Would you care for some tea? Wine? Scotch? Anything you like."
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Oh, but I insist."
"Tea, then."
"Sebastian, if you'd be so kind."
Moran left the room with a rather sour expression on his face. Sherlock sat down gingerly on a leather couch. Moriarty settled into the armchair across from him.
"So, how was your trip?" Jim drawled, widening his eyes slightly. He could almost look innocent like that. Smiling. Small. Well dressed. If Sherlock didn't know better, he might say harmless.
"Long and rather dark."
"Sorry about all that abduction business. I wanted to send a nice car. But Sebby just insisted on throwing you in the back of a van. If you ask me, I'd say he's a bit jealous."
"I wonder why," Sherlock kept his expression blank. Soon the pleasantries would be over. He shuddered to think what would happen after that.
"So… here we are…" Jim said in his odd little singsong voice. "In one of my best safe houses. Just you, me, Seb, and the best-armed security money can buy. How ever shall we pass the time? I assume there is a time limit. That awful brother of yours would never let me keep you."
Sherlock chose silence as a response.
"Well that's no fun. I though you wanted to play." Jim's lips turned slightly downwards into a pout that looked far too childish for a man his age.
"Seeing as I'm your hostage, it seems you could do whatever you like," Sherlock said crisply. "I don't have any control of the situation."
"Oh, but that's not true, is it? You wouldn't have come without a plan. So tell me, Sherlock. Let's see how clever you are… tell me how you figured out the chemical compound and developed an antidote, but you'll never ever reveal it, no matter how much I torture you…"
The time to go for the Oscar had arrived.
Sherlock allowed his eyes to go wide, breath to quicken. Show fear. Confusion. And then… denial. But don't be hammy about it. Subtle things.
He straightened up in his seat.
"I've no idea what you're talking about. I couldn't figure out what was in that damned compound. You probably shouldn't have killed whoever you got it from." Sometimes the easiest lie to sell was the truth.
"When you're in business of mayhem, love, you can't afford a lot of competition. Bastard deserved what he got… but you don't really expect me to believe you waltzed in here unarmed, willing, and ready to play abduction. Please. You're scouting territory for your brother. I'm only letting you get away with it because you're cute. Now go on. Explain to me what wonderful experiment you preformed to lead you to a simple, obvious answer about what the drug's made out of. It's your favorite part. Go ahead. Enjoy it."
Sherlock stayed silent. Everything seemed to be headed in a wonderfully tidy direction.
Sebastian entered the room once again, carrying a tea tray. He set it down on the coffee table beside them and stood at attention. Awaiting further orders.
"Sebby, he's being boring. I think we'll have to do this the hard way."
Moran smiled. He kneeled and reached under one of the various couches for a small black bag. Sherlock tried not to let the apprehension show on his face.
"Oh relax," Jim waved a hand dismissively, "Sebastian's a trained nurse. We just need an itty, bitty blood sample. That's all."
Sherlock squirmed. Looked away. "I told you, I didn't make an antidote. And if I did, why would I take it? That would be as good as handing the formula over to you."
Jim laughed. "Nervous, are we? That's rather telling, my dear."
"I… I don't like needles. I might faint," Sherlock said helplessly.
Utter crap. All of it. But god, Moriarty bought it. Looked like the cat that ate the goddamned canary, and all of the goldfish too.
"Be a doll and slide that jacket off for us. Unless, that is, you want Sebastian to do it for you." Jim tilted his head, smirking.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but he shrugged out of his blazer reluctantly, unbuttoned his left cuff, and began to roll up his sleeve. He held his arm out placidly as Sebastian readied the needle.
He had too look away as Sebastian drew the blood. Just seeing a needle go into his skin… well it reminded him of things. Made something deep inside him twist and begin to whisper about half forgotten cravings.
"Mmm," Jim sighed. "I've always wanted to see you bleed."
Sherlock flicked his eyes over to Jim's face. The man watched the proceedings with rapt attention, with a dangerous gleam about him.
"I could make it wonderful, you know," Jim continued. "Pain is a the most effective anesthetic for the terrors of the mind. I could make all the bad things go away. All I'd need is a scalpel and some time."
"Of course, that certainly doesn't sound like a death sentence," Sherlock scoffed.
"No. I want your death to be quick. A nice build with a sudden end. But your pain? That can be long. Drawn out. Like a symphony. You know, it's a funny thing—hurting someone. If you do it the wrong way, if you're brutal and reckless, all they'll feel is the horror of it. But if you're careful? Well… if you're careful enough, people are like frogs. They'll sit in the hot water until it boils, not sure about whether they're feeling pleasure or agony."
Sebastian withdrew the needle, placing a small cotton swab on the puncture. Sherlock held it down and waited for the bleeding to stop. Jim sat placid and tranquil as Moran exited the room again, presumably to send off the sample for testing.
"Come now. You've lost blood. Have something to drink, it's not poisoned," Jim motioned to the tray.
Sherlock picked up a tea cup and sipped tentatively. Not bad. But mostly he wanted to be contrary. So he set it back down after a few more gulps.
"Tell me true, Sherlock," Jim chuckled as he picked up his own cup, "you've liked the hurting so far, haven't you? Hasn't it made you feel alive? Hasn't the big, nasty puzzle given you something to struggle for?"
"I was enjoying myself until last night," Sherlock said coldly.
"Ah… your pet… your Jawwwwnnny boy. Had to be done. He would have followed you. Besides. He's nearly as much fun to hurt as you are. He shows it more. God, he's so responsive. He's like a perfect canvas. Really, I think I can finally understand appeal. God, it must be intoxicating to make him feel so much… cause him so much suffering…" Jim trailed off.
It felt like an ice cube had dropped into Sherlock's stomach. "You said you'd leave him alone."
"Oh, don't get yourself all twisted up about it. He's perfectly safe. Probably still sitting in a hotel and crying over you." Jim crossed his legs and sipped his tea casually. "The question is… what we're going to do with you. I mean, I did go to all this trouble. It'd be a shame not to utterly ravage you."
"Like I said, you seem to be holding all the cards here. If you're going to rape me, I don't see what there is I can do about it."
"You could struggle," Jim shrugged, "that might be a bit of fun."
"It wouldn't accomplish anything."
"No. It wouldn't. But then again, I don't do the whole sexual assault thing anyway. It's just so pedestrian. Doesn't take any skill to pull it off. I'd much rather make you beg yes, please than please no."
"Then we seem to have reached a stale mate. Because I don't want to have sex with you. Shall we play cards or something?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"I've always found chess more interesting… and you do want me."
"No."
"Even if Johnny boy never found out about it?"
"Inconsequential."
"You're not the least bit curious?"
"It would no doubt be an exceedingly informative endeavor, but not worth the risk. You'd probably videotape the whole thing and broadcast it on national television."
"What if I give you my word as a gentlemen that nobody would ever find out?" Moriarty smiled.
"Your word as a criminal would no doubt be worth more. But only idiots trust criminals."
"Hmm, so it's yes, and now we're just negotiating the conditions," Moriarty leaned back in his chair and set his cup aside.
"I think you're just incapable of understanding what no means. Have you ever seen a therapist? I imagine you have a rather rampant case of narcissistic personality disorder."
"I might. If I weren't actually capable of destroying the word, I suppose you could call all of my little workings delusions of grandeur. Then again, I'm not the only one in the room who's just a bit unstable… you know, if Johnny ever found out, you could tell him I forced you into it."
"He wouldn't believe me," Sherlock snorted.
"Huh. Smarter than I would have given him credit for… has it occurred to you that he might leave you anyway?"
"What?" Sherlock stiffened.
"I mean, no offense Sherly, but it's not like you two have the most rock-solid relationship. From what I can tell, it's closer to Stockholm syndrome than anything else. Now that he's gotten away, he might realize what you've been doing to him and run for the hills. In which case, you'd be rejecting your one opportunity to have me, in favor or remaining faithful to someone that very likely is going to resent you and possibly never want to see you again."
Each word sank into Sherlock's chest like a piece of gravel. Internal road rash. He couldn't help himself. He shifted in his chair. Fidgeting.
"Even the most faithful pets can bite once master spurns them," Jim ran his tongue across his lower lip. "That's why I keep Sebby there on such a short leash. It's important to never let them realize what lengths they'd go to for you. Because once they find their limit, they gain just a little bit of power back. And once they gain that centimeter, they'll take the rest by force."
"John isn't my pet," Sherlock said through his teeth. "Unlike you, I don't actually keep humans as dogs."
"Oh? What is he then? Your lover? Your soul mate? Please," Jim rolled his eyes. "You've simply grown too attached to him to see. He's not like us. He'll never be able to play on our level. And one day, you'll wake up no longer infatuated, and you'll realize that you're a bird that's chained itself to a rock. He won't let you fly like I would."
"If you and I flew together, we'd be headed straight into the sun."
"Yes. But wouldn't it be grand?"
"I suppose we'll never know."
Jim let out a long suffering sigh, hanging his head slightly. "Really, Sherlock, your self control is admirable. But it's so tedious. Just say yes once. I'll take care of the rest."
Sherlock didn't trust himself to answer. He knew what was happening. This was all just one big mind game. He couldn't trust anything Jim had said.
But what if?
The thought of John never coming back was unbearable. Still. That didn't mean he should do something that would further cement John's resentment of him. He had to stay strong. To prove that he was better than this—prove that he could resist the psychotic allure of Jim Moriarty.
Then Jim stood. Slowly sauntered over to the couch, crowding into Sherlock's personal space. He flinched slightly when Jim's knees dropped down on either side of him. God. So close. He could smell Jim's aftershave. Pleasant. Slightly musky. No doubt expensive. He could feel the heat radiating off the smaller man's body. It would be so easy to just reach out and touch him. Pull him in all the way. But he didn't. Sherlock stayed perfectly still as Jim kneeled there, straddling him.
Jim ran a finger along Sherlock's jaw, tilting his chin upwards. "Has anybody ever told you that you're pretty when you're frightened?"
"No. Then again, not many people see me like this."
"I suppose you're right. It's really just me that can make you feel all panicky and raw, isn't it? At least these days."
"Probably for the best. It's more difficult to think like this."
"Yes. Couldn't risk dulling that wonderful brain of yours for something as simple and animalistic as sexual impulses… except maybe just this once. After this, it will be all about your mind, darling. I'll take you apart piece by piece until you're not even sure what's real anymore."
"I can't wait."
Jim leaned down slowly, giving Sherlock plenty of time to pull away. He pressed their mouths together a gentle, chaste kiss. Nothing like how it was before. All they had was time…
"Stop," Sherlock breathed, "I'd rather have the drug."
Jim pulled back slightly, eyebrows furrowed. "Really?"
"I… I know what you really want. I can't give you that. Not if I'm going to remember."
Jim seemed to consider for a moment. Sherlock held his breath. It was a rather obvious ploy. But perhaps so obvious, Jim wouldn't even suspect it.
"How long until what you've taken wares off?" Jim asked carefully.
"Perhaps eighteen hours."
"That's a long wait, doll."
"You've waited months. Surely you can wait just a little bit longer I'd… I'd really appreciate it." Sherlock placed his hands on Jim's waist and gave him the very best face he could muster. Eyes half lidded. Lips parted. Be seduction. Be inciting. "Please?"
Jim ran his fingers carefully through Sherlock's curls. "Hmm. You have put me in a rather pleasant mood. And we have to wait for the test results anyway… but what are we supposed to do to pass the time?"
"There's nothing stopping you from having fun without me," Sherlock said carefully. "I could watch."
Jim wetted his lips. "So you want a show, is it?"
"Perhaps I'd like a little preview of what I'm in for."
He slid his hands up and down, rubbing gently over Jim's sides. Trailing up to his ribcage, and down to his narrow hips. He had Jim's complete attention. Exactly where he needed to be for this to work. Exactly where he needed to be for Jim to willingly show him where he'd stashed the drug. But god it felt dangerous. Just one slip, and Jim might figure it all out.
"Well go on, then," Jim grinned wickedly. "Undress me."
Sherlock's hands did not shake as he slowly slid Moriarty's jacket off of his shoulders. He laid the blazer across the arm of the couch, and then slowly began unbuttoning Moriarty's crisp, white shirt. He looked, but tried not to focus on the pale skin slowly revealed. Not quite dissociation. Not yet. He needed to be here and present.
"You're such an interesting man, Sherlock Holmes," Jim said quietly. Perhaps to himself.
Sherlock undid the buttons on his cuffs, and slid his shirt off. He let it fall to the ground, mostly just to see what would happen. Jim said nothing. Just kept him locked in that wide, dark, gaze.
"It's ok to touch," Jim traced his thumb across Sherlock's cheek, "I know you want to."
"Not exactly a show if I'm participating, is it?" The detective replied evenly.
"I suppose not…"
Sherlock unbuckled Jim's belt carefully and slid it off. He couldn't really unbutton his trousers and unzip them without brushing against Jim's obvious erection. But he could refrain from showing emotion. Just kept his face perfectly blank.
"Why do you fight so hard to stay in control, darling? It's more fun to lose hold of it, every once in a while."
Sherlock tugged Jim's trousers down around his knees as a response. Jim had on the same bright green pants he'd had on the first time they met.
"A bit sentimental, don't you think?" Sherlock fingered the elastic waistband.
"Only for you."
Sherlock pulled Jim's pants off carefully. Bracing himself. Jim stood for a moment, to kick off his shoes and let his clothes fall in a pile on the floor. Then Sherlock had a lap full of very naked Jim Moriarty and it was hard to keep his blood pressure from skyrocketing.
Sherlock couldn't really help it. His cock began to fill out.
Jim smiled, wrapping a loose fist around his own erection and giving it a languid stroke. His lips parted slightly. He squirmed in Sherlock's lap.
"Have you ever thought about fucking me?" He asked in a low voice.
Sherlock remained outwardly calm. But god. Inside, everything was burning. Crashing. Because, yes. Of course he had. Not like he could help it when they were sitting like this. It would be so easy. To unzip his own trousers, pull Jim just a bit further forward. He'd probably be fantastic.
But no. Focus. Clear mind, quiet thoughts.
"Do you want to know what I did today before you got here? I spent a good half an hour stretching myself… getting ready… because I'm going to have you, Sherlock. I'm going to utterly destroy you. But there's nothing to say we can't destroy each other."
Jim reached back with his other hand. Sherlock couldn't see exactly what he was doing. But it wasn't difficult to tell. From Jim's change in facial expression. From his motions. He'd slipped a finger inside himself.
It suddenly made perfect sense why Jim had agreed to this. This was just another form of torture. Of ridiculous teasing. Sherlock wouldn't fall for it.
But he couldn't really stop his body from responding. Blood rushed to the surface of his skin, making him flush. Quickened breathing. If Jim brushed across a pulse point, he would know. He could probably tell anyway, judging by the smug look on his face.
"I'm still all slick," Jim bit his lip, "I used plenty of lube. Want to feel?"
"I'll take your word for it," Sherlock's voice sounded a bit hoarse, strained.
Jim chuckled and withdrew his fingers. He moved in a bit closer to Sherlock, still lazily stroking himself. He draped an arm across the back of the couch, around Sherlock's shoulders, and began rocking up and down ever so slightly.
"I know how to ride a cock, dear. It'd be good."
"You don't actually want me to fuck you, you're using it as a bargaining chip," Sherlock sounded a lot more certain than he felt.
"Maybe. But why does that matter? I'm going to fuck you either way. Why not take whatever else I'll give you?"
"Because you can make me play the game, Jim. But only to a certain degree."
Jim rolled his eyes. Then his face slackened, as if in pleasure. He let out a few small, breathy sounds. "Oh… oh god, Sherlock… yes, right there… ugh… your big fat cock feels so good inside me…"
It was a put on. God. Sherlock had used the same damn trick on John. But—well perhaps now he understood why it had been so effective. He felt almost magnetically pulled towards Jim's body. He wanted. Fuck. He wanted so badly.
He heard the door in the far corner of the room open quietly. Sebastian poked his head out with a nervous look on his face. Sherlock glanced his way and raised his eyebrows. Jim turned his head.
"Oh, Sebby. Did we get jealous and nosey? Ah well. You're just in time to join the fun. Come here."
Sebastian approached tentatively, his eyes roaming over Jim's lithe, naked body. He looked hungry. Almost predatory.
"Sherlock here doesn't believe that I give as good as I get," Jim stuck his lower lip out slightly. "Let's show him. Sit." He indicated the other side of the couch.
Sebastian sank down. Nervous and entirely aroused. Jim crawled over to sit in Sebastian's lap. Sherlock breathed an internal sigh of relief. But the feeling didn't last long. Because Jim unzipped Moran's trousers and pulled out a sizeable erection.
He slid a condom out of Sebastian's pocket, ripped it, and rolled it on to the larger man's prick. Sebastian shuddered at the contact.
"There's a good boy," Jim soothed. "Just relax and let daddy have his fun."
Then he moved forward, so his and Sebastian's torsos were nearly pressed together. He reached down and grasped Sebastian's cock, holding it steady as he sank down onto it. Sherlock watched, unable to move, not breathing, as Jim's body accepted the intrusion. He slid down onto Sebastian almost effortlessly.
Jim turned his head and smiled at Sherlock. "This is how you use a toy, love."
And with that, he began to roll his hips. Fucking himself on Sebastian's prick, taking his own pleasure. It was quite a sight indeed. Sebastian's large hands drifted upward, to rest on Jim's waist. Jim moaned breathily as he started to pick up pace.
Even as Jim rode Sebastian's cock, he stared at Sherlock. They locked eyes and neither seemed capable of breaking the gaze.
"Oh fuck," Jim whimpered as he angled forward slightly. He grabbed a handful of Sebastian's light blonde hair and tugged. Dipped down for just a moment to sink his sharp canines into the skin on Sebastian's neck.
The larger man groaned. Clutched at Jim. Began to thrust upwards to meet his motions. Jim shrugged slightly, as if to say—aren't our pets just darling?
Sherlock felt his heart beating in his throat. Every pulse rang danger. Run away. But he couldn't. It was utterly captivating to see Jim like this. Spun out on endorphins. Chasing after a manic sort of carnality. Jim was physically fucking Sebastian... but he was having his way with Sherlock's mind in the process. They both knew it.
Jim dug his fingernails into Sebastian's chest and scratched a few bright red lines. This is what it will be like for us, but better. Jim leaned down and stole a sloppy, utterly filthy snog. This is what I'm going to do to you. Jim let out a few, choice, pornographic keening noises. You're going to love it.
Sherlock had to fight to keep still. To keep from trailing a hand down between his legs and adjusting himself. Maybe giving himself a quick squeeze. Just to try to take the edge off.
"The beauty of it all," Jim whimpered, "is I always get to come first. Don't I Sebby?"
It wasn't even a direct command. More a gentle reminder. But Sebastian reached down and wrapped a hand around Jim's cock, stroking it in time with their motions.
Jim slowly grew more frantic. Approaching the edge. Still in control, but only just.
"Are you close, Boss?" Sebastian almost whispered.
"Mmm, yes," Jim's breath hitched. "Just a bit harder."
Sebastian gladly obliged. Giving Jim just that little bit extra. Stroking him just a bit faster. Jim kept his eyes on Sherlock, even as he shuddered and gasped. Then he went still. Let out a long moan, and his cock jerked in Sebastian's hand, painting the other man's suit in stripes of ejaculate.
Something in Sherlock's chest lurched at the sight of it. His head felt like it was swimming in a fog of arousal. Even as Sebastian thrust frantically into Jim, shuddered, and then went limp against the couch—all he could see was Moriarty. Smiling. Fucked out. Lazy. Flushed and covered in sweat.
He'd seen Jim at his most vulnerable and realized something awful.
Jim wasn't vulnerable at all. Even the most instinctual, human act of all didn't break him down completely. He'd just watched Jim use another living person as a sex toy. It had all just been a show.
A show for a very specific audience.
"If you want to take care of that yourself, by all means..." Jim nodded at the bulge in Sherlock's trousers.
"No. I think I'll leave it for now."
"Want some help?"
"No."
"Such a saint," Jim sighed, and slumped against Sebastian. "How long before you're ready for another round, pet? I'm feeling quite frisky today."
"Jeeze, Boss," Sebastian chuckled. "I'll let you know."
There weren't any clocks. Sherlock didn't know what time it was. Moriarty would reliably keep time, since they were now waiting for his "antidote" to wear off. He wondered dimly if the entire day would go like this, or if perhaps, Jim would get bored of it.
He simply needed to survive. To hold out. He could do that.
He closed his eyes, just for a moment and thought of John. It was all for John. So he would be safe. And in some, quite, internal part of himself he whispered... I love you. Forgive me.
I know, my darlings. The angst is awful. But don't worry. I think we're approaching on some good old fashioned JOHN TO THE RESCUE!
So basically, I suck at answering mail and reviews. I've been completely awful about it. One of these days, I'm going to go through and return every message. Because I feel terrible. Know that I love you! I'm not ignoring you! I just work two jobs and don't have much time to do anything besides write if I want to have any semblance of a social life :(
That being said, reviews, follows and favorites are still incredibly sexy. I love them and cuddle them late at night when the anxiety almost becomes too much and I can't sleep.
All of you are wonderful.
Tune in next Wednesday, and I promise I'm almost done hurting you. The comfort is on the way!
xoxo