Plans and Experimentation

"But. We don't do … that."

Moriarty watched the video feed on his iPad from the camera in Sherlock's bedroom as Sherlock struggled against John, wailing in distress.

Moriarty was leaning against Sebastian on his comfortable sofa in yet another of his secret homes. They all had the same design – lots of dark green, like the sofa, and light blue accents, along with his expensive Victorian-era furniture. He had very specific, very expensive tastes that Moran found a bit over-the-top, when he stopped to notice.

"Poor little lamb. He's so confused. It's positively delicious, isn't it?" Moriarty said gleefully.

"Yes, dear," Moran answered absently.

"Ahh, Sebs, be patient. Our little game starts again soon, you know." Moriarty stretched, then lay himself over Sebastian's lap, still holding the screen up to his face, engrossed in the video capturing Sherlock's misery.

Moran absently brushed his hand over Jim's hair, petting him like a cat. "I know, I know. But you know how I feel about drawing this out," he replied. "Aren't you getting bored, James?"

Moriarty watched as Sherlock fell asleep in John's arms. "Well, I am now," he said, tossing the iPad carelessly onto the mahogany table in front of the sofa.

"So enlighten me," Sebastian said. "What is this next mysterious and nefarious move in your little game with the detective?"

"My dear, it's too complicated to spell it out for you. I know you won't understand … " Jim said, glancing up at Moran with a devilish grin.

Moran slapped Jim's hand lightly. "None of that, now. I may not be a genius like you and him-" he pointed at the screen on the table, "but I'm not a simpleton. Just tell me, you sneaky bastard."

"Buzz-kill," Moriarty laughed, sitting up and slipping his hand between Sebastian's thighs. "I'll tell you, Sebs, but what will you give me in return, hmm?" His voice had taken on a slightly higher pitch, his eyes half-lidded as he stared at Moran's crotch.

"I'll make you forget all about your obsession with that beanstalk of a man," Moran teased. "I'll bugger you senseless. You know I can. Now out with it!" He finished by tickling Jim's ribs lightly.

"Deal," Moriarty giggled. "I'll give you a hint. Remember Carlo?"

Moran stopped tickling Moriarty and stiffened at the mention of the name. "What about that fucking tosser? I wish I'd been the one to kill him. I would have done it nice and slow, just for you, James."

"Yes, well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I got there first." Moriarty closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the memory of the man's screams. "My very first murder, and such a lovely one, too. So … satisfying."

"What about him, then?"

"Well, he had his way with little Sherlock too. I got over it, in a fantastically cathartic manner. Sherly simply tried to delete the whole thing. A dangerous proposition for someone with a memory like his. That's the thing about memories. You never can be sure they've gone – really gone – and they have a nasty habit of popping up at the most inconvenient times."

"Thought you already used that one." Moran said, anger still coloring his voice. He hated the reminder of what Carlo had done to his beloved.

"Sebs!" Moriarty fairly squealed. "That was just the set up. There's ever so much more! He'll realize soon enough that I filled his head with silly notions about his friends and family, but he'll still try to push that memory down. And I'll be there to bring it back up. Every lurid detail."

"And that's how you're going to drive him round the bend? Won't he manage to deal with it eventually?"

"Mmmmaybe," he drawled. "Anyway, there's much more to it than that. But I'm bored of talking about the little meddler. I'll tell you the rest after our session of buggery most foul. What do you say, my dearest? Plan to keep your promise?" He smiled up at Sebastian, pressing more firmly on his crotch, feeling the other man's arousal through his trousers.

Moran moaned quietly, pressing up into Moriarty's hand. "You know I do … "

Sherlock woke to the realization he was still lying back against John, daylight filtering in from behind the curtains. The room was cast in a dim glow, the icy rain pattering against the side of the building. He glanced over at the clock, noting he'd slept two hours. John had his back pressed halfway against the headboard. Sherlock found himself reasonably comfortable using John's chest as his pillow, his steady, rhythmic breathing indicating he was indeed asleep despite what must be an uncomfortable position. He lay with his legs on either side of Sherlock's, one arm resting on his, the other lightly against his chest.

He was still confused – perhaps more so – when he found he'd lain his uninjured arm across John's in his sleep. It felt right, being close to him, but that didn't jibe with what he knew of the man. At least, it didn't fit what Jim had told him, and what he'd believed without question.

Now, it seemed questions were all he had. If what Jim told him was the truth, why was he now so certain John wouldn't harm him? Certain enough that he'd fallen into a deep and restful sleep. Sherlock catalogued everything he'd eaten and drunk the past several days. No, he couldn't have been drugged; he'd been too careful for that. Besides, if anything, he felt more clear-headed now than he had in ages. He would have to test his assumptions. He hated the doubts now crowding his mind.

Once decided, he moved quietly and gradually, turning himself in John's arms until he faced the other man, a task made difficult by the thick wrapping and brace around his leg.

John was still asleep, a testament to his exhaustion built up over the past weeks. He thought he felt someone moving over him. In a sleepy haze, he rubbed his hand up and down the person over him, hoping they would go back to sleep. He wasn't ready to wake up yet, and drifted off hoping the woman he'd brought home wasn't either. She apparently had other ideas. John felt the body moving lower, pulling at the zip of his jeans. - Worse ways to wake up. - He stretched a bit to allow his jeans and pants to be lowered further. He slid his hands up into her thick, curly hair, cracking his eyelids open to look down as his cock was tugged out with slender fingers.

- Wait. I didn't bring anyone home. Wait. Yes I did. Wait! -

"What- what the hell?" John slapped his hands down on the bed, shoving himself back against the headboard.

"John?" Sherlock gazed up at him, his fingers creeping back toward the warmth between John's thighs.

"Sherlock!" John yanked his pants up over his half-hard cock, embarrassment coloring his cheeks pink. "What was that?" He pulled his jeans back on, quickly zipping them up. He stared down in shock at his friend, who hadn't moved from his spot between John's legs.

Sherlock was looking up at him now, the corner of his lower lip gently held in his teeth. "I was … umm … saying thank you?" He finally replied.

"Thank you!?" John moved his legs away, his back protesting as he quickly got out of the bed.

"Yes," Sherlock said slowly, as if speaking to a very dull child. He paused at John's incredulous expression.

"Sherlock, if – if you wanted to thank me, you could make tea, or pick up the milk or … I don't know, buy me a card!"

"So … " Sherlock began, turning to his side to face John. "You prefer to be the one who … initiates contact?"

John scrubbed his hand through his hair, grimacing. "No! I mean, yes, but not with- not with you, Sherlock." He paused to think as the cobwebs cleared from his head. He heaved out a breath.

"Look, I'm sorry. I … I know you've been through a lot. I mean, even if you don't remember much of it. It's just that-" John remembered their first dinner at Angelo's, and said, "we're not a couple. Remember? I'm not gay. And you're, well, you're you. I have no idea if you like men or women or both or neither. And that's fine. But. We don't do … that," He finished, waving in the general direction of the bed. "We've never done that."

- Conclusion: We were not intimate, willing or otherwise. Interesting. -

"So, umm, that's settled," John said, pulling at his jumper. He stepped out of Sherlock's room, only to return a moment later, standing in the doorway. "Would you like tea and toast? You can stay in bed for now. I'll bring your pills as well, but you need to eat something before you take them."

Sherlock seemed to consider this for a moment. - Time for the second experiment. - "I'd prefer the sofa. No, I don't need help getting there."

"And tea sounds lovely, thanks."

AN: Yeah, so this took me way too long, especially for a short chapter.

I have no idea why, except that I got YET ANOTHER cold. More to come, and barring illness or injury, a shorter wait for the next chapter.

DFTBA