This isn't how things are supposed to be

The world no longer made sense, not to Mycroft, not to John and certainly didn't to Sherlock. The youngest of the men could no longer concentrate on anything. One moment it was Moriarty touching him, then there would a seemingly perpetual blackness filled with fear, occasionally he was once again that small child living in fear that his father would notice him and then he would be the teenager being abused and unsure of how to escape the ravages of addiction. He simply could not stay in the moment; in a way for this he was thankful, he did not have to be aware of what Moriarty was doing to him. He got the general gist of what was happening in the moments he was in fact himself but there were no details. However, it meant that he could not formulate a plan to escape and he hated himself for not being able to do that.

Mycroft and John could only watch in horror. Of course they attempted to escape their bonds but they were tied too tightly so they could only witness what was being done to Sherlock. They shouted but this made Moriarty more excited so they stopped and were extremely thankful when they finally heard footsteps coming up the stairs. It would take them a couple of minutes to get through the door but at least the end was in sight. The psychopath obviously heard the noise too and he was stood up, quick as lightening, pulled a couple of syringes out of his pocket and used them on Mycroft and John, they were unconscious almost instantly.

Sherlock, who had managed to regain his composure somewhat, began shouting. "What the hell have you done to them? You said you'd let them go, that was our deal." Moriarty smiled a sinister smile and approached Sherlock slowly, menacingly, producing a knife out of his pocket. It was large, with a sharp, serrated edge causing Sherlock's eyes going wide. "Don't worry; they'll walk free as will you darling. I just want to make sure you have a reminder of who you belong to and how worthless you are. We may not get the opportunity to see you for a while."

Sherlock tried to focus on the noises at the door, they were about to try and get through, that meant he had approximately two and a half minutes left with the maniac. A lot can happen in two and a half minutes, this he was well aware of. Unfortunately, now he wanted a distraction he could not get it, he was stuck in the moment as Moriarty sat on his bare midsection twiddling the knife in his fingers casually before laying it on the pale skin on Sherlock's chest. Suddenly he dug it into the skin and Sherlock couldn't hold back the harsh scream that proceeded from his lips. After the longest minute of the detective's life Moriarty cambered off him and chucked his shirt at him. "Put that on, Johnny boy might get a bit jealous." As much as he hated it he obeyed, he did not want to anger the criminal if he could help it, his wrath could be deadly and he was highly unpredictable. He glanced down and hurried with the shirt, he did not want John making a fuss about that. Moriarty had scarred him for life, making it impossible to forget the horrors. He had engraved MINE deep into Sherlock's chest.

When the combination of police, paramedics and Mycroft's men eventually broke through the door Sherlock had managed to get his shirt on. Moriarty went willingly with them, blowing Sherlock a kiss as he left making the man feel sick. He tried to deny the effects of shock but he recognised the signs. Someone handed him his underwear and trousers then stood with their back to him, shielding him from view. It turned out to be Lestrade. "John? Mycroft?" he managed to ask, finding it surprisingly difficult to speak. The DI seemed to understand.

"They're fine, their vitals are ok, they're just on the ground at the moment, I think they're beginning to come around, they should be free to go. You on the other hand, I mean, what the hell happened? You have a hell of a lot of blood coming through that shirt of yours, you'll need to go to hospital and get that checked out." Sherlock shook his head, grabbed his jacket and did it up. However when he tried to walk he stumbled, getting angry with himself. "It's ok," placated Lestrade. "You've been through a lot. We'll get you downstairs, come on, you can lean on me."