Ma'am
John had a very lovely run considering men holding guns to her back followed her the entire time.
It was extremely motivating.
Afterwards, she had been shown into a very lovely room with a lovely ensuite where she could take a lovely shower before a lovely meal was brought to her by a terrified housekeeper. While poison was still fresh on the brain, Moriarty had left a note that assured her nothing was amiss. Of course, that would never calm John's mind.
In order to get John strapped in a vest full of semtex Moriarty had set up a food truck giving away free samples. One of those free samples passed under John's nose just as she was walking by and, really, Sherlock was a pain to get to eat when on a case and John was hungry. One bite of special-made cheesey crackers and John stumbled into an alley where she passed out and woke up next to a pool.
The dinner was much less appetizing than cheesey crackers but came wrapped in the original plastic. John was sure Sherlock, and therefore Moriarty, could find a way to drug something still in the plastic but she was still a bit hungover and very, very thirsty. She started with the water and when that did not force her to collapse, she took a bite of the plastic wrapped vending machine sandwich and decided it would be alright.
The bed too was lovely and while John spent most of the night clinging to a lamp and watching the door for any movement, she did get a tiny bit of sleep.
After a silent day of reading to herself and sometimes aloud to a silent Glenn, John found herself sitting at a round table in a very uncomfortable ornate wooden high back chair, staring at a white and silver table set. It would have been perfectly ordinary if it had not been for the bodyguards in the corners of the room or the sweaty man strapped to the chair next to her.
John wanted to ask him who he was, what he had done to get Moriarty's attention, if he knew about the painting, why he had duct tape over his mouth and ropes binding him to the wood, but she was sure no one in the room would answer her. She gave him a sympathetic smile and continued to stare at her empty plate until the door to the dining room shoved open and Moriarty danced in, incomprehensible music blaring from her phone speakers.
"Do mind my manners you two, but I'm afraid Sherlock is being rather persistent in talking with you." Moriarty spun the phone around and quieted the noise, still talking at John. The silence only brought the man's panicked breathing back to the forefront but Moriarty paid him no mind and so John pretended to do the same. "You see, I was supposed to get my painting today. AT LUNCH. As you can see, it is dinner. I do so hate tardiness. She would rather I not cut off one of your arms." Moriarty shrugged carelessly. "Trivial."
Moriarty shoved the phone under John's nose and she lunged for it, answering hurriedly, "Sherlock?"
"John!" Sherlock sounded immensely relieved and then quickly sputtered off clipped demands, all sorts of worry lacing her panicked breaths. "Whatever she says, do it. I'm so sorry for this. The idiot running the machine lost their password and was too stupid to tell anyone!" Someone whined in the distance on her end. "Whatever she makes you do. It is not your fault. It's mine. Just please, please do whatever she-"
Moriarty pulled the phone from her ear.
John yelled, "Sherlock!"
"That's enough." One click and John was cut off completely, the phone back in her captor's pocket. Moriarty turned to her guests and clapped her hands together. "Now. How about some introductions." Moriarty nodded to Stevie and the man walked forward and ripped the duct tape from the other man's mouth, his breathing now alarmingly fast. Moriarty turned to John and gestured to him. "Have you met Richard? He's the one that owns this lovely home. Don't you, Dick?"
Richard's eyes flickered between John, Moriarty, the bodyguards, and the door, panic nearly overtaking his dilated pupils. He stuttered an answer when Moriarty looked like she was contemplating stabbing him with the candlestick. "Y-yes."
Moriarty smiled and gestured to John. "And of course you know Doctor Watson."
"Doctor?" Richard asked hopefully, leaning as close to her as he could get without tipping his chair over.
Moriarty sighed loudly and leaned over the table, pulling RIchard's face between her hands, pinching his cheeks, inspecting every line on his gleaming brow. "So that's what hope looks like in your pretty brown eyes." She pinched him painfully tight and tossed his head side to side. "If I dunked your face in liquid nitrogen could I keep it on my wall? Or, well, I suppose my freezer."
Richard cried out between her palms.
"It bounces off," John answered coldly. If anything, she could at least distract Moriarity's attentions away from the terrified man and reassure him at the same time. "It won't stick to the skin. Sherlock's had it in the flat a dozen times."
Moriarty still refused to drop her hold. "Not if I held it under."
Richard's breathing hitched.
John shook her head. "Then it would just be an iceblock."
"How right you are!" Morality's laughter filled the room and she let Richard go with a hard push that almost made him topple backwards. She then stepped towards the only empty spot at the table, opposite John.
"Why is he hoping for a doctor?" John called after her, looking at Richard as he failed to compose himself.
"Dick-" It was impossible not to hear the emphasis on the nickname, "-lied to me. And until he can come up with the funds to fix the blood-filled bed he's made, he's on a timeline. The poison will settle in soon, unless he works for the antidote. Sounds like something a doctor should inject. I always tend to miss with needles. Veins, eyes, they all lead inwards, don't they?" Moriarty shoved her body back and clacked a knife against her empty plate. "Want to watch his face melt with me? Go on. Tell him, Doc. Tell him the truth."
"I…" John's brow pinched. Richard's eyes widened and his grip on the arm of his chair tightened. "I don't have it. I don't have an antidote. I'm sorry."
It took a moment for the words to settle. Richard looked to Moriarty, back at John, and then at his empty plate, his face falling.
"Delicious." Moriarty cooed. "Let's eat! It is Dick's last meal after all. It is a good one. Duck!" John grit her teeth and glared at her cup. "Oh, don't look like that. I used my poison on him, you've got nothing to worry about."
The terrified housekeeper swept into the room a moment later with a tray full of food and drink. Moriarty clapped her over and the poor young thing nearly tripped to get to the madwoman fast enough. The girl locked eyes with Richard sympathetically but there was nothing she could say with Glenn right behind her. As soon as she finished plating John's duck she tried to run for it.
"Heel!" Moriarty yelped.
The girl froze.
Moriarty snapped her fingers. "Drinks."
The girl spun slowly and sputtered, "Wha- what?"
Moriarty's voice hardened. "Pour. Our. Drinks."
The girl clipped her heels together and practically ran back to the cart to fish out wine bottles.
Moriarty shook her head dramatically. "So hard to find good help these days." She turned to Richard. "Though I can see why you keep her around. Those lips must be great for mouth fucking. Wouldn't you say, Johnny?"
John found her eyes darting to the startled girl's open mouth and immediately looked resolutely at Moriarty's throat. John never excelled at knife throwing and there was nothing sharper than a butter knife, but anything was possible.
"I've always appreciated a good set of lips," Moriarty hummed aloud. She pointed to her glass and demanded, "Red."
The housekeeper struggled to open the bottle with shaking, sweaty fingers. The corkscrew went in but she ripped a piece off before getting it to enter properly.
Moriarty was suddenly on her feet and John was at full attention, her legs primed to lunge under the table.
"Jessica," Richard whispered desperately.
Jessica froze as Moriarty's hands covered hers and pressed the corkscrew down. Moriarty leaned in, mouth open, her teeth grazing the girl's neck. Jessica cried, frozen on the spot. There was one long, loud inhale before Moriarty pulled back, yanking the cork with her.
"Oh yes," Moriarty hummed. "Very fuckable."
Jessica had tears in her eyes as she grabbed Moriarty's cup and poured, nearly splashing onto the fine, white setting. It took all the the girl's concentration but she finished with a mighty sigh and moved onto Richard and then finally John before running from the room.
When it was only the three of them, and Stevie, of course, John decided to break the silence by reaching for her cup.
Moriarty tisked right away. "Oh, but I didn't say you could eat yet. Weren't you listening to your Sherly? Are you going to ignore your master's orders?"
John stilled and put her cup back on the table without letting it go. "What?"
Moriarty smirked. "Where's your collar?"
John reached for her neck but her eyes flickered to her pocket. She had remembered to undo the knots before bed and slipped it into her shorts.
"Put it on," Moriarty commanded.
There was a moment where John contemplated taking a page out of Sherlock's book and throwing her wine at Stevie as a distraction before diving in with the butter knife and fork. She could at least take out an eye.
Then again, Sherlock did sound desperate when she asked her to do whatever the bitch wanted. A desperate Sherlock was never a good sign.
"Fine." John pulled the suede ropes from her pocket. It had twisted up into more knots but she did not bother trying to fix it. She reached around her neck and tied the necklace off as best as she could without looking, ignoring the extra pull from the twists that did not belong.
"Lovely." Moriarty sipped her wine. "Now put your plate on the ground."
John went back to glaring. Moriarty flicked her gaze to Stevie. Stevie walked up directly behind her, his clenched fists promising violence if Moriarty had to repeat herself.
With no room for argument, John lifted her duck-filled plate from the table and carefully set it down on the ground.
"Good," she purred. "Now get on all fours and eat it like a dog. With your mouth. No hands."
John saw red spots flare. She glanced once at Stevie, caught eyes for a moment with Richard, and then shook her head. "I'm not doing that."
"You are!" Moriarty giggled. Her hand dove under the table and came up with a revolver. She tipped the barrel of the very real gun at John before sweeping it to Richard, aiming it directly at his temple. "Or I'll shoot him."
Richard flinched and his forehead hit the metal. He whimpered aloud and his eyes glossed over. John gripped the table and stood, only to be forced back into her seat by both of Stevie's meaty hands shoving against her shoulders.
"Look at you!" Moriarty waved the gun around, aiming it at everyone including herself at least once before resting it against Richard's temple again. "I'm threatening to shoot a corpse! Why do you care SO MUCH, puppy?!"
John looked at Richard. Yes, he was probably some criminal if he was associated with Moriarty and had a mansion like this. But he was a man who was quivering in his ropes, unable to open his eyes as he prayed in frantic whispers.
John eyed the food at her feet and nodded once. She lowered her good knee first and carefully brought the rest of herself to the floor until she was on her hands and knees.
"Well," Moriarty humed gleefully. She slowly slipped the gun from Richard's head and twirled it near her own. "Don't stop now! Bring your plate to me so I can pet you like a good boy. Don't make me get the leash."
John swallowed her pride and picked up the plate with one hand. She knew this game and stayed in a crawling position until she was at Moriarty's side. It felt absolutely humiliating. But this was Moriarity. That was her point.
"That's a pretty puppy." Moriarty cooed and roughly pet at John's ponytail, yanking the ends a bit before petting at her neck. No safeword this time. "I see why she gets off on this." Those fingers scratched with razor sharp nails along her exposed shoulder before they disappeared. The gun was suddenly in front of John's face, Moriarty's hands cupping it by the handle as she leaned over and whispered, "I can make you do anything and you'll beg me for it. Go on, beg me to pet you. DO IT!"
"Please, Jim," John growled. "Pet me like a dog."
Moriarty gasped and grabbed John's face with an iron grip, the hilt of the gun shoved against her cheek, the barrel resting just along her temple. Once she knew she had John's attention, she slowly released her fingers and stroked down John's cheek and under her chin. "Such a cute puppy! I could just skin you alive and make myself a brand new coat." Her claws retracted as she leaned back in her chair and kicked John's plate of duck.
John looked at the food, back up at Moriarty, and dipped her head down. The duck was still on the bone and covered in some sort of orange jelly. There would be no way around a mess. She led with her teeth and ripped off a piece, smacking her lips together as she tried to chew around a vein.
Moriarty's hand jumped to her neck and forced her back down to the plate, keeping her shoulders at an awful angle. John hissed but said nothing.
Moriarty's fingers stroked the choker as she whispered reverently, "Sherly made me promise not to tie you up in the bedroom. But you wouldn't tell her. No. No, you wouldn't." She moaned and grabbed her by the necklace, shoving her fingers under the knots keeping it together, and yanked. John choked at the lack of air and scratched at the suede cutting into her neck. "I could make you fuck me." She breathed out a happy laugh. "Or maybe him or him." She pointed the gun at Stevie and Richard. "You wouldn't tell her because she has a delicate little heart, our Sherlock, doesn't she? You wouldn't want her to know how much you would get off on letting me fuck your brains-"
"Piss off," John ground out roughly.
Moriarty tugged harder, effectively cutting off all her air. "Feisty puppy! You need a shock collar." She threw John to the ground hard, sending one of her arms through her plate of food.
John gasped in her breaths and coughed up the phlegm stuck in her airway.
"Tell Sherlock that's what you want for the next time you fuck," Moriarty cheered happily. "I hear it makes your orgasms electric."
John glared up at her from the floor.
"Oh. Oh, oh!" Moriarty cheered happily. "You haven't fucked! Oh but- but you have! Oh my god! This is precious. The virgin who's scared of emotions and the bisexual so far in the closet she can't see her own wet cunt!"
"Fuck you," John growled, and started choking on air again.
"Aw." Moriarty suddenly spun to Richard, the gun teetering between his eyeballs. "Doesn't she make an adorable pet?"
Richard nodded his head frantically. "Y-y-yes, m-m-ma'a-"
John jumped to a seated position and yelled hoarsely, "Don't call her that!"
It was too late.
The silence that followed tore through the air and smashed into John's gut.
No, no, no.
No one called Moriarty ma'am. No one. The end result was always the same. The last time she heard it was a hostage trying to describe her voice, calling her ma'am before it was drowned out by the explosion that rang out over the phone and echoed over every news channel covering the bombings.
"He didn't say it," John rushed to whisper.
"Quiet, pet," Moriarty mumbled, perfectly still, eerily unblinking at Richard.
Richard's face swallowed itself in red and his arms frantically fought to escape his binds.
"Moriarty," John shuffled to her knees and slipped between Moriarty's legs. "Don't. Listen to me. Please just listen to me."
Moriarty refused to look John's way.
John dared to put her hands on Moriarty's thighs and gripped tight. "James. Jim. I am begging you."
There was still no reaction, just a tense thread of violence ready to unwind through a single, explosive twitch of a finger.
John calculated the distance to the gun. "Please. He didn't know. Don't do it. Please."
Moriarty did not look at John, her hollow face stabbing into Richard's screaming soul. Calmly, she responded to John with, "Persuade me, pet. Why don't you want me to shove this gun down his throat and strip him of his insides? It might be a mercy. The poison will not be pretty."
Richard cried, his eye overflowing with tears. The praying started once again.
"Jim," John begged, inching her way up Moriarty's body, her eyes on the gun hovering near Richard's mouth.
Moriarty chuckled darkly. "You're a bit of a monster yourself, aren't you sweetheart?"
"He didn't know."
"Not gooOOOOooood enough," Moriarty sang through her teeth.
John's breath caught. She rose higher and quickly reached for the gun but Moriarty slipped it out of her grasp. In the same slick move, Moriarty wrapped her arms around John and pulled until she fell into her lap, knees slapping against the wooden back of the chair, her chest pressed against Moriarty's front, the gun solid against the curve of her back.
Moriarty slipped the butt of the gun against John's spine and whispered a broken, "Distract me."
John's face pinched and she tried to lean away and shoved at Moriarty's arm but that gun barricaded her in. She looked down at Moriarty with a pained frown but Moriarty only smiled.
Moriarty finally looked away from Richard and up into John's eyes. She shoved John's wayward bangs out of her face, those nails scraping against the back of her ear. "Be a good little doggy and give me a kiss."
John swallowed the bile rising in her throat and leaned forward, pinching her eyes closed. With only a momentary pause, she shoved her face down and smashed her lips against Moriarty's.
Moriarty shoved a tongue into her mouth and swept it across her teeth, tasting her at every angle possible. John recoiled from the sharp sting of wine but Moriarty yanked on her hair and John gasped. Moriarty shoved her tongue in further and started eating at John's slack lips, taking every piece of her she could, scraping and pulling. John recoiled instinctively but felt the gun shift threateningly against her and heard Richard's scared squeak.
John pushed her face in further and allowed Moriarty her fun, right up until the last lick across her mouth and over her cheek.
When it was over, John whispered, "Please."
Moriarty stared into her eyes with something akin to victory. She licked her lips, caressed John's cheek, and said, "No."
The bang of the gun pounded against John's back.
"No!" John screamed and spun but Richard had already slumped forward, well beyond saving.
Blood splashed over the white cloth, in his food and in his wine. Most of the burst had landed on John's back but she could see drops slipping down her forearm. Horrified, she touched her face and felt hot blood smear.
"Come here, darling." Moriarty cooed, "It's alright." Moriarty pulled John's stunned body close and rubbed a hand up and down her back, smearing the blood into her shirt. She turned to Stevie and whispered, "Get the help in here to clean this up."
John had her moment. She shoved her head into Moriarty's throat and bit down. When Moriarty yelped in pain, John shoved her knee into the woman's gut. The gun dropped and John leapt to grab it, but Stevie was quicker than she gave him credit for. With one swift kick, he sent her directly to the ground with all the wind knocked out of her.
"Johnny boy!" Moriarty jumped up and down, rubbing at her throat gleefully. "We don't bite our owners."
"I'm not your fucking dog!" John yelled. Her wriggling was only smearing red on the wooden floor.
"That's where you're wrong, Johnny!" Moriarty took her turn getting in a good kick across John's jaw. Blood welled over her tongue. "You are!"
John resolved to stay silent as Moriarty clipped away in her heels.
Jessica entered a moment later. She dropped to her knees and screamed.