Welcome back. After this chapter, the worst part of torturing is over. Promised! But here, it get's more than a little nasty. Please leave a review!
When John came around, he found himself tied to the table again, but only one of his arms was fastened to something above his head like last time. The other was outstretched in a nearly perfect ninety degree angle. When he tried to move his fingers he realised they were all separately restrained.
His whole body still hurt from the beating he had received before, and the strange position he found himself in made his heart race with fear, no matter how hard he tried to neglect that. He collected himself as good as possible, then opened his eyes to let the next round begin.
"Oh, good, you're awake!" Moran greeted him cheerfully, a little hammer in his hands. It was not difficult to make the connection between the tool and his fingers, and John's stomach clenched with foreboding. He clung to the thought that his death would not be the goal of this part of the torture. He briefly wondered why Moran had fixed his right hand and not his left. He had either missed the fact that John was left-handed, or had different plans for the other hand later.
John allowed some of the fear he felt to show in his eyes, hoping to appear miserable. In fact, he felt better than before, besides the fear. If Moran was about to break John's each and every finger, that would at least buy Sherlock more time to find him. All John had to do was to endure the pain. He could do that, definitely. He only hoped he would be able to use his hand again once this was over.
"Don't worry, John, I'm not going to kill you now," Moran explained with his abhorrently soft voice, patting John's chest, causing pain in the ribs that were most likely broken. "I'm not going to kill you against your wish, you know? But you will beg me to kill you soon, trust me!" Never. But John felt no need to share that thought with his tormentor. Instead he closed his eyes for a second, then stared at the hammer and pleaded: "Please don't!"
The smile that spread over Moran's face told him he had said the right thing. He cupped John's face almost protectively and answered: "Oh, I will, of course I will. But don't tell me this is the worst thing that's ever been done to you." Would he now get to the point? The point that apparently included Sherlock? John swallowed hard, not caring that Moran saw it.
"I mean," Moran said while ruffling John's hair, "think of all the things Sherlock did to you!" Yes, here we go. John briefly wondered how well Moran was informed about their private life. He must have read the blog, but did he also have access to more confidential information? Let's hope he didn't.
"Think of what happened at Dartmoor." John opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again, honestly not sure of what to say. Instead, he did as he had been told and thought back to the events at Grimpen and the Baskerville research facility. Now Moran would have to reveal where his information came from. With only the blog as a source he would simply mention the fact that Sherlock had drugged him on purpose. With access to more private information the fight they had had at the pub would surely be mentioned as well, the fight he hadn't written about.
Moran's voice now became cold and vicious. "He drugged you. On purpose." He moved away from John's head, towards his side, and stood next to the outstretched hand, carelessly playing with the hammer. "With a drug he knew would cause sheer terror." His voice grew louder now, his face displayed his anger. John knew exactly what would happen next, but forced himself not to look away. His whole body tensed in anticipation, and he felt sweat dripping down his face. The pain would be inevitable now.
"Even though you were suffering from PTSD, because he simply didn't CARE about you!" And with a dramatic timing, Moran brought the hammer down on John's little finger exactly at the end of his sentence.
Anticipating the pain helped little to block it out. John felt it running up his entire arm like fire, his stomach revolting against the immense amount of pain hormones rushing though his body. He heard a cry, far away and high pitched and wondered if it had been his. He gasped for air when the pain subsided a little, leaving his finger throbbing. It felt like Moran had broken all three phalanges at once.
Breathe, he told himself, breathing as steady as possible. God, it hurt. When the world around him stopped swirling, he looked at Moran again. "Sounds like you should break his fingers instead of mine!" Moran froze. Then he pressed his index finger on John's broken little finger. Damn.
"You disloyal scum!" Moran snapped at him angrily. "No wonder Sherlock never really trusted you!" A shiver went through John's body when he realised Moran had used past tense. So in his mind, John's life was already over. That was not good. He forced his concentration back to the blonde man looming over him. "Why do you think so?" Keep him talking, that might delay the next broken finger, if only for a few minutes.
"At the pool, for example!" Moran had gone back to ruffle John's hair, a motion that made him feel even sicker than the pain in his finger. "I can imagine the look in his eyes when you started talking, that split-second he thought you were Jim. Must have been the same look he had when he suspected me to be the murderer for the first time ..." His voice trailed off, his eyes lost in the past.
"Let's face it, John" he went on after a moment. "If he'd trusted you the way you still trust him, he wouldn't have doubted you for a second. But he did, didn't he?" John closed his eyes just before the hammer came down on his ring finger.
When the worst part of the pain was over, he weakly opened his eyes again. Moran was watching him closely, clearly enjoying way too much what he saw. John doubted that killing those people fifteen years ago had cost him quite an effort. He tried to catch his breath again, but this time Moran seemed unwilling to give him a break.
"Talking about the lack of trust, that must be the reason why he never told you Irene Adler is still alive." John's eyes widened in surprise. But... "Oh, you didn't know! Funny!" He must have been lying. The woman was dead. Mycroft had told him. Unless... "Sherlock went to Karachi and saved her life. Why didn't he tell you?"
John felt his control of the game slip through his fingers when Moran's revelation hit him by surprise. He needed to regain it at all cost. His mind was racing. What would he bring up for the last two fingers? What else might Sherlock be hiding from him? And he couldn't allow Moran to find out he was thinking about it. He needed to appear reacting, not acting. What had Moran's last question been?
He took a deep breath and said, with a wavering voice that was not as faked as he would have liked it to be: "Because he doesn't trust me enough." Made a mental note to kick Sherlock's arse for not telling him. He knew he would never forget the sound his middle finger made when all three bones in it got smashed the same time.
This time the pain was even worse than the two times before. John felt his defence slowly going down. The sweat on his forehead was burning as it was running into his eyes, mixing with the tears that had started to build. His breathing was hollow. His vision was drastically dimmed. Don't slip into shock now, he ordered his body, with little success. He needed something to hold on to. Something...
But again, Moran was not waiting for him to recover. "But it wasn't only a matter of trust, was it?" he whispered into John's ear, softly wiping the sweat from his face. "He was also completely devastating you without even noticing." Oh. John felt part of his confidence sweeping back. No matter what Moran would have up his sleeves, he knew for sure that Sherlock was not "devastating" him.
Keeping his face desperate used up a lot of the little amount of strength John had left, but it was absolutely necessary not to let Moran see that he had chosen the wrong topic as the highlight of this session. "What ..." His voice broke involuntarily. This needed to be over soon. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I'm not talking about all those little hints that he didn't care. Like ruining your dates or using your things like they belonged to him or pushing you around." Moran moved closer, stroking John's cheek with his thumb, causing another sting as he touched the bruises. "He never thought about you when he stood on that roof." What was he implying?
"He never even considered how it would affect you if you believed that he had jumped to his death in front of your eyes." Don't let it show, don't let it show, John frantically thought. He was so close to giggling hysterically with delight that for a moment he was scared that he would get himself killed after all. He somehow managed to keep up his scared and nearly broken expression. Moran had no idea Sherlock had told him about the whole suicide plan before carrying it out.
"What pervert would do that to his friend?" Moran moved away from John's face again, towards his right hand. Only two fingers left ... "I've seen tapes of you on the pavement, trying to reach him ... Tell me, John, do you really still believe he considered you to be his friend?" Yes. "No." John whispered, and allowed another wave of tiredness wash over him. As intended, Moran mistook it for grief.
"No!" he echoed, bringing the hammer down on John's index finger.
His vision was washed away completely this time, the pain filling every part of his body, every part of his mind. He felt like drowning in it, just barely able to stick his head up high enough. Not for the first time he wondered if those whimpering sounds came from his own mouth. He clung to consciousness by sheer will - power, but felt his grip on it weaken with every passing second.
Jesus, Sherlock, hurry up! Moran's face reappeared in front of him, his eyes darker than before, his expression determined. "And he did not only make you believe you'd seen him die. No, he had to call you!" Another caress of his already burning bruises. "I've listened to that conversation, John!" Sherlock had always suspected that their mobiles had been bugged that morning. "I've heard you trying to talk him out of it." John felt his heart racing within his chest, not able to calm it down any longer.
Stay conscious, he told himself, only a few moments longer. "He didn't just leave you grieving for him, John, he also made you feel guilty because you thought you had failed to prevent it." Hang on! "He left you broken, and didn't even care!" One more peak performance. John looked Moran straight in the eyes, and said bleakly: "I never understood how he could be so cruel!"
This time, when the hammer came down, he welcomed the pain, and finally allowed himself to succumb into the blissful darkness.
The third file was less disturbing than the other two, Mycroft thought. Yes, the amount of violence inflicted on Dr. Watson was even more severe this time, and he had already organised a bed for him at a clinic in Stockholm that was well known for its superior hand surgery, just in case they could save his life. But unlike last time, Sebastian showed control here, and so did John.
Yet, Sherlock responded to it worse. Interesting.
They had found the second flash drive after another unsuccessful search of the village and the surrounding settlements. None of the people living here seemed to have noticed anything unusual, but at least two of them had been lying. One of them, the owner of a little wine restaurant they had frequented the other night, had shown remorse and a more than obvious attraction to Sherlock, so Mycroft was almost sure that another visit to her place tonight would finally reveal something.
Meanwhile, all they could do was watching Sebastian skilfully breaking every bone in the doctor's hand while trying to break his spirit by dwelling upon Sherlock's very nature. An undertaking doomed to fail, apparently, but Sebastian seemed to be unaware of that. Mycroft looked at his little brother once more, wondering if he also knew that nothing in the world could take John's loyalty away from him. He made a mental note to bring it up sometime later if necessary.
Mycroft watched Sebastian's torture techniques with a certain professional interest. His timing was admirable, but the choice of topics for the psychological part of it was dilettantish. At least if the young man was only aiming at breaking John. The effect his words had on Sherlock were a completely different matter.
Mentioning the events at Grimpen, for example. It was clear from John's initial reaction that he had already forgiven Sherlock. Why he had chosen to do so was a mystery to Mycroft. That man was a saint when it came to Sherlock, that much was clear. Anyway, John soldiered on dutifully, only pretending to be hurt by the memories.
Why didn't Sherlock see that? His little brother's face was extremely open again, displaying fear and remorse and compassion all at once. And when they heard John teasing Sebastian: "Sounds like you should break his fingers instead of mine!", it was painfully obvious that Sherlock silently agreed with him.
Sherlock's whole body tensed at the mentioning of the pool incident. So he had believed John to be Moriarty, if only for a second? A little detail that none of them had felt necessary to share with Mycroft until now, not even Moriarty. Charming.
When Sebastian told him about Adler, Mycroft couldn't help but pause the file. "What does he mean, Sherlock?" he asked, not able to keep curiosity and anger out of his voice. "When have you been to Karachi?" His brother turned to him fiercely: "Doesn't matter. Resume!" "It doesn't matter? Sherlock, look at John. Why didn't you tell him? He had everything under control, but your thoughtless actions took that away from him!"
Well, maybe Sherlock had reached that conclusion by himself already. Instead of stubbornly defending his actions, he seemed to slump onto his chair, staring at the screen, unconsciously pressing his fingernails into the wound on his hand. "I know that, Mycroft!" he answered flatly. "Now. Resume. The clip."
It became apparent to both of them that John's tolerance to the physical pain was deteriorating, a disturbing yet to be expected sight. And that was exactly the moment Sebastian ruined it. "He was also completely devastating you without even noticing." he said to the doctor, and only a skilful observer like Mycroft himself would have been able to notice the subtle change in John's facial expression. Did Sherlock notice it as well?
Mycroft paused the file again. "You know that it is not true!" he stated, watching his brother closely. "Yes" Sherlock lied. Had he been a less controlled person, Mycroft would have rolled his eyes. "Observe!" he said, gesturing at John's face, relaying the scene frame by frame. "Notice how his lips relax and his eyebrows rise. He had been facing problems before, but now he's gaining ground again." And when Sherlock still didn't react properly, he emphasised again: "Because what Sebastian says is not true!"
When he leaned forward to resume the file at normal speed, Mycroft placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder once more. He could have sworn his brother was leaning against it, but maybe it was only an inappropriate whiff of wishful thinking.
Sebastian's next mistake couldn't go unnoticed, not even in Sherlock's somewhat disturbed state of mind. "He never even considered how it would affect you if you believed that he had jumped to his death in front of your eyes." they heard him say. "Idiot" Sherlock murmured softly, and Mycroft nearly smiled.
Then he noticed Sherlock's pupils dilating with fear when it became obvious to him that John needed to bring up an enormous amount of control to prevent himself from showing Sebastian that he was thinking exactly what Sherlock had just said. "Don't show it!" he whispered under his breath, unaware of doing that.
This time, when John pretended to have lost his faith in Sherlock's friendship, Mycroft watched his brother nod in agreement and support. This must be how simpler people reacted to watching soccer games, he mused.
It was kind of a shame to watch Sebastian ruining the entire torture simply because he had not known that John had been fully aware of Sherlock's plans. "He didn't just leave you grieving for him, John, he also made you feel guilty because you thought you had failed to prevent it." Mycroft heard him hiss, and the good doctor obediently looked completely devastated. Sherlock's eyes started to gleam with pride.
"He left you broken, and didn't even care!" Sebastian went on, unable to distinguish John's exhaustion and physical pain from his non-existing brokenness. Sherlock nearly smiled, and his facial expression returned to his regular arrogance when John lied straight-faced: "I never understood how he could be so cruel!"
Then, of course, when John's last finger was broken and his mind finally gave in to the pain and his body went limp, every gleam was wiped away from Sherlock's face again. He continued to stare at the screen after the clip was over, deeply lost in thought. When he finally turned around to face Mycroft again, he looked years older than he had only two weeks before. "I am going to kill him" he announced calmly, and Mycroft nodded. Apparently he would.
Sad to say, but only two more chapters, and the story will be finished. Thank you for reading and following and favouring and reviewing so far, I really appreciate it.
I would be lost without my betas GoSherlocked and Bev, but I'm sure they know that aleready! Love!