^&^

As Holmes had predicted they were taken to the room again, but this time their roles were reversed. Watson was hung from the pillar while Holmes was forced to sit. The detective blanched with horror at the arrangement but Watson was relieved even if he wasn't looking forward the inevitable result. He was stronger than Holmes was at the moment and any reprieve he could gain for him would be a welcome sacrifice.

Holmes didn't seem to agree. "Grown tired of me already?" he taunted when Blackwood sauntered in. "How fickle you are, Your Majesty. By the way, for the ruler of a sovereign nation, you have terrible fashion sense. I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you that. We're merely left to wish the Emperor had no clothes."

To Holmes' credit, the beast actually looked annoyed. "I'd cut your tongue out, but there might be use for it yet."

"I'd cut your heart out but you don't have one," Holmes shot back, struggling with his ropes, ignoring Watson, who was trying to catch his eye to tell him to 'stop'. "You have tiresome games, Blackwood. I have to say that I will be bored to death long before any of this business does me in. Aren't you ashamed that you have yet to kill me?"

Blackwood considered before running his hand up Watson's thigh, making the doctor squirm in shock. "I can't imagine this boring you. Look at him." The cruel fingers wrapped themselves around Watson's member and squeezed, hard, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. "Or have you spent the last few years of your life doing just that? Watching him as he bathes and sleeps, hating yourself and anyone else who would dare to try to enjoy what you always considered yours." He leaned in and lewdly licked his broad tongue across Watson's mouth, making him choke with disgust. "Not that I blame you. He's quite the sight and I think I'd like to see all of him."

Holmes went perfectly white and still. "Stop it."

"Make me," Blackwood replied, undoing the buttons of Watson's waistcoat, one at a time. "You know our deal. You only need to say the word."

Heart pounding, Watson looked up quickly at Holmes who was wild-eyed with desperation and terror. "No deals, Holmes. Please. This is nothing, I swear it. Look away and it will all be over soon enough. I beg you." Another brutally hard squeeze to his member and Watson gasped, but didn't cry out. "You know he can't be trusted," he coughed, the pain making his gut twist in agony.

"You don't need to trust me," Blackwood said while in one smooth motion, ripping Watson's shirt open. He bent in to bite at a nipple, making Watson flail in the chains in a futile attempt to escape. "You only need to agree. Now, I wonder how the rest of him looks."

"Holmes ..." Watson warned, his voice shaking. He had no idea what this 'deal' was, but knew it wasn't good. "Don't."

Blackwood's hand rested at the button of Watson's trousers. His fingers played with the opening but before he'd popped it open, Holmes spoke.

"I'll do it," he said quietly. "Let him go, leave him alone and I will do it."

Both Blackwood's and Watson's eyes went wide, the former's with dark joy, the latter's with shock. "Holmes ..." Watson groaned brokenly.

Blackwood smiled broadly and patted Watson's cheek with exaggerated affection. "Don't fret, Doctor," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "You of all people should be happy that a great mind will no longer be going to waste. He will make a very good tactician in the building of my brave new world and I daresay you will enjoy being my gift to my new - and best - advisor." Blackwood nodded to his men who immediately freed both Holmes and Watson from their bonds. "But remember, gifts can always be taken back. Serve me as you ought and a joyful life will be yours."

It was a line from one of his many speeches. Watson recognized the words and his stomach roiled with disgust. Blackwood held out his hand to Holmes and Watson had to look away when Holmes reluctantly kissed the black ring sitting on his finger. He felt like raging but there was nothing to be done except allow himself to be led out, this time to a well-furnished set of rooms where a hot bath and new clothes were already waiting, along with real food and not the stale gruel and water they'd been fed for days.

Watson sat for a long time, staring into the fire place. His body throbbed with pain where Blackwood had abused it but he hardly noticed the aches, so occupied he was with Holmes' capitulation to the monster. Understanding why he'd done it was easy enough but how impossible it was to reconcile the stalwart man he knew and loved with the one who had just given in to the evilest man on earth.

Finally, he rose and stripped off his filthy clothes, taking advantage of the bath while it was still warm. He scrubbed hard at his skin as if to wash away Blackwood's touch and felt better once done. The clothes were an odd recreation of one of his old suits, the brown one Holmes had always favored him in and Watson shuddered a little at the attention to detail, bordering on psychotic. He dressed and ate, hardly tasting the food, as hungry as he was.

Hours passed. Watson sat and watched the fire die down to embers. He felt bone tired and was just about to consider lying down when a voice sounded behind his ear, startling him.

"I know you hate me now. I don't begrudge you that," Holmes said. He was also bathed and wearing ... dear God ... one of the suits used by Blackwood's magical cult, a dark tuxedo crossed over the shoulders by thick gold and blue velvet bands. His hair was clean and slicked back and his face was pale and beautiful, even covered in cuts as it was.

Watson stared at Holmes, torn between the thought of kissing him and hitting him. "You shouldn't make fun of Blackwood's fashion sense. Yours isn't what it used to be," he said finally. "What the deuce are you thinking? I'd rather he force himself on me a hundred times before seeing you reduced to this."

"And I would rather not have him touch you at all. Seeing as the choice was mine to make ..." Holmes looked away, his throat working. "As I said, I've earned your disdain."

"So how is this supposed to work?" Watson asked, ignoring Holmes' dramatic statement. "You're going to be his new toady. And I?"

Holmes pulled uncomfortably at the crisp bow tie surrounding his neck. "You are my companion, here. Where you will be safe and sound and no one may touch or hurt you again."

"Oh. I see. And if I am not comfortable with this arrangement?" Watson snapped, annoyed. "This arrangement that once again I was completely in the dark about even though we've had days to discuss things? I'm not a plaything or a child, Holmes. You can't make these decisions for both of us behind my back. This is what drove me crazy about things in the first place."

"Must we argue now?" Holmes asked, slumping down into one of the chairs. "Can't you simply accept that I cannot abide you being hurt? That it was fine when it was just myself and I would have held out until death before giving in, but now ..." Resting his head on his hands, Holmes raked his fingers through his hair. "I can't, John. You may be my strength, but you are also my only weakness. If you can't forgive, please try to understand, at least."

The voice, usually so confident, sounded small and broken, making Watson's heart ache. It still didn't change things. "I don't accept this situation, Holmes and I never will. But I understand why you've done this. That isn't to say I'll go along with it. You might be better off putting me back in my cell, as I won't be a part of this," he said, exhaling shakily. "I will not play this game of Blackwood's. And until you deny him ..." He stopped there, turning his face to the fire, his back to Holmes.

He could feel Holmes dark eyes staring at the back of his head. "You'll go back to that cell over my dead body," Holmes said coldly. "You are staying here with me."

"Very well, but I will not be Blackwood's 'gift' to you. I have no wish for you to touch me while you are part of his organization," Watson said, his trembling voice betraying his true emotions. "If you have any inclination toward me, you will rethink this foolish course of action and then I will reconsider."

"You're impossible," Holmes growled, jumping up and grabbing Watson by the chin, forcing him to look up. "I am trying to save you."

"You're doing a bad job of it," Watson replied, yanking his face out of Holmes' grip. "I said you are not to touch me. Go to your master and get a new toy if you must. I am not that man."

All color drained from Holmes' face. He looked as he sometimes did after the cocaine was administered - wild and filled with angry energy. "You are everything, but most of all, you're mine. I want for no one ... nothing else and so help me, I'll make you understand this if it takes the rest of my life."

With a barely repressed shiver, Watson turned away. "I'm tired, Holmes. I wish to rest," he lied. "I will lie on the floor, as there is only the one bed."

"Get in the bed," Holmes snapped. "Don't worry, John. Your virtue is safe. It has been all these years, hasn't it?"

Watson wasn't sure how to reply to that, so he didn't try. He took off his coat and shoes and climbed into the bed, huddling beneath the thick quilt. Holmes sat silently and stared off into the distance, as he used to when lost in his calculations. Suddenly, Watson missed Baker Street desperately, wishing they were back in their sitting room together, talking and laughing, seemingly without a care in the world. Thoughts of the sweet sound of Holmes violin, Mrs. Hudson's tea and those ridiculous experiments that would cloud up the house every other week, made Watson shut his eyes against the memory.

God, how tempting it was, the desire to forgive Holmes completely and invite him into the bed beside him to spend the evening as they ought to, making love, instead of standing apart from one another in anger. But Watson couldn't ... every atom in his being wanted to fight against Blackwood and his plans and if Holmes was to be even a reluctant part of those plans, then he would have to fight him too.

The thought nearly broke his heart. This pleasant room, Watson thought, was the worse cell by far.

^&^

tbc ....

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