Hey there! Been a while... Sorry bout that. But it's here now :) Warning: SUPER suggestive... inappropriate... But hey, it's Sherlock and John, what do ya expect? Anyhows, this chapter it really long... You'll see. Hopefully it's good though :) Sooo enjoy!

Sherlock was deep in his Mind Palace. John knew it would take an explosion to get him out of it, if even that. That was one of the many traits Sherlock had that made John worry; the detective would go for days or weeks on end without sleep or food, and while he still functioned, John had started to realize shortly after moving in with him, that was the main reason for his lean body, along with all the running around he did when on cases.

John stood in the kitchen making tea while Sherlock sat back in a chair, his legs folded under him and his fingers at his temples. After almost an our conversation on the phone with Mary, John had finally convinced her to let him take her out as an apology. The doctor knew Sherlock would never apologize for something like that; he rarely every apologized for everything. Still… why had he done it?

Sure, Sherlock did strange things when he was bored—shooting holes through the wall and saturating little pigs were only a choice few examples—but even then, mostly they were for a purpose. Whether he decided to share that purpose with others was completely up to Sherlock, of course.

So what was the purpose in getting Mary mad at him? John knew Sherlock probably liked seeing him getting frustrated in relationships… but why? Donovan's words popped into his head and he growled lowly, accidentally spilling some tea. Hurriedly he grabbed napkins and started mopping some up. Just then his phone went off and John sighed, not having to check it to know it was Mary. He threw the napkins away and started towards the door.

"Sherlock, I'm going out with Mary. I'll see be back in a bit. The kettle's on, so make yourself some tea, will you? It doesn't take much to digest tea, so it won't slow down your brain power… or whatever," John tossed out, pulling on his jumper. As expected, there was no response, and John sighed before starting down the stairs, pulling the door closed behind him.

More information. He needed more information. Another body would do… Sherlock bit his thumb.

"John, make me some tea." It was silent. Sherlock lifted his head a bit, blinking away the thought processes that had been swimming in front of his eyes for the past few hours, and looked around. The window outside was darkened, and the whole room was dark blue with nighttime. Sherlock frowned as he began to stretch his long legs out, setting his feet on the floor. His muscles screamed as he stretched them, grimacing slightly.

"John? Tea?" Again, there was no reply. There was no sound, in fact. Sherlock's frowned deepened again. How long had John been out? The detective knew the older man could take care of himself, but still… with everything that had happened with Moriarty, especially at the pool, Sherlock had begun to feel this pinching, digging feeling in his gut every time John was gone for long periods of time.

As it might be related to sentiment, Sherlock left the feeling unexamined, as there was no need. Besides, John might interpret it as something different than it is—he really was quite daft sometimes, Sherlock thought with a small, fond smile.

Just then there were the sounds of footsteps climbing the stairs and Sherlock wiped the smile away, wondering how he hadn't noticed the door closing downstairs. Sherlock frowned. From the sound of the steps and the weight placed on each of them, it was absolutely John. But where had he gone? Sherlock recalled earlier John making a date with Mary… but why would he be back so early if it was a date? Could something have gone wrong? Sherlock once again ignored the strong, unbelievable sense of satisfaction that soaked into his gut.

A moment later the door opened and closed, and there stood John, awkwardly. Sherlock immediately examined him; hair mussed from running a hand through it as John did often when he was agitated or upset—Sherlock assumed it was because Mary badgering him about letting Sherlock use his phone or perhaps Sherlock in general-, his collar pulled up around his neck, which could be from the cold except from where he sat Sherlock could see the sweat lining John's brow and he was ringing his hands in nervousness, not to keep them warm.

So, he was trying to hide something on his neck—most likely some of those love bites or whatever people called them that Sherlock occasionally saw on the shorter man on such nights after his dates with Mary, or occasionally mornings. The rest of his clothes were slightly more disheveled than usual. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I asked you for tea." John swallowed and didn't move from the doorway instead of reacting with his usual lackadaisical attitude when finding out Sherlock still talked to him while he was away. Sherlock frowned. John's hand was shaking. This sent alarms off in his head and Sherlock moved to stand when suddenly John shot forward.

"Stop!" There was such desperation and command in his voice that Sherlock immediately halted. John didn't lower the hand he had raised to stop him, instead moving toward the detective slowly.

"Sit… sit down." Sherlock slowly slipped back down without a word, his curiosity piqued. John rubbed his hands together, clinching them, shifting. He wouldn't meet Sherlock's gaze. Suddenly John flinched, his face twisted in pain, and Sherlock leaned forward a bit.

John held up a hand again and this time placed it on Sherlock's chest and pushed him backwards. Sherlock fell against the back of the chair and he stared at John curiously. He only had a moment before his brain could begin to process as John's body leaned over his, his harsh breathing ruffling Sherlock's hair and brushing his neck, sending shivers through him.

John swallowed thickly once again. He could feel the cool metal around his neck. It was tight—too tight. He could barely breathe. Of course, part of that could be due to the fact that he was currently sitting in his best friend's lap. A voice chuckled in his ear, and a wave of anger and fear ran through him. He knew the other man was getting no small amount of entertainment from this. John tried to calm himself down and think. How the hell had he even gotten into this situation?

John stepped out of 221B and sighed, glancing around for a cab. The streets were busy as always, teeming with people, and he pushed through the crowd politely in search. Just then something clamped down on his arm, and he turned. A tall man in dark sunglasses held a tight grip on his arm, and behind him, the doctor saw a darkly colored car awaiting. John glanced back at the flat. He wasn't that far… maybe he could text Sherlock… The man slipped his hand into his own pocket and held up John's cell phone.

John sighed.

He knew he had his gun, but the other man most likely knew, too, and the fact that he hadn't taken it meant that he didn't see it as a threat. Reluctantly, John allowed himself to be pulled towards the car, and gave a little shout of protest as the man roughly shoved him into the back seat. Once the door slammed shut, John immediately noticed the other presence. The leather interior smelled new, and there was the faint smell of a cherry air freshener. Across from John, who sat stock still with a straight, stony face, was none other than the criminal with dark brown eyes and an ever-present smirk.

"Ah, John," Moriarty greeted pleasantly, "Nice to see you again, though I doubt you think so under the circumstances. You're doing well, I suspect?"

"Fine," John said shortly, "What do you want?" Moriarty cocked his eyebrow, his smirk growing. He as well as John was surprised at the doctor's boldness, especially when their last meeting had resulted in John having an extremely life threatening bomb strapped to his chest and snipers aimed at his heart.

"Oh, just a little game," the sharply dressed man answered, shrugging and taking a sip of his tea. He offered some to John, and simply smiled when denied.

"You see, I've been so lonely since my and Sherlock's last encounter. I decided I wanted to see how far I could stretch his heart."

"And what does that have to do with me?" John asked sharply. He didn't like the idea of anyone thinking they could simply play around with Sherlock or his heart, but would never reveal that to someone like this criminal. Although, by the knowing smirk on his face, Moriarty most likely already had deduced it.

"Oh, you know… just everything." Moriarty suddenly leaned forward in John's personal space, and he automatically jumped back, bumping his head against the seat. Moriarty smirked.

"I want to burn his heart," he whispered harshly, before leaning back once again, "But first… I want to test its limits. And what better way to do that than to use his little lap dog?"

"I am not his lap dog," John snapped. Moriarty tutted.

"Now, now, there's nothing wrong with being a bottom, though I would have figured you more as the controlling type…" John's jaw dropped, his face burning.

"Wha—pff—I-I—We're not a couple! And I would never—!"

"Never's a long time," Moriarty warned merrily, holding out the last word as if in a song, "If you're not a couple… What do you call two people that live and work together and yet never get tired of each other and are willing to die for the other?" Before John could answer, Moriarty waved a hand airily.

"But enough chit chat, down to business." His face turned serious, and John met his gaze evenly.

"You will do everything I say," he stated, "You disobey…" Moriarty snapped his fingers and suddenly the door opened and strong hands from the man from before were on him, and before John could breath there was a clack! And something cold and hard pressed against his neck.

"… this little gadget will send a small, electric shock through you," Moriarty said, still grinning, with a tone as if he were discussing the weather, "and when I say 'small'… I mean that it can rise to the same amount of electricity as used with the electric chair." Moriarty held up a small gray piece of metal with a tiny red button in the middle.

"If you don't immediately do what I tell you, or if you hesitate, you will receive a little shock like this…" Suddenly a red hot, sharp streak shot through John's body, wakening all of his nerves in pain. It only lasted a minute, but left John breathless and panting. Moriarty continued with the little smirk set in his face.

"If you do anything to notify Sherlock of what is going on without him deducing it himself… an even fiercer one. If you try to take the necklace off yourself… you will have your eyes popping out of your skull and you'll be choking on your own tongue and vomit faster than our dear little Sherlock can spell 'hedgehog'. Got it?" John glared, but nodded, his fingers, which had been prodding the cold, intruding metal, reluctantly pulling back to sit in his lap with the others.

"Alrighty then," Moriarty said, clapping and grinning, "I guess that's all. Oh! Don't forget… the same thing happens if you try to take out the ear piece. Don't do that, kay?" Moriarty winked and the door opened again and something small and metallic was placed into his hand. John swallowed and placed it in his ear. The man from earlier motioned behind him, and John turned slowly, allowing himself to be escorted down the now darker streets, wondering how exactly he was going to explain this to Mary, and what the hell Moriarty planned for him to do with Sherlock's heart.

Right now, John could hear Moriarty's quiet snickering in his right ear and mentally cursed him. Why the hell was he doing all of this? Sherlock was still staring up at him incredulously, his probing gaze bringing John back to their current, awkward situation. The heat from Sherlock's legs burned on the inside of John's thighs, reminding him that he was currently straddling his best and only friend. John cursed again in his head.

"John…?" Sherlock's baritone voice broke through his thoughts again and John's eyes met his. John's hands were beside Sherlock's head, holding him up on either side, and the doctor resisted the temptation to twirl his fingers in the dark locks.

"Don't get distracted now… unbutton the first button on his shirt." John's jaw clenched in humiliation but did as he was told, and reached for the first button on Sherlock's purple shirt. Sherlock, surprisingly, stayed still and allowed him to release the first button, a flash of more pale, enticing skin appearing below the fabric. John swallowed again and left his hands hovering over Sherlock's chest, unsure where to place them.

"John…" Oh, god, Sherlock's eyes were boring into him now. John could barely stand to look at him straight on… "What are you doing?"

"Now run your hand over his jaw," Moriarty spoke when Sherlock stayed silent. John reached out for Sherlock's face, but before his finger tips could touch the pale skin, his wrist was caught in long, cold fingers. John's eyes widened and suddenly his body convulsed. Sherlock's eyes immediately rounded as he snatched his hand away. The shock and pain faded and John breathed heavily, leaning slightly over Sherlock, his forehead brushing the soft dark curls.

John's mind swirled. So, he also got hurt if Sherlock prevented him from doing what Moriarty told him? What was the point of that?

"Oops… just a bit of a slip up… oh well." John cursed the criminal over and over in his head, when Sherlock broke his thoughts.

"John…" His eyes met Sherlock's probing, serious gaze, "Is it him?" John swallowed and didn't say or move, but that seemed to be enough. Sherlock raised a delicate hand and moved the collar of John's shirt and jacket to reveal the small piece of metal encircling his neck. He reached to touch it but John snatched his wrist out of the air. Sherlock met his alarmed eyes, realization setting in his own. The detective pulled his hands away and settled into the chair more.

"Very well. What does he want?" John licked his lips, listening in the ear piece.

"Tell him… it's not about what he wants… but what I want. And I want you."

John's face burned and he squeezed his eyes shut before reciting the lines dutifully.

"It's not about what he wants, but what I want. And I want you. Sherlock, I want you. Please let me have you." As John's face burned in humiliation, he could practically see the cogs turning in those stormy eyes of his, as if just simply solving a puzzle like he didn't have his best friend in his lap, telling him how much he wanted him. Would this be how he would react if John told him this without Moriarty's help? John doubted it, his mind going back to that first time at dinner when Sherlock had thought he'd been hitting on him. But no, this was much, much different. A lot had changed since then. Not that much, though, John scolded his mind.

"Why is he doing this?" Sherlock asked, his icy voice interrupting John's thoughts, "What is the point of all this?"

"Don't answer," Moriarty's voice immediately said, "Instead, shift closer to him. Try to get as close as possible. And just for good measure… kiss his neck." John was mortified. He knew he had hesitated too long a second before the next shot of pain rang through his system. John bent over Sherlock again, panting, his eyes screwed shut. As the pain receded, John attempted to steady his breath before doing as he was told. He saw Sherlock's eyebrows furrow as John's legs widened and he shifted closer, their groins almost touching. John moved his head just below Sherlock's jaw and leaned forward. He paused only a moment when Sherlock's hands moved to his shoulders to push him away, and he could practically feel Moriarty's finger lying in wait on the trigger.

"Sherlock," he whispered, his voice quiet and strangled, "Please." With hesitation, Sherlock's hands drifted away, and John continued to lean forward until his lips pressed against hot flesh. He pulled away after a moment, trying to avoid Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock was no doubt trying to figure everything out; there was no guarantee that he was even still aware that John was there. Hell, he might be in his Mind Palace, sorting everything, completely distracted from their predicament. After thinking this, John gained the courage to look up, but his eyes clashed with steel ones, looking deep into his and quite aware of everything that was going on. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm assuming this is some kind of sick game. Perhaps a strange fantasy of Moriarty's?" John knew he was trying to provoke Moriarty to talk with him directly, and wondered briefly if it would work. In his ear, Moriarty laughed.

"Say… 'They're not his fantasies. They're mine. Won't you take me, Sherlock?" Jaw clenched in embarrassment and horror, John squeezed his eyes shut and recited the lines. Sherlock observed him, though John was refusing to look at him. Finally, he shrugged.

"Alright."

John's head snapped up, his jaw loose, and the line on his ear was silent for a moment. Sherlock was analyzing his face, as if he hadn't just agreed to do what he just did.

"Ohh… always straightforward, Sherlock is, isn't he? Hmm… have him take off your belt. You know what will happen if you don't." John swallowed, meeting Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock held his meaningfully, and John sucked in a breath.

"He err… I mean I," he said, wincing at the small electric shock that sparked along his neck, "I-I want…you to take off my belt. Sherlock, please." The last two words held several meanings, and they stared at each other before Sherlock pursed his lips and released his hands from their previous position.

"Alright then." John's breath caught as Sherlock's nimble fingers fiddled with the belt, and was forced closer slightly when he began tugging the belt off. Finally, he tossed it on the floor and looked back at John, placing his hands back in that almost-praying position expectantly.

"Good, very good. Now… lick his ear andddd… run a hand up his leg. That should do it." John sighed through his nose before meeting Sherlock's eyes briefly and meaningfully. He then leaned forward and placed the tip of his tongue at the bottom of Sherlock's ear, dragging it along the shell while simultaneously sliding his fingers from Sherlock's knee up his tightly-clothed leg, stopping a bit above mid-thigh. He could have sworn Sherlock's breath hitched, and was about to dismiss it when he was reminded that there was a high possibility that Sherlock may be a virgin. All of this could be completely foreign and uncomfortable for him, and he was only putting on a show of being unfazed for Moriarty, and perhaps John as well.

"Very good… now unbutton his pants and grab him." John audibly gasped, his horror showing on his face as Sherlock frowned at him. No. No, no, no. Especially after his last thoughts, there was no way he could do that to Sherlock. They would never be the same; they would always have that awkward, we-got-to-second-base-because-of-a-criminal air. Maybe that was Moriarty's plan; to make their relationship slowly disintegrate because of awkwardness. And maybe resentment; Sherlock may never forgive him for doing something so… 'vile', as he might put it.

Hot white pain soared through his body and John slumped, breathing even heavier than before, his lungs burning. Sherlock's eyes probed him, wanting to know but at the same time hesitant to find out. John stared resolutely into Sherlock's eyes, and realization lit up in the dark orbs just as another flash of hot, burning pain zapped through his body, lasting seconds that seemed like hours longer than before. John could barely breathe, his entire body burning, his hairs on end. His fingers dug into the back of the chair, not helping to relieve the pain.

"John," Sherlock's rumbling voice said quietly, "Just do it." John shook his head, and there came a worse, longer pain than before, and John actually cried out. Sherlock reached for him, and John's body slumped into his as Sherlock placed his hands on either of his sides, attempting at comfort.

"John. Please." He didn't know if it was the promising tone, the pain, or the use of the word so often missing from Sherlock's mouth that made him nod slowly. John picked his head up slowly from where it had fallen onto Sherlock's shoulders, and he met his eyes meaningfully, apology written deep within them. Sherlock gave a small nod in understanding and acceptance, and John closed his eyes tightly.

He reached a hand down between them and his fingers brushed over the button of Sherlock's pants, and something else as well. His eyes shot open in shock as a small noise came from the back of Sherlock's voice, but was almost drowned out by a high-pitched, surprised shriek. Both of their heads snapped to the door where Mrs. Hudson stood, holding a hand to her heart and cradling a tea tray in the other. John heard the line in his ear cut, the reception gone, and Mrs. Hudson fretted and shook her head.

"Oh, I'm so sorry dears—I'll come… back later…" She shuffled back out swiftly, closing the door behind her, and no sooner as John taken the ear piece out to look at it than Sherlock stood, causing John to flail and land painfully on the ground. John groaned as the tall man exited the room without a word or glance. John lay on the ground for a moment, eyes closed, trying to stop the replays of what had just happened from playing over and over in his mind.

Maybe, just maybe, this was really what Moriarty had planned.

Welp... yep. There ya go. More will be explained later... But for now, I hope you liked it :) Oh and

in case you didn't realize... what John also felt when he touched Sherlock's pants... yeah *ahem*boner*ahem* soo yup. Oh and the noise? *surprised moan*

Just some clarification there

I hope you liked it please review and stuffs byes for now