Panthera Pardus

Chapter 16: Kill or Be Killed

"Kill it!" Moriarty screamed as he jabbed at the button controlling the electric pulses going through John's body.

The blond wolf whined and moaned, unable to think about anything besides the pain. Moriarty had been trying to get him to kill the rabbit that was tied to a hook in the floor in front of him. However John knew how this worked. He'd been a prisoner of war for a short period of time. First they gave you what you wanted, water, food… Then they asked you to do something simple. If you did it, you got another luxury, a toothbrush maybe? However what they asked just kept getting bigger and bigger until you were their soldier and no longer in control of your own mind.

John knew if he killed the rabbit, it would be something bigger next, until Moriarty had him killing humans. The Irish man only wanted control over him. However the thought of reprieve almost had him giving in. Almost…

The pain stopped for a moment and John fell limp. Every single muscle in his body was aching and he would sleep if he could. The soft click of shoes walked closer to him and Moriarty's shadow crossed over his fur. The man crouched down and stared at John. The wolf, too exhausted to move, stared back for a moment before closing his eyes. "Oh, Johnny," Moriarty said in a low voice. "You are stubborn. I thought you would be easy to break, but it appears I underestimated you." He was quiet for a moment and all John could hear was his own ragged breathing. "Perhaps it's time to try a different method? Because you aren't as frightened of the pain as I thought you'd be."

Moriarty rested his hand on John's side and a shiver stole through him. He didn't want this man touching him in any way, but he couldn't make his muscles move. The Irish man retracted his hand and stood up. "Yes, I think another form of persuasion is just what you need. Pick him up and take him back to his kennel. We'll start again tomorrow." The last part was directed to the two guards who were always on duty when Moriarty was working with John.

John actually let out a whimper as he was picked up from the floor by one of the burly bodyguards. The other led the way out of the training room and back into the long hallway that housed the kennels. Silence prevailed in the hallway, as those who inhabited it had learned very quickly what happens to noisemakers and rebels. Another yelp of pain escaped the blond wolf as he was unceremoniously tossed into the kennel that had been his home for the past few days.

He wasn't actually sure how long he'd been there, just that it had been too long. ANY time spent in this place was too long. The guards closed and locked the door before swaggering down the hall, speaking in a language that John couldn't understand. He'd tried to figure it out, but could only hazard a guess. Norwegian? Danish? Swedish? He couldn't tell, only that it definitely wasn't English.

Groaning, he raised himself up a little bit and crawled over to the water dish. He'd drank sparingly for the first day or so until he'd realized that they meant to keep refilling it. Even so, he drank only enough to quench his thirst. Who knew if they would take away the water as a punishment? He'd even been given food. A rare steak that had been tossed into the kennel with a wet slap as it hit the concrete. Despite the fact that John liked his meat medium well-done, he scarfed down the meager meal before thinking about it. The wolf in him was satiated and he found that he didn't mind the pink meat so much as he normally would have in his human form.

If there was anything to be said that was good about his situation, John had to say that he had become more and more comfortable with the idea of being a wolf. He could understand now why Sherlock sometimes would change into a panther when he was bored. The animal didn't think about things like boredom. It only thought about the here and now. Everything else was irrelevant. He'd also become more proficient at speaking with the wolf next door to him. They'd worked out a series of movements to ask things and speak. The natural language of the wolf seemed to rise too, the longer he stayed in this form.

As it was, the black and silver wolf next door was named Mary. She was taken from her home about two months ago, and had undergone the same procedure as John. He wondered what they said about them both that they'd turned into wolves? He was grateful for her company though. It seemed she hadn't been turned into a shapeshifter to be trained as a guard dog. Instead, she was taken to a medical lab everyday where they ran tests on her; made her run on a treadmill, chase an electric rabbit around a track, test her memory, try to see how much she understood as a human.

John?, Mary asked in the language of wolves. Are you okay?

John lay beside the water dish, wishing the residual pain would go away. Even if the source of the pain had stopped, he still ached and felt twinges of phantom pain after so much exposure to it. He nodded a bit. I've had worse. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

Mary lay down on her belly, her head on her paws, so that she was eye level with John. Your Sherlock is coming, John. Just hang on a little bit longer. She tried to encourage him.

They'd talked of Sherlock and his relationship with John and how they were almost bonded mates. I don't know, Mary. If he hasn't found me by now… he trailed off.

Don't think like that, John! she scolded. If half of what you've said about him is true, then he will find you! she growled out the last part.

John looked into her golden eyes and sighed. I hope you're right. he said, closing his eyes.

Sherlock felt a strange kind of ache settle in his joints and frowned. He hadn't done anything the previous day to merit this pain, and yet it persisted. He would just have to live with it seeing as he had no pain medicine. In fact he'd consciously stayed away from pain meds for a while now. But that was neither here nor now.

Blue grey eyes narrowed as he traced the route on the map and mentally calculated how much longer it would take to get there. The terrain was not kind to their journey and was forcing them to slow down. Growling under his breath, Sherlock wondered if he could get there faster by running as a panther. Likely, he could, but it would mean he'd be by himself, and this was a mission that would undoubtedly need assistance. Moriarty was too smart for his own good, but that didn't mean Sherlock could burst in and swoop John out with no problems. The commando team had already gone over logistics and planned out how they would approach the building. Sherlock would be in the rear, waiting until the team had taken out the guards outside. It would certainly be difficult, being that close to John and not being able to move, but it needed to happen.

Another jolt of pain worked its way down Sherlock's shoulder and he grimaced. "Are you okay, sir?" one of the team members asked.

"Fine, just fine," Sherlock replied rubbing his aching shoulder. His eyes widened then as he realized where the pain was coming from. While he and John were not a fully bonded pair, Mycroft himself had said that they might as well be. They'd spent so much time with each other without completing the bond that it had grown stronger and stronger as the days went on, making them more aware of each other. This was John's pain Sherlock was feeling. Moriarty was torturing him.

Panic clutched at his chest and his breathing sped up. "Can we move faster?" he asked slightly breathless.

"Not without endangering the men, sir," the driver replied.

Sherlock flopped back against the backrest and groaned. "We'll be there soon," the first commando tried to reassure him, but as another jolt of pain rushed through him, Sherlock wasn't sure it would be soon enough.

John back up against the wall in the small cage, growling and baring his teeth. His hackles were raised and his fierce blue eyes were locked on those of a mountain lion. The beast was slowly stalking around the perimeter of the cage. Silently gauging John's reactions. He'd been thrown into the cage by Moriarty's men five minutes ago. The mountain lion had joined him a minute late and Moriarty's voice had come over a speaker stating that the loser would be dead.

The blond wolf kept the mountain lion to his front, circling with it as it moved. He had to assume that the beast was another shapeshifter, and not a random mountain lion Moriarty had captured somewhere. Which meant that the cat would have human abilities of planning and strategizing. John wasn't exactly lacking in those areas. After all, he had been in the RAMC. If anything, he had an advantage there. Unfortunately, the cat had at least a stone on him and probably quicker reflexes.

The large cat let out a low growl then and stopped circling around the edge of the cage. It hunkered down, preparing to spring. John stopped as well. He didn't want to fight, but if he had to, then he was going to survive. As the mountain lion sprang at him, John dodged to the side and used the cat's recovery time to leap at it. Snarling, he latched onto the tawny nape of neck and locked his jaw in place as the cat yowled and bucked. One giant paw finally swooped back and left four bloody tracks in John's front left shoulder.

He yipped and let go, but didn't let his guard down as the cat darted away to the other side of the cage. John eyed his opponent carefully, noticing that his sharp teeth had left bloody rivulets in the cat's fur. He frowned and steadied himself, the adrenaline pumping through him helped in covering up the pain from his shoulder.

The cat turned sharply once it reached the other side of the cage and barreled toward John again. The massive bulk hit his hindquarters as he scrambled to get out of the way. Teeth and claws dug into his back right leg and John let out a strangled howl of pain and tried to wrench his leg away from the mountain lion. The cat held on though, so John whipped around and used his own claws to scratch at the pink nose buried in his blood and fur. The mountain lion let out a screech and shied away from John's second swipe.

Both parties retreated to opposite ends of the cage to recover for a few seconds, breathing heavily. John was limping a bit, and was afraid of what the adrenaline was covering up. There was some serious damage to his leg and he knew that if he were ever able to shift back into a human, he'd have to have surgery. He glared over at the mountain lion that was licking the blood from its lips. Lowering his head, John searched for some kind of weakness. Aside from the injuries sustained from himself, the cat was perfect. He moved with sinuous grace, ignoring his pain and eyes on his target. Whereas John was injured to the point of limping already.

The blond wolf let out a huff of air and set his target. He needed to get on top of the cat and bite into the spinal cord. It was the best idea for a quick painless kill. However the problem lay in getting there. With his bad leg, he would be slower. John didn't have much time to strategize further because the cat gave a loud yowl and pounced again. This time, John managed to duck to the side, barely avoiding the razor sharp claws. The cat growled in inpatients and dug his claws into the dirt floor of the cage as he whipped around and barreled after John.

The wolf ran as best he could and cut a sharp right and leapt. He flew through the air towards the cat, hoping against hope that he would somehow land on its back. The cat's eyes grew large and everything seemed to move in slow motion as John's front paws hit the cat. He opened his mouth and moved his head forward to bite at the spinal cord, but suddenly it wasn't there anymore. His jaws closed on thin air and a giant paw, claws outstretched, caught him in the side and batted him into the side of the cage. John hit the bars with such force, all the air was driven from his lungs and his vision blacked out for a second.

However he didn't have the luxury of laying there, and despite the dizziness thrust his paws forward to turn over. He was almost up when the cat hit him in the side again with its entire body. Two massive paws had him pinned and a mouthful of teeth was descending toward his neck when a single shot rang out. The cat was propelled off of a stunned John who simply lay on his back, all four paws still stretched out as though to ward off the cat who was now lying motionless with a pool of blood spreading in a halo around its head.

Several other shots rang out then and forced John to his feet. He hunkered low the ground, the lighter fur on his belly dragging through the dirt as more shots were fired. His winter blue eyes searched the darkness through the bars of the cage, but found nothing to focus on. His nose and ears told him differently though. He could hear screams and shouts and smell blood and gun powder. Suddenly, just as soon as it had started, it stopped.

Silence prevailed throughout the room and John felt his nerves tighten even farther. The soft thumping of feet running reached his ears and he whipped around in time to see someone in a long dark coat reach the door of the cage. Sherlock! Relief such as he had never felt before coursed through him, and he rushed to the door as it opened, like a dog ecstatic to see its master home from work. He leapt for the man in the Belfast coat, tackling him to the dirt floor and proceeded to lick his face. Sherlock landed with a pained grunt, his fingers wrapped into the long blond fur on top of him and hugged it close.

"John," he managed to get out in between licks.

It was at that moment, with the fading of the adrenaline, that John could suddenly feel the very real pain in his leg and shoulder. Sherlock's tight hug was putting pressure on the shoulder wound and he yipped sharply as he tugged himself free. He was light headed and had he been of sound mind at the moment, would have recognized the signs of shock. As it was, he staggered sideways and collapsed into a heap. Sherlock rolled to his hands and knees and let out a distressed "John," when he found the leg wound.

The blue scarf came off and was gently, but firmly wrapped around the still bleeding scratches. John whimpered and tried to pull away, but found his strength waning. His vision was narrowing and he kind of felt like throwing up. "Hang on, John. I'm here now. Just hang on," Sherlock's steady voice said. It was the last thing John heard before he blacked out.

A/N: Gah! Cliff-hanger! I know, I know! And I apologize, but honestly, it's either this or wait for another few weeks for a longer chapter. Because the next one will be the last. I apologize once again for how long it's taken to get chapters out, but we're almost done. I will endeavor to get the next one out within two weeks, but please keep in mind that I am back in school and that is my first priority.

Thank you.