AN: Me again! Here's the next part! Um… warnings for implied-ish rape…. Couldn't bring myself to write it proper, especially as I've never written it before... Anywaaay... Enjoy!

The Video

The screen darkened as the video began to play, and after a while, a room appeared. John blinked, suddenly confused; it looked like a normal, ordinary room, though fashioned with an old style, but a normal room.
The walls were plastered with acorn patterned wallpaper, with sections beginning to fray due to age, and the floor was wooden. He'd expected it to be a dark, stone cell, with no light at all… Not a room that he knew his Nan would have had - but then, he was sure that his Nan would never have had a naked man shackled to the floor, broken, or there to be blood stains on the wall…

The man…

He recognised that man. Through all the wounds and bruises, he recognised him; the tall frame, the high cheekbones… even the wild hair that was flattened against the man's face. John knew him; but it couldn't be… it couldn't be! "I did this to him," John thought, leaning back in shock, "I did this… Oh Sherlock, I'm so sorry! I should have been there…"

Footsteps echoed within the video. Then a door creaked open, brightening the screen for a second, and then slammed shut.

"Oh Shirley dear, asleep again are you?" A voice from off the screen called out, it was followed by a tall man, who John assumed to be Moran, walking onto the screen. "Come on now; don't want to spoil the fun now, do you? You know I don't like it when you're unconscious… I want to hear you scream… beg for mercy. How can I do that if you're asleep?" He walked over to Sherlock and nudged him with his foot. No response.

"Hmm, aren't you wanting to play some more? I'm… I'm extremely disappointed in you, Sherlock. And I'm sure John won't be happy either…" At the sound of John's name, Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

"Jo-hn… Wh-what have, y-you…" John cringed at the hoarseness of his voice, watching him force his body upwards, groaning silently in pain.

"Silence! Did I say you can speak? No. I didn't think so, you stupid little git." The man kicked him hard in the ribs, "Ooh, I haven't touched him, not yet. You see, Holmes, Moriarty," Moriarty, this wasn't good, not good at all… "-isn't interested in your little pet… only you… always you."

"Mori- of course, why – why didn't I… see it…?"

"Oh you sweet little thing, you think Jimmy ordered me to do this? Ha!" He laughed scornfully, kneeling down beside Sherlock. "Please, give me some respect."

"He… doesn't know I'm – here… does he?"

"Oh, bravo, bravo indeed," He clapped mockingly, smiling, "Living up to your high and mighty reputation, I see… All he talks about is you… but why you? You're nothing special! You are NOTHING!"

"Jealous of - my attention..?"

"Jealous, perhaps… But what's to life without any competition, hmm?"

"What are you…?" Moran had pushed Sherlock back down onto the floor, straddling him. "-Showing you, that I am better than you, stronger, smarter… See how I've turned you into a snivelling wreck… all by myself!"

"No, please, don't-""-Look at you. Go on, really look. So vulnerable, open... mine… I'll show Jim, I'll show Jim really what matters…"

"S-stop, get off of me!" Moran began to grind down hard onto him. John quickly shut his eyes, embarrassment and fear clouding over his face. Moran wouldn't, he couldn't do this… Not to Sherlock… Not him…

"-So weak… tell me, Sherlock, what does it feel like to feel so human, so helpless, scared?" Clothes rustled, and John felt himself pale.

"No… no… Stop… you can't…"

"Sssh, Shirley, it'll be over soon..." He gagged as he heard Sherlock moan in pain, but still he kept his eyes shut… He couldn't look… This wasn't happening… it couldn't be! "Stop struggling, brat, don't you want your special treat?"

"Please… I-urgh… no…"

"God, so tight…" Moran's voice wavered between hatred and lust, louder than the whimpering and sobbing heard from beneath him. "Filthy little - whore...no wonder, Jim wanted you... so much…"

11.29am

The video had finally finished, but still did John not open his eyes. He was petrified with fear, unbelieving to what had happened right before his [closed] eyes. He knew he had to do something… Show someone… but who? Sherlock was in no state to be left there… But what could he do?
Sighing, he slowly opened them, ignoring the frozen frame of Moran still inside of Sherlock, whose face was torn between humiliation and ashamed pleasure, and closed the player. He opened his blog, and with shaking hands, typed his distress. Surely someone would answer him…

He didn't want to sit here alone. Not after the video, not with the sounds Sherlock had made echoing through his mind… He wasn't him; he couldn't just delete stuff… No, he needed someone… Someone who could provide comfort, understand his pain…

He refreshed the blog, and saw someone had commented; Lestrade… He'd know what to do…

What's happened John?
Lestrade 31 January 11:39

John closed his eyes, what could he say?

He… He sent.. a vvideo… He…
John Watson 31 January 11:49

He refreshed once more. The reply was almost immediate.

Right. Get off of the computer. Now. I'm on my way.
Lestrade 31 January 11:51

All John could do now was wait…