Hello all. This chapter is going to flick back and forth between John and Sherlock's POVs, just so you know what's going on before it all meshes together.
I don't want to give too much away with Sherlock, though, so his sections will be shorter than John's. It's all for the greater good!
Warnings: Contains slash and scenes of torture; dark scenes ahead.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC. I only own this plot.
"W-where are we?" Sherlock woke up to Moriarty's car coming to a stop. He had been drugged as soon as they left just to weaken him; but Sherlock Holmes was resilient to drugs and despite the fact he may have been a bit disorientated, he was far from weak just yet. His head got lighter when he sat up and Moriarty reached out to tilt his chin upwards.
"Your new home, Sherlock." The psychopath cooed and gave the chin a quick tap, making Sherlock flinch and inch away. "Now now. We can't be shy anymore, my love. Let's go." He led Sherlock out of the car. Blinking around quite bleary-eyed, the detective saw a huge mansion surrounded by four high walls. There was a gateway that was heavily armed and two watchtowers. 'More Goons,' Sherlock thought as he was further led up the pathway to the entrance of the mansion.
"I don't want this." Sherlock grunted as the door was shut behind them. There was no way of escaping; Moriarty still had his gun kept close and the guards looked brutal and armed.
"There are things none of us want, Sherlock, but we just have to put up with that now don't we?" Moriarty rang a bell and in a matter of seconds, a dining hall to their left was opened up. "How about we share some food before the fun commences, shall we?"
"Is there a bathroom?" Sherlock glanced around. Moriarty sighed and clicked his fingers. A stocky man who could only be labelled as 'Bigger Goon' came around the corner.
"Take him to the bathroom, Bradley, will you? Just stand outside the door and make sure he doesn't escape." Moriarty winked and made his way to the dining room. Sherlock, still quite groggy from the drug, stumbled as he was led down the hall and into a large bathroom. Once inside, he proceeded to take off his left shoe and pull out the note. He smiled; good old John always thinking ahead.
Ripping the note into tiny pieces to get rid of the evidence, the detective flushed them down the toilet. Looking at himself in the large bathroom mirror, Sherlock repressed a sigh. What the hell was going on? He shouldn't have left John like that… John…
"Oi, you done in there or what?" Brandon's voice came thundering from the other side just as Sherlock opened the door. "Master Moriarty is waiting for you in the dining room." Taking Sherlock by the elbows, the Bigger Goon led him to the dining room. It was large with an obscenely long table extending lengthways down the middle – like something from the films.
A large feast was laid out at each end; one for Moriarty and one for Sherlock. Sitting down, Sherlock offered Moriarty his best glare and crossed his arms.
"Eat up now, Sherlock. That was an order. My maids cooked this delicious meal for us." Moriarty grinned and poured out a glass of red wine, handing it to a timid looking blonde maid to take to Sherlock.
"I'm not eating any of this." Sherlock sneered, ignoring the glass of wine. For all he knew, they could have been drugged or poisoned. Moriarty shrugged and stuck his fork into a piece of chicken.
"Suit yourself. You're missing out though." His tone was almost mocking as he ate the lump of poultry.
"I'm sure I am." The detective folded one leg over the other and waited for something, anything, to happen.
"One might say I should punish you." Taking up his glass the criminal licked his lips around the rim. If that were John, Sherlock would have found it arousing. But it was his enemy and so he was disgusted. "Maybe I will. And very harshly. Just as soon as I finish up here. We have all the time in the world."
That's what you think, Sherlock thought with inner glee, Just wait. For the duration of the meal he sat there, giving Moriarty dagger glares and sighing rather loudly. What Moriarty didn't know was that Sherlock was used to going for long periods of time without food (much to John's displeasure) and that he wouldn't be hungry until at least the next day.
"John, wake up." Mycroft shook John gently and the doctor's eyes fluttered open. His head was resting uncomfortably on the car window and he felt almost more tired than he had been when they left Baker Street. "We're just going to stop for some tea."
"Where?" John looked out the window. They were stopped in some quaint little countryside town.
"Not far from Sussex. I've made some phone calls, John."
"Regarding Sherlock?" John opened the door and stepped out with Mycroft. Anthea said something to Mycroft as the car drove away to park, leaving the two standing outside a small café.
"Sort of. I called DI Lestrade. He and a team-member should be arriving later." Mycroft led them both into the little café and to a small window seat. A waiter who looked very impatient handed them a menu each.
"I'll take a Greek Salad and green tea please." John noted that Mycroft seemed to be sticking to his diet (not that he needed to; the man was whippet thin) and seemed to only order Greek salad and a cup of green tea when eating out. When John didn't respond to the waiter's comment of 'and you, Sir?', Mycroft gave his leg a nudge with the tip of his umbrella.
"Huh? Sorry?" John looked up to see the man roll his eyes and tap his pen impatiently on the notepad.
"He asked your order John." Mycroft gave John a concerned look.
"Oh sorry. Just a cup of coffee please." Writing down the order in a scribble, the waiter turned away and stalked to the kitchen area. John was displeased at his attitude and scowled at him walking away.
"Are you alright?" Mycroft rested his elbows on the table and his chin on top of his locked hands. He looked sort of graceful.
"Yeah… Actually no, I'm not. I just want Sherlock back. I don't know what Moriarty wants to do to him but my gut tells me this isn't going to end well Mycroft." John's hand started to shake and he immediately clenched it into a fist on the table. Spotting this, the elder Holmes brother placed his hand in a comforting way over the fist.
"John you must stay positive. I know this is hard but it's Sherlock we're talking about. Remember what I said about him being a genius? He still is one. Now take a breath and calm down." John took a breath like he was told and sat back in his chair.
"…Thank you. Sherlock's lucky to have you as a brother."
"He's even luckier to have you as a lover." Mycroft offered his thin smile and retracted his hand back to his own half of the table.
"Have you ever been in love Mycroft?" A strange question, but for some reason John just couldn't picture Mycroft being with a nice woman and having children. The older man's smile grew just slightly.
"I don't know if it's love. Deep affection, though… Yes." John noticed Mycroft used the present tense when his question had clearly been in the past. Saying no more on the matter, he fell silent. It was nice to know Mycroft had somebody too.
Their order arrived some time later after a discussion about what was to happen. They decided they couldn't decide much without Lestrade and whoever else was going to be present. John took up a spoon and added two sugars to his tea, not bothering with milk. He had grown more accustomed to Sherlock's way of doing things and even swapped plain teabags in order to drink more Darjeerling. He had to admit, his boyfriend did have great taste in things.
"Are you not going to eat?" Mycroft's salad had been left untouched for the most part and Mycroft was fine with just a few mouthfuls. John, however, was built differently and ate more often than the Holmes.
"I'm not hungry." And it was truth; John had lost his appetite when Moriarty showed up.
"You will need your energy for later." Mycroft took a sip of his green tea, pulled a face and nudged it to the side. "You're welcome to the rest of my salad if you wish."
"It's fine, but thanks anyway. I'll get something later maybe." John drank down his coffee – not caring that it burned his throat – and waved Mycroft's offer away. Shrugging lightly, Mycroft waited until John was ready to go.
Moriarty, it seemed, meant what he said about punishment. It was harsh. When he finished his food, the consulting criminal made Sherlock rise from his seat (he had to be dragged, actually, seeing as he did not obey) and pushed him down onto his knees.
"Shirt off." Moriarty shooed the other people from the room and took some rope from a small box. When Sherlock did nothing, his hair was roughly grabbed. "Don't make me hurt you more than I already want to. Obey your Master." Sherlock had no option, so he took his shirt off and it fell to the floor.
"Very good, pet. Now, lean forward so you can receive your punishment." Some rustling could be heard and when Sherlock leaned forward, he caught a glimpse of something long and fine-edged swinging from Moriarty's hands.
His hands were forced behind his back and tied together with rope.
"Are you ready?"
"…" Another rough pull of hair.
"I said, are you ready?"
"Y-yes-"
"Yes, Master!" Moriarty let go of Sherlock's hair and raised the whip above his head to lash it down.
The first lash made Sherlock cry out unintentionally. He resisted crying out the second time the sharp edged whip licked across his back, instead making a low whimper and very, very quietly pleading for John. Moriarty grinned and tossed the whip aside. Bending down, he undid the knots tying Sherlock's hands behind his back.
"See now this is what happens when you disobey my orders, pet." He yanked Sherlock to his feet from the dining room floor and handed him his shirt. "But that was only the beginning. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes… Master." Sherlock could feel bile rising when he said that, pure hatred filling his stomach. His upper back was now lined with two straight horizontal gashes which stung when Sherlock shrugged back on his shirt.
"Now follow me and do as you're told. And you will never utter John's name while I am punishing you again. Clear?"
"Yes Master." Sherlock's mouth was set in a straight line as he followed the psychopath out of the dining room and up a large staircase.
It had only been about two hours since he was taken from John but already it felt like a day. Every second spent with Moriarty was as long as an hour. The sting on his back from the whip marks were starting to fade, but something told Sherlock that very soon he would almost crave that very sting; what was coming seemed way worse.
Mycroft's black car stopped some way away from a high stone wall surrounding what was assumed to be a large house. John couldn't tell, seeing as only part of the roof was visible. It was in the middle of the countryside and the only thing not a field for ages.
"Please tell me this isn't where Sherlock is." John asked, gulping and unconsciously pulling the scarf around his neck tighter. He could see, if he peered hard enough, a gate that was guarded by at least three strong men.
"It is, Doctor Watson." Anthea said, not once looking up from her Blackberry. Mycroft stepped out first, took a look around and signalled for John to follow.
"Keep a low profile, John. I'm sure those guards were told of our descriptions." The elder Holmes brother put his trademark umbrella back into the car just to be safe. There was a line of randomly spaced bushes and trees on the far side of the road, so they headed down that way. The car kept a safe distance behind, driving ahead of them so it wouldn't look suspicious.
"All I want to do right now is go in there and kill that bastard. I did bring my gun." John's voice was low but there was an edge to it that showed he wasn't lying. Mycroft touched his arm and they crouched down low as they got nearer.
"Likewise, John. But we can't be hasty. If we rush on in there I have no doubt things will get ugly." He sighed and squinted his eyes, looking to see which guard was the weakest. "We'll book ourselves into a hotel and wait for Greg- DI Lestrade to arrive. Come on, before we get caught." John knew only two people who called Lestrade by his shortened first name; himself and on rare occasions, Sherlock. To hear Mycroft say it was odd but they were friends weren't they? Well, associates anyway.
Making their way back to the car, John asked what hotel they'd be staying in. Anthea answered when Mycroft looked to her (she was still on her Blackberry.)
"Blue Hill Hotel, Sir." The assistant looked up from her Blackberry to the two men before glancing back down again. "Not far from here."
"Thank you Anthea. I'll be sharing a room with Lestrade. Anthea can stay by herself. John you don't mind sharing with James, do you?"
"Not at all." John nodded to the driver who glanced back in his rear-view mirror.
"James is straight so no need to worry." Mycroft smiled. "I'm just teasing. I'm sure you two will be fine." James and John laughed (John's first laugh since they left, but it was forced.) The car drove on for another fifteen minutes until they entered a small town. They arrived at the hotel, which was small and old but elegant in contrast to the surrounding buildings. John sighed and looked at Mycroft.
"I suppose we should check in then." The doctor got out and looked up at the hotel. It would have been nice if Sherlock were there beside him and this was just a weekend break…
I'm very evil. But then again, in the roleplay it was the idea of BOTH of us, so I'm only half evil in reality. We didn't go into this much detail of Sherlock's torture so maybe that's saying something.
Anyway, thanks for the lovely review Vikki20. As for the anonymous one, you may be right.
Until next time, slàn leat! (goodbye in Irish)