A Message for Sherlock Holmes
He'd never get there in time, never. But that didn't stop him from trying. The villain probably went inside mere moments after Sherlock left. How did he not anticipate that? How did a so-called genius like himself not know what would happen because of this? How?
Doesn't matter. Helping John matters.
You wouldn't have to help him if you hadn't left him in the first place.
He didn't argue. It was true.
He dove out of the cab when it stopped, throwing too much money at the driver before barreling inside and clambering up the stairs.
"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson said drowsily, peering through the door at him. "D'you know what time it is?"
"Mrs. Hudson, go back downstairs," Sherlock hissed, everything in his being trying to get him to keep running.
"Sher-"
"GO!" She jumped, backing away quickly while Sherlock slammed the door behind him and rushed upstairs. "JOHN!"
He froze.
"Well, it's about time."
John's hands were cuffed, and hitched around Moriarty's neck, wearing nothing but a bloody undershirt, duct tape over his eyes this time. He trembled and gasped softly, every word carved into his skin a few days ago reopened and scarlet, striking against his skin. It was the gun pressed to his temple that kept Sherlock from stepping any closer.
"Now, John, don't be rude. Say hello," The villain smirked, looking directly into his eyes.
"Sh-Sherlock," he whimpered. His stomach lurched, nerves itching to take him away from this. To fight to get him away. But he couldn't. One step and…
"That's an odd sort of greeting," he grinned, laughing. "Such a funny little thing you've got here, Sherlock."
"Let him go," he breathed, wishing his voice was stronger. "He has nothing to do with this, let him go."
"But Sherlock," he smiled, tapping under John's chin with the muzzle of the gun. "He's such a cute little bargaining chip, don't you think?" John whimpered again, wishing he could look in Sherlock's eyes for assurance. "Sorry about the tape, but I know you guys have your little telepathic conversations when you look at each other. Can't have that."
"What do you want?" Sherlock yelled, knowing he was showing weakness.
"To make sure you truly understand something," he said simply, his free hand on John's upper thigh. "When I say back off…" John squealed, writhing away when Jim grabbed something that wasn't his.
"Sherlock!" He sobbed.
"…I mean it."
"STOP! Stop, please, this has nothing to do with him—"
He squeezed again. "YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!" He bellowed over John's scream. "I need you to back off, completely. And if this is what I have to do to make sure you stay away from my informants, away from my projects and far away from me. Do you understand now?" He said darkly.
"Yes. I completely understand. Please…let him go."
"As soon as I'm safe," he chuckled, stepping toward the door. "Any parting words for John?" He grinned, seeing the horror in Sherlock's expression.
"Yes," he breathed. "Vatican cameos."
John tugged as hard as he could on his neck, flipping him over and away from him. Sherlock rushed forward, catching him and snatching the gun off the floor before Jim fully understood what was happening to him.
"Well, look at you two!" He giggled, standing swiftly, dusting himself off. "Whole little system worked out, haven't you?"
"You can leave and I will not follow you but you're not taking John with you. I won't allow you to torture him anymore," Sherlock said darkly, supporting him with one arm, the gun in the other, which he promptly dropped.
Jim grinned. "Just wanted to see what you'd do. I don't have any use for him." He turned, shaking his head. "Don't make me remind you again, Sherlock," he warned. "Wouldn't want to have to mount John's head in my living room, now would I?"
Sherlock didn't move for roughly ten minutes after he was gone, being absolutely sure. John clung to his arm, panting, shuddering, so afraid that it wasn't over.
When the detective was absolutely sure he wouldn't be back he took a deep breath, carefully lowering him to the floor. "Shh, shh, it's alright. It's alright. Hold still, shh, shh…" He carefully peeled the tape from his eyes, running his fingers through his hair and holding him close. He tore his coat off again, draping it over him, gently touching his cheeks. "I'm here. I've got you. I'm gonna call you an ambulance, alright? Shh. He won't hurt you anymore. You did so well, you were so brave John. Shh…" He kissed his forehead, still holding his face. "Shh, everything will be alright, soon. I promise."
"Sherlock," he breathed, swallowing hard.
"I'm right here. Right here, I won't leave you. Shh…" He dug his phone out of his pocket. "Lestrade…no…SHUT UP! Listen to me, I need your help…"
John kept his fingers laced in Sherlock's, hanging on to him as tightly as he could, trembling. He kept his eyes locked with Sherlock's, knowing he'd be safe here with him. He swallowed hard, shaking a little. "Sherlock," he whispered.
"Shh, it's alright. It's okay. Shh…"
"He-he gave m-me more…" He glanced at his arm, shuddering.
"Alright, alright, it'll be alright, shh…" He kissed his forehead, setting his phone on the floor. "It's alright. It's okay. It'll be alright soon. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I left you here. I was only gone for a moment."
"I-I'm alright."
"You're bleeding, you…look what he did to you. It's my fault…" He shook his head. John didn't need this. He gently lifted him into his arms, rocking him slowly. "Shh, hush, hush. It's alright. I've got you now, it's alright. Shh…"
He heard the sirens approaching. "It'll be better soon. They'll take care of you properly. It'll be alright, John." He kissed his forehead, never looking away from him.
"I-I know," John stammered, offering a shadow of his patient, gentle smile.
Sherlock's heart twisted again.
Wearing him to the breaking point was easy. Between the humiliating questions and punishments, the verbal and emotional torture as well as the constant pain all tied together with the onslaught of drugs made it child's play to shatter what Sherlock had once called his nerves of steel.
"Stop it, please!" He begged, words lost in the gag. He was lying on his stomach, screaming as the monster cut into his skin.
"Why? I'm just putting the proper labels where they go, John! You are Sherlock's bitch-" He dug harder, "aren't you?"
John cried into the concrete, his legs and back bleeding. He knew what they said. Jim told him precisely what the letter he'd written to Sherlock said.
"Come on, won't it be such a lovely surprise. What I wouldn't give to see the look on his face…" He sighed, kicking John over, smirking down at him. "I think we're done now," he grinned, bending to lightly slap his cheek. "Yes, perfect." He took the undershirt from his assistant, roughly shoving it back on him.
John continued to cry as he was tied back up, so weak and exhausted.
"I'll let him find you now," Jim grinned, taking the dog tags from the table and twirling them on his finger. John looked at them, desperate for something from his life before this to hang on to. Something to remind him that he wasn't such a pathetic excuse for a human being. Wasn't such a coward. "Don't want you to be bored, though."
Sherlock, help. He squealed when the needle was pressed into his vein.
"Bye-bye, Johnny. It's been fun…"
John trembled , wishing he could speak, wishing he could stop crying.
He was left alone in the dark again, his stomach empty, throat dry, heart aching for his love. That was all he wanted, all he needed.
He hung there, drenched in sweat and blood, shivering head to toe. His nerves hummed from the electricity, skin radiating heat and agony. Blood drizzled and dripped down from each letter, a beaten, broken mess for Sherlock to find.
As he fell into the haze of the drug he tried to think of something that made him even remotely happy, something that warmed his heart and told him this was worth it.
"John."
I didn't look up from my computer as I spoke. "What?"
"Nothing," he said blandly. "I…" He cleared his throat. "I, wanted to tell you I…" He shook his head, determined, trying to force himself to speak. "I love you."
My head snapped up immediately, trying to be sure I heard him correctly. "What?" He swallowed hard, peering at him over his steeped fingers.
"I said…I said I love you," he repeated, trying to be firm. His eyes gave him away. I could only sit there, mouth agape, staring at him.
"Is…is this an experiment?" I breathed, shaking my head.
"No," he said, cool eyes never leaving my own. "I'm not playing any games with you, John. Now please, I'm not very good at this sort of thing and Mrs. Hudson said I should just—"
"You talked to Mrs. Hudson about this?"
"That I should just tell you!" He said over me. "So there, I told you. End of conversation."
He shut his eyes, lying back down on the couch, shutting his eyes and sighing shortly.
He felt stupid for saying it, I know he did. He felt foolish, and like I didn't believe him or thought it was funny.
I didn't, though.
I set the computer down, stepping over to him. I sat down beside him, cupping his cheek. He opened his eyes, revealing a deep level of vulnerability and fear.
"I love you too." I said gently, bending to kiss him. He smiled a little when I broke away, stroking his curls back. "And I'm glad you told me." He sighed again, happy this time and shut his eyes once more.
"Love you, John," he whispered.
"I love you, Sherlock."
I moved to get up when he wrapped his arms around my waist. "Stay. Please. Your blog can wait." I chuckled, positioning myself on the couch so we were wrapped up together, my hands inside his robe, feeling his heart and absorbing his warmth.
"When did you decide cuddling was worth your time?" I asked, genuinely curious, partially teasing. He shrugged.
"When I discovered how soft and warm you are," he said simply. "Being near you like this releases endorphins. It feels much better than any nicotine patch or cigarette could. And you touch back. I didn't know I wanted this until I had it," he whispered, slightly ashamed that he enjoyed an emotion. I smiled, kissing the top of his head.
"Go ahead then. I'll be here."
John cried, so cold, wishing Sherlock's warmth was there now, telling him he loved him with that light blush in his cheeks. "Help me, Sherlock," he whispered. "Let me tell you I love you again."
He fell limp in the chains, sobbing to nothing, exhausted and broken. The sound of his broken heart echoing through the room.