As always, beta'd by MrsNoggin. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Warnings: mention of torture
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to ACD and the Masters Moffat and Gatiss. Until they invite me into their club on genius writers I shall own nothing!
Hungary, village near Budapest, 12 October 2012
Jake Moriarty was sitting in his surveillance room. In front of him were four large screens, three of them showed several smaller windows with a live feed from the various cameras scattered throughout the house and grounds. Ignoring all the smaller images, his gaze was fixed on the large monitor on his right, which showed the feed from the cell with John and Sherlock inside. He turned up the volume to better hear his prisoners' conversation.
Over the next few minutes Jake grew more and more agitated. No... no no...NO! This was not what was supposed to happen. Sherlock was supposed to be happy to see his friend, or at least show some sort of response, not this cold hearted indifference! If he did not care about John, then that would make his plan a lot less effective. Jake grabbed the keyboard in front of him and threw it through the room. The action did not solve his problem, but it helped to vent his anger. He focussed on the screen again. And then he noticed it. There was something else going on. Beside the spoken words. John's eyes flickered up to the camera and stayed there for a tad too long. Sherlock's face was hidden from view, but John seemed to react to some kind of signal. His facial expression changed from apologetic to defiant to smiling in the matter of seconds, too sudden to be a coincidence. And his gaze was fixed upon Sherlock the entire time. A silent communication! So his two captives knew about the microphone and tried to play him...
With new resolve, Jake got up. He wanted revenge for what Sherlock had done to his brother, and he would get it, one way or another! He would break that arrogant bastard, wipe that smug smile off his face and if it was the last thing he ever did! And if John happened to end up as collateral damage, so be it!
He stared back at the TV screen showing John's silent face with new awoken hatred as he though back to the first time he had seen him after Afghanistan.
UK, London, February 2012
Jacob Moriarty sat opposite his brother in a small café in central London. The PTSD diagnosis had pretty much destroyed his chances of getting hired as a mercenary, even private security firms did not like to employ trained killers that were officially psychologically unstable. Eventually, he had run out of options and had to call his little brother for assistance. They had been estranged for years and had little contact while Jake was in the Army, but he knew that Jim was running a big, albeit rather shady organisation. Despite their past differences, Jim was surprisingly helpful and had taken him in as his second in command and trusted assassin immediately. Over the course of the first few months in his brother's organisation, Jake learned exactly why Jim had taken him in so easily: In an organisation like his, it was impossible to find real loyalty, real trust. Except from a family member.
Initially Jake was appalled by the thought of killing innocent civilians, but Jim made it clear that this was just another war, another us against them and he soon found himself enjoying their little games. His brother really had a flair for the overly dramatic...
The game changed one fateful day when he found Jim obsessing over some photographs in his office. Approaching his little brother, he managed to get a glimpse of several of the pictures and suddenly had to steady himself on the heavy desk.
"Jake? Did you just see a ghost or do you have an actual explanation for messing up my desk?"
"These-, these men, on that picture ... who are they?"
"Oh, my favourite plaything, Sherlock Holmes, and his little pet, John Watson. Why?" His tone grew sharp. "Do you know them, brother?"
Jake took a deep breath and steadied himself. "Yes. Yes, you could say that."
After that Jake had started his own obsession. While his brother played out his power games with Sherlock Holmes, he followed John wherever he went. He had him in his crosshairs more than once, but his brother had forbidden him from harming the good doctor. Something about the game being more fun with John around. So he stood back and watched, like a bird of prey patiently waiting for his opportunity to strike.
And then that one fateful day at St. Bart's changed everything. He wanted to shoot John, but his brother's orders had been clear. Only after he found out that Jim was dead, he dared to make a move on his former friend, but by that time he was already enclosed by a tight security detail, no doubt courtesy of Mycroft Holmes. Jake decided to give up on his target for the moment, a tactical retreat, he could afford to wait. His chance would come and then the good doctor would meet his fate. And this time he would stay dead.
Hungary, village near Budapest, 13 October 2012
They were dragged into a small room, no more than 4m long and 3 m wide, with 2 chairs positioned opposite each other. The guards pushed Sherlock to the far chair, while John was dumped unceremoniously into the chair closer to the door. Both chairs had arm rests and John and Sherlock found their wrists secured to the chairs by handcuffs the moment they sat down. The guards proceeded to secure their ankles in a similar fashion and then left the room, closing the heavy door behind them.
John tried his range of movement, but found it to be very limited. He had a quick look around. No cameras that he could see, also no obvious microphones, but they might be hidden under the seats.
"There are no recording devices in here. I was here before, for some of Jake's 'entertainment'. Your chair is new, obviously." Of course, Sherlock could read him like an open book. So this was the torture chamber where they had held Sherlock before. He felt a shudder go down his spine at the thought of someone hurting his friend. He tried to lighten the mood.
"Bit uncomfortable, this."
"Yes, the accommodation here lacks the usual amenities I prefer. Now I see why you are so opposed to all the kidnappings. It is rather bothersome." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, into one his rare, genuine smiles. John couldn't help but to grin back at him. But the smile slipped off Sherlock's face almost immediately and he gave John one long, scrutinizing look. When he finally spoke his voice was raw and broken.
"I am sorry I left you behind. Knowing what I know now I should have told you the truth. I was just trying to protect you, to keep you safe. I failed."
While speaking, he had let his mask slip and John saw the turmoil play in the younger man's eyes. His friend looked at him with an almost shy expression, and suddenly John could see all the insecurities that Sherlock always displayed when dealing with genuine emotion.
"Forgive me."
John was floored. Sherlock rarely apologised. But unfortunately now was not the time for emotional reunions.
"I forgave you the moment Mycroft told me that you jumped to save Mrs Hudson and Greg." John set his jaw and gave Sherlock a hard glance. "But now I need your help to save both of us!"
He'd realised that this was probably the last moment to get his friend's attention without anyone listening in.
"Sherlock, I need you to listen to me very carefully. We both know what's going to happen. It will be – painful for you to watch." John said this in such a matter-of-fact voice that Sherlock looked up at him sharply. "What? Just stating the facts here. I need you to know that it is ok. No matter what he does to me, no matter how bad it looks, he won't kill me. Jake knows that I am much more valuable to him alive than dead. And I was trained for situations like this. You were not, so please, just follow my lead for once, ok? Tune it out, retreat to your mind palace, whatever helps you, but don't let him get to you! Please Sherlock, can you do that for me?"
Sherlock gave a short nod and composed his features. Unmoving, the two friends waited in silence.
Jake Moriarty entered the room in a similar fashion to his younger brother. Loud and preposterous.
"Hello my darlings, I hope I don't not leave you waiting for too long, important business, you know how it is. It is impossible to get decent staff these days."
Sherlock started to smile, one of his big, smug and very fake smiles. As expected, it triggered Jake immediately. He whirled around and grabbed Sherlock's forearms, lowering his face until it was right in front of the detective's.
"What is so funny about that?" he snarled.
Sherlock closed his eyes for a second gave a heavy sigh. "Please don't be dull. Are you really missing the humour in the fact that I am the one responsible for your sudden lack of manpower? Or in your complete inability to lead a criminal network as vast and brilliant as the one created by your late brother?"
John flinched. Sherlock really had a talent for pissing people off.
"Don't you DARE to talk about my brother! You shot him, you have no right –"
"I shot him?" Sherlock interrupted. "Get your facts straight before you start accusing innocent people. Your dear brother shot himself." Jake stared at him blankly. "Oh, you did not know this, did you? Never bothered to get your hands on the police report then? And you want to be the new leader of the Moriarty crime network? You? You're pathetic! Your brother, now he was brilliant. Insane, but brilliant nevertheless. You are just a soldier, useful as the brawl, but you will never have his brains. Even without my help, your brother's legacy would fall apart sooner rather than later."
John understood what Sherlock was trying to do. Keeping Jake's focus on himself, throwing him off his intended plan, trying to keep John safe. All noble reasons, but John knew Jake, or rather, he knew Sebastian. He was a dangerous man, especially when provoked. He decided to intervene before the situation got out of hand.
"Sebastian, Sherlock is right. You are no criminal, you are a soldier. And a damn fine one. You swore to protect your country. And you did make a difference. Jim is gone and you are free to live your own life. To step out of his shadow. You don't have to prove anything here." He had used Sebastian's name on purpose, trying to remind the man of his other identity.
Jake slowly let go of Sherlock and turned around to John, who used his most innocent look to convey his sincerity. Unfortunately, John's tactics did not pan out. Instead of reminding Jake of his good side, John had inadvertently given Jake the cue to turn into a more controlled soldier mode. John immediately realised his mistake when he saw the face of his captor turn into a cold and cruel grin. The crazy gleam that had resided there moments ago was gone, replaced by controlled hatred.
"Johnny boy, how right you are!" The mocking tone was back, but his time it held no humour whatsoever. "I am a soldier, trained to kill my enemies, to extract information by any means necessary." He turned to Sherlock and stage whispered, "He would know because he went through the same training." Turning back to John his voice turned icy. "Didn't you John?"
"You know what I am capable of. You know the methods they taught us. You even have firsthand experience of using them yourself, haven't you?" He stepped back to watch both of his prisoners.
Sherlock only just managed to wipe the shock off his face before Jake could catch it. But his mind was trying to process the information. John – his John – his calm, kind and nice John had used torture? A look into John's face confirmed Jake's words, his expression was pained, haunted by old memories.
"Yes, that's right, innocent little Johnny here hurt people. He even killed. But not only during the war, right John? The taxi driver in London, that was not an act of war, that was just you, John Watson, murdering a civilian. Now, who are you to judge me? How are you any different from me? We both dropped out of the war against our will; we both were picked up by men who were able to supply us with the adrenalin rush we crave so badly. And you ended up on the losing side, John. Because you are on my turf now, and don't expect any kind of special treatment from me. I carried you through the mountains once, don't expect that kindness again."
He glanced at his two prisoners with satisfaction. John looked absolutely miserable, and Sherlock, well his face was as unmoving as always. But Jake was sure that at least one or two of his blows had hit its target and cracked the detective's defences. All he had to do was keep this game going, and he would reach his goals.
"I've been going slowly with you, Sherlock. Well, as John here managed to find us, I am certain that annoying brother of yours is not far behind. So we have to step up the speed a little bit. The time for subtleties is over. While I gather my supplies, I'll leave you two to it. I am sure you have plenty of things to discuss."
With that he turned and swiftly left the room.
AN: Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?