6 months later

Sherlock was happy. He was (oh shut up Mycroft) whatever anyone else says. He was feeling love, right? And normal people like loving other people. And if he was normal, John would like him. John always said you should marry the woman you should love! John will like him now. He couldn't possibly like Sherlock as he normally is, Sherlock keeps heads in the fridge, drops eyeballs in tea, conducts horrid experiments, is rude, and drags John off to crime scene. Sherlock knows that, he knows John couldn't possibly like him.

John moves out of the flat.

Well, he must have come to his senses. He probably hated Sherlock from the beginning, probably just needed the adrenaline rush and an actual flatmate for rent.

He doesn't need John. He never needed John. He has a wife that Anderson is jealous of (not that Anderson is a great specimen of a man, but it's the thought), that Greg seems to get tongue-tied over, and Mycroft hates. Perfect attributes.

Right?

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He's booooorrrrreeeed. He's sooo booorredd. Sherlock doesn't come out to play anymore, and the good doctor finally moved out (thank god for that). Moriarty is BORED! Do you understand?

"Sebbbiieee!" he yelled.
No answer.
BANG!
A gunshot rings throughout the flat, and Sebastian comes running in.
"What the hell, Jim?" he growls
Moriarty sweetly blinks his eyelashes.
"Sebbie," he drawls in a honeyed tone, "I'm soooo bored. Wanna go and play with Sherlock again?"
Sebastian's lips curl up into a shark smile, teeth all showing.
Moriarty grins.
"Time to play another game!"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

John wakes up blearily, then snaps to attention. He's tied to a chair and gagged. John scans his surroundings, takes in the camera that's set up on the side, and sees Moriarty.

"Hi Johnny."
John glared.
"Oh Johnny-boy, don't be so rude."
Sullen silence.
"I said, SPEAK UP!" He shrieked.
"What the hell do you want?"

Moriarty smirked.
"Oh Johnny, Johnny. You're here as the damsel-in-distress! I was so happy when you moved out of good old Baker Street, but Sherlock is pining after you. He's so BORING! So, you're here to provide a little... excitement."
John spat.
"Well, let's start with the whip, shall we?"

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No, this can't be right. This cannot be correct. John is safe, John has moved out, Moriarty isn't interested in John anymore. He can't be.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright?" Elizabeth touched a hand to his shoulder.
Life with Elizabeth was at first satisfying. She shut up, stayed quiet, didn't try to move his messes, and was entirely pleasant! in bed. She didn't annoy him with nagging about the milk, or asking stupid questions, or try to get rid of his experiments. But even sex wasn't really enough after a while. She didn't make him feel extraordinarily clever, or make the I'm-exasperated-with-you-git-but-you're-still-wonderful face.
But now, John was in danger. John was tied up, John was being whipped, John was the one in pain. And truth to be told, if the same thing had happened to Elizabeth, Sherlock wouldn't have felt even half the rage he did now.
Elizabeth happened to glance at the screen, and she paled.
John was bound to the floor, face turned to the side, whip lashes streaking his skin red.
"Is th-that John?" she whispered.
He strode to the entrance, grabbed his coat.
"I'm going to get him back."

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John growled.
"Incorrect! Try again!" he sang. The whip lashed against his skin, leaving another deep cut.
"Wanna give me a kiss Johnny boy?" Moriarty asked.
"I will never give in to your sick perversions."
"Ooo honey, your dirty talk is soooo sexy!"
"Shut up Moriarty." John snarled.
"You should take lessons in manners, Johnny."
"Oh, because drugging someone, stuffing them in a van, then chaining them up to torture them isn't considered impolite?"
"Oh my, Sherlock's pet is getting rude." He leaned in.
"But your Sherlock will come for you."
"No he won't. He's not my Sherlock. He doesn't care about me."
"Oh pet, you know as well as I do that for John Watson he will tear the world down."
"No, he won't. Because Sherlock bloody Holmes has gotten himself married."

"WHHHAAAAAATT?!"
His face broke into a mask of fury. He grabbed a knife from the table of torture devices, lifted it up above John's head and...
sliced apart his bindings.
"I don't care how it happens. But we will get rid of the ugly bitch."
John rubbed at his wrists, then held out a hand.
"Truce?"
Moriarty shook it.
"Call me Jim."