TW: Torture – Water boarding and electrocution

John wasn't thrilled with the fact that he'd slept with Jim. There was nothing he could do to change it, however, so he merely focused on heading home. To 221b. To his best friend that was likely already out working the case that would have Moriarty written all over it to the right pair of eyes. He wished he would have brought his gun the further he went. He didn't have any means of defending himself outside of his own fighting skills, and even thought they were excellent (when he'd fully recovered) there were some things that even an assassin of his caliber wouldn't be able to face down with nothing but his hands. A gun, for example. Or, as he drew ever closer to Baker Street, the black car that smoothly rolled up beside him.

At first he'd assumed it was Jim's doing, and John had given it a cautious look. When he caught on to the fact that the cameras in the area had swiveled to avoid picking up the car and John at all, it was far more obvious that the car most certainly was not one of Jim's. It was too late at the point. The agent that had been waiting for him had already slipped up behind John just as the rear door closest to the sidewalk opened. A needle slid into his neck, causing John to react accordingly. The assassin attempted to grab at the agent, but he was already getting well back. The drug, sedative, whatever it was that he'd been given worked quickly. Arms were suddenly reaching up and beneath his own to support him and pull John back into the vehicle before the agent closed the door and slid into the passenger seat. It was all smooth and efficient. Like clockwork. Leaving John staring up at a familiar, blurry face as his vision started going.

"Good work, Anthony." Anthea said, voice oddly flat. She worked for Mycroft Holmes, of course she wouldn't only be a pretty face.

"You as well. Has Mr. Holmes specified a location yet?" a man responded, and John assumed it was the other agent.

"He's been in contact, yes." Anthea affirmed, and all John could think as he slipped further into the darkness was how 'not good' this situation was.

John grunted in pain as the next blow came. It was utterly ridiculous to think that Mycroft was actually willing to go so low as to have the assassin tortured for information in one of the most unoriginal and cliché ways imaginable. Beating the information out. The elder Holmes wasn't doing so himself of course, though John had learned just how sharp that sword Mycroft had really was by experiencing that first hand. Otherwise and for the most part, a hireling was doing the beating while Mycroft watched with a careful kind of disinterest. It shouldn't have been such a surprise that Mycroft could be so dark when the man was the one that always went on about how 'caring isn't an advantage'.

The questioning was simple at first. It left John with plenty of time to go over the facts between these more physical sessions. He had no idea how long he'd been kept. After waking up, bound and held captive in a room with no windows and artificial lights that never went dark, he'd not had a single indicator as to how long the drug had lasted, where he was, or even whether it was day or night. Interrogation technique. John knew them well enough considering his profession. These weren't fancy methods being used, but they were nevertheless effective and John knew that was what Mycroft was going for. The man was more than a bit upset with the fact that his little brother had been living with an assassin for so long when neither of them had actually been aware of it. No matter how Mycroft tried to hide it, John knew that the calm demeanor was nothing but a mask over the otherwise blatant thoughts. The cold rage.

Things didn't take a turn for the worse until his shirt was finally cut away. The bites, scratches, and finger shaped bruises were practically flashing indicators as to how intimate he and Jim had become. Especially to a Holmes. John knew as soon as Mycroft's eyes narrowed, as the man's lips twitched with contempt and pursed, that it wouldn't matter what he said or did anymore if it ever had before. Mycroft wouldn't be content with any of the answers he received. This wasn't so much an interrogation anymore as it was pure torture…and the switch brought out just how creative the elder Holmes could be.

Mycroft rarely allowed himself to feel rage. At least in matters where he wasn't directly dealing with his younger brother. This was quite different, however. This was John Watson. An assassin. A deadly, highly skilled assassin that had slipped beneath his radar and infiltrated the life of his ignorant little brother. Also a man who had recently engaged in sexual relations with one James Moriarty. There were few people in the world that wouldn't feel at least a touch of rage when given the unique perspective of being able to see just how thoroughly he and others had been played. Mycroft didn't like to have someone outsmart him, and having his baby brother outsmarted and used didn't make him any more prone to being merciful now.

The room that John was being held in was always lit. It had been a total of three days now, and the lights had not gone out once. It was an interrogation technique. It was impossible for the man to know how long he'd spent in the room. For all the assassin knew, he'd been there for weeks rather than days. It was suppose to help wear down the resolve of the prisoner, and now it was just to help disorient the man. This had never really been for information, but at the very beginning he could at least fool himself into believing that it was purely for the purpose of attaining such a thing. Once the evidence had been revealed clear as day on the assassin's skin, however, Mycroft had only seen red. Uncharacteristic, for sure, but true nevertheless and it was then that he admitted to himself that this had always been about the torture. He hated being out witted like this. Pride was part of the issue, Sherlock was another, and it certainly helped to know that this whole process would have the potential to get to Moriarty. He doubted there was anything so messy as actually emotional attachments involved in the dynamic of the two, but did it matter? Mycroft had stolen a toy, and he planned to break it.

A window was available to him to look through. A one-way mirror that allowed him to watch the torture of John Watson from outside the room when he couldn't be bothered to actually be present inside. So far he'd remained largely uninvolved in the physical aspect of the proceedings save for blooding his sword with a few shallow cuts. The deep thrill he'd felt, hidden behind layers of ice and stone walls, would have likely sickened most people. It did not change the facts nevertheless.

The torture had been stepped up. The beatings had stopped the day before, and currently the assassin was sagging into the chair he was bound to with a sack over his head. One hireling was holding John still while another subjected the man to a water-boarding that had been going on for the last hour. Mycroft had watched every second thus far. Finally, he had the door to the room opened and he stepped inside. With a wave the two men under his influence were pulling the bag off of John's head. Free from it, John's head lolled forward. His skin was pale, and his hair was a damp mess from the water. The assassin was trying to cough up water as best he could, body trembling from the chill in the room that was likely intensified by the general lack of clothing and the water that had drenched his form. Amazing that, at the beginning, the other had thrashed and struggled in a subconscious effort to breathe only to be reduced to this half-conscious mess before him now. How the mighty assassin had fallen. It also gave him an idea. Wicked and twisted, but all people needed an outlet. Especially ones like him, like his brother, and even like James Moriarty. While his brother turned to drugs in the worst of times, Mycroft could go to this.

No less than five minutes later, and a cattle prod was being handed over to Mycroft just as he'd requested. John was still slumped in the chair as much as the restraints allowed for, and he was still wet from his earlier experience with the water-boarding. Perfect for the elder Holmes as he switched on the charge, and the crackle of electricity filled the room as a current flew between the prongs on the cattle prod. In a parody of gentleness, he lightly tapped the prod onto the other's still wet chest. The cry of pain that escaped John's lips was exquisite. New life seeming to fill the man as his body convulsed briefly with the current that was helped along by the water. Mycroft barely gave John time to catch his breath or recover, he only waited for the worst of the convulsions to slow and stop before tapping the other with the prod again, and again, and again.

A week. A whole week and Jim hadn't seen nor heard anything from John. While he'd expected some form of panic the morning after their rather fantastic sex he hadn't expected the other to leave, and then actually stay away. A few days? That would have even been expected, but a whole week was a bit much.

To be fair, the criminal hadn't been entirely focused on it. He'd been playing games with Sherlock after the massacre he'd started and pulled John along for. He threw himself into it, really. After all, what else was he suppose to do when he was bored and waiting for John to stop acting like a child and come back. To be fair, he didn't notice that John had been silent to the point of being suspicious until he finally decided to check into what the Iceman was doing with his time now that Jim himself had re-emerged. When he found that Mycroft had been oddly silent as well, something told Jim to finally try finding John. Rather than phone the man as an ordinary person might, he took the challenge of utilizing the CCTV and other means. Nothing recent, so the criminal mastermind skipped back a few days until he'd gotten to the last day he'd seen John. Finally, he grinned. There the assassin was. Pouting and obviously fuming as he walked through the streets.

It wasn't until the cameras available for his use started swiveling away that Jim's grin slowly died away to a look of rage. Each camera seemingly teasing him as John disappeared. "Mycroft." Jim snarled, snatching up his phone and going to grab one of his Westwoods. The criminal was texting along the way. The elder Holmes had stole his assassin. His. That possessive thought might have had someone else tripping up, but Jim was used to being possessive and laying claims to things. It didn't occur to him that maybe, just maybe it might go beyond simply not liking that Mycroft had stolen his nice new toy. That maybe he'd been a little bit more attached to John than he should have been ever since the man had taken a bullet for him.

Are we playing this game now? Daddy doesn't like it when someone takes his things. –M

Jim didn't really expect a reply. He didn't even want one. It was simply a declaration that the criminal was going to be actively looking for John now, and God help the poor bastards that got in his way. This was Mycroft, however. Even he couldn't exactly pull all of his resources to infiltrate what was most likely going to be a secure, hidden, and entirely government protected location without using up half his favors and pawns in one gambit that might not even pay off. Jim was brilliant, but admitably the elder Holmes was as well. Which only meant one thing…He needed to a little more help. Something he hated to admit, but it was true. It was only after he'd already sent away the newest text that he finally paused. What was he even doing? It wasn't as if John actually had any truly sensitive information to give. While the man was good, he could find another assassin or sniper anywhere. Hell, he could go find Sebastian again if he really wanted to. This ploy of Mycroft's was a blow to him with the added benefit of getting to torture the man that had deceived both Holmes brothers for so long, but why was it a blow to the criminal at all? Why was had he readily, without much further thought than 'get John back' had he just texted Sherlock Holmes?

Miss me, darling? Lets chat. Brother dear's been naughty. –M

I'll be waiting. –SH

Yeah, so I know its short but I needed to update since I haven't posted in a month. Sorry about that, by the way. This fic is wrapping up, and I'm doing my best to try and come out with a better chapter than this for the next update. Thanks to those who are still sticking with me if you're out there.

Have a good day

Reaperess ^_^