Secrets

John was using every ounce of willpower not to throw up at Jim's comment. He attempted to clean himself up with the towel, but he still felt dirty. Once he'd managed to wipe away most of the blood, he glanced at a chair where his clothes had been stacked and folded neatly. He shuddered as he thought of Jim dragging him upstairs, stripping his clothes off his unconscious body, hauling him onto the bed and tying him down.

Once he was dressed, he turned to Jim and said flatly, "Was there anything else you needed?"

"So nice of you to offer, pet," Jim said, standing up and straightening his necktie. "Strip the bed of these sheets and toss them in the rubbish on your way out."

John's stomach turned at the sight of the sheets, which were smudged and stained with blood—his blood. He was all too happy to yank the sheets off and ball them up until no blood was showing. He dumped them in the corner, then slowly, painfully, made his way down the stairs, not bothering to ask if Jim wanted anything else. He just wanted to go home. He ached all over, inside and out. Walking was a misery.

He hailed a cab back to the flat. Sherlock wasn't home, a rare stroke of luck for how the day was going, so John silently limped up to his room, and turned on the shower. As the water heated, he kneeled over the toilet and shoved a finger down his throat, forcing himself to vomit. He felt only slight relief once his stomach was emptied, and he stepped into the hot shower and scrubbed himself viciously, trying without success to wash all the filth away, rinsing out his mouth as well.

His wrists and ankles stung, though it didn't look like he needed stitches, only some clean bandages. Once he'd dried off and patched himself up, he pulled on his pyjamas and curled up into his bed, making himself as small as possible. He wanted to cry, but his eyes were dried up, incapable of crying anymore.

John's phone had several texts in it, five from Sebastian and one from Sherlock.

John, call me when you can. Where did you go? -SM.

The other texts were variations of that, the tone of annoyance becoming more apparent as they went on. The one from Sherlock just read,

John, when you get home, write down "asbestos" on the grocery list. –SH

John ignored the one from Sherlock and focused on the ones from Sebastian. He seemed angry and John couldn't blame him, which made him feel worse.

Sorry I ran off. -JW

When can I see you again? -SM

I don't know. -JW

Sebastian would notice the cuts on his wrists had more than doubled and dug even deeper, and John had a horrible bruise across his neck from when Jim had strangled him.

John, what's wrong? -SM

Nothing. I'm fine. -JW

Yeah, call me when you're ready to tell the truth. I'll be here whenever you need me to be. -SM

John didn't know what to say in response to that. Telling the truth...well he couldn't, obviously. It would mean someone's death. He finally typed,

I'm just feeling under the weather. -JW

It wasn't strictly speaking a lie...it just wasn't the truth, either.

Sebastian sighed and put away his phone. He wanted to help John, but John was obviously too scared or too embarrassed or too something to say something. He packed up from the hotel room and headed back to Jim's flat. He needed to pick up some more ammo for the day's assignment, and odds were good that Jim would have a list of orders for him. Work would distract him from John for a while, at least, although anymore it was getting harder and harder to keep his mind off the man.

John stayed in his room for the rest of the day. At one point, Sherlock came home and came up to knock on his door to announce that he had a case. John turned him down, not bothering to open it up and curled tighter in on himself. Sherlock obviously knew something was up, but John distracted him by reminding him to write down asbestos. John called in at the clinic sick for the next two days, rarely leaving his bed, and only when he had heard Sherlock leave. He was in constant fear that Jim would text him or Sebastian would show up to his flat unannounced.

Sebastian returned to Jim's and found Jim in oddly high spirits. "What's so damn amusing, boss? Did you kill that ex-Bee Gee you hate some much?" he smirked, extinguishing his cigarette so as not to kill Jim's high spirits.

"Mm, no, darling, just had a good shag is all. Isn't it surprising how a little bit of the beast with two backs can turn your mood around?" Jim smirked. "Though I'm sure you know that feeling rather well, don't you? I image you're boyfriend is quite that charmer in bed."

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. Jim rarely had sex, and even more rarely with people other than Sebastian. He supposed, however, that he hadn't been around as often, and he respected the fact that Jim hadn't ordered him to bed in some time. If he demanded it of him, however, he wouldn't be able to refuse without something horrible happening to him. Sebastian's stomach twisted at the mere thought of having to betray John against his will. He forced a smile and answered Jim's question. "Yeah, he's quite good in bed," he said. "Worth keeping, that man of mine."

Jim sighed and quirked an eyebrow. "I'll bet, kitten." He shoved a pocket square into his suit. "I've got directions for your next target on my desk—I'm going to a meeting. Take care of it by nine o'clock. Ta, ta, lover-boy!" With that, Jim practically floated out the door.

Sebastian frowned, but followed the instructions. He shot another text to John, just to say hi and let John know that he was still thinking about him, that he was still here.

John looked down at the text, but didn't respond. He was too busy boring a hole in the wall with his eyes and fighting the urge to get back in the shower and scrub himself down with military precision for the third time.

John heard the door open downstairs and footsteps come inside. Sherlock was back. John hoped he would just leave him be. He didn't want to talk to him again.

"John?" Sherlock called. When John didn't answer, Sherlock decided he didn't want to be bothered, and set to work on his latest experiment. Several more days passed where John managed to keep his healing wrists from Sherlock's sight and avoided Sebastian in general. Finally, he got a text from Jim.

Hi sunshine. Daddy needs a treat.

What do you want. -JW

Company. Get over here with two servings of Indian food-preferrably paneer-in thirty minutes. Wear something sexy or I will find something sexy for you, and odds are you won't prefer it.

John didn't respond to the text. He just mechanically climbed from his bed, and went to his wardrobe. He didn't really have anything sexy. He grabbed a suit—that was the best he could manage. He pulled it on, then went downstairs. He paused briefly when Sherlock looked up at him, frowning a bit at seeing him fro the first time in days and noticing the fading purple bruise on his neck, before John hurriedly left. He went and ordered the Indian food and showed up at Jim's 35 minutes later.

Jim let him in and strolled to the dining room, expecting John to follow. "You're late, pet," he drawled. The house was dark except for the dining room. He circled the table, dragging his fingers over the polished wood, then cracked his neck as he surveyed John. "Is that really the best thing you could find to wear? I have got to keep my subordinates in better clothes," he sighed. "Sit down. I'll get forks."

John dropped into the seat without saying anything and pushed one of the boxes over to the seat across from him as he waited for Jim to return. He hoped this wasn't going to drag on long. He wanted to get back to the warm comfort of his bed.

"You look thin, honey," Jim said. "Maybe I went a bit too hard on you last time, hmm?" He glanced at John's wrists, then dug into his paneer. "Has Sherlock asked about the marks on your wrists yet? Or your throat?"

"I've only just seen him," John said emotionlessly. He looked down at his food, but didn't eat. He wasn't hungry. His eating habits over the past four days had turned hauntingly similar to Sherlock's.

Jim took a few more mouthfuls of paneer, then looked up at John. "Eat," he commanded. "I hate eating by myself. The whole reason I brought you over was so I could eat with someone else. Seb's out on a job or he'd join me."

John started to mechanically shove food into his mouth, but did nothing more, eating slowly.

"Do you work tomorrow?" Jim asked.

"Yes."

"What time?"

"Eight."

"I'm up by then. You'll sleep here tonight. With me."

John swallowed and looked up at him. After a moment, "I can't. I've left my clothes at home."

Jim snorted derisively. "As if that's an excuse. Ohhhh, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny...I have wardrobes of clothes and we're about the same size. I might be a bit narrower in the shoulders, but we'll find something suitable." He glared up at him. "I'm not taking no for an answer." His hard voice softened to something more playful. "Besides, Johnny, it's cold outside tonight, and I'll need a warm body near me. Preferably one that's not squirming around or trying to kill me. Or snoring. Avoid those, otherwise your night will be quite unpleasant. Understood?"

John flexed his jaw, his mouth tasting bitter. "Understood," he muttered, looking away, even less hungry than he'd been a moment ago.

"Good." Jim left him to his silence as he polished off his dinner. "Mmm, yum." He stood up and circled around behind John, running a hand through John's hair, quite gently, almost massaging it. "You know, John, you could come to like me, if you tried. I had to be rough with you last time because you were being so very naughty, but if you fly right, I can be quite sweet..."

John closed his eyes, not out of relaxation, but out of disgust at the mere notion. "Just because I have to do what you say doesn't mean I'm going to enjoy it," he said, flatly, Jim's cold hands sending a shiver down his spine.

"I know that, Johnny. All too well." Jim walked past him, letting his fingers trail over John's shoulder. "So, pet. How did you and Sebastian meet? I'm dying of curiosity."

"The Internet," John said flatly. If Jim wanted details about the pair of them, he was going to have to draw out every single word.

"The Internet? Ohhh my God, Sebby the Tiger was on a dating site? Is that how you met? A dating site?"

"Yes," he replied stiffly, also noting that Jim had called Sebastian "Tiger"—a name Sebastian had said was safe from Jim's use. Apparently there wasn't a thing he could have to himself that Jim hadn't already laid his hands on.

"I don't know what's better...that you, John Watson the bachelor, John Watson the ladies' man, were on there, or that Sebastian was! Usually he doesn't have to plumb the depths of the Internet to find someone willing to be his fuck toy. You know his usual method, right? It used to be every weekend, go to a club, pick up a guy—or two. He must've had nearly a hundred by this point. God, I hope he uses protection. Otherwise who knows how many diseases you have by now?" Jim sank back across from John, watching him with relish.

John didn't say anything. He clenched his jaw and took another bite of food to use as an excuse for not talking. Was Jim telling the truth? John realized he didn't know anything about Sebastian's previous sex life.

Jim smirked. John was obviously flustered, and it was delicious. "Oh, you mean, Seb never told you? You thought you were...special? Honestly, I think the only reason he hasn't dropped you yet is because you've got the allure of the forbidden fruit about you. He'll tire of you in a few weeks, I imagine."

John didn't look up as he mechanically took another bite of food. Maybe Jim would get sick of him too...that way he could go back to Sebastian and everything would be fine. It was a weak hope, but John couldn't help clutching to it all the same.

"When you're done eating, wash up and join me upstairs. I'm tired. Don't bother trying to leave or looking for a weapon, or Sebby Darling's head will be delivered by Royal Post to Baker Street before tomorrow is out." Jim scanned the area boredly, then went upstairs.

Once Jim had disappeared, John pressed his hands to his face. This was a nightmare. This was worse than his worse nightmare. After a few minutes alone to collect himself, he headed up to join Jim, who was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, still in his suit.

He looked up as John came in, then held out his feet, a signal for John to untie and remove his shoes. "Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy way tonight, John." He stared warningly into John's eyes, but his voice was soft. John flexed his jaw and started removing Jim's shoes. It was demeaning and embarrassing and John

was having pleasant, vivid fantasies about punching Jim Moriarty square in the face.

"My only desire tonight is to have someone next to me." He licked his lips. "But if you make things hard, I won't waste a moment's thought about raping you. You're nothing but a body to me, and I can find all sorts of uses for it, Johnny. Either way, you're going to be tied up tonight. For safekeeping."

John dropped Jim's shoes and shot daggers at him with his eyes for a long moment.

Jim slid off the bed to stand in front of John. "Take off my clothes." He looked down at John's healing wrists as John began unbuttoning Jim's jacket. "I think I'll avoid the sharpened handcuffs tonight…if you behave yourself, of course."

That was a small mercy, at least, John though as he slipped off Jim's jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Careful with that," Jim growled, looking down at the buttons. "Louis Vuitton, you know. Fold that over the chair there—" he nodded to the chair where John's clothes had been last time. "Then come stand in front of me and stay still."

Once John had obeyed with a small, almost imperceptible huff out of his noise, Jim stepped over to him. "Arms up," he commanded, then raised John's jumper above his head, pulling it off. He thrust John's arms down again and began unbuttoning the shirt underneath. "The first time I got to see you naked, you were unconscious," Jim smirked, pulling open John's shirt and tracing his finger over John's shoulder wound. "I suppose I could tell you what I did while you were out, but maybe it's better left a to the imagination." He slid his hand down John's chest, which was heaving in rage, pawing through John's dusting of blonde hair, then yanked his shirt off and turned away to change out of his own trousers.

John grit his teeth, disgusted and horrified. He could never tell what was a joke and what was serious with the man and he loathed it. His mouth was bitter tasting and he knew he wouldn't sleep a wink that night.

Jim grabbed a couple silk chords from a dresser drawer and bound John's hands in front of him. He bound knotted it securely, but not so tight that it cut off John's circulation, then knotted the ends in a bow. "You look like a present," he smirked. "Get in the bed."

John scowled at him and climbed into the bed, using his balled fists for support as he maneuvered under the covers. He curled up, his back facing Jim and tugged the covers over his shoulder, not saying anything.

Jim crawled in after him, pushing the covers down far enough so that he could bind John's ankles as well, then pulled the covers back over them and spooned against John, settling against his warm body, and stroked spider-like fingertips down John's arm. John shivered and resisted the urge to jerk away from the icy touch. He wanted Sebastian. He closed his eyes and imagined Sebastian curled around him, warm, solid, safe. But nowhere to be found. Maybe he should try to see him tomorrow. He would just have to make sure his bruises and cuts were concealed.

It had been a very long time since Jim had slept next to someone; he usually preferred to sleep alone. Why was he possessive of John? He supposed it was too hard to resist, having and owning something that was at once Sherlock's and Sebastian's. Jim had never been very good at sharing. "Good night, pet," he murmured in his low Irish voice.

Jim's lips were on John's neck, kissing and sucking at the skin. "You taste so good, darling." He nipped at John's skin lightly. "Why had I never tried you before?"

John flexed his jaw and curled his fists even tighter. "I thought you wanted to go to sleep."

Jim quickly grabbed John's jaw and twisted his neck back toward him, clenching his chin. "Are you contradicting me, Johnny?"

John jerked his head away. Lay off! I'm not the one who is contradicting you, you are the one who is contradicting you! I was only repeating what you said!" he protested.

Jim yanked John's face toward him and gave him a bruising, invasive kiss, sucking on John's tongue and biting on his lips. "Careful, sweetie, you turn me on when you get all bothered and sassy," he murmured, reaching down to squeeze John's arse once.

John gave an annoyed sound but didn't protest, wanting Jim to get everything out of his system so he could try to get some sleep. He had work tomorrow, and work felt like the one escape he had left.

Jim, however, drew away and didn't take it any further, just grinned over at John. "G'night, darling. And if you snore, I'll slice off one of your ears. Maybe a finger," he said serenly, settling in to spoon John once again, wrapping an arm around him protectively.

As much as he hated it, and despite his bound wrists and ankles, the warmth from Jim on his back was rather nice, and John fell asleep fairly quickly.

Jim slept soundly, enjoying the feeling of the man he was wrapped around. When he woke up, his morning erection pressed against John's back, and he rutted sleepily against John before he had full woken.

John woke when he felt Jim starting to press up against him and he had to bit his knuckles to prevent himself from doing something stupid that would incur Jim's wrath. He looked at the clock. It was just past six thirty. He had to get ready for work, "Jim? Jim, you need to untie me, I've got to go soon."

"Mmm, fine," Jim said, reaching around to John's wrists to untie them. He let John tackle the cords at his feet, then stretched languorously in the bed, feeling more rested than he had in a while. It was then that there was a knock on the door. "Come in," Jim sang, and Sebastian popped in, "Jim, sorry to be early, but I had a question about the name you gave—" He stopped midsentence, gaping as he saw John nestled in bed with his boss.