***Miserymiserymiserymiserymise rymiserymiserymisery. I'm sorry***

Sebastian looked grimly at his assignments for the day. Only two people, and one was just a sniper set-up, possibly not even a necessary kill. He gathered his supplies and left, his mind on John the whole day. How long would Jim give John to heal? How long would John be able to bear everything before he said screw it all, screw his friends and family, and kill himself? He shuddered to think of it. This was all his fault. Once off work, he returned home by mid-afternoon and went up to check on John.

John had moved in his few possessions, arranging them carefully in the sparse space. Everything was neat and tidy except for the small, miserable man curled up under the covers, staring at the spines of his books on the shelf covering the far wall. Jim had paid him a visit earlier, before he had left, just to remind him of where his place was and the consequences of misbehaving. As if to drive home his point about how worthless John was, John had been instructed to call Jim "master" and Sebastian "sir" whenever spoken to. He heard the heavy footfalls of Sebastian enter the room, but didn't turn to look at him.

"John? May I come in?"

John was quiet for a moment before he said softly, "Yes, sir."

"Sir?" Sebastian frowned. "Jesus. Is that what Jim is having you call me now?" He felt sick to his stomach.

John's throat felt thick. "...yes, sir..."

Sebastian stepped over to John carefully and sank down to his knees beside John's bed. The room was fairly spacious, but bare, John's few possessions not taking up much space. There was an adjoining toilet and a well-sealed window, and the security cameras on the ceiling hadn't even been disguised. "...How are you feeling?" It was an idiotic question, but it was all Sebastian could think to ask.

"Fine, sir," John said, continuing in his quiet, hollow voice.

Sebastian glanced up at the camera and lowered his voice. He wasn't sure if there was audio in the room or not, but it was best to be on the safe side. "John, I know you, and I know you're a fighter. You survived Afghanistan, and all that other shit you went through with Sherlock. You can survive this." He couldn't tell John what he really wanted to say, which is that he was going to do everything he could to free John.

John didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, he spoke up. "Was there something you wanted me to do for you, sir?"

"I was about to ask whether there was anything I could do for you, John," Sebastian said. He didn't think his heart could break anymore, but John's submissive, beaten tone achieved it.

"I'm fine, sir," he repeated, voice dead. Why was Sebastian up here? To torment him even more? John's mind revisited the whole good cop/bad cop thing. It was working marvelously. Sebastian's obviously fake attempts to make him feel better were succeeding in making things worse. Jim really was quite an evil mastermind. John had to hand it to him.

"John, I—you're not fine," he said firmly. "You need painkillers, yes?"

Painkillers? For a moment, John didn't know what he needed painkillers for. It wasn't as if he could feel anything anymore. When he realized what Sebastian meant, he just pulled the blankets tighter around him, as if Sebastian was going to tackle him now and start having his way with him. But he didn't. John really only hurt a little now. He was sure there was still internal damage, but his mind wasn't there enough to linger on physical pain. "No, sir. I'm fine."

Sebastian stood up. He wasn't getting through to John. It was like talking to someone drained of any soul or personality. John was gone. He might not be dead, but he was gone just the same. Sebastian left with a choked, "Well, let me know," before he closed the door and collapsed in the hallway, silent sobs racking his body. The only time he'd ever cried this hard was when he'd had to tell John he didn't love him.

John curled tighter around himself under the covers. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, maybe five minutes, maybe an hour, maybe more, but he pulled himself from the bed, wanting a cup of tea. He didn't know if he was allowed to have any, but he'd try all the same. John didn't get his hopes up, but he crossed to pull open the door, only to find that it automatically locked from the outside. Sebastian would have to let him out. John didn't really want to run into him again, but he knocked softly on the door all the same.

Sebastian opened it. "The door locks from the inside?" he frowned. God. He looked at the keypad. It must not be set yet. He doubted he'd get the keypad info. "Did you need something John?" He looked down at him, wanting to give him everything to make him happy.

John didn't look up to meet Sebastian's eyes. "Can I...may I...make myself a cup of tea?" He was also starving. He hadn't eaten for nearly two days. And while his stomach was empty, he didn't think he could keep anything down even if he tried.

"Yes. John, yes, please, of course," Sebastian babbled, irrationally happy that he could do this one miniscule thing for John. "Do you want anything to eat? Do you need anything else?"

"No, I'm fine, sir." John stepped past Sebastian, eyes still down on the ground.

"...All right," Sebastian whispered, watching him go. He heard the door open and close-Jim was home. He came down to greet him. "All right, Jim? Jobs went smoothly today."

"Good, good," Jim said, brushing off the information, not really interested. He absent mindedly walked into his office to set about shuffling about some papers, coming out several minutes later, his eyes glued to his phone as he meandered towards the kitchen. "And how's John getting on?" he asked, still looking at his phone.

John glanced up as Jim walked in. He'd just finished making up his tea and it was sitting on the counter as he put away the milk. Jim grabbed the cup and started drinking out of it, and John's shoulder's sagged slightly. Jim paused a moment and looked up at him. "John? What're you doing out of your room? Go back upstairs." John watched forlornly as Jim sipped at his tea, but gave a small nod. "Yes, master..." he mumbled as he walked from the kitchen.

"That was John's," Sebastian pointed out. "I told him he could make a cup for himself."

"Well it's mine, now."

Sebastian bit back any harsh words. "I don't think John's eaten in a while, Jim. Is your plan for him to starve to death? Does he have enough fresh water upstairs?"

Jim snorted, "Does he have enough fresh water upstairs? He's got an entire bathroom to himself. He can drink his weight in bathwater for all I care. Did you dispose of Ranger's body?"

"Of course," Sebastian said. "If there's nothing else, I'm off to the pub."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Right. Fine. Enjoy yourself." Eyes going back down to his mobile, he wandered back off to his study, John's tea in hand.

Sebastian grabbed his coat and a pack of unopened cigarettes. He planned to smoke until his throat was sore at one of the few pubs around that got around those anti smoking laws. Maybe he'd drink a pint or two while he was at it.

After a few hours in the study, Jim knocked on John's door, then opened it. "Johnny-boy? How are you settling? Oh, this is adorrable. You're all moved in." He picked up the framed photo of him and Sherlock and held it up for John to see, as if he hadn't seen it before, then turned it around and smooched the image of Sherlock. "Memories are so sweet, aren't they?"

John's brow knit together painfully as Jim picked it up, "Give it back—please—"John said, already feeling desperate. If he wasn't allowed to keep his picture of Sherlock, it would be the end of him. Just that small token was enough to keep him going...for now.

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Oooh, that's the first thing I've heard you mewl about all day," he said, setting the picture back down. "Relax, honey, we all need those little pieces of our past." He sat down next to John, his voice still gentle. "And, John...I think you're forgetting that when you refer to me, you're to call me 'Master.' Tsk, tsk, tsk. It takes a bit of learning, doesn't it? I think no dinner tonight will imprint the lesson nicely." He leaned over and kissed above John's eyebrow.

John flexed his jaw as he looked down. He'd already forgotten. "I'm sorry...master," he murmured, a bitter taste in his mouth. John didn't know if he could possibly be more degraded than he already was.

"That's better, baby," Jim said, his fingertips trailing down John's cheek and across his jaw. "Johhhn...if you learn to behave yourself, life will be fairly tolerable. Strolls in the park, freedom to mill about and run errands, personal space, the perks that can come with living in a wealthy environment. But first you have to prove yourself."

John didn't say anything. He folded his hands in his lap and tried not to pull away from Jim's fingers.

"And John, remember that obedience is not synonymous with dull. You know how I loathe dullness. Now rest up. Read those..." he scanned John's bookshelves. "...those seafaring books of yours. Perhaps if you're good we'll get you a telly...mwah!" he kissed John's cheek and rose, straightening his suit. "Now, I've got some bus bombings to plan..."

John's eyes widened a bit, horrified at the idea of him just sitting here unable to do anything while Jim planned bombing busses, but it was too late to say anything, the door shutting. Once Jim was gone, he looked over at the books, but couldn't bring himself to get one. Instead, he got back into his bed, pulling the covers up. He missed Sebastian, the old Sebastian...the one who said he had loved him, even if it had just been a lie. John quickly wiped at his eyes as they threatened to pour over. He grabbed the picture of him and Sherlock, and set it on the pillow next to him. There had been days, weeks probably, that John and Sherlock had gone without speaking, if only because Sherlock was thinking or in a mood—but he had always been there. Now, though, the loneliness was seeping in. He had no one to be near, no one to talk to, to confide in, tell jokes with, discuss the news. Nothing. Even though Jim and Sebastian were around, John was completely alone.

Jim left John alone the rest of the evening. Sebastian was careful to be pleasant at dinner without venturing into kiss-ass mode, or Jim would immediately be suspicious. As they got ready for bed, Sebastian asked, "Do you want me on the bed or on the floor?"

Jim rolled his shoulders as he pulled up his pyjama bottoms. "Bed, darling. We all need a good night's rest, don't you think? Go check on Johnny, make sure he's behaving, then come straight back. I want to go to bed."

Sebastian knocked on John's door, then entered. John hadn't moved from the bed. "John? Do you need anything?" he asked softly.

John didn't know how much time had passed, but he was facing away from the door still, gazing at his photo. He shook his head lightly as his eyes traced the outline of Sherlock's (for once) smiling face.

Sebastian swallowed, nodded, then walked over and laid a hand on John's head, lightly running his fingers through his ashy hair. "Good night, John," he murmured, and left, closing the door softly behind him.

John tensed under Sebastian's touch, not relaxing until he heard the door close.

Jim had already crawled into bed, folding himself between the sheets. "Shut out the light. I'm tired. And don't snore or I'll shove bamboo slivers under your fingernails."

"Busy day?" Sebastian flicked out the light and slipped under the covers next to him. He combed his fingers through Jim's hair. "Good night, James."

Jim was slightly suspicious at the contact, but it felt nice and he eyes closed. "Yeah..." he whined, "People are so stupid, Sebby. Why can't they all just do what I want?" he pouted against his pillow.

"Good thing you're very persuasive," Sebastian murmured, leaning over to kiss Jim's forehead. "Knives speak louder than words."

'Mm...at least you're not a complete idiot, Sebby," he murmured, moving a bit closer, and wrapping an arm around Sebastian to hold him like a giant teddy bear.

"Coming from you boss, that's a pretty high complement," Sebastian said, wrapping his arms around Jim. He slid his foot up Jim's ankles. "You sure you're really tired?" He slipped his fingers into Jim's pants and traced light circles through the hair above his cock with his fingertips.

Jim grinned a bit, eyes still closed and purred, "Oh, Sebastian, don't tempt me."

"Ahh, you forget how persuasive I can be, James..." Sebastian smiled, pulling Jim's hand up to his mouth and kissing his thumb, then slowly drawing it into his mouth.

Jim hummed and his eyes slid open. "God, Seb, I'm so sleepy...just..." he fought internally with himself for a moment before he pulled his thumb out, "Suck me off."

"Yes, sir," Sebastian said, kissing Jim's palm, then slid down till his mouth was hovered over Jim's pyjama bottoms. He bit playfully at Jim's groin, then slipping a hand in to begin stroking at Jim, coaxing him hard.

Jim moaned softly and spread his legs apart. "Mmm...that's a good boy…" he purred.

Once Jim was fully hard, Sebastian slowly pushed down Jim's pants and pyjamas, his lips moving down as he went. Once he was hovering above Jim's cock, he looked up at him. "If you fall asleep during this, I'll be very put out," he said, giving a quick, flirtatious lick up Jim's cock, as if licking a Popsicle.

Jim grinned down with him. 'You'd better make it good, then.'

Sebastian raised an eyebrow and humphed before pulling Jim into his mouth, pushing his head down until Jim's cock was tickling the back of his throat. He kept his lips planted firmly and stroked with his tongue as he pulled out, sucking, then set back in again, beginning a rhythm.

Jim let out a long, low moan, his fingers reaching down to curl his fingers in Sebastian's hair. "Nnnngh..."

Sebastian breathed in heavily, beginning to move in a faster pace, letting his teeth scrape along Jim's skin. He began massaging and squeezing Jim's balls and closed his eyes tight. He wanted to pretend it was John, but he couldn't. He wanted Jim to hurt him. He deserved it. Pain would almost be a relief. He finally pulled back, and grunted, "Jim—hurt me," before setting in again and sucking hard at Jim's cock.

Jim raised an eyebrow. He heard perfectly well, but all the same, he said, 'Come again?'

Sebastian pulled out again, annoyed. "Hurt me!" He repeated. "Please," he added, a bit quieter. He set in on Jim's cock again, twisting his head so his tongue could swipe around the circumference before he pulled Jim in again, bobbing his head quickly. He dug his nails into Jim's thighs.

Jim smirked a bit to himself before he barked, "On your knees on the floor!"

Sebastian pulled away, looking up at him in surprise before rolling out of bed and obeying. He'd expected a cursory hair-pulling, but he should haven't underestimated Jim's sadistic side. "I thought you were tired," he said sardonically, raising an eyebrow.

"I am. This will be quick." Jim rolled off the bed, then glanced down at him as he tugged his own bottoms off. "Strip, then get back in that position."

Sebastian's stomach turned. Was Jim going to fuck him? It had been months since he had, and Sebastian knew he wasn't prepared. He pushed off his pyjamas and yanked off his t-shirt until he was naked except for his dog tags, then knelt on the floor.

As Sebastian stripped, Jim rummaged for a couple of different things in a trunk under his bed. Once he had found what he was looking for, he moved over to stand in front of Sebastian. "Get up."

Sebastian stood up and looked down at Jim, his jaw clenched.

"Wrists."

Sebastian held them out in front of him.

Jim took the sharpened cuffs he had made for John and snapped them into place around Sebastian's wrists. He smirked and looked up at him. "Made these especially for Johnny boy. Only got to use them on him twice, though. Pity, that. We'll have to see if we can't raise that number a bit." Jim grabbed the chain in between them and yanked hard, pulling Sebastian behind him as he tugged him to the other side of the room.

Sebastian let out a cry as the cuffs bit into his wrists, not having realized they were sharpened until they sliced his skin. He bit his lip as thin bloody lines appeared on his wrists.

"Fun, aren't they?" Jim asked smirking. "John didn't seem to think they were, though. He's got such a small imagination." Jim looked up at the ceiling where a large hook was protruding—a fairly new attachment. "Hook the chain over it."

Sebastian's stomach turned. Of course. That first night—John's wrists. This was what he'd used on John that first night. God. He raised his arms until the hook caught the chain and held it. It was low enough that he could move his arms up a bit to keep the metal from further slicing his skin, although if his arms grew tired, he'd have to rest it on the sharp metal. Sebastian was both sickened and impressed by Jim's endless ideas of how to cause pain.

Jim smiled and grabbed his riding crop from where he had left it sitting on top of the trunk and sauntered back over to Sebastian. Lazily, he let the leather bit trail across the larger man's skin, flicking it here or there every once in a while. "Ooooh, Sebastian...what to do with you?"

Sebastian arched his head back, screwed his eyes shut, and flinched as the crop flicked against his skin. Good. Yes, hurt him. Let him have something tangible to hurt, something that would hurt if he pressed it, something that would turn colors and eventually fade. He could manage that sort of wound. Anything was better than stupid, unbearable heartbreak.

Jim started to flick the crop harder and harder against the other man's skin, watching with fascination as red blossomed over it. After a while, he moved around behind Sebastian and pressed his body against him, his hard cock pressing against Sebastian's arse. He reached his arm around so that the tip of the crop could lazily stroke at Sebastian's cock, the other tightening around Sebastian's throat, Jim's nails digging in to him. "Tell me what your feelings are this instant for John Watson," he hissed threateningly.