There is some non-consensual touching and very definite threats and intentions of more.

John jerked his cuffed hand unthinkingly as he shouted at Greg who was stepping out of a cab. "Get these fucking cuffs off of me!"

"God, tell me he didn't." The DI pulled his keys from his pocket and jammed them into the lock, releasing John.

"Of course he did. Ran off and left me. I swear, if we get him out of this alive, I'll kill him. Really, Greg. I will this time." John stooped and retrieved the syringe and Sherlock's mobile, stuffing them in his pocket.

Lestrade frowned. "What's in that."

"A fast acting tranquilliser. Did you manage to get hold of a gun?" John asked, already walking back towards the house where the Holmses were likely both being held by now.

Greg ran a hand through his silver hair with frustration. "No."

John handed the DI a Glock. "You can use this one."

Taking it, Greg checked it for ammo and verified that the safety was still on before shoving it into his waistband. "When did you acquire this? It's not your SIG."

"It belongs to him," the doctor answered with a jerk back towards the car and the man still cuffed there. He stopped walking as they neared the block where the house was located. "Right. We need a plan." John wiped one shaky hand across his eyes. "The asshole back there said there would only be three of them in there, but we can't trust that. He could be lying or just uninformed." He paced back and forth a few times, reminding the DI of Sherlock. "He went in there for a reason, Greg. He was unarmed, so..." John stopped his pacing. "He's planning on creating a diversion." We need to get as close as we can without being detected."

"It will be getting dark soon. Do we dare wait until then?" Greg's expression was grim as he waited for John's response.

The doctor swore. "That was probably his plan - give you time to get here and let dusk fall."

"Then that's what we'll do."

Sherlock's mind didn't feel sluggish anymore and he could see everything so clearly, for that much, he was grateful. Walsh was easy to read - he was ambitious, had a strong need for control, delighted in the misery of others and... Oh! Alex enjoyed sexually debasing his partners as well as his victims. For now, the man was taking a good deal of sadistic pleasure in causing Mycroft mental distress and he would want to stretch it out as long as possible, but that would never be enough to satisfy him. Sherlock would have to steal his attention for himself to spare his brother and it would make for an excellent diversion.

It was difficult to ignore his body - he couldn't bear to sit still any longer, the cocaine made him want to pace, to run, anything but stay in one place. Sherlock could feel a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on him despite how cold the room felt. He tried to rub against the chair and knock the Belstaff from his shoulder. Maybe then, he could focus on Walsh again.

"You seem to be having a bit of trouble there." Alex stood and walked over to him. He reached out and pulled Sherlock's coat back, opening it down the front. He tutted. "And look at this pretty shirt, all drenched with sweat." Walsh leaned forward and sniffed at the detective's neck. "It smells lovely."

Sherlock let his eyes open wide in mock distress, hoping to entice the man and draw his attention completely off of his brother. It worked.

Walsh shoved Sherlock back against the cushions, pinning the detective's cuffed arms behind him and causing his shoulders to screech in pain. He grabbed the front of Sherlock's shirt and pulled, sending buttons flying in every direction. Walsh's lips parted and his tongue darted out, wetting them. "You're prettier than your brother." He ran fingers over his prisoner's lips which were wrapped around the tie that was being used as a makeshift gag.

Sherlock jerked his head to the side, not liking the feel of Alex's fingers touching him. The cocaine seemed to amplify the sensation hatefully. Without meaning to, the detective growled low in his throat. That just goaded Walsh on.

Walsh bent and closed his mouth on Sherlock's neck, sucking lightly for a moment, then biting down hard. The detective jerked, trying to get away, but his assailant didn't relent, just bit down all the harder.

Sherlock wasn't thinking anymore, just reacting. The harder he fought, the more Walsh seemed to like it.

"Put him on the desk," Alex ordered as he stepped back. He looked over at Mycroft who was being held down, a gun now pressed to his temple to keep him from moving. "I'm going to fuck you baby brother before I dose him again. In fact, I'll even let my boys have a go. Maybe the added stress will make his heart stop."

"Tell me," Mycroft ordered coldly, "Where would you like you're body parts to be delivered?"

Walsh laughed. "Oh, Mycroft. That's no concern of yours. Neither of you will live long enough to see me dead."

Struggling all the while, Sherlock was torn from the chair and thrown face down on the desk. At least Moriarty had fallen silent.