Okay, here's the next chapter. I found this hard, I guess being away from a fandom for so long was always going to make it difficult and I wanted this chapter to be good. I hope you think its worth the wait. I'm not sure. *Nervous.* I can't thank Marill chan enough for her help with this. I took on board all of your advice hun and went for it. Hope you think I've improved the chapter. Thanks again!
I should also mention here that when I was deciding on the bad guys for this story, I had Ryan and Cyril O'Reilly from the awesome show Oz in mind. That's why I went with Irish Mafia types!
Special thanks to these awesome reviewers. I can't believe the response Ive had to this and the latest chapter of Best Intentions. So grateful you guys are still with me:
Jodi2011: Thanks for reviewing :) Hope you enjoy this chapter.
Thisisforyou: Thanks, glad you like my stories. I had to be Irishmen this time! I've explained in my comments above :) Hope you review again!
101spacemonkey: So good to hear from you! Thanks for waiting so long!
Imlostforever: It's gonna get worse. A lot worse...
Luffymara: Thank you, enjoy this chapter.
Caridwyn: Oops! What a silly fool! That's what happens when I type too quickly! Thanks for pointing that out, I'll change that. And thank you so much for the lovely comment, glad you like this and the other fics. Hope you like this chapter as much. Well, maybe like isn't the right word... :S Anyway, please review again! :)
Okay, please review this, really want to know what you all think!
~X~
Heroes Don't Exist
Chapter Three
Sherlock met John's gaze for a second. John could only stare back at him desperately. He pulled on his bonds, his skin burning from the ropes that held him, but it was futile. John shook his head helplessly. He tried to send a wordless message to his friend, wanting Sherlock to know that he was okay, and urging him to just hand over whatever it was these men wanted.
John already knew though, it would never be that simple.
The thugs had hardly spoken to John, just one word instructions and grunts, since they had forced their way into his home. Thankfully, Mrs Hudson had left some time earlier. John didn't want to imagine how they would have treated the kindly old lady. They had overpowered him easily, given him a bit of a beating, and had then dragged him to his chair and tied him to it. John had attempted to find out what they had wanted and why they were hurting him, but they had simply laughed at him and told him to keep quiet. Then, O'Donnell had introduced himself and told John he had come to see Sherlock. John had asked why and O'Donnell had simply grinned.
And then he had John gagged by his men, and the conversation had been promptly ended.
Then they had waited for Sherlock.
John had no idea what was happening, or why, but he knew that these men meant business.
All he could do was watch as events unfolded. He had never felt so useless in his life.
Sherlock, his eyes boring into O'Donnell's, stepped forward.
"What do you want?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
O'Donnell was obviously amused. "How have you been, Sherlock?" he said, ignoring the other man's question. "How have the last few years been for you?"
Sherlock blinked. "Better than they've been for you, I'm sure," he replied, dryly. "Who are your two friends?"
Joseph waved the query away. "Don't worry about them. They are just being paid to watch you suffer," he smirked. "They have being loaned to me, just for today. By someone who hates you as much as I do, so it happens." He tightened his hold on John's shoulder. "Well, nearly as much."
Sherlock nodded. "O'Donnell, all of these games were unnecessary. It's me you want, naturally. This has nothing to do with my acquaintance, who you have most rudely decided to tie up. You may as well let him go."
Both men's attention was drawn to John as the bound man let out an indignant squeak. Sherlock knew what John's problem was, knew he would have no intention of leaving Sherlock alone at the mercy of the thugs. He was struggling but became still when Sherlock threw him a warning look.
You can't help me John. You need to stay quiet, I don't want them to hurt you.
John seemed to understand. He grew still, helplessness in the gaze he returned to Sherlock.
Joseph, though, seemed to have other ideas too.
"I don't think so," he retorted. "I want you both to stay and join in my party."
"Why?"
The Irishman seemed to ponder over this question. He released his hold on John and then slowly moved away from him, stepping closer to Sherlock.
"You don't want to waste time, Holmes?" He reasoned. "Fine, lets get to it then. You remember my brother, I'm sure?"
"Of course. Your twin. Your brainless little shadow. I was wondering why he wasn't skulking in the corner-"
Sherlock didn't get to finish his sentence. Suddenly, with a shout of rage, Joseph was on him, shoving him backwards, and pinning him against the wall by his throat. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't expected such a show of anger from O'Donnell, this attack was not following the man's previously calm and calculated behaviour. This worried Sherlock further. O'Donnell had always kept to the same pattern. The fact that he had changed made him an even more dangerous adversary.
O'Donnell tightened his hold and Sherlock gasped for air. His tormenter leaned right into his face. "Watch what you say about my brother," Joseph snarled. "Do you understand me?"
Sherlock cringed, struggling slightly.
"I asked you a question," Joseph spat.
Sherlock knew he had no choice, other than being throttled and leaving John alone with this animal. He nodded, his hands pulling at O'Donnell's helplessly.
Joseph was satisfied. "Good," he drawled, and then released Sherlock, who leaned against the wall behind him for support, wheezing, trying to catch his breath.
His gaze met John's briefly and the other man's eyes were full of concern. Sherlock knew John would have been tugging at his restrains, yelling behind his gag but he also knew John was in no position to aid him.
Their situation was growing more desperate with every passing second. Sherlock knew Joseph was more unstable than before, and that he wanted blood.
The Detective decided it would be best to keep the conversation going, try to buy them some time and then maybe help would come. Lestrade knew the dangers facing Sherlock, had warned him to be careful, wouldn't he check up on him? Or at least send round some uniforms to do the same? Even seeing Anderson would be acceptable in that moment. Or perhaps Mycroft was listening, and would send assistance.
Sherlock frowned. Mycroft was keeping a very close eye on his younger brother, following him everywhere. Now Sherlock needed him, so where the hell was he?
He cleared his throat as he reverted his gaze to O'Donnell, who had moved to the window and was staring out. "Where is he?" Sherlock said, softly. "Where is your brother?"
Joseph's large blue eyes bore into Sherlock's. "Why? Concerned for his whereabouts suddenly, are you?"
"You two were practically joined at the hip," he continued. "I can only assume that since he's not here with you, he must be-".
"He's dead," Joseph hissed abruptly, interrupting him, and then slamming his fist into the wall.
Sherlock broke off, feeling a spark of hope.
That explains O'Donnell's unexpected behaviour. He's upset, grieving, irrational and not thinking clearly. This makes him more dangerous, but also more likely to slip up any moment. And that's when I can make my move.
"They made me watch."
Joseph's words were so soft, so pitiful, that Sherlock had to strain to hear him. The Irishman had balled his hands into fists, despairing at the images he could obviously see in his mind as he relived the events.
"The Aryan brotherhood took a liking to him as soon as we got in there. I protected him as much as I could but they jumped us one day. Guards helped them out." His eyes blazed. "Those fucks handed him over to them as if he were a piece of fucking meat. So, they held him down and laughed as they fucked him again and again."
Joseph, his hands shaking, lit a cigarette. Sherlock who had been listening intently, suddenly and inexplicably thought about how Mrs Hudson would never allow smoking in her building. He decided it was best not to mention it to Joseph though.
The Irish man was lost in his horrific memories. He continued. "Jimmy was pleading with me to stop them but I couldn't. I couldn't get to him, couldn't do a fucking thing. They had hold of me, kept me back as they fucked him in the arse, and in the mouth-"
He stopped, took a long drag on his cigarette, and then carried on staring out of the window.
"My brother couldn't cope with the shame." His eyes were flaming as he finally looked again toward Sherlock. "We're proud men, Holmes. From a big, proud, Irish family. To be used like that, in front of his big brother, it was too fucking much. He was finished. Didn't want to fight any more. So, he got himself a knife from one of the other Irish prisoners, and, one morning, slit his own throat."
Sherlock didn't react. He just kept watching O'Donnell closely.
"Or, that's what they told me, anyway. I never got to see the body. Who knows what really happened? And, apparently, who gives a shit, right? He was nothing, right?" His voice faltered. "Either way, Jimmy's free now. His suffering is done. And, ever since that day, when the Aryan scum forced me to watch them brutalise and destroy my own brother, do you know what I've thought about, Mister Holmes?"
Sherlock couldn't reply, though he had a good idea. The smile Joseph was giving him now could only be described as insane.
His stomach churned.
Joseph waited for a reply, but when none was forthcoming, he grabbed hold of Sherlock again and pulled him closer, to hiss in his ear: "All I've thought about is you, and exactly what I'd do to you if I ever have the chance." He smirked. "Looks like I've got my chance."
He struck Sherlock across the face then, and smirked as Sherlock was sent tumbling to the floor from the unexpected force of the blow. He dragged Sherlock up again then, and pinned him against the wall once more. Sherlock struggled against his grip but it was useless; Joseph held him tightly.
"Tell me, Sherlock," his aggressor hissed, spraying Sherlock with spittle. "Can you imagine what it's like to watch the person you care about most in the whole world suffering in the worst possible way?" He paused before adding; "And you can't do a thing about it?
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He glanced over at John, who was staring back at him, his expression frightened.
"Don't-" he began, but O'Donnell, smirking, cut him off.
"I didn't think you cared about anyone, Holmes." Joseph grinned. "Turns out I was wrong."
"He's my room mate."
"He's your friend. You care deeply for him."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You're mistaken."
He couldn't help but steal a glance towards John then. There was additional pain in those soulful eyes now, and Sherlock knew his words had cut into John like a knife. Sherlock had hurt John, that was unpreventable, but he could only pray that John understood why he said such cruel things. He wanted nothing more than to keep John safe and convincing Joseph that John was "nothing special" to him was the only way he could see that happening.
Unfortunately, Joseph was not fooled.
"I don't think so," he purred. "Your concern for him has already given you away, boyo. And besides, I had a tip from a trusted source."
Sherlock blinked. "Who from?"
Joseph tutted. "Now now! I can't reveal my sources, can I!" He seemed exhilarated now. "But lets just so I now know just as much about John Watson as I do about you!"
Sherlock grimaced. It didn't take his genius to work out who had aided O'Donnell in his scheme. Moriarty. And he was probably finding all of this very funny right now, where ever he was.
Sherlock silently swore one thing. If they got out of this, he would hunt down and make Jim pay for putting John in such danger.
Joseph, meanwhile, had released his hold on Sherlock and had turned towards John and the two men stood either side of him, and nodded. The men quickly untied John then, and threw him harshly to the floor. John lay there, rubbing at his wrists, staring up at Sherlock. Sherlock made to go to John, but the two men were faster, each grabbing one of Sherlock's arms and pulling him back.
Joseph watched all of this with an amused smile on his face.
"Oh yeah," he taunted. "You don't give a shit about him, do you, Sherlock?"
He stopped right beside John, looking down at him with a predatory grin.
"Wait!" Sherlock hissed, fighting tooth and nail against the men holding him. "O'Donnell, listen to me!"
Joseph ignored him. Still smiling down at John, he reached for his zipper.
"Show time." He sneered, as he grabbed the gag, tore it from John's mouth, and threw it to one side. "Now, suck me."
John, on his knees, glared up at Joseph. His eyes shot to Sherlock for one second. "Okay, you know I'm not going to do this; " The doctor said, as calmly as he could muster. "So, lets all just calm down, yeah?
Joseph's shook his head incredulously. "Doctor Watson," he began. "Let me tell you what you are going to do, okay? You are going to suck me, and you are going to swallow what I give you to swallow. And Sherlock is going to watch. If you don't do as I say, you'll die very slowly and painfully. Is that clear enough?"
John closed his eyes tightly.
This is not happening.
God, help me.
"Now," Joseph smirked. "I'm not a patient man. I think I'd like to see you take out my dick, doctor. Tend to me, will you?"
The two men holding Sherlock laughed at that.
John burned with shame. What choice did he have? He reached out for Joseph's zip, his hands trembling.
Sherlock, with a shout of: "No!" forced his way forward, his captors trying, and failing, to pull him back furiously. Sherlock was unrelenting, however. He managed to wrestle one of his arms free, sprang forward and gripped O'Donnell by his wrist.
"Humiliate me instead!"
Joseph paused, tilting his head to one side as he regarding Sherlock with amusement.
He then smirked.
"NO!" John was shaking his head desperately, his eyes wide with horror. "Sherlock, don't you dare-"
"Hush," O O'Donnell hit out at John wearily, cutting the smaller man John off. "Let the man speak, doctor. This just got interesting." The Irishman's face broke into a cruel smile as he turned slowly and looked, curiously, towards Sherlock. "What was that you were saying?"
"Leave him alone," Sherlock snapped, almost falling over his words in his effort to get his message across. "I'm the one you want to hurt. I'm to blame for Jimmy's death, right? So, if you have to have revenge by humiliating someone, make it me."
"Sherlock, don't!" John yelled.
Joseph then struck John hard across the face so hard that he knocked him to the ground. He sneered at him. "I told you to shut the fuck up!"
He once again reverted his gaze to Sherlock.
"You'll do whatever I want you to do? Take whatever I give you?"
Sherlock glanced at John for a second before once again meeting the cruel man's gaze.
"If you promise that you and your hired grunts here won't harm John, then yes, I won't fight you."
John tried to get to Sherlock then, as if he felt that if he could just touch Sherlock, he could convince him not to do this. Not for him. Not this.
"Sherlock, no. Don't do this." He grabbed for Joseph then, who sneered back at him. "Don't hurt him, you sick bastard!"
"Tie him up again!" Joseph spat. "And keep him quiet!"
Seconds later, John once again found himself tied down to his chair, unable to move a muscle, a man once more placed on either side of him, and the same dirty cloth again forced unceremoniously into his mouth. He continued to shake his head at Sherlock, tears beginning to trickle down his face. He knew Sherlock would see this as a weakness and he wished he could stop, but his heart was breaking. As far as he was concerned, being forced to watch his best friend being brutally assaulted by a vicious criminal was far worse for him than if he had endured the same fate himself.
Sherlock, meanwhile, wouldn't look at his friend again. He was scared but managed to hold himself together well, staring coldly back at his tormentor, who was now standing only a hair's-length away from him. Joseph chuckled. Sherlock didn't flinch.
The Irishman smiled. He was impressed.
Sherlock gasped when he suddenly found himself sprawling on the carpet, Joseph having given him a hard shove. His tormentor stood over him triumphantly, and then turned and pointed firmly at John.
"Make sure he watches this," he barked. "If he looks away, cut his throat."
Sherlock looked up sharply at that. "You promised-" but his words were stopped abruptly when Joseph kicked him harshly in the ribs.
"Shut the fuck up," he spat. "You talk when I say so." Stepping closer, Joseph grinned toothily at Sherlock. The taller man blanched as he saw the man he had just decided that he hated above all others standing over him, his cock hanging out of the open fly of his trousers.
"I think you know what to do," he told the sickened detective.
Sherlock turned his head to the side, breathing heavily through his nose. He still didn't look at John, he couldn't stand to see the pity in his best friend's eyes. He had expected this. He knew what he had let himself in for. But now that the reality of what was going to happen to him hit him like a ton of bricks, all of Sherlock's bravado left him and he closed his eyes tightly, wishing that somehow, someone, would make this all go away, and he'd be safe.
Mycroft, where are you? Help me.
Noticing Sherlock's fear and shame, Joseph chuckled as he ran a bony finger slowly down the detective's cheek. "You said anything, Sherlock. Don't you go back on your word now. I despise liars."
There was an expectant silence in the room. The only sound was John's mumbled, desperate whimpers. He couldn't quite believe what he was about to see his friend reduced to. For him. To save him. Guilt and anger swam through him as he again struggled against his bonds. Just how were he and Sherlock ever supposed to get past this?
Sherlock swallowed heavily, the heat rising in his cheeks. His tongue flickered out to wet his dry, swollen lips as his eyes trailed down the other man's body to his cock.
"I can't," he began, but Joseph didn't want to hear it.
"You can and you will. I watched five men using Jimmy this way. Because of you, Holmes." His eyes were flaming. "Or, if you'd prefer, should I ask John to take your place after all?"
"NO!"
"Then do it!" he snarled.
Sherlock still didn't move. His limbs were failing him. Joseph had waited long enough. He reached out and cupped the back of Sherlock's head, jerking him forward. Sherlock grimaced as his lips touched the head of Joseph's cock, tongue flickering out hesitantly to taste it. Screwing his face up, he took the tip of it into his mouth, sucking gently. "Oh, yes. Suck me," Joseph shuddered at the feeling, yanking at Sherlock's hair and thrusting his hips, feeling wetness surround his hardness. He then took control of the situation once more, pushing hard into Sherlock's mouth, his cock brushing the back of his victim's throat.
Sherlock gagged, unable to prevent the tears from cascading down his face as he struggled to breathe. He tried to pull back, but the grip on his head was too strong for him to twist away from. He gave up escape and tried to relax as the other man brutally fucked his mouth. His insides knotted as the laughter, jeers, and cheers of the other two men rang in his ears.
Suddenly, Joseph released him, shoving Sherlock away. The despairing detective laid at his tormentor's feet, gasping for breath. One thought ran through his mind: He didn't orgasm, why did he stop? What's next? He wanted to vomit but tried desperately to prevent himself, not knowing how the insane Irishman would react to such an insult. Sherlock was only too aware that John was still in very real danger and he would keep him safe. Even if it killed him.
This was his fault. His arrogance brought this upon them.
He would not let John pay for his inflated ego.
Sherlock blinked, trying to focus on the one person in the room that mattered. John had turned as white as a sheet, his eyes red and sore, and judging by the size of the bruise beginning to appear on his cheek, he had been struck more than once. Despite everything that had just been done to him, it was the sight of his best friend, still being harmed because of him, that made cold fury burn deep inside of Sherlock. He glared up at Joseph, rage flowing through him in waves.
With a cold smile, O'Donnell knelt down beside his stricken victim.
"Look at the state of you now, boy," Joseph hissed in Sherlock's ear. "Pathetic."
Sherlock eyed him hatefully.
Joseph grabbed a handful of Sherlock's hair and forced him to look up, straight at the horrified John.
"Can't handle cock, can he, John?"
John closed his eyes, and received another punch in the mouth for his trouble.
Sherlock, incensed by watching John's rough treatment, glared daggers at Joseph.
"Why?" he inquired, almost conversationally. "Did your brother enjoy this, then?"
Joseph froze.
John gaped at Sherlock.
Shit, Sherlock, don't wind him up.
"What did you say?" Joseph prompted quietly.
Sherlock pursed his lips together.
"Did he ask for more?" He paused thoughtfully. "Or rather, did he beg for more?"
There was not a sound to be heard now. The two hired thugs were both staring at their leader, waiting for his reaction. They were glancing at Sherlock in stunned amazement, clearly believing that the man had a death wish.
Maybe he did.
As long as they didn't hurt John any more.
"You dare to say a fucking thing about my brother?" Joseph muttered. "You fucking talk about my brother-".
"Your brother died because you didn't protect him, O'Donnell," Sherlock threw back. He wanted to sound almost bored and he knew that this attitude would only agitate his foe further, and that was what he needed to happen.
He needed Joseph to loose control, needed him to make a mistake.
And, that wasn't the only reason.
It was not in Sherlock's nature to accept this kind of treatment without fighting back. Especially from some uneducated common bastard who needed to be put back in his place.
"You're blaming me because you know he went to that hell hole because he looked up to you. His smarter, bolder, twin brother. Don't blame me for something you made happen."
Joseph seemed lost for words. Not even he could believe Sherlock's audacity.
Sherlock exchanged glances with John. He could read from that look that John understood his plan. He knew that Sherlock was trying to catch his enemy off guard.
But he also knew that Sherlock was playing a very dangerous game. And Sherlock could see that John did not approve in the slightest.
Joseph, with a snarl, struck Sherlock on his jaw, ending the moment's understanding between the two friends. Sherlock was sent sprawling from the force of the blow. He laid there, trying to clear his head. He could hear John in the distance, knew his friend was furious and he wondered why.
What was happening?
He soon realised.
"You wanna know what he went through?" Joseph snarled. "You wanna feel what they did to him? Why don't I show you?"
Holding Sherlock down with one hand and using his body to keep the other man pinned to the floor, Joseph reached for the detective's belt. At that moment, Sherlock lost all resemblance of calm as his panic rose and he increased his struggles, desperately trying to get away. Joseph laughed, euphoric, and then began to rain down blow after blow on the other man's back until Sherlock finally grew still, his breathing laboured. Already weakened, having been through so much that evening, and now in so much pain, Sherlock could hardly move.
Joseph smiled contently. This was all about control for him.
For you, Jimmy.
He unbuckled the now unmoving Sherlock's belt and then pulled the other man's trousers and boxers down to his ankles in one fluid movement.
Seeing that, John let out a desperate shout, gaining another smack on the back of his head for his troubles. Joseph, his face flushed with anticipation, smirked.
"Get ready, Doctor," he gasped. "You're gonna love this."
He then forced Sherlock into a kneeling position.
"Don't do this," the detective suddenly whispered.
"Shut your mouth," Joseph snapped back, but he looked delighted. Now, he had the great Sherlock Holmes at his mercy. He quickly forced a finger into Sherlock's tight hole, gaining a strangled cry. Joseph, chuckling evilly, loving every second, hurriedly inserted a second finger. Tears sprung into Sherlock's eyes as he desperately tried to block out what was happening.
His eyes finally met John's once more. They gazed at each other.
Sherlock could see the despair his friend was feeling, and it did give him some strength. He was no alone in this. John was there, and John cared.
It did help.
Not much, but some.
Joseph quickly pulled his fingers out and Sherlock felt some more relief. That didn't last long though as O'Donnell then lined his fully erect penis up against Sherlock's hole. With one cruel smile at the devastated doctor, he thrusted into Sherlock, tearing the detective due to the lack of lubrication. Sherlock couldn't stop himself from screaming. He had never felt such agony in his life. And suddenly, all his previous thoughts about John being there were forgotten. Knowing that John was sitting there, watching his humiliation, watched this disgusting man sticking his prick inside of him, only added to his torment ten fold.
Sherlock knew that, with each thrust, O'Donnell was contaminating every part of him.
He'd never come back from this.
Joseph was panting. Holmes was so tight, perhaps he was even a virgin. O'Donnell chuckled at the thought.
The feelings he was experiencing were unbelievable.
"You're so fucking good, Sherlock," O'Donnell taunted. "Best lay I've ever had."
Still holding Sherlock down, Joseph reached under, and began to fondle his enemy's cock, taking great pleasure from the moans this earned him, coming from the now prone Sherlock. He then leaned in closer.
"Is it this good with your doctor, Sherlock?"
Sherlock cringed. He head John shouting at that, his cries still being smothered by the makeshift gag and he wished he could tell John to stop, to be quiet. He didn't want his friend to be hurt any more. Not on account of him. Why couldn't John realise that Sherlock was going through this for him? What good would it do if they killed John anyway? Then it would all have been for nothing.
Joseph continued to pound into his victim mercilessly. Sherlock, in complete agony, had his eyes tightly shut. He had never felt humiliation like this, made to lay there like a whore as a vile lowlife of a man used his body for his own enjoyment.
It hurt. It hurt so much.
Please, stop this. I'm sorry. Please.
At last, he felt Joseph speeding up, and knew he was close. He balled his hands into fists and prepared himself. It was nearly over. He knew he was seriously hurt, he could feel his own blood running down his leg.
Joseph tensed and shouted out loudly in triumph, coming deep inside of Sherlock. He then collapsed on top of his victim, panting heavily. After a moment's pause, he pulled ruthlessly out of the broken body beneath him, gaining yet another whimper from his victim.
"Thank you," he slurred into Sherlock's ear, trying to humiliate the wretched man further. "That was great."
Sherlock groaned, but didn't move.
He could feel the darkness surrounding to him, and he headed into it gratefully. Anything to stop the agony, the humiliation and the burning shame.
There was a nagging voice still whispering to him, deep inside: Don't leave John alone with them but he just couldn't listen to that voice any more, he had to ignore it now.
He felt himself fading.
Everything was quieter now, it was so dark.
Then, he knew no more.
John was screaming behind his gag as he watched his best friend pass out, no longer able to cope with the pain. He was seething. He had never felt such intense rage, such pure hatred in his life. Not even for Moriarty. This was a whole new level. He wanted to kill Joseph. He wanted to wrap his hands around that throat and squeeze until the light went out of his eyes. He wanted to see him pay. After everything he had put Sherlock through that night, he was still not satisfied.
It was a few more seconds before John realised that Joseph was smirking at him.
He nodded to the man standing beside John, who grimaced as his gag was torn away. He took in a couple of much needed deep breaths before his murderous gaze once again fixed on O'Donnell.
Joseph beamed.
"So, Doctor, how was that for you?"
TBC