Sherlock slammed Mycroft against the wall shouting, "Are you saying that MI 6 doesn't know where John is? Answer me, Mycroft, "Sherlock yelled as he slammed Mycroft against the wall again.
Mycroft pulled himself out of Sherlock's grasp. "You are not thinking clearly, Sherlock. Perhaps, it's time for a cigarette."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he glared at Mycroft. There was something that Mycroft was holding back, something bad. Sherlock took a deep breath, "Mycroft, what aren't you telling me?"
Mycroft looked away from Sherlock's intense gaze and then pulled out his iPhone. Mycroft moved his finger over the front of the iPhone and then stopped. "Sherlock, I am going to show you a photo of a crime scene. I know how you love violence; however prepare yourself for these images are particularly gruesome."
Sherlock's hand shook as he jerked the phone away from Mycroft's hand. The photo was of a murder scene, five men lay dead on a blood spattered floor. They were all dressed in black robes that lay open at the chest. Sherlock swallowed as he observed that each man's heart had been cut out. However, it was not the mutilated bodies that drew Sherlock's attention. Frantically Sherlock pressed the zoom feature to make sure that what he saw was accurate. A beautiful blue velvet pillow lay at the entrance to the room. Its clean beautiful appearance was in stark contrast to the carnage that lay around it. Sherlock felt as if he were going to faint, when he saw what was in the center of the cushion. It was John's watch with a note attached to it. The words appeared to have been written in blood. Sherlock's face paled as he whispered the words of the note aloud, "I.O.U."
John watched Moriarty as he played a Chopin Nocturne on the piano that stood in the middle of the living room. Taking a sip of tea from the cup he held in his hand, John felt that he had been living this strange life with Moriarty for eternity. Moriarty smiled as he met John's gaze. Slowly, he licked his upper lip. John swallowed as he brought the tea cup up to his mouth.
"Damn," John swore when the tea scalded his tongue. As his grip loosened on the tea cup, it fell to the tiled floor and shattered into a million pieces.
Moriarty stopped playing and walked over to where John knelt cleaning up the fragments of the cup. John didn't look up as Moriarty took a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to put the pieces of the broken teacup into it. Time seemed to slow down and John froze when Moriarty gently encircled his fingers around his wrist. His heart pounded in his chest and John could hear the blood beating in his ears. God, he was lonely. Moriarty put the handkerchief with the shattered teacup pieces on the ground.
Moriarty then crawled over to where John still kneeled. Like a rabbit caught in the hypotonic gaze of a snake, John didn't move as Moriarty glided toward him. Just before Moriarty reached him John crawled backwards and slipped in a puddle of tea. Smiling Moriarty straddled over John's prone body. "John, "he whispered as he positioned a leg on either side of John's body. John could feel the heat radiating from Moriarty's body. "I've got to resist," John thought as Moriarty began to unbutton his shirt. However, all thoughts of resistance fled from John's mind as Moriarty unzipped his jeans and began to massage between John's legs.
John gasped and thrust his hips towards Moriarty. "John, be patient," Moriarty whispered as he slipped John's jeans off. As John lay naked from the waist down Moriarty kept up his massage until John began to whimper. Without another word Moriarty picked up John and slung him over his shoulder and carried him to bed. John dug his heels into the mattress as the pressure built up inside him. Moriarty slowly took off his clothes as John watched. Once he was naked Moriarty fit his body into between John's legs until John could feel the hardness between Moriarty's legs pushing against the inside of his thigh. "He's going to torture me," John thought as Moriarty moved his hand away from his crotch. Closing his eyes John waited for something terrible to happen, so that when Moriarty's mouth took up where his hand had left off John groaned with pleasure and guilt. "Sherlock, "John mouthed as tears ran down his cheeks. Sherlock would never forgive him for this. Soon all rational thought left John's mind as Moriarty brought him to a climax.
Moriarty lifted his head from in between John's legs and began to suck on his neck. Easing his knees apart Moriarty prepared John's body for his own entrance. John took a deep breath as Moriarty's fingers loosened his tightness and then gasped as Moriarty slowly thrust his appendage inside him. The sequence made John writhe in pleasure, first the tip, then the middle, and finally Moriarty was all the way in. His downward in and out motions were a lot gentler than John expected, and his love starved body responded by forcing itself up so that Moriarty could penetrate him deeper. After Moriarty climaxed he curled up in John's arms and wept. Unsure of what to do John just patted Moriarty's neck. After a moment Moriarty raised his tear stained face to look up at John. "John, I have never made love like that before. My first sexual experience was forced upon me and after that I mainly indulged in sexual practices of bondage, dominance and humiliation. We must never do this again."
Totally unprepared for this side of Moriarty John let Moriarty weep himself to sleep. Once Moriarty was breathing heavily, John eased himself out from underneath and took a shower. As the warm water washed over him John felt he would never be clean again. Sherlock would not want him back ever. Morbid abusive thoughts flowed through John's mind like humid drops of rain, so that by the end of the shower he was so overwhelmed with despair that he began to contemplate suicide. With a grim realization John realized that everything he and Sherlock had worked towards was gone in a moment of lust and what was he to make of this tender, vulnerable side of Moriarty. In any other circumstance John would have thought that Moriarty had faked the tears. However, John had seen enough men die in battle. As they breathed their last they often cried for their mothers or sweethearts, either way the tears were unlike anything John had seen. Deep tears of agony had a different sound and feel, their groaning's were like a giant tree making its last movements as it fell to the ground never to sway in the wind again. John had never put much stock in the Bible; however when the Bible spoke of Jesus weeping great tears of blood in the Garden of Gethsemane he thought that whoever had written the Gospels was more than familiar with tears of death. "Tears of Death," John thought as he remembered the quiver in Sherlock's voice before he jumped from the roof of St. Bart's. "Tears of Death," John thought as the face of every dying soldier came back to haunt him. "Stop this," John shouted aloud as he leaned against shower wall. Glancing over at the soap container, John noticed the metal razor. Like Sleeping Beauty just before she pricked her finger on the spinning wheel, John's eyes grew large as he slowly reached for the razor. "The small blade inside will bring me relief," John thought as he struggled to get at the inside of the razor.
Sherlock lay in bed wide awake. "Where was John? However, will we find him? Mycroft and MI-6 were certain that if John were still alive that he had not left Prague." The thought was not a comforting one, due to the fact that if Moriarty had John he was probably slowly torturing him to death. Sherlock had never believed in a higher power; however just in case Sherlock prayed. "If there is a male or female deity, please spare my lover, my friend, my life, John." The words hovered in the room as Sherlock sighed and rolled over. Sleep was obviously something that was not going to happen, so Sherlock got up and tapped on the adjourning door to he and Mary's room. "Mary, are you asleep? It's me Sherlock."
After a few moments Mary jerked open the door. "What is it Sherlock?" She snapped.
Sherlock looked down and traced a pattern on the rug. "Um I can't sleep. I thought maybe we could go over where we might possibly find John."
Mary sighed and held the door open. "Fine, come in, but Sherlock we may have to face the fact that he is well…dead."
Sherlock felt as if the air had been sucked out of him in an instant, leaving his chest tight and unyielding to the breaths that struggled to get free and then Sherlock felt a faint, familiar presence. "John is in terrible danger, but I know he is still alive." Sherlock said as he swallowed down the lump forming in his throat.