WARNING: SMUT SCENE AND MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.

HAVE FUN.

Jim had sent in a surgeon- the best in London- for Sherlock's cheek. It now looked almost flawless. It hurt a hell of a lot less, and the pleasant buzz of morphine buzzes at the back of his skull, Sherlock heads down the hall to Jim's study, to which he'd been summoned.

Jim glances up from his desk when Sherlock walks in, smiling.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've been better. But then again I've been worse." Sherlock sits down in front of Jim still dizzy from the morphine. His clothes had been replaced with a sharp black suit and his short dark hair was combed back into spikes. New look, new lifestyle.

Jim is quite pleased with Sherlock's new look. Much more professional. Much more like him. He finishes composing his email and sends it off before standing, walking around to rub at Sherlock's shoulders.

"You look good," he purrs.

Sherlock smiles and leans his head back to look up at Jim.

"Who was the e-mail for?"

Jim lowers his head down beside Sherlock's and smiles.

"None of your business." He says playfully before nipping at his ear.

Sherlock pouts, leaning his head back against Jim's shoulder and nipping at the criminal's ear in return.

"Mm, but it is my business now, isn't it?" he hums.

Jim just chuckles against Sherlock's neck, blowing warm air down the back of his shirt, causing Sherlock to shiver slightly. Just as things were getting interesting, a tall man with auburn hair and light brown eyes strode into the office.

Sherlock seems unbothered by this new presence at first, turning his head to cast a glare at the newcomer before freezing, irritated words dying in his throat. Oh. Oh. "Victor?" "Oh hello, my dear. Hope I'm not getting in the way of anything?" Victor looks at the two of them and tilts his head. Upon seeing the bite mark on Sherlock's neck and his bleeding ear, he smiles. Sherlock stands up, looking between Victor and Jim with a faint flush in his cheeks. "He works for you?" he asks Jim, though the answer is clear. More of an incredulous statement than anything. He knows he should probably be frightened at Victor's presence, after all that had happened, but instead he feels a stir of arousal and god dammit he thought he was over this. There was a time when all Victor had to do was snap, and he would turn submissive, and even just his presence is now having an effect. Victor smiled at the ex detective as a crimson blush crept onto his cheeks. He walked forward until he was level with Sherlock then stopped. "The question is why are you working for him my dear?" With the question, he trails use edge of one finger along Sherlock's neck, gently. Sherlock shivers lightly at the touch, Victor's fingers brushing along the marks Jim had left. His gaze lowers slightly in embarrassment- not so much at the question as the answer. "Because everybody else left me. Jim seems to be the only one that cares. And I dislike being played." Because that's what he was, by everyone else. Played and used. Victor didn't say anymore to Sherlock but continued to draw circles on the edge of his jaw with his fore finger. "What was the reason you summoned me here? Just so I could play with my old thing again." His fingers danced on Sherlock's jaw before sliding up to his cheek. He hums, pleased. "Doctor's good. I can hardly see anything." Jim turns to look at Victor, the pair seeming to have a silent conversation as Sherlock leans slightly into the touch despite the small pang at Victor's words. Finally, something seems to click with the retrieval captain. Ah. So he is here to play with Sherlock. Cement him here. Well he can't say he won't enjoy it, though he'd rather been expecting a job. Unlike Sebastian, though, he knows perfectly well that he must be careful to make sure he doesn't cross one of Jim's ever-moving invisible lines, so he keeps an eye on the consultant as he turns back to Sherlock.

Jim smiles knowing what's coming. Victor would keep him here; although it seems clear that Sherlock wouldn't try and escape anyway. Though he is worried slightly about Sebastian. Not for his wellbeing, that man was more than capable of looking after himself, but about him telling John or that bloody inspector weaknesses of his and so forth. He made a mental note to change pass codes and seal of any other means into the building.

Victor tilts his head as his fingers trail down the pale skin of the ex-detective's throat, making the man shudder slightly. He smiles a bit, and the hand at his side curls. He snaps.

Sherlock sinks to his knees automatically, and it takes a few moments for it to register.

Well then. Apparently that little trick still works. Victor flashes the faintest of smug grins at Jim as he threads his hands through Sherlock's hair.

Jim tilts his head then laughs.

"I see you already have him pretty well trained." He couldn't keep the playful edge off of his voice.

Sherlock bristles slightly at the suggestion that he can't be good when he wants to be, and determines that he will be perfect just to prove Jim wrong.

Victor glances at Jim as he taps his finger lightly against Sherlock's head, the detective's mouth parting willingly.

"Would you like to go first or shall I?"

Jim thinks for a second before shaking his head.

"Be my guest, I'd love to see what you can make him do." He rubbed his hands together and sat down in the chair that Sherlock had been sat on. He had a feeling the next few hours were going to be so much fun. It was obvious that Trevor had Sherlock wrapped around his finger.

Victor smiles, turning his attention back to Sherlock. The ex-detective immediately reaches up, undoing Victor's trousers deftly and swallowing the man down without preamble, looking faintly smug at the cut-off gasp from Victor as he starts sucking.

Victor laces his hands through Sherlock's hair and tugs gently twice. Sherlock immediately stopped and looked up. Victor then turned around to face Jim.

"Care to join?"

He says with a wicked glint in his eyes.

Jim's eyes dance, and he deliberately stands up and takes the laptop and lamp from his already-pristine desk, leaving it bare.

"Of course. Perhaps we should make him more comfortable," he says, glancing pointedly at the wood with a grin at Victor.

Victor taps the top of Sherlock's head once and points upwards. Sherlock stands and waits for his next order. Victor didn't say anything; he taps Sherlock's shoulder and points to the bare desk. Sherlock tilts his head then walks over and sits on it. Victor turns his head toward Jim and sits down.

"You want to take it from here."

"Of course, but why don't you join me?" Jim's lips draw into a smile teasing both Victor and Sherlock.

He stands once more. "How could I refuse an invitation like that?" he replies, running his hand down Sherlock's spine before tapping lightly. Sherlock immediately lies down across the desk, head hanging off and exposing his throat and feet braced against the wood, legs spread obscenely. Victor's hand trails down Sherlock's leg as Jim's run across the bared throat and earning a pleased hum from the man.

Sherlock feels blood rush to his face and Victor hand trails up from his ankle to his thigh. Jim's hand tightens on his throat, not enough to cut off his breathing but enough to add some excitement. Sherlock lips part of a groan as Victor's hand reaches its destination and squeezes.

Jim licks his lips at the delicious sound, deciding Sherlock has entirely too many clothes on. Victor, it would seem, is already on it, and Sherlock obligingly lifts his hips as his trousers and pants are removed, his own fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off onto the floor.

"Better." Jim smiles and starts attacking Sherlock's neck with his teeth while Victor got to work on his lower half. Sherlock had to use every ounce of self control to stop himself from thrusting upwards and moaning too loud.

Victor chuckles.

"Still a little pain slut, I see?" he says as he nips at Sherlock's inner thigh, leaving a red mark and making Sherlock whine a bit as his legs and throat are marked and claimed. It's glorious, and his hands dig into the sides of the desk in restraint.

"Yes sir."

"Sir? I like it."

"Already? Never called me sir." Jim was frankly quite impressed with what Victor could make Sherlock do, if at the same time a tad jealous. He moves upward to he's now sucking and claiming Sherlock's jaw, working it slowly before kissing him hard, shoving his tongue into the ex-detective's mouth.

Sherlock parts his lips obligingly, not holding back the groan that emanates in his throat in pleasure. He can feel that there's a slight competition, of sorts, going on between the two men, and when Jim pulls away slightly for air, he looks at him through lowered lashes.

"What would you like me to call you?" he says smoothly.

Of course, Sherlock's more attuned to Victor, as he'd been with the man for over a year in Uni and been more or less trained and shaped into what he wanted- any time he'd tried sex with anyone else, it was lacklustre and dull- but he's more than willing to learn what Jim likes.

Jim stops.

"What do you call Victor, other than Sir?" As he says the name he looks up at the captain, who had looked up and was giving Jim a half smile.

Victor replies for Sherlock.

"Usually just Sir- though I've not heard it in a while. Other than that really depends- occasionally it used to be Master, though I suppose it's rather inaccurate now."

Sherlock has been thinking, and after reviewing Jim's conversations with him several years earlier, he thinks he's determined the title Jim may like. At the very least narrowed it down to probably either Daddy (most likely) or Master (also a good guess.) He listens for Jim's reply, not looking at him as he bares his throat, and when he takes too long he elects to try one.

"Daddy?"

Jim's lips drew back into a smile that showed off most of his teeth.

"That seems perfect. Now the question is what to call you without being to vulgar about it."

Jim pulls a face. Despite everything, there was nothing that he hated more than real vulgarlarity. Victor ponders for a second still with one hand hovering on Sherlock's stomach; the other was creeping back up his thigh.

"If you want to keep with the 'Daddy' thing, something simple like 'love' would work. Used to be 'pet,' sometimes," Victor hums, fingers trailing up Sherlock's thigh and making the man shudder lightly.

"Oh, we're familiar with pet, aren't we?" Jim smiles and kisses Sherlock again. Sherlock suddenly groaned heavily and bucked his hips up into Victor's hand, toes curling and fingers scraping the pristine mahogany desk.

Sherlock preens under the attention, spreading his legs slightly more and earning a chuckle from both men as he arches a bit, wanting to get something from all this damned teasing.

But neither man was going to let that happen it seemed. Every time Sherlock got close Victor would just stop. Same went for Jim. Victor then stops fully and taps Sherlock on his belly and gestures with his finger. Sherlock nodded, understanding. He stood up off the desk and placed both hands on it, legs parted.

Sherlock lowers his chest a bit, arching his back in a way he knows from experience is seductive. Jim tsks as he rounds the desk to Victor's side, swatting the man firmly on the arse.

"None of that, now."

Sherlock straightened out immediately but kept his hands flat on the desk. Victor slid one finger from the base of Sherlock's spine up to his throat, wrapping his hand around it. He pulled Sherlock's head up to look at him.

Jim digs into the top drawer of his desk and pulls out a bottle of lube, setting it on the desk. Victor smirks.

"Sherly dear, we want you to prep yourself for us. Put on a nice show." His thumb drags across Sherlock's jawline as the detective nods immediately, reaching back for the bottle.

Victor couldn't help but smile.

"I'm learning more about you as time goes on."

Jim's face fell.

"You mention this to anyone and I'll turn your skin into shoes and your bones into musical instruments, you are still my employee after all."

Victor carried on smiling and tilted his head.

"Whatever you say boss."

Sherlock, recognizing that the attention is off of him for even those few moments, presses a finger back into himself and lets out a low groan, noting with satisfaction that their attentions are now firmly back on himself.

Jim leaned on Sherlock's old chair and looked up at Victor, though his attention was still firmly on Sherlock.

"How was Severin to capture?" Jim dropped in the question as if they were having a casual chat, if he indulged in such leisures.

Victor snorts.

"Easy, of course. Still the skittish little doe-eyed idiot." He runs his hand down Sherlock's flank and the man shudders as he continues talking. "I still can't believe they're twins." Sherlock's mind is not paying attention to the conversation, really. Trying to get them focused back on him. Entirely.

"Daddy, I'm ready to play."

"Hush pet, Daddy's talking."

Jim waves a hand and winks at Victor, carrying on the game.

"I couldn't either to begin with. They're just so different. Where was he? It'll be fun to know if we can get hold of him again. I won't lie and say it wasn't fun..." He trails off running a finger along the scar that sliced across Sherlock's collarbone. "Maybe even Sebastian will be with him."

Sherlock pouts but falls silent, continuing to work with quiet little whines. He knows he has to wait for the pair to finish talking and decides it may be in his best interest to listen. He quickly picks up on what they're talking of, and keeps his face blank as Sebastian is mentioned. He won't get the man hurt again. He groans as Jim's finger drags across the cut, head going back further.

Victor smirks.

"Small flat in Cardiff. No security. It'd be easy."

Though Sherlock doesn't want either Moran being hurt his face remains emotionless apart from the flicker of pleasure that flitted across his mouth and eyes every once in awhile. Greg, Sebastian, Severin and John were all behind him. This was his life now and he intended to make it a good one.

Jim finally, finally, decides to relieve Sherlock a bit, ordering Sherlock to slip his fingers out.

Jim smirks a bit, glancing at Victor.

"After you."

"Too kind." Victor walks behind Sherlock while Jim sits in the chair.

"Oh, to give some advice, as if you need any, don't go gentle." Jim winked and leaned back.

Sherlock sets his forehead down on the desk as he leans over a bit more, spreading his legs further as Victor takes his hips. The man winks at Jim before pressing forwards and sheathing himself fully in one quick movement, making Sherlock gasp before letting out a low groan. Finally.

Sherlock's groan pleases Moriarty. He'll stay here. Victor will make sure of it. His mind wanders to what job he could put the ex detective to. Meanwhile, Victor leans forward, wraps his fingers into Sherlock's hair and pulls his head up sharply.

Sherlock keens, back arching as his head is pulled back. A moan escapes as Victor pulls out and presses back in, his own hardness sliding against the polished wood. He has no doubt that Jim will make him clean it, but that's not a priority right now.

Jim clicks his fingers together and Victor stops, still buried inside Sherlock. The two men have a silent convocation and Victor pulls out suddenly. Sherlock gives a whimper and his spine arches against his will.

Jim chuckles, rising from his chair and dragging his nails down Sherlock's back and making the man whine.

"Daddy, please."

He needs someone inside him, goddammit, and the tag team thing they're playing is starting to make him desperate.

Victor takes Jim's place by the chair before sitting down, arm folded, smiling. A question has been bothering him since the whole affair started.

"Will this be my job from now on?" Victor refers to Jim. He wasn't going to lie, he'd be happy with this as a job.

Jim chuckles.

"Partly. You'll still be in charge of Retrieval, but you can pass off the duties to Sinclair, and from there down the command."

His web is highly organized. Him in the centre, and it grows from there.

He's not overly concerned about the lack of condoms- Victor hardly has time to go and get partners, and is thusly clean, and he himself is as well as Sherlock, so all is good as he lines up and pushes in.

"Sinclair? In all due respect sir, are you sure he'll be the best choice for a second in command? He's a good worker but...are you sure? Also may I ask where you'll be putting Sherlock to work?"

Sherlock's head lifts slightly at his name, although it's quickly pushed back down to the desk by Jim.

Jim looks over at Victor, curiously.

"Whom would you suggest, then? You're in charge of the unit. And Sherlock will be working Intel, of course." He says all this perfectly steadily even as he rolls his hip into Sherlock.

Sherlock is listening intently as Jim jolts himself forward again. Intel? Gathering information no doubt. But as Jim wraps his hand around his throat once more, his mind wanders to his old life. Back to 221b. Back to John. But there was a dominant thought floating around his head. Where would Sebastian go? Would he join forces with John and come rescue him. Not that Sherlock wanted to be rescued. He was perfectly happy where he was.

That was if he stayed away from Jim's vicious mood swings. He was forced out of his thoughts by a sharp smack to his right cheek. He opened his eyes and Victor was stood in front of him.

Victor has no doubt about what Sherlock is thinking of. It's clear. And he isn't too terribly happy about it. He had, of course, known of Jim's veritable obsession with his Uni lover, and the background information thereof had been knowledge throughout the London sector of the empire.

"You're thinking of Watson. Moran." Jim stills.

Sherlock gulps. He couldn't help it if his mind decided to wander. Jim grabs a handful of his short hair and pulls back with enough force to make the ex detective cry out.

Jim brings his lips to Sherlock's ear.

"Do you really think they're going to come for you? John left you here willingly. Sebastian isn't stupid enough to try to come back. And Mycroft already considers you compromised. He won't come to save you, you know. If his men do come, it will be to kill you."

"I don't expect them to come. Even if they did I wouldn't go. What would I go back to? At least here my skills aren't taken for granted." Sherlock says quietly.

Jim smiles, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

"Exactly. So don't waste time thinking about them."

"Whatever you say Daddy." Sherlock purrs leaning into the kiss on his neck and pushing back against Jim, trying to get some sort of friction between them.

Jim chuckles, crisis duly averted, and straightens a bit, fingers trailing down Sherlock's sides as he pushes in, glancing at Victor with a raised brow.

Victor hums and sits back down. He was going to a long job ahead of him He crossed his legs at the knee and took out his phone to find a text from Sinclair.

Get the boss. Something's come up. ~SS

Jim tilted his head and looked up.

"Important?"

Sherlock resists a whine because God why won't someone just give him a proper fuck already?

Victor nods, hardly sparing a glance at Sherlock

"Sinclair. I'll call him and see what's wrong."

He stands and steps out of the room, flipping open his phone and calling. Sinclair immediately picks up.

Sinclair's voice crackled through the phone.

"We're going to need the boss down here, Captain. Holmes' brother's demanding to speak to him."

Victor pales.

"In person?"

Sinclair pauses.

"He says he just wants to speak to Holmes. Should we let him up or hold him here?"

"Hold him, I'll send the boss down." With that Victor hangs up.

Jim looks up questioningly when Victor walks in, the latter quickly crossing the room and whispering into his ear. Jim looks stuck between a grin and a scowl as Victor pulls away, and he himself pulls out of Sherlock with a soft sigh. He lifts the ex-detective's chin.

"Later we can finish this Do it as long as you'd like. But right now we have a visitor, and you need to get dressed."

Sherlock suppresses a whimper and stands up straight, the scratches on his back stinging.

"Who is this visitor, because we seem to be getting a few?"

Jim says nothing as Sherlock pulls on his pants, trousers and shirt. He does up his tie and cufflinks and attempts to fix his hair before Jim ruffles it back up.

"The wild look suits you." Jim purrs.

He and Sherlock then make their way downstairs with Victor where the rest of the team is waiting along with a light haired man wearing a navy suit.

"Mycroft?!" Sherlock couldn't believe what he was seeing.

What the hell was he doing here?

Mycroft looks up, his face straight.

"Hello brother mine."

Mycroft had, in fact, gotten in by having his car drop him off at the gate before driving off, himself simply leaning casually on his umbrella before Moriarty's team came swarming out. They'd escorted him inside, as he'd refused to allow cuffs anywhere near his suit-

"Spencer and Hart."

So he'd been sitting here calmly for ten minutes as he was searched and, to his dismay, his umbrella taken, before they'd called down his brother.

He gives him a cursory once-over, frowning at his condition. More importantly, the faint blush on his cheeks. He shoots an icy glance at Moriarty, who simply grins at him.

"Hey Mikey."

He deigns to ignore that, looking at Sherlock. "How are you?"

Sherlock just smiles and makes sure Mycroft can see that his gaze is on Jim.

"Mmm, can't complain." His gaze returned to Mycroft. "How are you, since we seen to be sticking to the formalities." Sherlock blinked and then became aware of the blush that was still on his cheeks.

"If we could skip that and tell us what you're doing here, Mikey." Jim winks and slips an arm around Sherlock waist. "Sherly and I, as you could probably tell, were in the middle of something that I'm eager to return to"

Mycroft's eyes narrow marginally. This change is far, far too rapid, but he knows his brother better than anyone else, and its clear Sherlock isn't bluffing. He uncrosses his legs, seemingly unconcerned as he leans back a little bit, leisurely despite the men circling the room with guns aimed at him.

"I have in fact noticed," he says dryly. "Which brings me to the question as to why exactly my brother is letting you use him like a whore when less than 24 hours ago he'd have been more than happy to blow this entire compound sky high?"

"Come to his senses you could say. Finally saw that he was just begin taken for granted when his skills could be used elsewhere." Jim flashed a killer smile at Sherlock and dug a nail playfully into his hip. Mycroft averted his eyes and switched to Victor when his stomach flipped over. It was obvious Victor wanted to say something but Sherlock beat him to it.

"What would it matter to you anyway, why I do what I do?"

"Because believe it or not, I'm your brother and I'm concerned. Not to mention John's been going insane with worry."

Sherlock barked a harsh laugh that sounded too much like Jim's.

"He's the one who left me here, willingly! Why would he be worried, he made it quite obvious that he didn't care what happened to me?"

Mycroft frowns.

"Sherlock, surely you realize that was a bluff. He needed to get out to plan a rescue mission- which you've rather made impossible- and the only way to do so was to pretend not to care. God's sake, he was willing to die with you at the pool and you think that just went out the window?" He rises, ignoring the cocking of the guns behind him. "And what about Moran?"

Sherlock looks at Jim who says nothing.

"He's better off without. And John won't come. Even if he does, he'll be shot on sight. As will Sebas-Moran." Sherlock quickly corrects himself. "How's Greg? Hope there's no permanent damage?"

Jim frowns, looking over at Victor. This is getting far too close to reminiscence. Attachments must be cut.

All of them.

Mycroft hums noncommittally.

"Tissue damage. Cracked hipbone. He'll be sore a lot, but he'll live." He tilts his head. "You know they're not going to leave you here, Sherlock."

"Then tell them to. They can't do anything without you. Just go, Mycroft I'm staying put."

Sherlock mouth was a thin line and his eyes portrayed no emotion. Jim's arm was still wrapped around his waist.

"I'm not going without you Sherlock. I am not leaving you here to waste the talent you were born with for the wrong reasons."

As if one of the team knew what he was going to do, he darted forward and swung for Mycroft who ducked and jumped backward. Another man tried to grab him but Mycroft swung away.

Mycroft, though, is surrounded. In a matter of moments he's been wrestled into submission, arms held behind his back firmly. Mycroft looks none too pleased by the new wrinkles in his suit, though his icy facade is still in place.

Jim sidles up behind Sherlock and whispers in his ear.

"You know what's going to happen, Sherly. He's manipulating you. You're only an asset. An asset that, if not his, will be destroyed He'll set his men on you. Have you killed. Like a disobedient dog, being put down." His voice is inaudible to any but Sherlock, and he reaches a hand out, Victor pressing a revolver into his hand.

Mycroft straightens. "Sherlock, don't listen to him-"

Sherlock feels the gun weigh heavy in his hand. Could he execute his own brother? He turns it over a few times and licks his lips, thinking. Mycroft struggles but then sees the gun in Sherlock's hand.

"You don't see it do you? You ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome? It's a mental condition and you've got it. You're not thinking straight."

"He'd kill me." Sherlock says to Jim.

"Exactly. All you got to do is pull that trigger and it'll all be gone. All the pain of your old life. All that guilt, anger and hatred...forgotten"
Sherlock seems to be rallied by Jim's words and raises the gun.

"It's for the best. Goodbye brother mine."
Sherlock aims the gun at Mycroft's head and keeps eye contact with his brother before pulling the trigger.

What used to be Mycroft slumps to the floor, the expression of shock still on his face.

Jim's men work quickly, lifting the body and carrying it off for Jim to decide what to do later, wiping the floor up as well.

Jim smiles, kissing along Sherlock's neck as he takes the gun from his hand and gives it back to Victor.

Success.

He's theirs.

Permanently.

"Mm, doesn't that feel better? No worries," he hums, nipping at his ear.

Sherlock was still in a state of shock. He'd killed his own brother. His own blood. But it was for the best; Mycroft posed a danger to him and to Jim. Dangers had to be eliminated. Loose ends cut. Mistakes erased. Jim sees that Sherlock is shocked but for once doesn't try and move him on too quickly. He looks at him again, mock concern filling his eyes.

"Come on." He tugs on Sherlock's sleeve, pulling him toward the stairs. "Let's get you to bed."

Sherlock, numbed, nods and follows. Jim looks to the camera mounted on the walk and smiles, reminding himself to send that footage to Johnny boy.

Jim puts Sherlock to bed in his own room, all the while murmuring praises and assurances and helping to calm the man slightly. Jim even lays down next to him until he drifts off before grabbing his laptop and firing off the video from earlier to little Johnny boy.

Ohh, he wishes he could see Johnny's face.

I AM SO SORRY. REALLY I AM.

;-; I FEEL BAD ALREADY