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“Not guilty, they found him not guilty. No defence and Moriarty’s walked free.”
John listened to the silence for a moment, stomping angrily down the path.
“Sherlock, are you listening? He’s out. You know he’ll be coming after you.”
There was still no response but the finality of the dial tone, and John cursed.
“Yeah, sure, don’t mind me. Just get yourself killed, see if I care.”
As he rounded the corner he drew up short. A tall, thick-set blond stood firmly in the middle of the path. He had a rough face with a hard jaw and a once broken hooked nose. John frowned.
“Can I help you?”
A black car pulled up beside them and the back window rolled down. “Johnny boy! Care for a ride?”
His face fell. “God, not again.”
Sherlock prepared the tea, hands clenching and unclenching as he waited for the kettle to boil. He’d always known there had to be a bigger plan. Moriarty hasn’t come this far just to hand himself over. They hadn’t finished their game. He laid the cups out on the tray and carried it into the lounge room, picking up his violin. It can’t be long now.
But when an hour passed, and then two, his annoyance at the tea going cold changed to doubt. He’d been sure the mastermind would lose no time coming to gloat. He tossed the instrument aside in a huff and sat, tapping his hand against the arm of the chair. Maybe I’m supposed to wait, to give Moriarty a chance to ambush me. He’s childish like that.
His phone rang and he rolled his eyes, getting up to answer. It was probably John fussing again.
“Sherlock Holmes.”
“Sherly! Good to hear that purr again. I very much enjoyed your performance at court.”
“A call? I’m almost offended.”
“Aww, did you think I’d stop by for a chat? How adorable! No, you’re going to come to me.”
“Why should I walk into an obvious trap?”
“Because you can’t resist it. Because you did it for a lowly cabbie and I’m Jim fucking Moriarty?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Oh, I don’t think you will. Doctor?”
A chill ran down his spine. There was a muffled pant as Jim passed the phone over.
“Sherlock? Sherlock, whatever you do, don’t come! I’m not worth it! Sher-”
“Yes, I think that’s enough Johnny,” Jim wrestled the phone back, “So, shall I mark you down as ‘attending’?”
“Where?” Sherlock spat.
“You’re a clever boy, you’ll figure it out. I’ll give you a hint though – it was part of the game.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Goodie! Now do remember this is a private party, Sherly. No nasty big brothers allowed.”
“Of course.”
“See you soon then.”
He hung up, clutching the phone for a moment. He hadn’t expected this. Jim had already played the hostage card once and they’d been lucky to escape. Sherlock tucked his phone into his jacket pocket and ran to the door, shrugging on his coat. Where would Moriarty go? Part of the game, so most likely somewhere he’d been before. Not the pool – that was too cliché for Jim. Somewhere they could keep John in relative privacy, somewhere isolated perhaps? Or at least uninhabited. Not the art gallery, not the rental car place. Oh god. Sherlock tipped his head back with a sigh and turned around, heading back inside.
The door to 221C was unlocked, padlock hanging from its hasp. Sherlock gently turned the handle, stepping inside. The stairs were dark, lit only at the bottom by a light spilling in from the main room. It had that horrid musty smell he remembered, his nose wrinkling at the first whiff. He couldn’t hear anything but a faint dripping that might have been the old pipes. Sherlock descended slowly and walked into the main room.
Jim faced the fireplace, still in his coat and gloves, hand clasped behind his back. John was tied to an uncomfortable-looking steel chair, a dark-haired bruiser at his shoulder with his arms crossed. There was blood on his knuckles, probably intended to provoke the detective. John himself didn’t look too worse for wear beyond some creases in his suit, ruffled hair and a swollen black eye. There was a white handkerchief tied over his mouth as a gag; Sherlock could just make out the monogrammed ‘JM’.
“Sherlock! Good to see you.” Jim spun, arms wide.
“Wish I could say the same.”
“We have to stop meeting like this. I’m sorry there’s no tea but I think you’ll find the company delicious enough.”
John gave Sherlock a desperate look and shook his head, earning himself a cuffed ear from Jim’s man.
“What do you want?” Sherlock drawled.
“The direct approach today, good – but then aren’t you always a straightshooter?”
“You don’t need to kidnap John every time you want to make a point.”
“Maybe it’s the best way to get your attention.”
Sherlock snorted. “Wasn’t the trial just one big display for me? Believe me, if it’s attention you want you have it.”
Jim smiled delicately. “A good point. No, Johnny’s here as a motivational tool.”
“For what?”
“Sherly, repeating the question won’t force an answer out of me!” he chuckled, “Try a little patience.”
“Rich, coming from you. You want me to ask so you can prove how clever you are – well go on, spell it out for us.”
Jim put his hands in his pockets and came closer, stopping right under Sherlock’s nose. “Alright. You and I are going to go into the next room and you’re going to beg me to fuck your brains out, or Johnny here gets the same treatment from my...associate.”
Watson made a horrified sound around the gag, glaring, but Sherlock only raised his brows. “This is fairly beneath you.”
“Is it? I don’t know, I think it has a certain old-fashioned charm.”
“You want to hurt me by making me do something I don’t want, and you want to hurt John by making him listen so he feels guilty. You know I’ll gladly sacrifice myself since sex means nothing to me, but you’re hoping to damage our relationship afterwards.”
“All excellent reasons, but mostly I just want to see you on your knees with my cock down your throat. Causing sweet Johnny some anguish is a bonus.”
“Is this your idea of burning me?”
“It’s just the beginning, Sherly dear,” his lips twitched, “Shall we hear what Johnny thinks?”
He snapped his fingers and the henchman tugged out the gag. John spat cotton fibers for a moment before taking a huge breath.
“Sherlock, you can’t do this – he’s trying to destroy you, you can’t let him win!”
“His plan only works if he succeeds in making you feel responsible. I have nothing to lose by agreeing provided nothing changes between us.”
“Sherlock, please don’t.”
“John, don’t argue.”
Jim cooed, clapping his hands. “Aw, he’s such a good lapdog! What’s your answer, darling?”
“Let’s get on with it, shall we?” Sherlock quirked a brow.
“Sherlock!”
Jim wandered over and reached into John’s shirt, pulling out his dogtags. He lifted them over the blond’s head and walked back to Sherlock, draping them around his neck.
“See? Now there’s a little piece of you with him, doctor. Does that make you feel better?”
“Go fuck yourself!”
“We’ll have the gag again, thank you David,” Jim took off his gloves and coat, draping them over the mantel, “Sherly?”
The taller man gave John a look that tried to be reassuring before spinning on his heel and heading for the next room. It was a bedroom, as dank as the rest of the flat but newly furnished. Jim must have been planning this for some time. The bed had a metal slatted headboard and black sheets that looked like fine silk. There was a clothes hanger on a hook on the wall. He stifled a laugh.
“Are you really so particular about your suits?”
“Absolutely, Sherly. I like to keep my things nice.”
He took off his jacket and hung it up, turning to examine the detective standing patiently in the doorway.
“You’re just the prettiest thing, don’t you know? Those high cheekbones and the cherub curls. I’m surprised Irene didn’t get here first – though from what I hear, she made a good attempt.”
“What makes you think you’ll do any better?”
“I at least got you to the bedroom, didn’t I?”
Sherlock stripped off his jacket, starting on his shirt buttons. “Indeed. Shall we get this over with?”
“What’s the rush? This is a big night. We should light some candles, throw on some Barry White.”
Sherlock gave him a scathing look and Jim giggled.
“Or not.”
He stepped close, eyes tracing Sherlock’s face as his hand curled around the lapel of his open shirt.
“This doesn’t have to be difficult, Sherlock. I’m not some petty rapist who gets off on making their victims scream. Getting you here is satisfying enough. Play nice and you’ll even enjoy yourself.”
“I sincerely doubt it. You may have the experience to coax a reaction from my body but I doubt I’ll enjoy anything.”
“Care to make a wager?” Jim smirked.
“I don’t make deals with the Devil.”
“Oh, but you just did.”
Sherlock put his hand on the button of his pants but Jim reached out to stop him.
“Not yet, Sherly. Help me out of these first.”
He rolled his eyes but started unbuttoning Jim’s shirt mechanically, ignoring the skin beneath as he pulled it down his arms. He tossed it to the floor with an impertinent grin.
“Look at you, saucebox. On your knees, Sherly.”
The brunette sunk down, hands in his lap as he looked up expectantly. He didn’t mind the orders; after all, he just had to play out Jim’s dance and then he could get John out of here. Moriarty ran a hand through his curls and sighed.
“So pretty - even without that brain. Undo them, Sherly.”
The nickname’s more annoying than the demand he thought to himself as his long fingers unhooked Jim’s button and pulled the trousers open. He hesitated, eyes flicking up, and with an encouraging nod from Jim reached in and drew his stiffening prick out.
“You know the theory, darling?”
“I’m sure I can work it out.”
“Tell me how much you want to suck Daddy’s cock.”
Sherlock met those calculating eyes, bright with a malicious leer. “I think we can skip the dirty talk, don’t you?”
“You’re no fun. Say it.”
“Why bother? You can’t humiliate me.”
“Oh, I think I can. All that wonderful pride of yours is fine with getting on your knees to serve me, because the sex is nothing compared to Dr Watson’s life. But you can’t ask for it.”
“I don’t want it, and you’ll give it to me regardless, so asking seems fairly redundant.”
“Then you should have no trouble saying it, should you?”
Sherlock clenched his jaw, breathing through his nose. Jim laughed.
“See? You don’t want to give me that because it costs you too much dignity. Don’t worry dear, by the time we’re done I’ll have you screaming it.”
He put a hand on the back of Sherlock’s head to guide him forward and the detective complied, closing his lips around the tip of Jim’s shaft. It was a strange sort of invasion, warm and soft but firm at the same time. He cleared his mind and determined to see it as nothing more than an organ, forgetting completely the man it was attached to. He moved forward down the length, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. Jim groaned and his attempt to ignore Moriarty faltered.
“God, if that isn’t just the most gorgeous you’ve ever looked...”
Sherlock frowned and sucked harder, bobbing slightly. He flicked his tongue a little and Jim hissed, prompting him to do it again.
“You’re on the right track, honey. Keep working that fabulous tongue.”
Sherlock glared in protest at the endearment and swirled it over the head as he shuffled his hand, making Jim groan. He smiled smugly. “I might be the one on my knees, but it’s you losing control Jim.”
The criminal’s eyes glinted and he gasped hastily as Sherlock gave another loud, slurping suck.
“You think you’re the one with the power here? Maybe if you had some experience you’d know sex is nothing but a back-and-forth.”
He twisted one hand in Sherlock’s hair, holding him still as he flung his hips, driving himself to the back of Sherlock’s throat. He spluttered and opened wider, trying to accommodate Jim as he thrust savagely. His eyes watered from lack of air, saliva spilling from the corners of his mouth in a shiny trail.
“Think you’re still in charge, Sherly?”
He drew back and Sherlock bent over, coughing as he cleared his mouth. Jim patted his head mockingly, forcing him to tilt it back with a hand under Sherlock’s chin.
“Let’s try it again without the attitude, shall we?”
Sherlock scowled but swept his tongue over the shaft, hand moving a bit faster around the base. He sunk down and Jim whipped his hips forward, prodding him in the palate. Sherlock murmured in complaint and the Irishman’s eyes just about rolled back in his head.
“Oh god Sherly, do that again.”
“Do what?” he popped his lips free.
“The humming.”
“You want me to hum?”
“You’re so fucking argumentative – one of the things I like best about you, naturally, but still. Just fucking hum!”
Sherlock gave him a filthy look and sucked Jim back into his mouth, thinking of a good tune. He settled on one, humming low in his throat as he pushed his head forward.
Jim laughed. “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor? Very ambitious.”
Sherlock managed a smile and kept up his theatrical humming, secretly delighting in the way Jim had to tear his eyes away as he flung his head back. Still in control, are we? His fingers massaged Sherlock’s head, tugging painfully at his hair, but he didn’t make another attempt to control the detective’s movements and Holmes kept up his steady bobbing strokes, lips slick with spit, his tongue salty from Jim’s pre-cum.
“Oh, who’s Daddy’s good boy, hmm? Ah, Sherly, I think we found the second best use for your mouth!”
Jim dragged him back by his hair, release spurting over Sherlock’s lips. The brunette flinched slightly but sat still and obedient until Jim’s grip loosened and the Irishman groaned contentedly, sagging a little.
“Good boy, Sherly. So good for Daddy.”
He leaned down and kissed the detective, nails digging into the back of his neck as his tongue licked the white stringy mess off his face and forced its way into his mouth. Sherlock growled at the intrusion but allowed it without reciprocating. Jim broke away with a snicker and twisted the dogtags around his fingers, forcing Sherlock to follow or be choked.
“On the bed, my dear.”
Sherlock positioned himself in the middle, watching with flat disinterest as Jim took off his trousers but tucked his now-limp member back into his underwear. The criminal took off Sherlock’s next, ripping his pants down at the same time. He nudged the brunette’s legs apart and knelt between them, supporting himself on his hand while the other wrapped around the flaccid flesh between Sherlock’s legs.
“Let’s see if we can break through that mental barrier and get a response, shall we?”
“I suppose if you fail, it will be taken as a sign I’m not fulfilling the terms of our agreement?”
Jim winked. “It might be. Then I’d have to punish Dr Watson for your misbehaviour. But I don’t think we’ll have a problem.”
He stroked Sherlock softly, thumb sliding over the head on each pass. Jim looked up at Sherlock and licked his lips.
“Can you imagine it Sherly? The poor loyal doctor, face pressed into the floor, David – brute that he is – weighing him down with that bulk, slamming into him tirelessly.”
He took a sharp breath, pushing the image away. Jim’s mouth curved up at the side wickedly as he kept up his strokes, voice low and quiet in Sherlock’s ear.
“Making him cringe, making him shriek, blood dripping as he tears-”
“Stop it.” Sherlock whispered. His cock twitched in Jim’s hand and the criminal grinned, leaning closer.
“Clutching his hips til they’re bruised, slapping those pretty thighs-”
“Stop it!”
“There we go. Little Sherlock likes drama as much as the rest of you, it seems.” Jim tugged at his arousal.
Sherlock stopped, blinking slightly. “You were stimulating me physically. I believe this is the usual result.”
“But it was the mental that got you going, Sherly. Picturing Johnny suffering for you.”
“Impossible.” Sherlock mutters.
Jim clicked his tongue and pushed himself down the bed. “I won’t tell.”
Sherlock shook off Jim’s words. Yes, he was flushed; he was hard. But it was Jim’s fingers, not his words, that made that happen. He certainly wasn’t callous enough to get excited by the idea of his best friend being abused on his account.
Cool fingers caressed his shaft as Jim sucked Sherlock’s sac into his mouth, tongue swirling around it. He gasped, legs stiffening then falling slightly further apart. Jim pulled away, dragging his lips backwards. Sherlock shivered at the warm press of his tongue against the brunette’s entrance, the wicked tip circling the puckered skin. It squirmed in, the contact wet and startling. Sherlock mewed.
“You like Daddy’s tongue? See, when you’re good you get rewarded.”
The other man pointedly ignored him but spread his legs almost involuntarily as Jim’s tongue swivelled back inside him. He felt a surge of something through his body, making him feel unsteady. Jim wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s cock and stroked as he lapped at the man’s opening, worming his way in deeper.
The two sensations made Sherlock buck slightly, fingers digging into the covers to try and hold himself together. He felt a sort of rolling wave moving up his spine and gasped, only to have it cruelly cut off by a hard grip around the base of his member.
“Uh uh, not yet honey. I am nowhere near finished with you.”
Sherlock sighed a bit but lay still, trying to catch his breath and calm his body. The tension actually hurt where Jim had stopped him, but it receded a little until he could think again. What are you doing? Having a physiological reaction, clearly. With Jim Moriarty. Don’t cave over a few pleasurable touches, Holmes.
Jim loosened his grip and gave a cautionary fondle. “I think we’re in control again now, hmm?”
He ducked his head, tongue returning to its exploration as his fingers made long, slow motions up and down Sherlock’s prick. He rolled his hips up into Jim’s fist, aiming for more friction. The genius didn’t stop him, keeping up a constant pace as he nipped at the back of Sherlock’s thighs and gently sucked his sac again, one side at a time. His fingers played over the sensitive spot just behind and Sherlock stiffened, only to be clamped off again.
“All in good time, Sherly.”
He growled with a frustration that made Jim quirk a brow gleefully as he sat up and reached under the neighbouring pillow.
“Patience, Sherly my sweet. We’re almost at the best part.”
He took out a thin white tube and flipped off the cap, squeezing a line of clear gel over his fingers. Jim rubbed them together, thoroughly coating the skin before placing them at Sherlock’s entrance. He couldn’t help drawing back a little.
“Relax, Sherlock. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d hurt you.”
“Forgive me for not trusting you overly much right now.”
Jim just smirked and pressed a finger in slowly, the lube helping him work past Sherlock’s tight muscles. The detective immediately forced himself to let go, easing the way as much as possible. Jim didn’t speed up, just pushed gently until he was encased in Sherlock all the way up to the knuckle. He pivoted the digit, stretching out the other man, and as his fingers brushed a sensitive spot Sherlock’s mouth fell open with a groan before he could stop it.
“That’s the way, my lad.”
He plunged his finger in and out for a moment, making as much space as possible before adding another. The renewed stretch made Sherlock grimace uncomfortably, but he lay still and soon both fingers were pressed against his walls. It felt almost good, the tightness, and he spared a glance at Jim to see the same thought mirrored on his face.
“Daddy could just eat you up, Sherly. So tight and hot for me. I feel like it’s my birthday and Christmas in one.”
He crooked his fingers and Sherlock shouted again, arms flopping back against the pillow. Jim took his time preparing the detective for the next finger, making sure he was thoroughly open and ready before he even tried to slide it in. Sherlock closed his eyes against the added pain but it faded like the others, and then he was panting up at Jim with almost anticipation. The criminal bent forward until he could take Sherlock in his mouth and grinned.
“Hold on, darling.”
His tongue swished over Sherlock’s member as his fingers rubbed against his passage, and Sherlock jerked violently. Moriarty’s lips were glossy with moisture as he closed them, sucking hard. His climax came rushing back, so close Sherlock could taste it on his tongue, and just as suddenly Jim stopped.
“Jim!” he whined without meaning to.
The other man ignored him, waiting until his breathing slowed before starting again. He did it over and over, until Sherlock was ready to rip his hair out. But the more Jim tormented him, the more it felt like it wasn’t enough. The fingers moving inside him always just missed the sweet spot; the hot cheeks rubbing against his shaft were too slippery for any real contact. He pressed his head back and wriggled his hips unhappily. Jim stopped again, leaning his chin on Sherlock’s thigh.
“Do you want more, Mr Holmes?”
He panted, nodding.
“What’s the magic word, Sherly?”
The detective bit his lip. He wasn’t going to say it. Jim tutted and scissored his fingers, brushing Sherlock’s prostate again. He arched up, eyes shut.
“Please! Please Jim, please.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.”
“Good boy!”
He slipped his fingers out and Sherlock groaned, prick bobbing between his legs impossibly hard and weeping. Jim’s underwear flew across the room as the man tipped the lube into his hand and worked himself slick, climbing over Sherlock. He hooked the detective’s knees over his arms and slid in.
It was pressure like nothing Sherlock had ever felt before, rippling through his muscles from his arse outwards with each thrust. Jim bit his neck, his chest, his jaw, mouth barely leaving Sherlock’s body as he snarled and drove himself forward. The detective grabbed at the sheets but it wasn’t enough leverage; his hands closed over Jim’s shoulders, pinching as he rocked into the friction.
John’s wrists flexed against his bonds again angrily as he bit the inside of his cheek at another obscene groan. He glared at the muscleman standing seemingly deaf by his side, watching his face blankly. There was a ragged cry in Sherlock’s voice and he winced. God, this is all my fault. I got bloody caught again like a bloody idiot, and now Sherlock’s paying for it. There was another loud chuckle and he clamped his eyes shut, wishing he could cover his ears. Does Moriarty know the walls down here were so goddamn thin? Probably, bastard. The walls were indeed so thin he could hear them breathing loudly, though thankfully the bedsprings didn’t squeak. John tucked his head onto his chest and breathed through his nose, trying not to choke on the gag, trying not to listen, but it was useless.
What effect was this going to have on his flatmate? Sherlock liked to pretend he had no feelings, only deductions, but John knew he was just as easily upset by things as anyone else. The doctor had never hated himself more than in that moment. It doesn’t matter what happens. I’ll be there for him. I’ll help him through it, and if I ever get the chance I’m going to throttle Moriarty to death.
Jim pulled at the dogtags, half-raising Sherlock’s torso. The change in angle made the detective’s hands fall back weakly, trying to hold himself up as Jim thrust. The metal clinked against his chest and he felt a moment of guilt before it was pushed aside by another powerful twinge. Sherlock’s whole head felt like it was going to explode, his limbs aching from being clenched so tight. His lip quivered as his eyes rolled shut and the smaller man giggled.
“Do you want to come, Sherly?” Jim breathed, first pounding into him and then teasingly slow, alternating between strokes.
“Yes please, please.”
“Please what?”
“Please Jim.”
“Nice try, but no. Tell me what I want to hear and maybe I’ll let you come, sexy.”
Sherlock grit his teeth. He knew what he had to do but it would be playing right into Jim’s hands. Then again, is there really anything left to lose by giving it to him? It’s only a word. He hesitated, almost choking on his stubborn refusal to give Jim even more of a reason to smirk – but he was dying to be touched. He’d been hovering on the brink for at least fifteen minutes, and no dignity in the world was worth that agony. Jim gave a particularly vicious thrust and Sherlock moaned.
“Oh please Daddy, please let me come!”
Jim closed his hand around Sherlock’s swollen head and his climax hit him with a yell, writhing underneath the criminal. Everything went black, the only sound the blood crashing through his head as he bucked and rippled.
“Say it again.” He hissed.
“Daddy! Daddy, oh hell Jim.” Sherlock took a shaky breath, movements slowing as he relaxed.
Jim laughed triumphantly and hammered into him, falling over the edge with a feral roar. He stared down at Sherlock, shoulders hunched as he emptied himself into the other man. He took a moment to rest his sweat-slicked forehead on the pillow before lifting himself again.
“Well! Wasn’t so bad, was it Sherly?”
“Very enlightening.”
Jim kissed his nose. “Don’t move.”
He pulled out quickly, making Sherlock gasp, and went to his jacket on the wall. He grabbed his phone and knelt between Sherlock’s legs.
“I just have to get a photo of you looking so wanton or I’ll never believe it really happened.”
He snapped once before Sherlock’s slack, exhausted look changed into an annoyed scowl, taking another picture of his seed spilling out down Sherlock’s creamy thighs. He chuckled softly and tucked the phone away. He pulled on his underwear and trousers, not bothering to tuck in his shirt or do up the cuffs. Jim slung his jacket over his arm as Sherlock finally got the energy to dress himself, fingers fumbling over the buttons. Jim waited patiently until the other man was done and held the door open with a flourish.
“After you.”
When everything went quiet John had a moment of panic, but then there were soft footsteps and he looked up in time to see the two men enter. Sherlock’s cheeks were red, his hair hopelessly mussed. He held himself sort of loosely, like his muscles were well-used. John shoved down a whimper that threatened to escape him and turned his gaze to Jim grinning like a smug arsehole.
“Come along David, our business is concluded.”
“John and I?” Sherlock clarified.
“Free as birds, darling. You more than held up your end of the bargain.”
He reached up and ran his fingers along the chain of John’s dogtags exposed by Sherlock’s undone top button, eyes lingering on the doctor’s unhappy face.
“In fact anytime you want to see Daddy again, you just say the word.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” Sherlock drawled.
“Oh, the tough act doesn’t work anymore, sweetheart. You should have seen him, Johnny, open and wailing for me. He loved it.”
John tried to shout through the gag but it came out as muffled gibberish and Jim laughed.
“I know, I know – you would have preferred him moaning for you. Maybe he would as well. Still, I got there first.”
He kissed Sherlock firmly for a second and walked up the stairs, his companion following a beat behind. Sherlock watched him go with narrowed eyes and as soon as the door slammed rushed over to untie John.
“Are you alright?” he peeled off the gag.
“Am I alright? Sherlock, what did he do to you!”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“That arrogant son of a bitch! God Sherlock, I thought I was going to go mad sitting here listening to him torture you – I was this close to breaking my own wrists!”
“Thank you for the concern, but it would have been a useless gesture. I was never in any danger so long as he got what he wanted.”
“Come on, let’s go upstairs. I have to check you out-”
“There’s no need.”
“Sherlock, you’ve just been raped! There’ll be damage-”
“There isn’t.” He said flatly, heading for the door.
John stopped, mouth ajar. “You...you called him Daddy. I heard it.”
“Moriarty seemed to deem it necessary-”
“He was right, wasn’t he? You enjoyed it.”
Sherlock arched a brow. “Would you prefer if I hadn’t? If I’d hated every moment and closed in on myself until I needed you to pick me up off the floor? If Jim had forced me more than he already was?”
“No! Of course not, how can you even ask?”
Sherlock took a step back towards him, brow furrowing. “Maybe Jim is right. Are you upset because I orgasmed with him specifically or because it wasn’t with you?”
John laughed, shaking his head. “What? That’s utter crap. He’s trying to mess with us, like you said he would.”
“John, look at me. Are you jealous?”
He didn’t say anything – he couldn’t. John stared at his feet mutely as Sherlock grew angrier and angrier, neck extending stiffly as he straightened his shirt.
“I see. Forgetting for a moment the fact I just lost my virginity to my arch-nemesis to spare you the same fate, I would have expected someone claiming to care about me not to be quite so judgemental.”
“Sherlock-”
“Here, these are yours.” He tugged off the dogtags, tossing them at John.
“Please-”
But the brunette ignored him. John heard the door slam and sank back onto his chair, resting his head in his hands. Oh god, what the bloody hell have I done?
*****
Sherlock was locked in his room when John eventually came upstairs, and he didn’t see the man the next day either. He hovered in the kitchen making endless cups of tea and glancing at the closed door worriedly. Mrs Hudson was in Dorset, or he would have sent her in as a kind of test. Finally he actually knocked.
“Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright?”
There was no response and John leaned his head against the door.
“You should eat something.”
The flat was so silent John could hear the ringing in his ears from past explosions and gunshots.
“I’m not leaving until you open this door! Look, I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful yesterday, I was just upset-”
The door flew open and he stumbled, looking up at Sherlock wrapped in his dressing gown. “If I make some toast will you give me a minute’s peace?”
“Yeah, yeah sure. Want me to put it on?”
“I can manage, thank you.” He bustled past, leaving John to catch up.
“How are you?”
“Moderately sore, but I believe that’s to be expected.”
“You really should let me have a look. Or we’ll go to a hospital, get another doctor.”
Sherlock’s gaze was withering as he paused, bread in hand.
John cleared his throat. “Or, uh, not. Have you spoken to Mycroft? He should know Jim was here, even if you don’t tell him the rest.”
“He’s Mycroft, I’m certain he already knows.”
“Yeah, well pity he didn’t figure it out sooner.”
He frowned as he pushed down the lever. “You think I’d want to be caught in flagrante by my brother?”
“Sherlock!” John slapped the counter, “You can’t be so, so, so casual about it!”
“And why not?” he tilted his head, “I told Moriarty sex made no difference to me.”
“But you can’t mean that now.”
“It doesn’t matter to me in the slightest, John. A passing sensation, added data, and an unfortunate source of ammunition for Moriarty’s little quips – that’s all it was.”
“Then why won’t you talk to me?”
“I often don’t talk to you.”
“This isn’t like those times. You’ve shut yourself away, you won’t let me help you-”
“I don’t need help.”
“Fine, fine, say you don’t, say you’re completely unaffected by what happened downstairs. I’m sorry if what Moriarty said made you think that maybe I...that I wanted that from you.”
“Truthfully I don’t understand your reaction. I think perhaps, without meaning to, you resent that I gave something like that to Jim.”
“No, no I know why you did it – you were trying to protect me. It’s my fault you even had to make that choice. How could I blame you for being selfless?”
“Because I think you have feelings for me beyond our friendship, feelings you’ve kept to yourself because you know my opinion on the subject.”
Sherlock’s toast popped up and he started spreading jam over it as John shook his head, hands on his hips.
“No, no that’s not true. We’re mates. I’m not gay, Sherlock!”
“Regardless, I think you should have some time to think about things. Obviously you need it more than me.”
And with a slice in his mouth Sherlock stalked back to his room and shut the door.
Sherlock meant it when he said the sex didn’t matter. He’d done it to keep John safe, and he neither regretted it nor blamed the doctor for the circumstances. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t given him a lot to think about.
If Jim was right, and John wished he’d been the one to deflower Sherlock, there wasn’t much the detective could do about it. He wasn’t capable of the kind of emotional vulnerability a partner required. If John decided he did want more than Sherlock could offer, things between them would doubtless deteriorate.
The sex itself though...he thought back to Jim’s vivid descriptions of what the man David would do to John in the same situation and how it aroused him, not so much the images but the way he knew Jim wouldn’t hesitate to do it. Moriarty had the power to do whatever he liked to Sherlock or John, forcing him to beg. Compared to all those times Sherlock took someone on knowing from the beginning he would win, knowing he was smarter and more in control, letting Jim make demands had been scintillating and new. And in that crucial moment, despite all his self-importance Sherlock had surrendered and meant it. There was something to that.
*****
He emerged from his room two days later, hoping that was enough time for John to have reached some kind of resolution. From the nervous look and blush he got, Sherlock surmised the doctor was in favour of an awkward conversation. He sat in his armchair and faced him plainly.
“John, tell me what you’ve decided.”
“I think...I don’t think I like you like that. I mean, I’m certainly not in love with you. You’re too impossible.”
They both smiled, and he continued.
“But was I jealous? Maybe. I hated the thought of him putting his hands on you. I hated hearing the sounds you made for him. Mostly because I knew you didn’t want it, that under normal circumstances it never would have happened, but also...it did feel like you were letting him in, and I think I was jealous because you never let me in – emotionally, not, you know, literally.”
“Good. I uh, I mean I’m glad nothing has to change between us. And if you like I’ll try to be a bit more open.”
“That would be great, yeah.”
“But you must admit John I’ve made it fairly clear how much I value you as a friend. My actions downstairs surely proved that. I promise you I would never have willingly made myself so vulnerable to Moriarty if it hadn’t been you on the line.”
John smiled tightly. “Well, thanks. So, uh...well, what are you going to do now? About Moriarty.”
“Catch him, obviously.” Sherlock said blandly.
“Good. I’ll help.”
“I never doubted you would.”
“You know if you could bring yourself to tell Mycroft he’d have Moriarty in a cell within half an hour.”
“Some things I have to do myself, John. I have to catch Jim before he sets in motion his grand plan to burn me.”
“Then you’ll do it.”
“You sound so certain. Didn’t Moriarty just prove he can beat me?”
“But he hasn’t. He wanted to cause trouble between us and we’re fine.”
“I’m glad.”
“You’ll get him, I know it.” John went back to his novel with a smile and Sherlock rested his chin on his hand, staring at the fireplace.
They went back to their cases and Jim didn’t contact them again – not even so much as a rude photo or a bit of blackmail. Sherlock was oddly disappointed. I wonder if this is how ordinary people feel when their one night stands don’t call. Worst was when John had shifts at the clinic and Sherlock had nothing to do but sit around the house and think about Jim standing over him with that sinister smile. He needed to see him again.
Sherlock pulled out his phone. “Mycroft!”
“To what do I owe the honour, Sherly?”
The nickname made him shiver. “I need you to tell me where Moriarty is at this moment.”
There was a pause. “And what makes you think I know?”
“He’s a threat to national security, of course you know.”
“What would you do with the information if I shared it?”
“I have something to say to him.”
“Sherlock-”
“Relax, Mycroft. I’m not going to serve myself up on a silver platter.”
“I cannot condone you toying with a deadly fugitive of Her Majesty’s justice.”
“Toying?” Sherlock raised a brow.
“Baiting him, playing your own private games. While it’s true you may be the only match for him, he’s not yours to catch.”
“Tell me or I’ll never help you on a case again.”
“So? There are other detectives in London willing to do my legwork.”
Sherlock sighed. “Mikey, please. I promise I’m not going to abuse the information.”
“You haven’t called me that since you were a child.” He said suspiciously.
“Please?”
His brother was silent for a moment. “I’ll text you the address.”
“Thank you.”
“Sherlock?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“You won’t.”
Sherlock knocked once, hard, and clasped his hands behind his back to wait. There was a pause and the door was opened by a tall blond with a scar down his neck.
“Kindly tell Jim he has a guest.” Sherlock said flippantly.
“Right this way, Mr Holmes.” The blond smiled, waving him in.
It was a posh apartment, homely in its own way. The coffee table was a mess of papers and books, the walls hung with several diplomas that all bore different names. There was a folded cashmere blanket over the end of the couch and a fruit bowl overflowing onto the kitchen island. It sort of looked exactly as he’d expected, a mixture of luxury, modernity and chaos.
“Boss!”
Jim walked in from the hall and stopped, a smile slowly spreading over his face. He was in a black tee and casual dark pants, dressed more for bed than anything, but it still showed off the lean muscles of his torso.
“Sherly! What a surprise. Leave us, Sebastian.”
He headed in the other direction, leaving the two rivals facing each other across the room as the door closed sharply.
“Felt like that spot of tea after all?” Jim grinned.
Sherlock shucked off his coat and scarf, leaving both over a chair. Jim audibly inhaled at the tight purple shirt and black slacks the detective had picked out especially to show the long, lean lines of his body. He walked around the couch towards Jim, each step careful and precise.
“You said if I wanted to see you again the door was open.”
“Ah, did I awaken that legendary curiosity? Thought you said sex was mundane and irrelevant.”
Sherlock stopped so close the edge of his shirt brushed Jim’s stomach. He looked down at Jim from under long lashes, lip stuck out coquettishly. “Not with you, Daddy.”
The way he breathed the word was pure seduction; Jim bit his tongue to hide a more violent reaction. “What about poor Watson? You’ll break his heart.”
“John doesn’t want me. This is entirely between us.”
“If you came here thinking to get a little payback, I hate to say it ain’t gonna happen, honey. I never sub.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
Sherlock raised his hands, resting them on the wall on either side of Jim’s head and leaning forward until the man was sandwiched between him and the plaster.
“I want to be your good boy, Daddy.”
Jim pressed his head back, baring his neck. “Why?”
“Everyone else is boring.”
“I’ve been saying that for months.”
“And when our game finishes I’ll be bored again.”
“Assuming you’re not dead.”
“You’re not going to kill me, remember? Not original enough. Over too quickly. You want to make me suffer, you want me to know I’m beaten? Here’s your chance.”
Jim made a low noise in his throat and rubbed himself against Sherlock. “Are you putting yourself in my hands, Sherly?”
“Implicitly.”
He smirked, giving him a once over. “Well, that could be fun.”
Jim wrapped his hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck and kissed him hard, tongue worming into his mouth. Sherlock opened more to let him in, mirroring Moriarty’s insistent movements as the smaller man squeezed his hip possessively.
“Ask again nicely and I might say yes.”
Sherlock slithered down to his knees, making sure to drag his body against Jim’s the whole way. He placed his hands on the other man’s thighs and looked up the short distance, mouth ajar, pupils blown.
“Please, Daddy. Please let me be your boy.”
“There’s my good Sherly,” Jim stroked the curve of his jaw, “Come on. Daddy will make it better.”