sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXIV

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Prompting Part XXXIV

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He tried to ignore the wet, slick sound of Jim thrusting into Sherlock’s mouth, but it proved impossible. “Sorry you’re missing out, Johnny. He really is quite good. Natural talent. Would have hated to see it wasted.” Jim shuddered. “That’s quite enough. Wouldn’t want this over too soon.” He shoved Sherlock to the side, giving John a better view of both his fully erect prick and Sherlock’s tattered clothing. “I don’t think I want to get too messy,” he said, slipping on a condom. He grabbed some of the ripped fabric from the pants and reached around Sherlock’s mouth to use it as a gag. John closed his eyes.
“Oh, no, no, that won’t do. If you’re not going to have video, then I think you really do need improved audio.” Jim tossed the fabric at John’s feet as he heard a jagged scream.
John was shaking, unsure if he should be watching for a hidden opportunity, or preserving whatever bit of Sherlock’s dignity he could by not viewing the assault. Both choices seemed equally wrong. He could still hear the sound of muffled, wet breathing, punctuated by an occasional hoarse shout, and he imagined Sherlock fighting to hold back any signs of emotion and pain. He still pictured blood, Jim’s gleeful expression, the thrusting into Sherlock’s body repeatedly, and he wondered if not watching was truly helping either of them at all.
“Keep them closed, Doctor,” Jim said, his breathing rate increasing. “Don’t share in his pain. Don’t offer any solidarity. It’s his alone to bear……ah!” John wrenched his eyes open, his vision blurry, “Oh, here we are…mmmnnngh… almost done, and I’ve been neglecting you.” Jim reached around to grab Sherlock’s prick. There was an indistinguishable sound muttered in protest. “Oh yes…that’s sooooo much better. I’ll help you catch up.” Jim’s movement slowed as he concentrated on Sherlock, working at him until he came with a quiet and painful groan, which was nearly drowned out by Jim’s shout of triumph. He pulled out, removed the condom with a look of distaste, dressed, and left without a word. John heard the sound of a knife hitting the tile floor, and the sniper marks disappeared. The pool area was suddenly dark.
Using the moonlight shining through high windows, John threw himself to the floor and made his way toward the shining edge of the knife, collapsing on top of it. He managed to get it angled correctly with his still-bound hands, unravel the rope, and make a quick attempt at freeing himself. Legs still partially bound, he stumbled over to Sherlock and immediately grabbed the discarded pants to stem his bleeding. Sherlock said nothing. Neither did John.
Removing the ropes from them both, he helped Sherlock to his feet, and the two of them walked unsteadily to the back door. There, John caught a glimpse of his jacket and Sherlock’s long coat, neatly folded, their cell phones placed on top. Sherlock’s displayed a text. “Thanks for the lovely evening. I’ll call you! -JM” John threw it to the floor and used his own to call for an ambulance while Sherlock leaned against the wall.

Suggesting a short walk home after dinner rather than taking a cab had been John’s idea, but blaming himself for that part of the sequence of events seemed somewhat unreasonable. The thought of the cool night air instead of the overheated restaurant had appealed to them both, but what happened between the turn down the darkening street and waking up by the side of that very same pool was a frustrating blur.
A nurse brought a rape kit. She was skilled and efficient, not finding much in the way of evidence, but still carefully combing for hairs, checking for any bite marks or abrasions, and tending to the knife cuts along Sherlock’s inner thighs, and thankfully not saying much. Pain relief options were limited, due to the asterisk and NA carefully notated in his file. John assumed that Mycroft could have had the narcotics restrictions expunged if needed, but he didn’t dare speak a word of it to him. That would have to be Sherlock’s decision… who he wanted to inform and when.

John had left Sherlock during the examination, ever aware of the need for privacy, and returned after the procedure was complete. Sherlock was lying on an examination table on his stomach. John sat down just to his left, adjusting the chair so he was well-within Sherlock’s limited field of vision, and spoke.
“They didn’t find much in terms of evidence. As your regular physician, I was able to access your reports. They have not examined the hair samples in detail, and the sperm samples were…”
“Were mine.” Sherlock stated simply. John hesitated, attempting to rethink his approach in light of the unexpected declaration, but Sherlock continued to speak, “Yes, I know. A perfectly normal physiological reaction due to the increased blood flow and response to fear and direct stimulation. I am all too well-aware that it does not mean I enjoyed any of it.”
“I was going to say the sperm samples were not present in the oral swab and were not detectable anywhere else, as he used a condom. Sherlock, the people here are competent.” Then a bit softer, “So am I. No one would suggest anything quite so… absurd. They will offer you a psychological referral, and…”
“Declined.”
“Declined,” John repeated, resigned to the fact. “They’ll want to give you the full drug cocktail as a precautionary measure. Routine prophylaxis would include ceftriaxone, azithomycon, metronidazole… and a two-week follow-up on bloodwork.”
“Prognosis?”
“Undetermined until the next stage of the evaluation. You’ll get a proctoscopic examination under general or local to assess the damage. The concern is perforation which is susceptible to infection or intramural rectal hematoma. The bleeding was extensive.”
Sherlock tried to navigate to his side, having found it somewhat uncomfortable on his stomach and painful on his back.
“You’re wondering why I didn’t let you.”
“It would have been difficult in any case, but you are facing stitches now, possibly corrective surgery, and the potential for abdominal and urogenital complications in the future. I… I could have prevented that… level of injury.”

[I know, rape to fluff in 5 easy sections, it's a bit abrupt. My apologies]

“I’m sure you would have done so. Moriarty likes to plan these scenarios; I was not entirely convinced he would be willing to follow through with them himself. He intended for you to do it for him. He does not fit the standard profile for a rapist, but, apparently, I am an exception,” Sherlock gave a small, wry smile, which John did not return. “John, I was to be a victim, regardless. I did not wish to make you a perpetrator.”
“I’m so sorry, Sherlock. I tried to get the knife. I … you were… my God, I watched him rape you. No. No, I didn’t even have the courage to do that. I heard… I… all this and you are telling me you let him do this to you to save me from some self-imposed label…”
“John, you tried to procure a knife while bound hand and foot. To imply that you lacked courage in any way is patently absurd. This is no different than any other assault to my person. Yes, I will require stitches. It will take some time to heal. The rest, the sexual component, is irrelevant. It was not a sexual act. This was an act of violence, pure and simple. The rest was a simple and pathetic attempt to disturb you psychologically. Anything he said held no special significance for me. Anything he did to my body, I will heal from. I don’t think you are even capable of blaming me for being assaulted by a madman, and when you look at me, you see far more than a victim of a crime.”
“Of course…”
“I chose to face additional short-term physical trauma, in the form of added pain, in place of the longer-term emotional trauma from which you might never fully recover. An obvious choice, really. ”
John sat in stunned silence. Here was his best friend (with whom he had been growing closer every moment, it seemed) telling him he had put himself through torture, willingly exposed himself to more pain, just to spare him as much emotional trauma as possible. He pushed his guilt down some more. Sherlock had done this to save him. There had been no secret plan. No golden opportunity for escape. Here was the simple proof of Sherlock’s emotions. Of the depth of their friendship. But at the same time, John felt a new pang of despair, to have received such complete and utter proof of how little Sherlock’s own body meant to him. The deeper physical relationship he had been nurturing in the far corner of his mind, taking it out to look at it on rare occasions, like a precious toy a child was afraid to take out of the box for fear it would break, was simply not possible. “Transport,” John muttered, without even realizing the words had come out of his mouth.

“Yes, transport,” Sherlock repeated. John looked at Sherlock, shocked. It was not the first time he had thought Sherlock was reading his mind. “John, it is far better to preserve the mind and the heart than the body. Of the three, it is the easiest to heal.”
John felt as if his brain was running particularly slowly. “I don’t understand how deliberately exposing your body to more pain helped to preserve your heart.”
“I was…” Sherlock frowned. “Well, it may no longer be a factor. If indeed it ever was. I was not willing to risk what Moriarty ultimately wanted to achieve. The destruction of our relationship. To have you unable to look at me without seeing me as a victim, as your victim, and seeing yourself in the worst light possible. To taint that experience, before it ever had a chance to happen. In preserving your heart, I preserve mine.”
John slowly nodded. It was a steep price to pay to preserve their friendship. “And… the ‘may no longer be a factor’ part?”
As painful as it was to move about, for the first time Sherlock turned away from John. “Perhaps you would find a damaged body less appealing, if you ever did find it so in the first place. But our minds are both still intact. We are both here. We are both alive. It was not the only choice which could have achieved that outcome, but it was a good choice.”
“Sherlock, are you saying that you think I would… that you were…” John stopped and collected his thoughts. “Look at me.” Sherlock slowly turned back, clenching his teeth against the discomfort of the sudden shift in position. “Are you trying to imply that you were interested in pursuing a relationship with me beyond the friendship we already have, a romantic relationship, and… are you further trying to imply that I would somehow reject you because of what we’ve just lived through together? What the hell are you on, Sherlock?”
“Given Mycroft’s insistence of notating my chart during my recovery process, I suspect Tramadol.”
“Yeah. Well. Yes, I’m interested in a relationship with you. I wish I could provide an articulate enough argument that would wipe the rest of that rubbish out of your head, but it’s taking all I’ve got not to be pissed off by the implication. In light of the circumstances, I will let it go, in favor of proving you wrong later. Don’t take any cases until you are off that stuff, you idiot,” he said, as he kissed Sherlock lightly on the forehead.

ahhhh, what a beautiful fill! OP is very grateful for this. Thank you so much.

Oh OP, I am so happy it was along the lines of what you were looking for. Your prompt really made me think about a trope in new ways and I love when a prompt does that.. so thank you as well.
Very much looking forward to anon2!

Anon #2 here. This was well written. I especially like how you handled the conversation at the end. Very much in character.

I'm also glad that you opted to write from John's perspective. My fill is from Sherlock's point of view. I wouldn't have had a problem if you'd written from Sherlock's perspective as well, but I think it's kind of cool that we've ended up with a pair of fics, one from John's POV and one from Sherlock's.

Yes, neat that it worked out that way! It is interesting as a writer when this happens... you get to see someone else's take and it made me think about the choices I made and why. Interesting we both were drawn to that pool... with it being my setting and the first place your Sherlock thinks he might be.

I'll admit I didn't really want an elaborate set-up. The pool confrontation is convenient because it's a scene in which Sherlock, John, and Moriarty are all together in the same place at once, and Sherlock and John are at Moriarty's mercy. So, my fill is set in an AU in which Moriarty kidnaps Sherlock and John during the confrontation at the pool, with the sniper guns being loaded with tranquilizer darts.

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