sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXIV

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He approaches the headboard, stares directly at John. The sharp object is slid into John’s slightly limp hand. John grabs it before it slips through his fingers, almost cutting himself. Moriarty suddenly grabs Sherlock by the hair and pulls him back. Sherlock’s face twists in pain and John watches in terror as Moriarty leans in to kiss him. He sees Moriarty bite and Sherlock shudder and groan in response. There’s more blood as Sherlock bites back and Moriarty slaps him, giggling, letting go of his head, letting it fall back on John’s chest with a thump.

“Feisty, feisty, little boy. Oh honeys, you two were so good today. A perfect ending to a perfect game. Another time then!”

And then Moriarty collects his things, the gun included, and vanishes from sight.

Sherlock is still breathing heavily on John’s chest, breaths come sporadically, he’s sobbing again. John has one hand free and begins to work on the other urgently. When his arms flop downward, he tries to get the blood rushing through them again before working on Sherlock’s, whose wrists are more red and raw than his own. "John, you were never supposed to me like this. Emotional. I never wanted you to see my like-"

"What in the Queen's name are you talking about?" it doesn't make sense to John, Sherlock's concerns are all in the wrong places.

He holds Sherlock’s hands carefully in his own, but Sherlock is still limp, his soft sobs and breathing being the only signs of life.

There’s a frantic search for a phone and John knows he should call Lestrade, call this whole mess in. He's stopped with a hand on his arm. “Wait.”

“No, Sherlock, you need medical attention, you might need to be… stitched up. No.” John looks at him angrily and Sherlock sags, nodding slightly.

---

It’s been four months and counting and no signs of Moriarty. Sherlock wakes up violently sometimes, screaming for John, who’s realized that they should sleep in the same bed. Lestrade tells them that Sherlock should see someone for the trauma, but John insists that he’s the only one who can help Sherlock.

"Everybody is pitifully unqualified to help him. They'll only make matters worse."

“But who’s going to help you, eh?” Lestrade retorts, and John knows this is true. He’s had terrible nightmares of his own. The incident has left him drenched in sweat in the middle of night, grabbing for Sherlock’s wrist, checking his breathing once, twice, three times to be safe.

Sometimes the nightmares become twisted, sadistic, sometimes John is the one raping Sherlock. He hears the cries and the protests, but his laugh, much like Moriarty’s, cold and crazed, prevents him from stopping. The screams of “no” and “please” and “stop” only seem to fuel him, like an animal in heat.

Other times Moriarty is good on his word, shoots Sherlock and continues raping his convulsing body as he bleeds to death on top of John.

But every time it feels like John isn’t in control of his own body. Every time, Sherlock is left bleeding, dying, weeping, and being torn apart while John watches helplessly.

“John? John!” he’s shook awake and of course, it’s Sherlock, staring at him with concern, his eyes heavy with sleep. “You were having another bad dream, what was it this time?”

“No, no, Sherlock, it was… no.”

Sherlock glares. “Tell me,” he squeezes John’s arm urgently. It’s 3 AM and all John wants is to go back to sleep and hope that the nightmare won’t try to consume him again. He knows Sherlock won’t bugger off though.

“Alright. I- this time- it was me. I was the one who- I- Christ- I’m sorry, so sorry Sherlock.” The tears and the heartache come simultaneously and Sherlock quickly embraces him, it makes no sense for Sherlock to be the one to console him. It should be the other way around. But something must've snapped, broken, cracked, completely inside of John and it can never be mended.

“Shh, John, I’m here.” John hugs him back, squeezing tightly until Sherlock laughs and tells him that “breathing is becoming a bother.”

John laughs as well, then his face falls again. The lights from the city night is blue, illuminating beautifully on Sherlock’s face, it reflects off of his eyes wistfully. “I could never forgive myself Sherlock, I let all of it happen. I wasn’t strong enough to break us out. To save you. I’m weak.”

“Shut up, you idiot.” Sherlock’s face darkens. “You couldn’t have done anything. This was Moriarty. He planned every single step, with no room for heroism. We were pawns in his game. His methods were a sick and twisted way of pushing the two of us together. I’m certain that this was Moriarty playing the matchmaker.”

“What the fuck? You seriously think him raping you was a ploy so you come crying into my arms?” now that John speaks, he begins to understand. All of it makes sense now and he’s been denying the idea all along, for four months to be exact. “No, no no no, this is all wrong, I can’t.”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Sherlock smiles sadly, bracketing John’s head with his hands and leaning in for a kiss. He breaths into the kiss and John holds him tightly, letting this be the opportunity to lose control. Only, this time, it’s okay.

---
So, I hope that wasn't too terrible, and I hope the OC gets to see it eventually :)

Not op but I loved it. Well done.

Prompting Part XXXIV

Re: FILL (5/?) non-con Moriarty/Sherlock with John watching

Re: FILL (6/6) non-con Moriarty/Sherlock with John watching

Re: FILL (6/6) non-con Moriarty/Sherlock with John watching