sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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Sorry this is taking me so long. I've been busy. I'll have the other parts up as soon as I can. They will be longer. This is more of a prologue. I just couldn't resist the draw of dark!Mycroft. :)

Mycroft Holmes sipped unhurriedly at his tea whilst eyeing his laptop, scrolling through the numerous and diverse images –though always of the same two subjects– that had recently been sent to him, courtesy of the operatives he'd stationed around Baker St. He frowned infinitesimally, brows barely contracting. He didn’t need to watch any live footage to read the progressively strengthening bond that was forming between the two men they depicted. He'd been over to 221B enough to witness it firsthand.

He set down his tea with a tiny clink and propped his elbows on the arms of his chair, quelling a sudden upsurge of emotion with practiced ease. He laced his fingers together beneath his chin and brooded for a while on the good doctor, Mr. John Hamish Watson. Wounded soldier, seemingly dedicated friend, grouchy or tender when the moment called for it, so bluntly honest that his company almost wasn’t dull, and a not-so-secret lover of what Sherlock termed “the game”.

Those things considered together, maybe it wasn't strange that Sherlock had been drawn to him. What was odd, at least in Mycroft's opinion, was that Sherlock seemed to have developed a heart, and that it belonged in John Watson's pocket.

An unfamiliar rage pooled in Mycroft's gut as he regarded the images again, unwelcome emotions creeping through his façade of inner calm like water rushing through a sieve. It didn’t show on his face, of course, but it was disconcerting nevertheless.

Mycroft realized quite abruptly that he absolutely despised the man. He never should have encouraged him to stay with Sherlock. He'd been sure Mr. Watson would last a mere two weeks before moving on, perhaps a month at most. His little brother only happened to be the most insufferable person currently inhabiting Britain after all. Defying all statistical probabilities, Mycroft's initial assumption had proven to be incorrect and Watson had stuck around for well over a year. Now, the situation was beginning to get out of hand.

He would have disliked Watson anyway, for the simple fact that he followed his silly little brother around like a lost puppy. Chasing, chasing, chasing. So deliciously desperate to retain Sherlock’s favor even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself. So eager to have a bigger part to play in this small, convoluted planet of theirs. Mycroft smiled thinly over his fingers without a veritable trace of amusement. The shocking matter for him was that Sherlock couldn’t seem to discern what a grovelling, inept fool his new partner was… aside from his admittedly excellent marksmanship skills. The amount of trust he put in the man was immensely astonishing.

No one had ever cared for Sherlock as Mycroft did, not even their parents, he was certain. He was always the one looking out for his baby brother; always there to catch him if he fell, as he so often did — yet, Mycroft was loathed, thought of as Sherlock’s archenemy!

Over the years he’d tolerated the rudeness, the insults, the complete disdain Sherlock felt for him despite his superior skill-set. Since the arrival of John Watson in his life, Sherlock had become increasingly unbearable, and Mycroft found he wasn't so patient as he once was. Perhaps it was his age on top of everything else, but...

He relinquished the dispirited thoughts after glancing at his watch and realizing it was almost five. Time to play more games with he and his colleagues recently acquired criminal mastermind, Mr. Moriarty. He stood, closed his laptop with a quick flick of his wrist, drained the dregs of of his tea and walked out the door with his umbrella, the seeds of jealousy blossoming quickly into something he wasn't prepared to pay particular attention to just yet.

Author here: I hope that I can handle this subject sensitively and not hurt any readers. I should have put a warning on it about child sexual abuse. I hope that readers like you who have personal experience with this subject will be okay. Thank you for commenting.

AYRT
I'm fine, and I knew what I was in for, and it was sensitively portrayed. It's just that Sherlock's overwhelming desire to change if he possibly could, not knowing what exactly was the cause of it all and his vision of just who he wanted to be for John. Those sentences were very true to my own experience. Well done.

Yes, RL is getting better. Thank you :)
(Mycroft is always so perceptive, isn't he?)

Stay tuned! (I tried to make it that Sherlock had his chance to defend himself pretty effectively and chose not to risk a severe injury to John. 50 shades of darkgrey!John, ...and if Sherlock is dub or non is up for debate, but whatever it is it isn't what John thinks). So glad you're loving it!

Coming right up!

There are tears now. John is surprised. He had expected far less emotion by this point. His hand reaches to touch Sherlock's calf and moves slowly up under the robe, toward the back of his knee. Sherlock flinches. John frowns.

"John. I don't want to do this, but clearly intend to." Sherlock looks directly into John's eyes, keeping the pleading out of his voice. It sounds cold and mechanical. "Please, respect at least a fraction of my wishes, and don't be... romantic... about it."

Given the setting, John agrees that 'quick and dirty' is probably more suitable in this case than drawn out and tender. That will have to happen some other time. He shoves the robe up to Sherlock's waist, exposing his naked form beneath. It's not surprising, the nudity. They've both seen the previous victims, after all. But John's eyes still widen, his breath still catches. He supposes he is the first person to see Sherlock like this. He wants to take a moment to savour the sight. Surely that wouldn't be considered romantic?

"John!" Sherlock cries out, but John moves his hand over his mouth. "They'll hear us!," he whispers harshly. "They will come to investigate too soon." Sherlock struggles to breathe with his mouth and nose covered, seeming to fight rising panic. "We have to keep quiet. Let me know if you need something to muffle your voice." Sherlock nods and waits for John to remove his hand. He does, as he spreads Sherlock's legs apart.

John has nothing to work with. Spitting in his palm is rather inelegant, but would be better than nothing. He remembers the food tray behind him and is hoping for something that would help. Olives in a light oil. Best he can do under the circumstances. Sherlock's eyes follow him to the tray of food and he watches, stares, as John coats his fingers.

Sherlock thrashes when John brings his hand closer to breech him, first trying to keep quiet, then words spilling out as he explains how John can't do this... how it will destroy everything. To please stop this. But John knows Sherlock will feel better when he realises just what he can do for him. Right now, Sherlock is nervous. Afterward, he will be calm and relaxed and all will be well. He tries again and Sherlock shoves away, his ankle jolted abruptly by the metal surrounding it. He stifles a yell of pain.

"Sherlock, I don't want you to hurt yourself. Not just your ankle, either. Your body needs to be relaxed. Your muscles need to be pliable, not tense. It will make a big difference in how it..." He is cut off by another jolt. John responds by abruptly grabbing Sherlock's wrists tightly in each hand, pushing his knees apart with his elbows, then pinning Sherlock's hands to the floor. He uses the weight of his body to keep him in place.

"You need to stop that!" John commands, forcing Sherlock's knees even wider. Surely this is uncomfortable, but it can't be helped. Sherlock shuts his eyes tightly. "Just breathe." Sherlock does-- his breaths are quick and shallow.

John releases his grip on one hand to slide his index finger in, and is surprised at the relative ease with which it happens. He praises Sherlock for calming himself down, and eases the pressure against his legs. "This part is a little clinical, the beginning. I just need to see where everything is and prepare you as best I can." But it isn't exactly clinical. He's never done this without a glove before (and only in the context of an exam), and it feels radically different, the warmth, the texture... so soft and inviting. John takes a deep breath and angles up to find the edge of his prostate, telling Sherlock what he is looking for, that he is just locating it right now, and won't make direct contact. When he finds it, Sherlock's eyes scrunch tighter and he bites his lip. He makes another request... to please not speak right now. John complies. Easier to focus without the distraction, he thinks.

Last line should be:
I bet it's easier for him to focus without the distraction, he thinks.

WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Rape & Violence. Explicit Sexual Content & Swears. It also features more MorMor (haha) than I was intending when outlining this, but it just kind of flowed that way. :) I'll try to have the rest of the parts up over the next week.

“He’s la-a-te,” Jim Moriarty sing-songed, propping his feet up on his desk and flipping through texts on his mobile. A Manila folder tumbled to the floor, scattering its precious documents. Jim didn’t bother retrieving them. Just some drivel concerning Iranian arms deals; vastly unimportant.

Sebastian Moran shot him an miffed look from his seat by the window --an expression that Jim would’ve murdered anyone else over-- but was too wise to comment. He returned to his book, A Scanner Darkly by some American author. Jim couldn’t comprehend Sebastian’s sudden interest in the man’s written works, and it both intrigued and annoyed him.

"If he doesn’t show, I blame you,” Jim said, attempting to elicit some kind of response. “You’re the one who bullied me into this.”

This was, in fact, true. Living life without fucking over Sherlock Holmes was tiresome, and it had become difficult not to simply pop on over to Baker St. and have a cuppa and a nice chat with the precious Mrs. Hudson. Just imagining the looks of horror on Sherlock and his pet, Watson’s, faces when they came home and saw him in their sitting room made him absolutely giddy.

But no, it would’ve been much too soon after their last meeting. A little suspense never hurt anybody. The problem was, even skewering the Ice Man’s plans had lost much of its entertainment value, and he had found himself recalcitrant when dealing with new clients, preferring to stew dangerously in his own boredom.

The problem with people, Jim thought, was that they all considered themselves to be sooo interesting; especially the wannabe criminals who hired him because they were too cowardly or inept to take care of their own shite.

“You need something to keep your mind occupied, or you’re going to go mental,” Sebastian stated gruffly, grey eyes peeking over the top of his book for a moment before disappearing.

“I’m already completely insane,” Jim sniped immediately.

Sebastian laughed, looking up briefly at Jim’s face to make sure he wasn’t offended. “Well, you’re going to drive me mental. All you do is watch surveillance footage of Holmes and-”

“Aw, don’t be jealous, sweetheart,” Jim interrupted. “You know you're daddy's favourite.”

The glare Sebastian sent him was delicious and Jim grinned impishly at him.

Before things had a chance to escalate, Jim heard the faint squeak of shoes on vinyl outside the door to his office. This was soon followed by a knock. Jim settled back into his seat with an aggravated sigh, reluctantly tucking his phone away. "Entrer!” he trilled.

Daniel Green didn’t just walk into Jim’s office; he sauntered in, looking far too smug and suave for a man who was five minutes late to their appointment. It would have been more impressive had it been genuine instead of an act. Nervous anxiety practically radiated from the man. Jim could read it with ease from the fresh worry lines decorating his forehead down to the sweaty fingerprints he'd left while tying his shoes. To show his displeasure at the man's tardiness, Jim maintained a stolid expression in the face of the faux-apologetic smile he received. Green’s pretentious smile faltered at Jim’s non-reaction and he dithered near the door-frame, swinging his arms like a Neanderthal as he waited for Jim to speak.

He was quite a handsome fellow, Jim couldn't fail to notice; a rugby player by the look of him - probably exquisitely muscled under that three-piece suit. His neatly combed dark hair and golden-brown eyes were complimented by an artfully stubbled visage and perfectly tanned skin. He was every adolescent girl’s pretty-boy dream. Exactly how Jim had figured he’d look. It was quite disappointing.

Jim wouldn’t have bothered with him at all if the young man's father hadn’t been the CEO of BAE Systems. The war in Afghanistan and Iraq had benefited their company greatly, and Sebastian had been eager to get in good with them.

"Are you going to sit down or continue lingering in the door, wasting my time?" Jim inquired neutrally, drumming his fingertips on the arms of his chair. He rotated himself gently back-and-forth using the toes of shoes, head swaying slightly.

"Y-es, of course. I mean, I’m going to sit, thank you." Green closed the door behind him, a little too hard. It shut with a sharp snap, ruffling the loose papers littering the floor. Green cringed a little, trying valiantly to hold Jim's gaze as he took the seat opposite.

Jim waited for Green to finish fidgeting and fix his eyes more steadily on Jim's, before asking in a higher-pitched tone than before: "Well... what d’ya need?" He savoured Green's bewildered expression at the sudden shift. Priceless, truly.

Green shifted in his seat once more, crossing an ankle across his thigh, surreptitiously wiping his hands on his neatly pressed trousers. "Ummmm..." sweat beaded on his upper lip.

"I can't work with 'ummmm'," Jim stated. His well of patience, which had begun to ebb at the man's lateness, was now almost entirely non-existent.

Green reddened, eyes narrowing in anger as though Jim was a nasty teacher who had reprimanded him for giving a stupid answer. "Three-hundred-thousand pounds," he muttered, glancing over at Sebastian, whose nose was still buried deeply in his novel.

"You need me to loan you that amount?" Jim asked incredulously, voice thick with feigned ignorance.

"No! That's the price for the job I need you to do," Green stated obviously. Now that he was talking money, confidence (or was that pride?) had crept into his voice. For some reason it rankled Jim.

"Ahhhh, well, you see Dan," Jim said slowly, "I don't care about the money... though, for a man of your status, it is insultingly low." Anger coursed through him suddenly like a hit of quality blow to a junkie's nervous system. He saw Sebastian shift out of his peripheral, closing the book on his index finger, always so attuned to Jim's emotional state. He was surprisingly observant for a normal person. Normal, but not typical; definitely nothing as atrocious as that.

"Tell me what you want me to do for you," Jim commanded, pronouncing each word distinctly. “We’ll discuss payment later.” He waved his fingers dismissively.

Green planted both feet firmly on the floor, leaning forward, shoulders hunched and wiping the sweat from his upper lip. All false bravado had evaporated. "What about him?" he asked, looking pointedly at Sebastian.

"Think of him as furniture," Jim said flipping his hand carelessly in Sebastian's direction.

"Right." Green cleared his throat before continuing. "There's this video," he murmured quietly, clearly trying to keep his words from reaching Sebastian despite Jim's dismissal of him. "One of my mate's, he got blasted and posted it online. He deleted it later, but it was downloaded a bunch of times. If it's found by the wrong people, charges might be pressed and..." he trailed off, gazing uncertainly at Jim.

Jim frowned, wanting to scream in frustration, perhaps overturn the desk or snatch Sebastian's precious book away and chuck it out the window. It was so fucking trivial!

Yet, helping the idiot would be easy money, complete with an excellent chance for blackmail at a later date. Why not do it?

"What does the video contain?" Jim asked, fingers drumming restlessly again.

Nearly forty seconds of silence followed the question as Green struggled to word his answer. Just as Jim was about to grab his lapels and shake the ever-living piss out of him, he spoke.

"A group of friends and I hired a couple strippers, and we took turns filming them on my friends phone." Embarrassment coloured his face. "We took turns." Green's eyes found the floor and seemed unlikely to move.

"You fucked them?" Jim inquired, smirking at the way Green twitched at his crude choice of verb.

"Y-yes, but it wasn't..." Green rubbed the back of his neck, appearing wide-eyed and shocked. It didn't improve his looks.

"Wasn't what?" Jim prompted quirking an eyebrows.

"It wasn't entirely consensual," Green admitted slowly.

Jim's smile transformed into something grotesque and his entire body ceased moving; even the minutest twitches halted. His stomach swooped and his body broke out in goose-flesh. Almost four years had passed, four glorious years, since he'd slipped up this badly. Up to then he'd always conducted thorough background checks, hardly ever took on clients without knowing what they wanted from him beforehand. Having intimate knowledge of their dirty laundry was also good. But he'd foolishly allowed respect for Sebastian and some vague personal curiosity to drive him this time. Now he was reaping the reward for his carelessness.

"By not entirely consensual, you mean you and your friends raped them?" Jim asked tonelessly, mind entirely blank for once.

"Yeah," Green breathed shakily, sounding relieved at not having been the one to verbalize the word. "They were only...you know... what they were, but if someone sees it -a rival of my dad's company, or someone else- my family could be ruined." Appearing close to tears now, he looked pleadingly up at Jim, shoulders hunched, clearly waiting for him to offer up some sympathy and reassurance.

Jim's hands curled into fists, nails biting deeply into his palms. His eyes burned and his smile curled into a grimace of hatred. "Get out," he hissed

"What?" Green gasped, entirely taken-aback. "Are you going to do it?"

Jim stood so fast his chair toppled and he slammed his hands hard upon the desk in front of him with a resounding bang. Green jumped from his seat, horrified. "Leave, now," Jim commanded. His body and voice trembled as he spoke.

Green's eyes flicked from Jim to (a now standing) Sebastian, then back to Jim once more. "I don't think you fully comprehend-"

"Leave before I kill you," Jim hissed venomously.

Green, now deathly pale, stumbled backwards to the door and let himself out. Jim waited until the sound of his harried footsteps faded to nothingness before bending down and picking up his chair. There were streaks of blood on his desk and he stared uncomprehendingly at the crescents his nails had dug into his palms.

He still felt sick and light tremors periodically wracked his frame. Cold sweat beaded on his brow and wet his underarms. He swiped away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Boss, Jim," Sebastian said gently, causing Jim to cringe.

"What?" he snapped, feeling shaken.

Sebastian said nothing, but his calloused fingers pressed a tissue into Jim's hands.

Jim didn't thank him, he just cleaned the blood from the shallow cuts, folded the cloth and wiped down the table. At least he hadn't bled too heavily. He crushed the tissue in his fist and tossed it into the waste-basket

"Not trying to complain, but we really could've used him," Sebastian said after a prolonged pause. It would've been impossible for the most simple-minded individual to miss the curiosity present in Sebastian’s voice.

Jim twisted around and lunged forward until their faces were less than two inches apart. "I don't give a shit about some snotty CEO's prick son!" he snarled.

Sebastian didn't flinch away. He just stared dispassionately into Jim's eyes, and then shrugged as if it was no biggie. "Whatever you say, boss."

There was tiniest hint of derision placed on the word 'boss'. Given his current mood, Jim could have snapped Sebastian's neck for the slight. Instead Jim glared hard at him, then leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Irene Adler'll be in soon," he growled before flinging himself back into his seat, cupping his elbows in his palms and rubbing them soothingly. She'd better be in soon anyway, or she might as well consider herself a corpse.

OP here.

The boys are not exactly on the same page here, are they? :)Sherlock probably doesn't understand why it should be so complicated.

Thank you for another amazing update! I really look forward to more of this.

Poor Sherlock. D':

oh John.... Sherlock just needs some cuddling and a hug. so many things have changed between them. i wonder when they are going to admit that all of it happened simply because they live together and have feeling for each other. maybe Sherlock should see omega doctor?
wow! this story is just... wow

looks like this is going to be seriously traumatising. John doesn't seem to notice how bad things really are.

This part is so well-written!

*gasp*!!! Mycroft, no, don't.... :O
This is quite a start. O__o

Oh, wow! Not my usual type of reading, but I really like this story. I hope you're going to post more soon.

Please update ASAP!

Oh poor Sherlock! Love this!

Ever leave out a single word that kinda changes the entire story?

Written as "John. I don't want to do this, but clearly intend to." But should be: "John. I don't want to do this, but clearly you intend to." That's what happens when you rewrite a sentence right in the comment box. Yeah. That kinda makes a big difference in the dub vs non.

Oddly enough this is exactly how I read it the first time. O___o

John realises one day that Mycroft will do anything to stop him from moving out of 221B. After a huge fight with Sherlock, John declars on impulse that he's moving out, and panicked!Sherlock calls Mycroft for intervention. Mycroft kidnaps John and tries to change his mind. Of course John doesn't intent to actually leave 221B, but seeing how desperate Mycroft looks right now...he wants to enjoy it as long as possible. So he keeps insisting that he doesn't want to live with Sherlock anymore. At first Mycroft treatens him and then tries to bribe him as usual, and when it doesn't work either, he starts to reason with him, almost begging...

Angst, fluff, dark!John, I don't mind either day.

Sherlock is a student and John is his teacher/headmaster. Sherlock is often unruly and rude and is often punished: caned, paddled, birched-authors choice. It doesn't seem to do any good, Sherlock is so used to it, having always been difficult, that he practically finds it boring.

So, John decides to add a little spice to the mix. The next time Sherlock is due for a punishment, he's surprised to find a sprig of ginger shoved up his arse first.

John is pleased to note that he takes his punishments much more seriously after that.

+1

She knows he's gay and she's cool with pretending she's his girlfriend.

+ if you make her Jim's sister, but she gives no fucks.
Just Janine and Sherlock being cool friends, okay, or maybe they're both playing each other and they know it - kind of thing.

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