Lessons Learned

Untitled Part 24

John struggled in his bonds, but they held him tight. He had just made up his mind to insult James when Seb's phone went off. "What," the big man barked into the receiver. The soldier's eyes widened a bit then he handed the phone to James.

"Ye-es?" James said in a playful sing-song voice. He sounded the exact opposite of someone who had just been up beating up a helpless man confined to a chair.

John could hear a man's voice on the other end but couldn't make out whose it belonged to. James smiled at whatever the voice said, and he gave John a smirk and a wink. It wasn't until then that John confirmed that James Moriarty was indeed a mad psychopath.

"Sherlock, my dear. I'm so glad you called me. I've been hoping to hear from you. I've missed you so much," he said and paused again to listen to the voice on the other end. It went on for a minute, and James' expression clouded a moment then fell blank again.

"Darling boy, you'll come home to me right now or very bad things will happen to your Army doctor. Yes, he's here. He says hi-eeeee," and Moriarty waggled his fingers at John. A sense of inevitable numbness settled over John at this behavior. He didn't believe he'd last out the day. He saw no rational thought in those liquid, brown eyes. Only calculating coldness.

"Sherlock don't come..." John tried to yell, but Moran stifled him with another sharp backhand to the mouth. He hit him so hard, John almost lost consciousness. He struggled not to black out and listen to the one side of the conversation he could hear. It didn't matter what happened to him; Sherlock could not let himself get pulled back into this madman's grip again.

"Oh, did you hear that? Yes, that was your John. He very rudely tried to interrupt our conversation. Seb just talked some sense into your toy solider. Oh no, you can't speak to him right now. He's feeling a little under the weather, so I can't put him on. You understand. But, if you don't get here soon, I can't say he'll hold out too much longer. Seb feels ready to play, don't you Sebastian?"

Seb nodded at James and John felt another cold stab of fear run through him.

"No, I can't tell you where I am, but I'll send a car to get you. Oh and Sherlock, if I suspect that you called for help, from anyone, I'll stick a knife in his throat myself. No Scotland Yard, and no Mycroft understand?" he said and paused for a response.

"Good boy. Now if you'll just follow directions, we can put this all behind us. Come home. You belong to me. Yes, I'll let your doctor go the minute you're back in my arms. I promise, no harm will come to him."

James put a hand over the phone in an exaggerated manner and said, "He's in Trafalgar Square, north side. Go get him, Seb. I'll just stay here with John until he arrives."

John moaned at that. He tried to say no again but couldn't articulate words. Possible concussion, then. His head swam from the last blow. No, he thought in agony. If Sherlock gets in that car, they'll both end up in misery. John suffered no illusions that'd he'd survive this exchange. Sherlock's punishment would be to witness his torture and death. Surely Sherlock would have a plan; he wouldn't give up his freedom to save him surely?

Seb left him along in the room with Moriarty. He'd have to do something to get himself out of this before Sherlock got here. What would get James' attention? he wondered and then it came to him.

"You know he kissed me," John said quietly.

"Hmmmm?" James said bringing his overbright eyes back on John. "You think he feels anything for you, Doctor? I don't believe our Sherlock feels things that way. He's a bit restricted in the emotion department," James said calmly. "He loves his work, the puzzles he solves and his microscope more than he'll ever love you or I. The thing is, I've accepted that, and I want him anyway. He's mine. He does what I want him to do, and after today, he'll never disobey me again. I'll see to that."

"We slept together. Just slept together, no sex, in Edinburgh. I cradled him in my arms all night," John continued as though Moriarty hadn't said a word. "He laughs at my jokes, dumb as they are. He's eaten food I've cooked for him and enjoyed it."

"Shut up, Doctor," James said, ice creeping into his voice.

"He asked me to move in with him," John continued calmly. "After spending just two days together."

James left his place by the door and crept forward to John's tied form in the chair. He produced a wicked looking hunting knife from his pocket and unfolded it slowly. "I wanted to begin this after Sherlock arrived, but we can get started now if you'd like."

A little closer, John thought. Moran had made the mistake of tying him to a wooden chair. His legs were tied securely to the legs of the chair, and his hands stretched cruelly behind his back, but he thought he might be able to hop forward and stand hunched on his feet for a second or two.

"Sherlock and I solve crimes together. We even helped Mycroft take down some of your network while you were locked up. We probably added at least two months to your time in prison," he goaded. "Sherlock relished every single day he didn't have to be with you."

James took another few steps closer, keeping a wary eye on John as he did. John waited as long as he could before trying his plan. Timing was everything now.

"When Sherlock gets here," Moriarty said evenly, "I will handcuff him to the bar up there," he pointed to a low hanging metal bar extending from the ceiling, "And make him watch while I skin you alive."

"Just this morning," John said watching James take the last few steps toward him, knife extended. "Sherlock told me all about his childhood summers spent in Scotland with his family. I'll bet he never told you his most treasured memories, has he?"

That hit a nerve. Apparently, Sherlock and James didn't have that level of intimacy. James snarled then and lunged forward with the knife. "I'll kill you now and leave your bleeding corpse to greet Sherlock when he walks through the door."

Just then, John shot up onto the balls of his feet and swung the chair around hard until it connected with James' shoulder. He put his whole force behind the swing and the chair's momentum carried him forward. He fell on top of Moriarty, and the chair broke in two. His bonds were loosened, and he wriggled out avoiding James' feeble thrusts with his knife. When he got free, he used the back of the chair as a weapon and hit the struggling madman in the head. He went down, eyes rolling back in his head as he lost consciousness. Using the ropes from the chair, John secured the man in a hogtied position and drug him away from the door. He didn't have long before Seb came back with Sherlock and he intended to be ready when he did.