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A Bit Worse	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2624 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Sherlock’s face screwed up in pain and his grip on his leather jacket with his teeth was tight, but he held John’s eyes as long as he could. Don’t look away I’m right here, help me forget the pain. His eyes conveyed his thoughts as the pain started to ebb it’s way into his mind. Breath was coming shorter as sweat started to bead at his brow. He didn’t dare break eye contact with John to look but it felt like Mary was about halfway through with the first nail. Saliva bubbled up from his lips when his breathing picked up, and he bared his teeth, fighting to keep from screaming. A strangled noise ripped it’s way out of his chest when she ripped the entire nail from his cuticle.
He released his jacket from his teeth and slumped back into his chair as Moriarty spoke.
“Get him a rolled up rag so that he doesn’t break his teeth.” came his command, and Sherlock reveled in the break from the pain. His eyes never left John’s, green meeting blue in a reassuring way. They’d get through this. Somehow. His chest rose and fell heavily when a rolled up cloth was pressed to his lips. He opened his mouth and took it gratefully, the feeling of his mouth being full a pleasant relief. He tested it by biting down, and found that the cushioning of it was fine.
Mary moved back to his hand, pliers in tow and settled in to begin the next. John look at me. He wanted to scream those words, for the doctor had looked away towards Mary. He wasn’t sure if the other just couldn’t take watching Sherlock’s face anymore or if the gruesome act had captured his gaze.
He cried out as she started to pull it back, the sound muffled around the cloth. He breathed quickly through his nose, teeth gripping the cloth with a mighty force. LOOK AT ME! His mind was practically screaming as he worried on the nightmares watching this might evoke in his doctor. When John’s gaze finally met his again, Sherlock’s eyes softened marginally. He thrashed instinctively as the pain heightened and Mary began pulling harder. He kept John’s eyes until the end, conveying one thought before the nail was pulled free and his head wrenched back with a scream of pain through his gag.
You’re worth this. All of it.
Moriarty barely waited long enough for Sherlocks breathing to regulate and the cloth to fall from his mouth before moving on. Dropping a seemingly clean rag in John’s lap.
"Can't have you passing out on us." Moriarty snarled as Mary dropped smaller bandages in front of Sherlock and began untying his arm from the chair.
"Now John." He began as the two quickly bandaged up the bleeding wounds as best as possible. Moriarty walked slowly to the cabinet, returning with a small bucket with a metal rod sticking out of it and ropes, similar to the ones Mary had just used on Sherlock. There was a fine mist flowing from the top of the bucket. "This is a brand, it has been chilling in dry ice, I'm sure it will feel... Rather refreshing." He set the bucket down in front of John, but looked at the camera,
"I'm sure you both understand how this game works now, or must I continue to repeat myself?" He was looking at John now, waiting for his choice.
It sounded rather horrible, an ice burn, but of course John nodded, "Yeah. Me. I choose myself."
"Good." Moriarty said heartily, "very noble choice, don't you think Sherlock. Now... Where shall I place the mark?" He didn't aim the question at either of them as his eyes danced across Johns bare skin. John simply clenched his jaw tightly, glaring at the man looming over him greedily.
"Oh don't be like that John. We'll keep things simple, just here." He traced the skin where Johns upper arm met his shoulder. In no time Moriaty had began securing him to the chair, even John figured that was for the best, he wouldn't be able to resist struggling. John caught Sherlock’s gaze just as a rag was stuffed in his mouth, he bit down on it thankfully.
He gave Sherlock one last look, something he hoped looked strong, before clamping his eyes shut tight against the pain he knew was coming. Sure enough a few moments later he felt a numb icy sensation against his skin. It didn't even hurt at first, but when it did it was worse than John had imagined. He writhed in his bonds, biting down into the cloth in between his teeth as he willed himself not to cry out.
It felt like ages before the metal was peeled away, and John was sure he could hear and feel his skin sticking to the brand. He breathed deeply as the cloth was removed and he was untied. Moriarty grabbed him roughly by his left forearm pulling his body so the fresh brand was in view of the camera.
"What do you think Sher? It is permanent after all." John could see Sherlock’s expression from the corner of his eye and looked away. None of this was Sherlocks fault, but that didn't matter, he would still blame himself.
Sherlock did not tear his eyes away during the whole ordeal. He watched the skin sizzle and stick to the brand and tear away. Now he looked at the mark that would forever be left in John’s skin. He was surprised to see an elegant and stylized S now bleeding weakly on the man’s left shoulder. The detective’s narrowed eyes spurred on Moriarty’s next words.
“I thought since you’re so attached to him, that I’d mark your pet for you.” The madman brushed his hand almost lovingly over the raw flesh. Sherlock could feel his hackles rise as a growl ripped from his throat.
“How dare you...” His uninjured hand moved up in his hair to grip at the lockes in frustration. How was he supposed to deal with this? How was he supposed to sit here and watch as the only person in the world that actually understood him, that cared for him, was hurt over and over. How long would this go on?
"You don't like it?" Moriarty seemed almost genuinely confused by this, but it was quickly replaced by mirth. "No matter." He pushed John back into the chair roughly. Nodding at Mary, who went to retrieve the next set of supplies, he continued. "It's your turn son. Do I even need to ask who you choose?"
“No. You don’t.” He lifted his chin defiantly and gazed down his nose at the man on the other side of the screen.
Mary placed a small glass vile with a cork top in front of Sherlock. It was full of a fine white powder. It was turned so John could see the label, but Sherlock could not. NaOH.
"Oh god," John whispered softly, shaking his head. "You can't."
Moriarty growled back at John, "I can and I will. Mary tie his hand back down, and go ahead and show him what John is so upset about."
White powder. There were so many things it could be. But this was designed for torture. Mary turned the bottle around, and the elemental name NaOH stared back at him. Lye. Mary tied his injured hand back down to the armrest on the chair. From the cabinet she retrieved a spray bottle and a large container full of what he assumed was vinegar.
"And don't let him bite down on anything, I think we'd all like to hear the great detective scream." His voice had taken a horribly dark tone. John met Sherlock with a pained expression, he'd have given anything to stop this.
Leaning down, in full view of John and keeping her eyes on his, She licked the back of Sherlock’s hand, almost sensually. A throat clearing from her father quickly put an end to it, and she stood up once more, reaching for the bottle of lye. Uncorking the bottle she turned and looked down at Sherlock, but his eyes were focused on John. Almost angrily, she dumped the contents of the small bottle onto the back of his hand. It began to burn instantly, but Sherlock grit his teeth hard trying to keep it under control.
“Mary....” Came Moriarty’s soft response. Mary took up the spray bottle and began spraying the white powder spread across the back of his hand and peppered over his fingers and arm. She made sure to wet it all down, then sat back, her fist on her hip, to watch him writhe.
It took almost no time for Sherlock to lose his ability to hold in his screams. He had held John’s eyes trying to block it out for as long as he could. Now, his eyes wrenched shut and his head was thrown back in agony as a blood curdling scream pierced through both rooms. His hand was clenched in a fist and his entire arm was shuddering from the force of him attempting to free it.
The burn was like nothing he’d ever experienced before, and sweat broke out all over his body, only making the lye burning worse. He felt as if the sun had exploded inside his skin and was fighting it’s way out. When he had no breath left, another was quickly drawn in before his cry began anew. The skin bubbled and sizzled and he gripped the chair tight with his free hand.
His breaths and cries came faster now, his chest rising and falling heavily. There were no words, only noises of misery as his eyes came to rest on John’s face.
He was biting down on the inside of his lip, hard enough to draw blood. John was fighting desperately to keep his eyes on Sherlocks, to not let his gaze drop to the skin being boiled away. There was nothing John could do to stop this, and he hated Moriarty and Mary more than anything now.
Moriarty looked vaguely disappointed and somehow smug at the same time. “I think he’s had enough Mary.” But the woman didn’t seem to be listening. She was watching Sherlock’s skin burn with a maniacal glee.
“MARY!” the sharp bark startled her to look up at her father, “The vinegar.” His voice was clipped. Grudgingly, she moved to take the vinegar from the table, and without washing the lye off, doused his arm with vinegar. His screams were renewed as the vinegar caused another chemical reaction, burning the raw skin once again before finally dying out.
Sherlock was practically liquid in the chair. His body was covered with sweat, and his breathing was erratic. He was still breathing, but he didn't look up. His chest rose and fell shallowly and his limbs went completely limp, even after Mary had untied his arms.
"Oh what a pity. It seems the stress of it all has been too much for him." Moriarty tsked, his fingers curling over the tops of John's shoulders, "Seems like our detective has passed out from the pain. What do you say we rouse him Mary?"
The girl nodded and retrieved a bucket of water that had been on hand for emergencies, and with a sneer tossed it upwards into Sherlock's face, making sure it went up the younger man's nose. Sherlock splutter awake and hung his head as he attempted to breathe through his abrupt awakening. When he finally had the strength, he looked back up to the doctor once more, eyes weary and dull with pain, and then they flickered to Moriarty.
“How long do you intend this to go on?” His voice was raspy as he spoke.
Moriarty raised his eyebrows, "Tiring of our little game are we?" He tutted softly, "We're almost done anyways. One more for each of you... I saved the best for last of course." He smiled manically, turning to John.
"This one is rather simple," Moriarty circled behind the chair slowly as he spoke softly, almost whispering into John's ear. "You must break one of your fingers."
John turned towards Moriarty, looking back at him incredulously. "You're mad." John stated bluntly.
"Just figuring that out now?" Moriarty chuckled, "Here's the best part. You have to break your fingers before Sherlock runs out of air." He looked back up at Sherlock, "Don't move, or I''ll break his whole wrist."
As if on cue Mary wrapped a thick plastic bag over Sherlock's head, twisting it tightly at his throat. Panic rose up in his chest, as he watched his friend desperately attempting to keep calm. Both his injured hands gripping the chair, his knuckles flushed white.
It took all of three seconds for John to grit his teeth and look away from the screen. Swallowing hard against the knot in his throat he took his smallest finger of his right hand in his left. John took a few short breaths before twisting it painfully to the side, until he heard a sickening crack.
The pain, though excruciating, only lasted a moment before it dulled into a horrible throbbing sensation. His head fell forward and he breathed heavily, trying to block out the sickening feeling in his gut. A bitter taste crept into his mouth, and for a second he thought he might actually be sick, but he held it down, focusing on his breaths. After a few moments he snapped back up, glaring at Mary who still had the bag over Sherlock. The pain was still there, but he did all that he could to hide that fact from everyone who was watching.
"It's done, Let. Him. Go." John’s voice was practically a growl, she was enjoying this too much and John was finally beginning to break. Pouting slightly she loosened the hold around his neck so Sherlock could pull the bag off and breath properly.
The detective grabbed the back of the bag and pulled it off his head, taking one deep breath to replace the air he’d been denied. He hadn’t struggled for John’s sake, and now he saw the way John was trying to hide his broken finger. He absolutely hated this.

"We're almost done." Moriarty cooed at them both, "Finish this last game Sherlock and I'll tell you where to find me. Do everything I ask and I won't touch your pet any more."
Johns breath caught in his chest as he saw what Mary was holding behind Sherlock's head. He knew exactly what it was, without a doubt. Cocaine.
Moriarty had to know Sherlock was an addict, not even an ex addict any longer. What kind of torture was this supposed to be?
Mary precariously placed the items in front of Sherlock one at a time. Once they were all laid out before him she stepped back into the shadows, the game was almost over.
Moriarty smile was wide, his excitement obvious. "So, last trial. You or John?" He cocked his head to the side.
Moriarty was setting similar things in front of John now and Sherlock’s heart was racing like a humming bird’s. Seeing the stimulant just sitting before him when he’d been so careful the past week and avoided all temptation was wearing on his resolve. John had seemed so proud of him. He was staring at the contents on the table; spoon, white powder, syringe, cotton swabs, when he heard Moriarty’s question. Almost dazed, he looked up at John, his eyes finally frightened. This was possibly the hardest challenge he'd faced so far. Not because he couldn’t choose between himself and John, but because it was going to put him back to the drawing board once he took this. He wouldn’t be able to stop, not until he found John, because with his doctor in the hands of this madman, he didn’t have time for withdrawal. He’d have to bring himself down off of it as he went along. God this was torture.
"If you truly want to protect John. If you want to know where I am, you'll administer the drug yourself."
Sherlock’s eyes were watery as he looked into the blonde’s eyes now. So many emotions were crossing his face, he knew John didn’t know what was truly going on in his mind. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his erratic mind. He let it drift to the memory of waking up Christmas morning with the doctor cradled in his arms. Although the memory of the touch was not near as good as the real thing, it calmed him enough to speak to the blonde..
“I don’t want to do this John...” he said quietly, although he knew the man could hear him. “I want you to know that no part of me wants to put this stuff in my veins again. I’ve been doing so good John... but I’m about to ruin it.” He took the powder and poured the proper amount in the spoon, diluting it with the water he was provided and stirring it with the toothpick.
Nodding John spoke softly, “I know Sherlock.” He did, he knew that Sherlock wouldn’t have chosen this. John watched each movement carefully, his lips pressed tightly together as he reminded himself there was nothing he could do to stop this, not if Sherlock wouldn’t let him. “You don’t have to do it though, you could let me...”
Moriarty didn’t seem bothered by the two men attempting to speak privately, ignoring everything else around them. In fact he seemed to like it, he wanted this to be painful for the both of them.
Sherlock refused to look at the doctor as he rolled the cotton swab up to filter out the impurities, and drew the mixture into the syringe. He shrugged his jacket off, rolled up his left sleeve, and clenched his hand into a fist, needle poised ready to breach his arm. He looked back up into John’s eyes then, hating how professional he was about doing this, hating John see him do this, but he wanted him to know why he’d chosen this.
“John I’m already broken, and you’ve been fixing me. I can’t let you start down this path too.” And then the needle breached his arm, and he was injecting the solution. For a blissful moment he didn’t feel anything, and then the haze in his mind began. The world seemed to take on an out of focus view, but John was there in his vision sharp and clear. Sherlock knew he would never forget the expression there, and he hated himself for being the one to put it there. He heard Moriarty speaking and fought hard to listen.
“Very good indeed my son. I’ll be sending you an address momentarily. Feel free to take the rest of the cocaine. I’m sure you’ll need it. Play nice my children.” With a maniacal laugh a series of beeps like the beginning of a movie real sounded and the picture went out.
- 9
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- 11
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A Bit Worse