30 million quid

The detective entered the dark themed hall, surrounded by all kinds of people. Criminals. He was assured.
As the man stepped closer to the front he noticed the chair that was standing in the spotlight, in the middle of the stage which reflected the light.
Interesting, he thought to himself.
Not really an ambience of his preference though.

Sherlock wasn't even supposed to be here, this was dark circles he was moving within. But Mycroft had caught his interest, by stating that this was a notorious human trafficking ring like no other.
To be honest, Sherlock haven't had anything as remotely interesting as that in months, since he had taken down Moriarty's network, and his cases went back to failing partnerships and a few ordinary murders again.
Nothing really excited him. He was so desperate that he probably would've taken the offer to go abroad as a spy. Too bad Mycroft cared too much about his well-being.

Sherlock was lonely. John had moved out to live with Mary and raise a child. And Sherlock was left with the boring cases of ordinary people.
If only he knew where to find Moriarty.

He took his seat in the audience. His palms felt a little sweaty around the number card, that was handed out to him at the entrance. 69.
After a while the hall grew quiet. The hall was filled with people. Regular looking humans like you and I.

Nevertheless, Sherlock knew this whole atmosphere was deceptive. Then, after long moments of silence a tall man stepped on stage, dressed in a black silk suit. He had a little microphone attached to the collar of his shirt and greeted the crowd with a low „Good evening.. Let's begin." The man then had an assistant hand him an object that Sherlock knew way too well. A riding crop.

This was the beginning of the auction.

Sherlock looked around. Everyone remained silent, staring to the front of the stage. His heart was pounding and his eyes widened as the first person was dragged on stage and tied to the chair. The woman was barely wearing any clothes but rather dressed up in See through materials, which society probably deemed as erotic and sexually appealing.

But then again, Sherlock wouldn't know much about that would he?

The chair also wasn't ordinary like most of the things in this room. It appeared to be a Gynaecology chair that the person was now tied to. Exposing their private parts to the audience.
Sherlock blinked repeatedly. This all felt inappropriate, especially morally. Those humans were probably innocent. At least that's what he thought until the man in the silk suit began enumerating the woman's criminal record.

After a long list of crimes and emphasis on her apparent obedience the assistant handed another object which looked like a 12 inch glass crystal. 

Now it all made sense, Sherlock was convinced. This was an auction selling criminal offenders as sex slaves to the highest bidder.
FASCINATING. His brain screamed. Morally grey but perfect in a way.
A trafficking ring for traffickers, god, he would so tell Mycroft about this. About the criminals who sold criminals. Contradicting everything that they had predicted, of them working together in a network. Sherlock now was excited.
He continued observing the events, which took place on that stage. As well as noting the bids, up to millions. Soon, Sherlock noticed the pattern.

Each candidate had a criminal record which was shared with the audience before exploring the level of sexual obedience. Apparently, their worth increased the less obedient they were. It seemed the people here like a challenge.
Sherlock watched the „slaves" taking whiplashes. Bearing insertion and penetration with the glass crystal, orally as well as anally. Until the point that they broke out in tears, then they would bid.

The process became almost predictable when suddenly...
No! Sherlock couldn't believe his eyes. This just couldn't be.

A small pale figure was pulled onto the stage with a black leather collar around their neck. The man didn't look amused at all and while Sherlock was fairly in the middle of the audience, he would've recognised those eyes everywhere. James Moriarty.