Falling For You

The Whip Tape

John didn't know what to do. He'd called Lestrade immediately to inform him that Sherlock had been taken, but there wasn't much else he could do. He didn't have Moriarty's number and Sherlock's phone was in pieces after being thrown against the wall in a fit of rage, there was no was to get in touch with the psychopath first. He had no way to figure out where Sherlock was. He was positive that Mycroft already knew and was searching, but there wasn't any kind of search that John could complete himself to figure out the location of his love. The suspense was killing him until a familiar face appeared on his telly screen.

John screamed and focused on Moriarty's sneering face.  Everyone else in all of England saw the man's face and thought of Richard Brooke from all of the newspaper scandals from years ago, back to when Sherlock hadn't faked his death yet, but John saw the face on the screen and thought about a lifetime of anger and torture that Moriarty had been so kind to offer.

"Hello, England! Jim Moriarty here. Hi," he began with a sickening grin on his pale face. John's fists were clenched in anger. "I'm here today with a very special guest. Say hi, why don't you?"

Moriarty stepped out of the way and the camera focused on a very ill-looking Sherlock chained to the floor of a white room. He had a nasty gash on his face, but John could only imagine what else he had endured in Moriarty's torture chamber.  John could see Sherlock's ribs and he was pale as ever.  He wanted to cry.  Death was licking Sherlock, tempting to swallow him whole.

"John," Sherlock said softly, his eyes moving up from the floor to the camera. John felt like he was staring into his eyes, but he knew that Sherlock was just talking to the camera, unsure if John was even watching the video.

"Ugh, isn't love pathetic? You know what's not pathetic? Torture. Oh, it's so fun. Ever seen it? Pity. Well, you will now."

Moriarty walked off and John was forced to see a very thin Sherlock looking forlornly at the floor like he thought these would be his last moments. Then Moriarty reentered with a sleek whip in his hand. He got behind Sherlock and raised the whip. Sherlock closed his eyes as if that would make the reality of what was about to happen any less real.

"Let's play a game. I ask you a question and you answer. Okay?"

Sherlock nodded his head and his inky curls bounced.

"Why are you here?"

"For John."

The whip went down and slammed against Sherlock's bare back. John gasped in horror. What did that mean? Why was he being forced to watch his love be whipped by the cruelest man alive?

"Who would you die for?"

"John."

Once again, the whip crashed down and made a brutally disturbing noise against Sherlock's pale flesh. John yelped again and tears started pouring out of his eyes like a waterfall. He couldn't stand any more of this, but he had to keep watching because he thought that Moriarty would tell him something about their location.

"Who do you love?"

"John."

Moriarty kept asking questions and Sherlock replied John's name for each of them. Each time he said something, the whip went down and broke his skin little by little until John wondered if there was any skin left on Sherlock's back at all. But there were no clues that followed. Just haunting words about owing Sherlock a fall. Then the video turned to static and then the screen went dark altogether.

John screamed in anger as tears paraded out of his eyes. He felt his phone buzz. It was Mycroft.

"I assume you saw the video," Mycroft said in his usual monotone voice.

John wiped his face with his sleeve. "Of course," he said.

"I'm doing everything I can to find him," Mycroft said.

"I know."

John hung up. He didn't want to talk. He wanted answers.

John couldn't bring himself to sleep in Sherlock's room, but he also didn't want to leave Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was pretty shaken up about the video, but she managed to make John some tea.  They sat together in the living room sipping tea together but not really talking because neither of them knew where to start.  After a while, John claimed he was tired and retired upstairs to his bedroom.  He managed to get some sleep before he woke up to his phone buzzing. He didn't recognize the number, but he picked it up anyway, praying that it was someone with information on Sherlock's location.

"The pool," a shaky voice said into the phone as soon as John picked it up.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"Let's end it where it started," the voice said. He could have sworn it was...

"Sherlock?" John screamed into the phone, shooting up in his bed like a rocket.

"Come and play."

John didn't care how dangerous it was or even if it was a trap. It was Sherlock on that phone and that meant he was alive and John needed to save him.