Good Old Fashioned Nightmare

Part 7

     An hour later John woke up from a doze; he’d been asleep about an hour.  He’d been awakened by a strange noise in the flat.  He tugged on his bonds and found himself still tied up.  Fuck me, he thought to himself and hoped Sherlock had returned.  The short hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.  An unfamiliar creak sounded in the hall.  Someone lurked just outside the bedroom door and John tried craning his neck around in order to see.  The rope on his collar prevented him from getting too far around and he swore softly. 

     “Who’s there?” he shouted.  “Sherlock?”

     “No honey, not Sherlock,” came a soft, male voice that send a sharp spike of fear into his brain.  “But I do like thissssss…” the voice purred softly and a person he hoped never to see again entered the bedroom.

     Shit, John thought.  How did Moriarty get in?  Mere locks wouldn’t hold a man like him.  Where was Sherlock?  “Sherlock,” John called desperately.

    “Shhhh.  He’s not here.  It’s just us ducks,” he continued stalking into the room like a cat.  John felt the bed dip from the weight of someone sitting next to him.  He felt a warm hand slide on his back and across his shoulders.  “Oooo, all trussed up and ready, I see.”

     John sighed in utter frustration at his situation, he’d really had had it with these two.  “What do you want?” he said irritably, knowing it might anger the man and not really caring anymore.  “Sherlock’s not at home presently,” he gritted out. “As you probably know.  I’m indisposed….and you shouldn’t be here,” he said trying for bravado.  He didn’t want the master criminal to know just how much he despised being so helpless in front of him. 

   “Oh, Johnny Boy,” he said soothingly.  “I’ve been released from that ghastly jail cell and provided a little delay in Sherlock’s return trip in order for us to get to know each other a bit better.  I have to admit, this is lovely,” he said stroking lower on John’s back and guiding his hand over his clothed ass.  He gave it a little pat.

     “I can’t say I’m surprised,” he lilted in his Irish drawl.  “I always knew Sherly preferred the less ordinary, preferred you, Johnny.  Hmmm, I guess he really isn’t on the side of the angels.   Bit of a devil too, I see,” he said running a finger under John’s collar.   “Well, this is more than it seems.  Oh, I see…. How delightful.  He’s got you at a bit of a disadvantage.”  He giggled.  “I’ve used something like this before on a few of my own pets.  It’s very effective.  Well, except the one time it didn’t--Got a blood all over one of my best Westwoods.  Did big brother give it to him?”

     John huffed in response. 

     “Yes, I suppose he did,” Moriarty continued while running his hands along the back of John’s thighs. “I wondered if you too were, intimate, and if not what was taking you sooooo long.”

     “Get out while you can, Moriarty,” John spat out.  “He’ll be here and if sees you touching me, he’ll kill you.”

     “Oh, I don’t doubt he’ll try,” he said.  “I’d like to untie you, darling.  Be a dear and don’t try anything you’ll regret.  I’m armed and won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your pretty little head.”  He unbuckled the cuffs and untied the ropes from the bed.   When freed, John turned around and sat up facing the only man he feared more than the Holmes brothers.

     “Get up.  Let’s go have some tea and wait for Sherlock to come home, Johnny,” he said keeping the gun leveled squarely at him. 

     John got up and they made their way into the kitchen.  “Go on, I’d like some of that please,” he indicated the tin on the counter. 

     John reheated the water from earlier.  Fortunately, he’d placed the tea packets next the tin and could easily access them.  For a moment, John wondered if Moriarty knew about his trap.  John held no doubts he’d be able to sense something off as easily as Sherlock could.  But, he just stood and watched John. 

     Tea prepared, John placed everything on an old tray and brought it to the table. 

     “No, in here,” Moriarty said nodding toward the living room.  “Have a seat and enjoy your tea, John.”  He eyed John steadily until he picked up his teacup.   He moved closer to John and brought up the gun to rest directly against his temple.  John felt the cup shake in his hand uneasily. 

     “Don’t worry.  He’ll be here in…” and they both heard the front door open and footsteps ascending the stairs, “about ten seconds.”

     The door to the flat banged open and Sherlock entered.  He stopped at the threshold and took in the sight of John sitting in his chair with a cup of tea in his hand and Moriarty standing next to him with a gun to his head. 

     “Welcome home, Sherlock,” Moriarty said with a grin.