Daylight

Part 6

Warning:  Non-Consensual situations in this chapter.

     Sherlock’s routine never varied.  One of Jim’s men woke him up early, forced him to eat breakfast, then took him into a small room with a bank of computers and gave him a “task.”  Then, after hours of solving puzzle after puzzle, they fed him again and put him back into his room.  Repeat.  Day after day, he lived in monotonous cycle of exhilaration, shame and despair.   He wanted out.  He needed to be free of this miserable imprisonment.  Jim forced him to solve case after case, and Sherlock hated all of them.  But, without the puzzles, he knew he’d wither and die.

     Sometimes he had to unravel the mystery of how or why a person disappeared.  Other times, he had to find something stolen.  Once, he even got to find a serial killer for Jim, and it wasn’t boring.  For this particular puzzle, it seemed someone kept stealing the young male and female sex “slaves” of influential billionaires.  Then, they mutilated said billionaires.  The killer usually slipped in, drugged them, chopped off prominent sexual organs and left them barely alive. He then absconded with their prized possessions and spirited the young slaves away to safety.  Of course this couldn’t be endured so Sherlock had to track down this vigilante and bring him to “justice.”

     It turned out the killer, a very young man named Albert Price, had been inspired to go on his vendetta after rescuing his own little sister, all of sixteen years old, who’d been forcibly captured and sold to a man who believed he could buy anything with enough money, including her virginity.  After getting her away from the monsters who bought her like a piece of livestock, he’d gotten a taste of being a hero.  He’d managed to free several other young slaves before Sherlock could stall Moriarty no longer.  He’d been hiding himself as a riding instructor in the stables of the fabulously rich.  He had a perfect cover and managed to get inside information about the poor young girls and boys being held in the mansions of the ultra-rich.  He had been very clever, and no one could figure it out.  Sherlock could. 

     Sherlock regretted having to help Moriarty bring down Albert Price, and stalled as long as he could.  He’d ascertained who the man was on the first day of being presented with the challenge, but he tried to drag his feet for a full week.  During that time, the young vigilante had managed to free over a dozen slaves.  But, Sherlock found he couldn’t stall any further and regretfully had to give up his name.  It shamed him to do it, but Jim suspected his hesitation and the alternative was to go back to his prison room and rot in the dark.  He chose daylight and Albert’s death.

     But, when Sherlock performed his tasks admirably, Moriarty rewarded him.  “You are a perfect pet, Sherlock,” he told him the night after he’d given up Albert’s identity.  “I want to show you how I reward my faithful servants.”  He’d slipped his hand under Sherlock’s chin and caressed his jaw.  The movement surprised Sherlock so much, he didn’t react when Jim threaded his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and drew him down for a kiss. 

     Two large men stood guard on either side of the door of the room they were in when Jim made his move, and Sherlock knew they’d come to their boss’s aid if he did anything threatening while Jim kissed him.  Sherlock was well aware of his situation and understood if Jim wanted to be physical with him, he’d have to allow it.  He’d been expecting it long before now.  He assumed withholding sexual interaction was part of Jim’s plan to keep his life as uninteresting as possible.  So, in Jim’s brain, the opposite must be true.  In Jim’s mind, a reward for doing the detestable deeds would be more stimulation.

     Jim flicked his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth greedily while his hands wrapped around his back and pressed him into his chest so that Sherlock let out a soft, “Whump,” of breath in surprise.  Sherlock tried to kiss the man back.  He knew Jim’s fury might well be the death of him if he didn’t at least try to reciprocate.  Jim’s desire grew more fervent and Sherlock felt a hardness pressing into his leg.  His own length stayed soft however and nothing he imagined could get it to budge.  Soon, Jim’s hand moved around his front to run along Sherlock’s slender torso and down over the soft bulge in his trousers.