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Sherlock Fic - Reaction
colourful, hills
blind_author
Title: Reaction
Rating: R/NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and am making no profit from their use, more's the pity.
Warnings: Non-con and slash.
Summary: Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme: Before shoving him in the explosive vest, Moriarty fucked John, viciously. John makes it through the whole encounter with Moriarty and Homles via his own badass soldier nerves of steel, but afterwards, when he and Sherlock are admitted to the hospital for minor burns and abrasions and shock, the hospital staff find other injuries on John.



(Title page by [info]birddi)

John supposed this meant he wasn't getting any tea.
 

It was a ridiculous thought to have as his knees buckled, but it swam through his brain nevertheless. Barely a street away from the flat, using one of those shortcuts he hadn't realised existed until he started following Sherlock around, he'd felt a sharp, sudden pain at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, as though someone had punched him with a pen. John had seized whatever had hit him and yanked it out, to find a small, hollow dart with a bright red tip, the kind they used to drug up zebras and lions in nature documentaries.
 

Then everything had started to get very fuzzy. Among the jumbled chaos of 'oh god, this can't be good' and 'who the hell uses tranquiliser guns on people anyway?' there was the very clear impression that he wouldn't be getting any tea, and he probably should have eaten before he left the flat.
 

Ridiculous, but it was there nevertheless, and was in fact John's only clear thought as conciousness drifted away like smoke on the wind.
 


 

John didn't open his eyes when he regained consciousness, partly because he suspected he wouldn't like what was going to greet him, but mostly because he wanted to figure out what was going on without alerting his captors he was doing so.
 

The first thing he took note of was that there was cloth in his mouth. He pushed tentatively against it with his tongue, but it did budge. Gag, then. Either he was somewhere screams would be heard and attract attention, or whoever had taken him just wanted him quiet – it could really go either way.
 

The second thing he noticed was that he was naked. John had read about how people didn't feel clothes against their skin because their brain became used to the sensation and simply blocked it out, and he figured that was true – he'd never really felt his clothes, not unless they were hideously uncomfortable, but he was definitely feeling their absence. So he'd been stripped while he was unconscious, though why he was stripped remained to be seen. There were a host of possible reasons that suggested themselves: sexual assault (the most obvious), to ensure he wasn't carrying any weapons, to dress him in something else...or they could have taken his clothes simply to unsettle him and put him in a very obvious position of vulnerability in relation to his kidnappers.
 

He was lying on his stomach, on something soft, something that felt a lot like a mattress. A bed? John shifted, trying to determine what he was lying on and at the same time make the movement look like a natural shifting of position while unconscious, when he became aware of something much more disturbing – he was tied up.
 

His wrists were fastened above his head to what was probably the headboard (John was going to assume he was lying on a bed) with something that felt a lot like handcuffs. And not the fuzzy sex-toy kind you bought in adult shops, but the police kind, the kind that could cut up your wrists if you struggled against them. His legs were spread so wide John just knew his tendons were going to be aching soon, and they were tied with something both strong and smooth – some kind of synthetic cord?
 

“Stop playing around Johnny-boy, I can tell you're awake,” came a voice from somewhere to his left. It was a man's – as cheerful as if he were greeting a long-missed friend, but there a sinister edge to it that made the hair stand up along the back of John's neck.
 

He almost wanted to keep his eyes shut, to be defiant, but knew that was only misplaced pride speaking. The game was up, and further prevarication would be pointless and only put him at a disadvantage.
 

That said, John certainly didn't expect to be greeted with the face of Molly's new (and supposedly gay) boyfriend.
 

“Jim?” he croaked. Or at least, he tried to – with the gag in his mouth it came out as more of a single-syllable mumble.
 

“We weren't properly introduced before,” the man grinned. It was the kind of grin John had seen on the faces of some of the nastier mental patients he'd had to deal with, the kind that had completely disconnected from reality. “I'm Jim Moriarty. I'd shake your hand, but you're a bit tied up at the moment, aren't you?”
 

He didn't laugh at his own joke, but his voice was rich with amusement, the kind of gloating smugness John had heard in Sherlock's voice when he was particularly pleased at his own cleverness.
 

For at least five solid seconds, John did nothing but stare at the man. When he thought of Moriarty, he'd thought of an old professor-type crossed with a Mafia boss, the kind of criminal who'd seen it all and had used that experience and knowledge to challenge Sherlock. He'd imagined someone with greying hair and guns and bodyguards ever-present at his side, not a man who was probably younger than John, dressed in smart tailoring and with a forgettable, almost generic face.
 

Moriarty wouldn't have looked out of place working in a high-end bank, or real-estate office, or PR job. But John supposed that was the point; there was no skill a criminal needed more than the ability to move about undetected and unremarked upon. And somehow, Moriarty's blandness only made him seem all the more threatening.
 

It hit John suddenly how very vulnerable he was, naked and bound to the bed in front of the man with a businessman's suit and a lunatic's smile, and the doctor couldn't help but tense. He was reminded that there was still one last 'pip' to go, still one last stepping stone in the mad game Sherlock was playing with this man, but he had a feeling Moriarty was changing the rules.
 

None of the other people dragged into the bombing spree had described being stripped of clothing and tied to a bed. Either they'd all left that part out, or Moriarty was trying something new.
 

John suspected it was the latter, and he could literally feel his stomach start to churn uncomfortably at the thought. Moriarty had obviously chosen to abduct him and not a random citizen for a reason, though John still wasn't clear on what exactly that reason was. He was equally sure he'd been stripped and tied to a bed for a reason, and he had a feeling he wouldn't like it.
 

He took the panicky little voice in the back of his head that was screaming he was about to be raped and told it to shut up. Torture was much more likely – if the whole point of this sick song and dance had been to get to Sherlock, it made sense that Moriarty would want more information on him.
 

Except that thought just didn't sit right. If Moriarty had known enough about Sherlock to send him shoes from the very first murder case he became interested in, surely there wasn't much he didn't know about the man? At least, nothing that interrogating John would get him, unless he wanted to know how Sherlock liked his tea.
 

“I can just see your little mind whirring,” Moriarty mused, sounding genuinely interested. His voice was bizarre, each sentence moving through a different accent and inflection pattern as though he had yet to find one that suited him. “Moves a bit slowly, doesn't it, Johnny? Not as slowly as some, I'll grant, but still...”
 

He shook his head, like a teacher disappointed in a child's bumbling efforts. “I really have no idea why he keeps you around.”
 

John assumed that 'he' referred to Sherlock and, unable to yell or curse at the man as he wanted so desperately to do, settled for glaring. It was the glare he hadn't used since his army days, the glare that said 'you are less than a cockroach beneath my boots, now get out of my way or I will end you'.
 

Moriarty rocked back on his heels and laughed, clapping his hands like a child delighted that his puppy had learned a new trick, obviously not intimidated in the slightest. He then shifted out of view, and John did his best not to outright panic. His head was twisted to the left, and the position he was bound in ensured he couldn't get enough leverage to raise his body and turn his face to the right without smothering himself in the mattress.
 

“You do display a kind of determined courage that some might admire,” came the soft, congenial voice from somewhere over John's shoulders. “And I must admit you're very loyal.”
 

A hand came down on John's exposed back, fingers stroking across his shoulder – his wounded shoulder, and John didn't think that was a coincidence. He arched his back and tried to jerk away, but wasn't truly surprised when Moriarty's grip only tightened, fingers sinking into scarred tissue and sending jolts of pain dancing across his nerves.
 

“Yes, I can think of a few uses for you,” Moriarty went on, and this time his voice was seething with a thousand implications.
 

Something cold and hard formed in John's chest, but at the same time, he felt the strange calmness he always felt when he was under stress or in danger. It wasn't that he became detached from his surroundings, or that it seemed to be happening to someone else, more like everything became very clear and sharp, and he could see what had to be done as clearly as if he were working a simple mathematics problem.
 

The hand disappeared, and Moriarty intruded on John's field of vision again, his eyes sharp and staring fixedly, not at John's body, but at his face.
 

'He wants a reaction,' John realised. 'Don't give him one.'

He tried to deliberately make his face blank, his expression completely indifferent, the way Sherlock sometimes looked when John interrupted his thinking to remind him of such trivialities like food and sleep.
 

He must have succeeded at least partly, because Moriarty looked vaguely put-out. Then his gaze sharpened and dragged over John's body, and his tongue slid out to wet his lips as though he was physically salivating. But the movement was a little too exaggerated to seem natural. John knew he probably wouldn't have realised it if he hadn't already been sinking into combat mentality, when he was hyper-aware of people's movements and gestures, but Moriarty's leering expression just struck him as...wrong, somehow.
 

Bizarrely, he thought of Sherlock's earlier performance, when he'd pretended to be over-emotional and grieving to extract information. This had the same ring of falseness to it, though in Sherlock's case it had only seemed staged because John knew him so well.
 

In an instant, he understood why – this was the behaviour of a mimic. Moriarty had probably never openly displayed desire for someone in his entire life, but because he wanted to unsettle John, he was trying to imitate the movements and expressions he'd seen on other people's faces. He'd probably made that 'hey, sexy' comment purely to unnerve Sherlock – he probably thought sex itself was pointless and time-wasting, but was happy enough to use it to manipulate people.
 

Knowing that Moriarty's leer was false gave the scenario a pantomime-like quality that made John want to laugh in spite of what he was facing. His face must have given away some of the scorn he was feeling, because Moriarty's expression suddenly turned very ugly. Any other man would have simply slapped him, but Moriarty reached out and quite deliberately curled his hand into John's wounded shoulder before squeezing viciously.
 

Agony seared through John's body, so intense it was like being shot all over again. Damaged nerves sparked and starbursts danced in front of his eyes as he screamed into the gag. This wasn't the light, reprimanding grip Moriarty had used before – this was cruel and vicious, fingers scraping at wounded muscle and bone as though he was trying to rip John's shoulder out of the socket.
 

John was released as suddenly as he'd been grabbed and lay still, panting desperately as the pain slowly subsided to a dull throbbing, like a knife was being jabbed there with each heartbeat.
 

Moriarty's expression was much more genial now. “That's better.”
 

He patted John's cheek twice, so hard they were more like slaps than anything else, but the remnants of his anger still glittered in the corners of his eyes.
 

'Can't bear honest contempt,' John thought, committing it to memory because in this situation, everything he knew about his captor was an advantage.
 

Of course, how he could possibly apply that advantage was another question entirely.
 

“You see, Johnny,” Moriarty continued, his voice light. “I've got some time to kill before my little rendezvous with Sherlock-”
 

John's eyes widened, and he made a muffled noise of horror. Moriarty broke off, smiling at him.
 

“You didn't know? He posted an invitation on his website – we'll be meeting up at midnight.”
 

John thought back to Sherlock's offer to buy milk himself – unheard of, as he treated supermarkets as though they had some kind of personal vendetta against him – and abruptly realised what had failed to so much as cross his mind earlier. Sherlock had let him go knowing that he was going to meet with the insane bomber later; he'd let him walk out that door knowing that later he would be going into a dangerous, possibly lethal, situation.
 

When John got out of this, he was going to strangle Sherlock. He was going to strangle him for being the most brilliant man John had ever met and at the same time, the most stupid. He was going to strangle Sherlock for being a monumental idiot and no court in the world would convict him.
 

But that hinged on getting free from Moriarty first, and John had a feeling that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Moriarty had managed to spin a web that had kept Sherlock intrigued for days; holding John prisoner for however long he wanted to was child's play compared to that. John considered the possibility that he'd be killed as soon as Moriarty was finished toying with him, but dismissed the idea out of hand – the whole point of this was to play with Sherlock, to somehow prove that Moriarty was superior, and outright killing John wouldn't prove anything.
 

“I'm sure even you can guess that we have hours yet.” Moriarty didn't bother leering this time, apparently having decided he'd had enough of the play-acting. “What can we do to pass the time, do you think?”
 

Moriarty's hand carded through John's hair in a bizarre parody of affection, before it suddenly fisted and yanked brutally, reflexive tears springing to his eyes as his neck was forced backwards at an achingly sharp angle. He felt fingers trace the line of his lips almost curiously, feeling the way they stretched around the gag.
 

John swore and struggled, ignoring the pain that still writhed through his shoulder, tossing his head even as he felt some of his hair rip free from his scalp. Moriarty laughed and released him, letting his forehead smack inelegantly into the mattress, apparently finding some kind of perverse pleasure in John's struggle to turn his face to the side so he could breathe properly.


Moriarty's patient wait for John to regain his breath seemed somehow the most horrifying thing that had happened so far – it implied he wanted John fully conscious and fully aware of what was going to take place.
 

“You're really a lovely little pet, aren't you?” he said, deliberately staying in John's line of sight as he unbuckled his belt. “So very amusing.”
 

He didn't bother undressing all the way; just unbuckled his belt, opened his pants and pulled himself out.
 

Moriarty was fully erect, which somewhat surprised John. His leers and lustful comments had been an act, so he'd been half-expecting that the man wouldn't be able to get it up. But there was no doubt he was excited; aside from the most obvious evidence, his pupils were dilated and his breaths were rapid and shallow, as though in gleeful anticipation.
 

John knew it wasn't the prospect of raping him that had Moriarty so excited, but what raping him represented. It was proof of his power, of his control over someone else...and another blow in his war against Sherlock.
 

His arousal also brought home to John exactly what was going to happen with an impact so solid it was like being slapped.
 

Beforehand, he'd been able to stay detached, to evaluate the whole situation with an almost clinical eye. Moriarty's clear disinterest in him had made the rape seem an abstract threat – something that was frightening, but unlikely to happen, like being hit by lightning.
 

It wasn't abstract any longer, and John could feel his heartrate climbing, panic clawing at his throat and making it difficult to breathe. The worst thing about it was that he knew what was coming; the medically-trained part of his brain was inundating him with snapshots of injuries he'd seen and treated, recovery periods and susceptibility to infection. The presence of the prostate made consensual anal sex a mind-blowing experience, but if the participant wasn't relaxed and properly prepared, it could be incredibly damaging and brutally painful.
 

John knew exactly what was going to happen to him, and he had a good idea of how much it was going to hurt.
 

'Don't give him a reaction,' he coached himself. 'Don't give him a reaction, don't give him a reaction...'

But he couldn't help himself from pulling against the handcuffs, the metal edges biting into his wrists like small, vicious animals. Little tingles of pain were beginning to run up and down his legs, muscles and ligaments protesting the strain of being forced so widely apart. John tensed his body and bucked, his spine arching like a bow, ropes scraping at his ankles as he fought his bonds.
 

It got him nowhere, of course. Moriarty didn't even bother stopping him, just watched with a kind of unholy glee in his eyes. He knew as well as John did that the doctor was pinned like a butterfly on a card, immobile and helpless.
 

It was the helplessness that really frightened John. He'd been in danger before, but usually with a gun in his hands and men at his back, and even when he was running after Sherlock without them he wasn't helpless, he could still yell an alarm or fight back or run away – the point was, he could do something.
 

But now...now all he could do was lie there and take it.
 

He couldn't help his breath coming in harsh, stuttered gasps when he heard the slick, wet sound of lubricant on flesh.
 

'Don't give him a reaction, don't give him a reaction...'

The fact that John was anticipating the rough intrusion of the wet finger into his body didn't make it any less unpleasant, any less of a violation. He told himself to relax, told himself to surrender and hopefully avoid the worst of the physical damage, but it was hopeless. He couldn't relax, not now – every muscle in his body was clenched tight in useless, futile resistance.
 

“You'll have to loosen up a little, Johnny,” Moriarty cooed, the sudden, vicious intrusion of a second finger making John bite down on his gag to prevent himself from crying out. “You're so tense I might rip you clean in two, and that would rather spoil my plans.”
 

John wanted to swear at him, wanted to tell Moriarty exactly what he thought of his plans, but he didn't dare. His teeth were grinding over the gag, and he was sure that if he relaxed his jaw for even an instant he'd begin to scream and he wouldn't be able to stop.
 

'Don't give him a reaction, don't give him a reaction...'

The fingers withdrew, and the mattress shifted as Moriarty climbed on the bed between his spread legs.
 

'Don't give him a reaction, don't give him a reaction...'

Hands spread his buttocks, and something much larger than two fingers nudged between them as Moriarty lined himself up.
 

'Don't give him a reaction, don't give him a reaction...'

John had tried to prepare for it, but there was nothing, nothing, that could have prepared him for this. Moriarty drove into him like a cudgel, bulling his way through the resisting muscles and tissue without any hesitation, and it felt like a red-hot poker had been shoved into John's guts.
 

In spite of his vow not to give Moriarty what he wanted, he couldn't stop himself from screaming.
 



AN: First time fic (an in answer to a prompt on a kinkmeme - I despair of myself!), so concrit is more than welcome!  Also unbeta-d, so feel free to point out grammer/spelling mistakes and to britpick!

Also, this fic has been translated into Chinese by kiy900  and Korean by lumister 




Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve


Ooo. Promising. I like the way you use John's military background (and Sherlock's influence) to explain the mindset. Do what you have to do at the time, analyse, gather info, plan, scream if you have to - fall apart about it later (if at all, go British repression and denial ;)) when there's time and privacy enough to do so.

I like your comment about Moriarty's mimcry too actually - nicely pointed out and it would be John who would notice, since as a doctor he's far more attuned to human reaction and emotion.

Looking forward to more :)

Thanks! The mimicry...I can see Moriarty being a bit like Sherlock in that respect. Aware of social conventions and the like, but ignoring them most of the time except when he wants to manipulate people.

More to come soon!

THAT. WAS. AMAZING.

Wow. Just wow. This was riveting and horrible (but in a good way) and I believe one of the very best John!voice I've read until now. Your Moriarty is perfect as well: I could just *see* the two actors speaking the lines you wrote and that almost never happens to me, I must admit I can't wait to see your Sherlock!

Oh and there were tones of lines that I liked, but this one particularly struck me:
His voice was bizarre, each sentence moving through a different accent and inflection pattern as though he had yet to find one that suited him.
Because it's a PERFECT description of his voice. You just perfectly expressed something I didn't even know I had trouble nailing down, how amazing is that?

All in all thank you for sharing, and though I don't want to seem like I'm pressuring you or something I have to confess I'll be *eagerly* waiting for more!!

PS: Were you serious when you said it was your first-time fic? Is that even possible? The story just flowed perfectly, the rhythm of the scene was simply excellent!

I've written before, mainly short stories for my own amusement. This is the first story I've offered up to the world at large.

It's also my first fanfic, so I'm very glad you think I got the characters down - I was really worried about that!

eeekk! I love the whole don't react don't react johns using.

Looking forward to more chapers :D

I could just see John trying to be silent and stoical about the whole thing. And there'll be more up soon!

Oh, VERY nice. Well, I say nice. Of course it's not nice, it's very uncomfortable and tense and scary, but the fic, the writing, is really very very good. Great voices, and great first and last sentences - the pacing is good, and really, everything is good. And no spelling mistakes that I could see. I'll be following this eagerly - hope you won't leave us waiting for too long!

Thanks! More will come soon!

The prompt made me nervous, it's not usually something I'll read, but your writing is really selling this. I love that John is regretful about his missed tea when it all begins, and it's a great, insightful depiction of all his reactions and observations. I winced a lot, but I had to keep reading! Looking forward to more.

Thank you! I could picture John's first thought upon getting kidnapped being not so much about the danger (given how much of a thrill he often gets from it) but about missing his tea.

More will come soon!

This is going to be utterly fascinating!

I hadn't noticed it was a WIP though :(

Need More!

Sorry about that - I thought the 'Part One' made it clear it wasn't finished.

And there'll be more soon!

I hope you've got more of this, because I am thoroughly hooked.

OH MORE? SOON? very very gooood, but please dont leave us hanging!!! :)

More will come as soon as possible, I promise!

Don't usually read non-con, but I have to say you have really made this worth reading.

Amazing piece of writing and you seem to know exactly what John would have been like in that situation.

*on edge of seat* I hope you write more :)

Thanks! And the next part should be up in a few days, if all goes well!

Waiting anxiously for more, your writing is incredible!
(and the kinkmeme owns my soul)
Loved that you touched on the fact that John finally realized what Sherlock had planned to do when he had gone out.

I know - the kinkmeme is such a guilty pleasure of mine!

I could just see John realising that Sherlock planned to meet a criminal mastermind on his own and getting very pissed off at the idea. And then maybe hitting him over the head for being an idiot.

*Insert everything everyone else has already said, especially the mimicry*
Update soon please - can't wait for more!!

Thanks! And the next part should be up soon!

This is your FIRST STORY? Good lord, that's amazing.

I've written some short stories before, but this is my first fanfic, and the first story I've offered up for criticism, so I was rather nervous about it.

I'll second everyone in admiring the voices you've pinned down for John and Moriarty! Really excellent characterisation here--didn't know it was a WIP and now I want to know what happens. Hurry up and write more! :^D

Thanks - characterisation was something I was really worried about, so I'm glad so many people seem to think I nailed them.

And there'll be more soon, I promise!

Oh, wonderful! In a "Oh gosh, this is going to hurt" kind of way. That is to say, it's brilliantly done. John's thoughts, reactions, preparations; all so right, and Moriarty is just as perfect. The pain and the feelings of helplessness come across very well. Excellently done!

Thanks! I could picture John going into 'soldier-mode' and trying to stay calm and collected, before eventually realising there's just no way he can stay calm in the face of what Moriarty's going to do to him.

This is so enthralling, your voices so spot on, that it's almost scary. Really, this sent shivers down my spine. Very much looking forward to the next installment!!!

Thanks - I was quite worried about characterisation, especially Moriarty. And there'll be more soon!

This is excellent! Very well written. There are very few good rape fics out there (some are so cringe worthy and OC), but this one is great. I think you've got John's reaction to this perfectly. He's trying to act calm and stay in control, but once he realizes how HELPLESS he is (I especially love your description of him as a butterfly on a card), he starts freaking. And that last sentence: POOR JOHN. </3 PLEASE update soon, I need to know how John's reaction will be in the aftermath, and Sherlock's when he finds out.

Thanks! I could see John trying to keep himself under control, trying to stay detached and calmly evaluate the situation, but eventually realising there's no way to stay detached in the face of what Moriarty's going to do to him.

I love the psychology going on back and forth. Wow.

Oh, this is NOT the first thing you've written - is it? Wow.

John's thoughts are absolutely perfect here, he gets Moriarty very well (which doesn't really help him, unfortunately). Very good, and very disturbing.

Even more disturbing is having to wait for the next part!

This is my first fanfic, yes, and the first story I've let loose on the world, which is why I was so nervous about it.

And there'll be more to come soon!

Great start! Can't wait for more!

This is so detailed. I can't believe it's the first thing that you written. You've really pinned down both characters. John's training, his fear, his knowledge that he's helpless and he knows that he needs to relax for it not to hurt as badly, but he can't.

Poor John...
I love your way in narration of John's thoughts. Since this is before the pool scene, seems John could not be saved from all these. Now I'll climbing to Part II...

Wow! So terrifying. Poor poor John. This is very well written. On to the next part. :)

This is really great and powerful. I really like it.

Poor John. I really like this fic. I feel so sorry for him.

*eep* Hang in there, John!

Great opening chapter- very intense. I liked your characterisation of John; that military mindset coming into play to analyse and strategise. He spotted some useful information about Moriarty, which will hopefully come in useful against the man later on. I feel like John should get something good out of his current situation, even if it is only a better understanding of what makes Moriarty tick- not much of a plus point for the whole lot of minus points he's currently enduring, but at least it's something.

Laura.

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