Mind Games part 5

[ach_eloise]

Part 5

He'd remembered to bring his gun this time, he'd even checked to make sure there were bullets in it, something that he'd never needed to do before, but Moriarty made him doubt himself and doubt his safety blanket, lethal though it was. He used the elevator, too, because as much as he loved having bruises on his face he wanted to try to avoid it if he could, and that was exactly what had happened the last time he'd pissed off his arch enemy, very obvious bruises, family and friends noticing, and a bad lie about falling down his stairs like an idiot.

He reached the third floor and stepped out into the hallway, it was another nice hotel, and like all of the other hotels he'd been in thus far the walls of the hallways were white again, always white. He swiped the key card through the nearest door lock, pulled the gun and stepped inside.

Another nice room, more reds, he was starting to suspect it was Moriarty's favourite colour, red, but then that wasn't really surprising, he'd already admitted he loved the sight of Sherlock bleeding. Red bedsheets, red cushions, glass beside the bed, wait, what? Glass beside the bed? That had never been there before, he needed to ask about that, but what else? Red curtains, grey walls, carpet, furniture, very modern and stylish. Moriarty fit right in, standing by the bed, watching him calmly.

'Ah, Sherlock, I thought you'd gotten over that.' Moriarty said to him casually, indicating to the gun, and he was smiling, but it was obvious he wasn't happy because right behind that smile were sharp dark eyes, and a threatening look, a look that said If you misbehave, I will kill you dead.

Suddenly the gun seemed pointless again, and Sherlock felt stupid for bringing it. He wasn't used to feeling stupid, he could have shot Moriarty just for that but he held back, because no doubt certain orders had been given just in case he did shoot him, orders that involved everyone that Sherlock knew covered in their own blood 'You wanted to see me?' he said, and his voice was steady.

'Close the door.' Moriarty said, sounding bored, as if this was their usual afternoon shack up, but they both knew better than that.

Sherlock leaned against the door to close it, gun still pointed at Moriarty 'Well?' he was on edge, and he was getting hot under his coat, the room was too warm, or maybe that was on purpose.

Moriarty walked over to him, his expression dark, dangerous, all of the rooms light was behind him and it made him look even scarier, he'd done it on purpose no doubt, but it didn't make it any less eerie 'Lower the gun.'

Sherlock put the safety on and slipped the gun back inside his coat, fighting the urge to take a step back away from Moriarty 'I'm sure Mycroft knows I'm here, he's got me under surveillance.' he glanced out of the window, studying the building beside them, but it was dark and he couldn't see into it.

'His agents are easier to take care of than I thought they'd be.' Moriarty said, he took Sherlock's wrist, a gentle touch, not at all painful, and walked him to the bed. Moriarty stood him in front of the mattress and started to pull off Sherlock's coat, he knew Sherlock wouldn't be willing to take off his clothes for him, as much as Sherlock loved the things he did to him he didn't want this, Moriarty knew, it was one of the best things about it.

Sherlock noticed again the glass of water beside the bed, now seemed like a good time to ask 'Why the water?'

Moriarty shrugged without bothering to look up 'I get thirsty.' it was an obvious lie.

Sherlock stared at him, frowning 'No, really,' he said, sounding insulted that Moriarty had tried to feed him such an obvious lie, everyone got thirsty, but there had never been a glass of water beside the bed before in any of the situations previous to this that he'd found himself in with the two of them 'Why is there a glass of water?'

Moriarty smiled at him, and it looked devious 'So suspicious, it's nothing that will kill you, Sherlock. Though,' he looked thoughtful as he undid the buttons on Sherlock's jacket 'It might hurt...'

'Glass of acid?' Sherlock tilted his head to the side 'Overkill.'

'It's not acid.' Moriarty grinned 'Though that would have been an interesting idea...' he ran his fingers over the bite mark he'd left on Sherlock's neck, only a light bruise now, he'd have to refresh it later.

'I'm not giving you any more ideas.' Sherlock glanced out of the window again, looking for signs of anything that wasn't clouds or pigeons, what he really wanted to see was one of his brother's men, preferably with a gun in their hands aimed at Moriarty through the window.

'Stop looking.' Moriarty said, pulling Sherlock's jacket off and throwing it on the floor with his coat, apparently he didn't have the patience for coat hooks 'They're not out there.'

Sherlock sighed and looked back at Moriarty, he was unbuttoning his shirt, already half way down his chest 'I can unbutton my own shirt.'

'Are you sure?' Moriarty asked without stopping, he hadn't even looked up.

Sherlock glared at him, he didn't want to look like he was any more up for this, but he didn't like Moriarty undressing him either, he pulled away from him, freeing his shirt from his hands and was instantly pushed back onto the bed.

Moriarty climbed on top of him, looking predatory and angry, it seemed the longer this went on the more his happy disguise fell away, revealing the fury beneath, because he was, truly, furious 'Move up the bed.' he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Sherlock did as he was told, he didn't like the look he was getting, something about this was different, the glass of water was an obvious clue, and he didn't like it, he hadn't been convinced yet that it wasn't acid. He calmed a little as Moriarty started kissing his neck, something that he was starting to love, then his chest, moving down his body slowly. He tugged his shirt out of his trousers and finished undoing the buttons, Moriarty kissed his stomach, pausing on his left hip. He stared up at him, meeting his eyes.

Looking up at Sherlock like this he looked predatory, and he didn't look Human, his expression emotionless but dark, like he could strike at any moment 'You made me angry today, Sherlock.' Moriarty said softly and ran his tongue over his skin, he sighed and looked back up at him again 'Why did you have to answer back to me? Hm?' he ran his hands down Sherlock's sides, and it tickled, despite the fading bruises 'Why did you have to break the camera?'

'I was angry.' Sherlock breathed as a chill ran up his spine 'I like my freedom.'

'You don't have any freedom, not anymore.' Moriarty said softly, and as much as Sherlock hated to admit it he was mostly right, his freedom had disappeared when his friends lives had first been threatened 'So I'm sure you can understand why I have to do this.'

'What?' Sherlock asked, and he didn't sound confident.

'And why, if you struggle, I will kill someone close to you.' Moriarty sat back and pulled a scalpel from the inside pocket of his jacket.

Sherlock's eyes widened, a second later and he was sat up, a hand around Moriarty's wrist, keeping him from using the blade. He'd moved in a way that left their faces just inches apart.

'You move fast,' Moriarty smirked 'Relax, I've already told you, Sherlock, I'm not going to kill you.'

'I don't trust you.' Sherlock hissed, Moriarty was holding a scalpel sharp enough to kill him and he expected him to relax? He was definitely mad.

'Well you're going to have to, aren't you?' Moriarty grinned at him 'Remember what I just said, Sherlock, or do you want the next body you inspect to be Molly? Or Sally?' he leaned in against him and whispered just above his lips 'Or John?'

Sherlock tensed, he narrowed his eyes at Moriarty, trying to read him but the man was like a blank slate, he was unreadable, he knew Moriarty meant it, he didn't make empty threats.

'I'm not. Going. To kill you.' Moriarty said softly 'I have too much fun fucking you.'

Sherlock stared at him for a few moments longer, he'd given up trying to hide his emotions, the hurt in his eyes obvious, he glanced down at the scalpel, his grip loosened and he let go, slowly.

'Lay back.' Moriarty said, and he wasn't grinning anymore.

Sherlock laid back, keeping his eyes on Moriarty's the whole time.

Moriarty pulled something else from his pocket, a handful of antiseptic wipes that had been sealed, he pulled them free and ran them over Sherlock's left hip, rubbing at his skin 'Now, this going to hurt.' Moriarty said teasingly 'Try not to move, or you'll ruin it.'

'What are you doing?' Sherlock asked, trying not to sound desperate, his voice breathy. He had a horrible feeling he knew, and the thought of it terrified him because he knew exactly how painful it would be, and how permanent.

Moriarty smiled 'I did say I like seeing you bleeding.' he put the scalpel against Sherlock's left hip, and dragged it through his skin.

Sherlock grit his teeth, tearing his eyes away from Moriarty, he let out a ragged noise between his teeth as the scalpel sliced through his skin, his hands gripping the pillow beneath his head, he could feel the cold steel in his skin, and he'd just managed to get used to the pain when the blade changed direction. He made another noise, and this one sounded a lot closer to the kind of noise he'd made when Moriarty had been screwing him, and he would have blushed but his skin was already on fire with the pain. Then again, Moriarty had heard all the other sounds that Sherlock had made during sex, this wasn't much different. He cried out as the scalpel once again changed direction, he felt something dry press against the wound and rub over it, irritating it and making him squirm, he pushed himself up on his elbows after a few moments, his breathing heavy, he glared angrily at Moriarty but he didn't pull off the look, his pupils were just too small.

'Perfect.' Moriarty said, looking pleased with himself as he stared down at his handiwork 'Sherlock, could you pass me the water beside you?' he slid the scalpel back into his jacket, bloody and still razor sharp.

Sherlock sat up properly, his hip one big, throbbing, aching pain, and picked up the water on the bedside table, he handed it to Moriarty, trying to make his hand as steady as possible, and stared down at his skin.

His hip had a perfect, stylised capital M carved into it, it even had a little flick on the end. He was actually speechless.

'You might want to lay back down.' Moriarty grinned, he still hadn't looked up at him yet, still staring at what he'd done, he took the glass, moved the towel and poured the water over the wound.

Sherlock had, thankfully, laid back down in time, just before the blinding pain hit, he arched his back with it, the sound that left his throat coming very close to a scream, he relaxed back onto the bed, his breathing heavy, his eyes closed, and his hip on fire, he felt Moriarty rub his thumb against it and he whimpered beneath him, trying to move away, but his legs were pinned.

'There.' Moriarty said and finally looked up at him.

'What the Hell was that water's salt content?' Sherlock asked, having gathered his confidence, tears sticking to his eyelashes.

Moriarty leaned over him, looking predatory again 'So you could tell.'

'You want it to scar, then.' Sherlock said accusingly, his breathing was still heavy.

'Naturally.' Moriarty said, his hands braced either side of Sherlock's head, he moved down to kiss Sherlock on the lips, soft at first, but it grew into something harsh, bruising, he moved back up, letting him breathe and stared down at him.

Sherlock looked hurt, Moriarty could see the tears in his eyes, his breathing was harsh and he was still cringing because of the broken ribs, and the pressure that he was putting on them leaning on him, and on the fresh wound on his hip.

'What?' Sherlock asked angrily, he was being stared at, scrutinized like one of his own experiments, and he didn't like it.

Moriarty moved down again and brushed his lips against Sherlock's 'I'm going to make you scream again.'

'As if this wasn't enough.' Sherlock whispered 'Scarification. You're more dramatic than I am.'

'Hush,' Moriarty smiled 'You'll enjoy this next part more.' he leaned down and kissed Sherlock's neck, biting it gently 'Roll over.' he moved so that Sherlock could do as he'd asked, and was pleased when he complied.

Sherlock cringed, he held a hand over his side, separating the bloody, mutilated skin from the rough sheets, his trousers were pulled down, just enough so that they wouldn't get in the way.

Moriarty leaned down over him and kissed a line up his back, across his skin and across his shoulderblades until he reached his neck, he whispered against Sherlock's ear, his breath disturbing his raven curls 'I know you love this.' he kissed his neck again, supporting himself with his left hand.

Sherlock relaxed beneath him, his skin hot, the wound on his side stung as the sweat from his hand mixed with his blood but he tried to ignore the pain, and it was getting easier with every press of Moriarty's lips against his neck. He gasped as he felt fingers slide into him, he'd missed the sound of the lube, then, something else hidden in one of Moriarty's jacket pockets.

Moriarty bit down gently on Sherlock's shoulder as he pressed his fingers deeper, he found the right spot inside of him, and Sherlock instantly let out a moan that he couldn't have held in if he'd tried.

Sherlock's breathing was heavy again and he felt so hot pressed against the bed sheets, beneath Moriarty, the wound on his hip was rubbing against his hand and the sheets between his fingers, it felt like it was on fire but the pain had eased as soon as the endorphins had hit. He moved his hand out from beneath him, it wasn't helping at all, and grabbed the sheets as another moan escaped his lips, and he melted beneath Moriarty.

'Close...' Sherlock whispered, breathless, moaning again as Moriarty ran his fingertips over that part of him that would bring him over the edge, he felt like all it would take was a few seconds more, which was when it stopped, and he was left feeling dizzy and hot and needy.

Moriarty pulled a pillow from the bed beside his head 'Sherlock.'

Sherlock moved so that Moriarty could put the pillow beneath his hips, he wanted this now, he wanted the orgasm as much as he'd wanted the heroine days ago, he needed it. He felt Moriarty lean over him, getting the right angle, positioning himself, Sherlock felt him thrust inside, the pain was the first thing he thought of, the second wondering whether the blood would come out of the sheets, but he didn't care enough to dwell on it for too long.

Moriarty built up a rhythm above him, the fresh pain began to fade slowly, it had put a stop to his orgasm before but now it was building back up again, Moriarty was hitting that spot inside of him again, making him enjoy it, the pleasure and the pain mixed together.

Moments later and Sherlock was moaning into the pillows again and gasping, his mind swimming, only caring about the feeling that each thrust brought. He felt Moriarty kissing his shoulderblades as he had done just minutes before and it felt so good, lips against his skin, hands on his hips with a bruising strength that hurt, but also felt amazing, and it was bringing him closer. How long had they been going now...? He'd been too out of it to notice, perhaps, but now the kissing was turning into biting, and the pain was hard to ignore, it was helping him to focus but not enough to stop enjoying it.

It wasn't long later that he knew he was almost there, Moriarty hadn't yet lost his rhythm and was still driving into him hard and fast, the prepping had brought Sherlock faster and he was moaning so loud now, his breathing ragged, another few more thrusts and... the world turned to bliss, bright white and perfect, and so amazing he came close to a scream.

It was in that moment that Moriarty bit down on his shoulder, as Sherlock's orgasm washed over him, so hard that he drew blood, it rolled over Sherlock's skin and off of his shoulder, staining the ivory pillows crimson.

Moriarty was still going, he hadn't yet come but he'd lost his rhythm now, and was driving himself desperately inside of Sherlock, dragging back hard on his hips and leaving fresh bruises behind. Sherlock shivered as a new orgasm started to build with each of his thrusts, he moaned again, this one was taking such a short amount of time to build, he knew it would be powerful, he felt Moriarty come inside of him, and it hit, and he moaned so loud it hurt his throat as his hearing blanked out, and complete and utter bliss rolled over him for the second time that day. It lasted less time, this orgasm, but it had been worth it.

He felt lips press against his ear 'Did you know you could do that?'

It took Sherlock three tries before he managed a reply 'No.'

Moriarty drew back, letting Sherlock roll over onto his back he stared down at him, trying to catch his breath, pleased with himself, pleased with Sherlock, he ran his fingers over the bite on his shoulder, grinning.

Sherlock shivered, his left hip a bloody mess and his eyes wide, staring up at Moriarty 'I didn't agree to that.'

Moriarty's grin widened 'I didn't give you a choice.

Sherlock nodded 'Good point.'

-

Sherlock got home in the afternoon, once again feeling exhausted and he still hadn't slept, Moriarty had been gone when he'd got out of the shower. The sex had been amazing, just like last time, but it didn't really make up for the fact that Moriarty had carved his name into his skin and scarred him for life. He hated it, and he hated him, so why did he allow Moriarty to do all of these things to him? Why did he enjoy it so much?

He'd showered at the hotel, again like last time, and the wound on his hip had stung like Hell, he'd have to get used to the pain, it would sting for a while yet, scarifications took a long time to heal, he remembered researching about it for a case a couple of years back, he hadn't like it then, either. He felt safer at home, despite the fact that Moriarty was probably already back to watching him, his arch enemy had technically never been inside these walls. He walked to the desk and picked up the iron tablets, took one out and walked to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, John repeating like an echo in his head, Don't forget to take your iron tablets, he took it and walked into his bedroom to get changed.

He'd had to pull down one side of his pyjama bottoms off of his hip to be comfortable, he curled up on his bed, on his right, his mobile in his hand, and finally let sleep take him, he'd pushed himself too far again and he really needed to stop, he needed Moriarty to stop.

-

'Sherlock?'

He woke to the sound of John's voice, and noted, still half asleep, how pleasant that was, John's voice was soft and warm, and accepting. He sat up in bed just as John walked into his room, he stared sleepily over at his doctor, looking awake and concerned.

'Are you alright?' John asked as he walked over to the side of the bed.

'Mm.' Sherlock rubbed his face, he didn't feel alright, actually he felt pretty awful 'Fine, fine.' he stared over at John, he was just home from work, and he looked like he'd had a better day, too.

'You sound a bit bunged up, are you getting a cold?'

Sherlock sneezed violently, covering his nose.

'That's a yes then.' John said.

'I don't get sick.' Sherlock grumbled, it wasn't true, but he didn't get sick often, although considering the previous days events this was only to be expected.

'Welcome to anaemia.' John said 'Have you been taking your iron tablets?'

'Kind've.' Sherlock mumbled.

'Have you eaten?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

Sherlock had to think about that '...This morning, I think.' he frowned, his head felt like it was full of fluff, he couldn't think straight.

'Well, it's late afternoon, you should eat something.'

'Mmmno, sleep.' Sherlock said and laid back down, he hadn't had nearly enough sleep yet.

'I'll make you something.' John said and walked out.

Sherlock cuddled back up to his warm sheets and listened to the sound of John making food, and singing something he didn't recognise, his side was stinging quite badly and he had enough mind to pull his t-shirt down over his hip, he fell back to sleep in seconds.

What felt like just a few minutes later and John was talking to him again, he ignored him, trying to sleep, but it wasn't working, John was too insistent.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, sit up.'

Sherlock waved his hand in the air vaguely and stayed where he was.

John sighed and put the soup down on the bedside table 'Fine, but you drove me to this.' Sherlock heard him walked away, and walk back moments later, John pulled back the sheets, lifted Sherlock's t-shirt at the back and pressed his freezing cold hands against his skin.

Sherlock gasped and jumped up faster than he had in quite some time 'Ah!' he turned on John 'What the Hell was-'

'I made you soup.' John interrupted him 'Just eat it, and then you can go back to sleep.'

Sherlock sat up in bed and eyed the soup suspiciously 'What kind of soup is it?'

'Chicken.' John gave him a look like an adult would give to a child, a very patient look.

Sherlock continued to stare at it, he sat back against the headboard and found a cushion to put on his lap, John handed him the soup and he took it, he was actually feeling quite hungry and though he would have preferred toast soup would do, it looked like John had made it from scratch.

'You're welcome.' John said and got up to walk out.

'Thank you.' Sherlock said quietly.

John turned to look at him 'You're welcome.' he said again, and a faint smile formed on his lips.

Sherlock nodded, he hadn't noticed the smile, focused now on the soup, and picked up his spoon 'Sorry about your laptop, by the way.'

'Oh, yeah, where is it?' John asked.

'Mycroft has it.'

'Why- Mycroft?' John frowned, looking confused, he knew Mycroft could be a hassle but he was wondering why he would take away his laptop, he didn't know about the incident.

'I hacked into the British Government Defence Mainframe.' Sherlock said innocently 'He took umbrage with that...'

John just stared at him, open mouthed 'Why did you hack it...?'

'He was annoying me.' Sherlock said quietly as he inspected his first spoonful of soup.

John kept staring at him.

'Oh, and don't bother buying a new laptop, we don't have any internet anyway.' Sherlock said 'There's an internet café around the corner if you want to write in your blog.'

'...You're actually eight, aren't you?' John asked 'You're a genius child, you turned eight but your mind never got past that age, did it?'

Sherlock frowned at him, none of that sentence had made sense, or maybe his head was just too full of fluff to have understood. That was worrying.

John frowned back 'There's blood on your t-shirt.'

'Oh, yeah, I grazed it when I fell down the stairs.' Sherlock said 'I thought it was okay but it must have rubbed against my sheets.' he shrugged, lying was like breathing for him and though John could usually see through him this lie was very plausible.

'I still can't believe it.' John said.

'What?'

'You.'

'Me.'

'Fell down the stairs.'

'Yes.'

'How?' John asked 'You're like a giraffe.'

'A giraffe.' Sherlock raised an eyebrow, a giraffe? How on Earth was he like a giraffe?

'Graceful.' John added.

'How do people keep noticing this?' Sherlock asked no one in particular 'Well I fell down the stairs anyway.' he took his first mouthful of soup and was surprised at how good it was, he hadn't realised his kitchen had pepper in it, when had John bought that?

'Are you alright?'

'Fine, just, grazed myself, got some bruises, as you saw.' Sherlock shrugged, and it actually made him cringe, he kept forgetting about his ribs 'Stop asking, I'm fine.' he sneezed.

'Eat your soup, sleep, get better.' John instructed him 'If you do anything else I'm putting you under house arrest.'

'You're a doctor, not a policeman.' Sherlock pointed out, as if John had forgotten.

'I'll call Lestrade.' John said warningly and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock frowned 'Touché.'

-

When Sherlock woke up again he was still feeling tired but a little more awake, unfortunately he couldn't breathe through his nose and his throat was scratchy. What a way to start a day, another day full of sniffing and sneezing and feeling awful, he looked sullen as he climbed out of bed and walked into the living room.

It had finally stopped raining at least, morning sunlight streamed through the windows, cutting through the few clouds in the sky and hitting the city, he wondered if he'd slept through the afternoon and the night, he sniffed as his nose cleared and walked to the sofa, he jumped when he noticed John in the kitchen, standing beside the kettle and looking healthy and awake, he was instantly jealous of his physical state.

'Tea?' John called.

Sherlock frowned and checked the clock on the wall, it was eight thirty already, why was John still here? 'You're going to be late for work.' he said, pronouncing a d instead of the g, it bothered him a great deal.

'I took the day off.' John said, and pulled some toast out of the toaster.

Sherlock frowned, John never missed work and they needed the money, didn’t they? Or maybe Sarah would count it as a sick day and he'd be paid anyway, but still, why would he stay? 'Why?'

'So I could look after an eight year old with a cold.'

Sherlock scowled at him 'Don't be ridiculous.' he was not an eight year old and it wasn't even a bad cold, he hadn't collapsed yet.

'Sherlock, you're very good at not eating enough, not sleeping enough and running about in the cold.' John said as he buttered the toast 'I'm here to make sure you don't do any of those things, the faster you recover the faster you can go back to work.'

'But what about-'

'I've called Lestrade.' John said 'I told him you're ill, and that you can't be called.'

'But work-'

'Then I called Mycroft and told him you were ill, and asked him not to call you.'

'You called Mycroft?' Sherlock asked 'On purpose?' Sherlock only called Mycroft if there was an emergency, never for any other reason, his brother was insufferable, and John had called him voluntarily... for him.

'On purpose.' John said 'It wasn't fun.'

'I bet.' Sherlock said as he dropped down into the couch, he understood that all too well, he'd spent enough time talking to Mycroft recently, it was too much.

John put a plate of toast on his lap and handed him a cup of tea 'Eat, drink, read a book or something.' he smiled at him, a nice, warm, very John smile.

Sherlock's head was spinning, this was so nice, so kind, he wasn't used to this, he'd never had a... a friend do this for him. He'd never had a friend 'You really don't have to-'

'Yes I do.' John said and walked back into the kitchen, so matter of fact, but Sherlock didn't understand why, maybe it was a friend thing? He didn't know, and he decided not to ask, something about the mouth of a gift horse flitted through his mind.

Sherlock sipped his tea, it was really good, but this was strange and in no way relaxing, he wasn't used to being looked after, sure Mrs. Hudson made him breakfast and tea sometimes but three meals a day? But it was John, and it was comforting and safe, and kind, so... not so bad.

'And don't shoot the toaster again.' John added 'I had to go out and buy a new one.'

Ah, he'd forgotten about that, he'd thought John would have been angrier, maybe being sick had numbed the anger some, Sherlock mumbled a sorry around his toast.

-

'Sherlock, wake up.'

'Mmno.'

'Sherlock.'

Sherlock opened his eyes and stared up sleepily, his hand was grabbed and he was yanked quite unceremoniously off of the sofa. God, when had he fallen asleep? He'd just been reading something by Poe... Oh, it was on the floor. He focused a little, waking just enough to realise that John was holding his hand, and it was nice, he liked it, and just as he realised this John let go.

'Sleep in your bed.' John said 'You'll be more comfortable.'

Sherlock grumbled something about comfortable sofas and wandered into his room, he'd been absolutely fine where he'd been, he hadn't needed to move, but then maybe it had been worth it to feel John's hand wrapped around his, warm and rough and reassuring. He flopped down onto the bed and curled up under his sheets, trying to get back to sleep.

John followed him in a few minutes later 'Are you having difficulty breathing through your nose?'

Sherlock was just adding to the stack of four pillows that he had piled up, he looked over at John, he would know, he was a doctor '...Yes.'

John walked over to him and handed him a jar of Vicks 'Put some of this under your nose.'

Sherlock took it and inspected it, he unscrewed the top, leaned in and inhaled, and coughed, a lot 'What is this?' he'd never come across this before, it was such a strong smell, but his nose already felt clearer.

'Something to clear your nose.' John said and walked back out 'Lunch is in a few hours.'

'Lunch.' Sherlock sighed, and rubbed some of the minty smelling stuff under his nose 'I'm going to put on weight...' Ugh, he'd start to look like Mycroft if he did that, but John was currently the one in charge and he got the feeling he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

He laid back down, un-stacking his pillows happily and curled back up, a few minutes later and his breathing had returned to normal, his nose was cleared, he could sleep...

-

'-Lock? Sherlock?'

Sherlock sat up and rubbed his eyes, his vision bleary 'Uh?' it wasn't his best reply, but he'd been fast asleep.

'Lunch.' John said, standing by the side of the bed and looking stern.

Sherlock sighed a heavy sigh 'I'm not hungry.' it wasn't true, he was just too tired to get up. Unfortunately, once again John knew better.

John gave him a dark look 'You're a bad liar, now come on.'

'I am an excellent liar.' but only when the person he was lying to didn't know him as well as John, or Mycroft.

'Come on.' John called 'Don't make me take your sheets away.'

'John.' Sherlock said his name in a warning tone, he'd do something to John if he tried to take the sheets away, he wasn't sure what yet but he knew it wouldn't be good.

'If you had a teddy bear I would have threatened that instead.' John said 'As it turns out not all eight year olds have teddy bears.'

Sherlock glared up at him, which he found odd because he was usually glaring down at him 'I'm not hungry.'

'I don't care.' John said, glaring back and walked out of Sherlock's bedroom and back towards the kitchen.

Sherlock grumbled and climbed out of his bed, this was harassment, clearly, but he knew John was right... The faster he got better the sooner he could get back to work, and the key to a speedy recovery was everything John was submitting him to.

'Iron tablet.' John called back as Sherlock walked into the livingroom.

Yes, everything.

-

Late afternoon found Sherlock laying on the sofa but not asleep, holding the Edgar Allan Poe book above his head and reading poems, his mobile went off somewhere in his bedroom and he glanced at John, asking him without words to retrieve it for him.

John got up to fetch it as Sherlock put the book down on his chest, he was surprised the doctor hadn't said any more about the blood on his t-shirt, but it had remained covered all day and he was hoping that John had believed him about it being a graze and nothing more. Whatever John had decided, he hadn't pressed the matter, which was better for the both of them, he didn't know how he would explain the M carved into his skin if John had noticed it, without mentioning Moriarty.

John walked back into the livingroom and handed Sherlock his mobile, he checked the text and wasn't surprised to see who it was from, his favourite psychopath.

'Tap tap. M.'

'What do you want? SH.' he was sure Moriarty was simply trying to aggravate him by pretending to be the raven from the poem he'd just been reading, he'd been holding the book upside down, where the Hell was the camera? He wanted to go looking, but he knew it was against the rules.

'What do I usually want? M.'

'I'm under house arrest, as you can see. SH.' If he tried to leave now John would probably tie him down to something.

'Get well soon, sexy. M.'

Sherlock stared, eyebrows high, at his mobile and said aloud 'Huh.'

'What?' John asked, looking up from his newspaper.

'Nothing.' Sherlock said 'Absolutely nothing.' he frowned, Moriarty didn't care about him, he knew that already, he hadn't even had to guess, but Moriarty had already admitted he enjoyed fucking him, well, fair enough but that didn't have to be a permanent thing seeing as they were enemies. No, so Moriarty could kill him at any moment, like he'd threatened, like he'd said he would, except that so far he hadn't. He hadn't, because he'd said... I have too much fun fucking you...

And now he'd marked him, Moriarty had marked him... Like putting a bell on a cat, like writing your name in a book, you only marked those things that you intended... to... keep... His eyes were wide, he needed to stay calm, John was sitting close by and he couldn't give anything away. If Moriarty truly intended to keep him then what was the next step? He wouldn't keep sending a car to pick him up, to take him to a hotel for a few hours, he would no doubt want something more permanent, easier... and this scared him the most.

Or was this simply a ploy to lull him into a false sense of security? To make him think he was safe from death, until Moriarty pulled the trigger? He steepled his fingers together beneath his chin, all of these questions were disturbing him greatly, he needed an answer but he couldn't get one without asking or without confronting Moriarty, and both were stupid ideas, dangerous, and above all embarrassing, he wouldn't ask, he'd deduce as much as he could and hope that the answer was there somewhere.

'Sherlock? Are you alright?' John asked, looking up from his newspaper again.

'What? Yes, fine.' Sherlock picked up his book and stood 'I think I'll read in my bedroom.'

'Don't go back to sleep.' John said 'It won't be long till I start dinner.'

'I'm not used to eating three meals a day.' Sherlock said, giving him an uncomfortable look, he didn't like eating so often, it wasn't necessary.

'I couldn't tell.' John said quietly, raising the newspaper back up and concentrating on the world news.

Sherlock walked into his room and closed the door, he leaned up against it, feeling dizzy, he hated being sick, it always left him feeling weak and light headed, leaving him unable to focus. He walked to the bed and sat down, whatever Moriarty was doing he was good, he couldn't figure him out, as hard as he was trying... it was like a game of chess and Moriarty had thought eight moves ahead. Sherlock was feeling slow, his head was full of cotton wool and he hated it, he crawled onto his mattress and laid down on his back, he ran his hand over the cut on his hip, making it sting, and closed his eyes, thinking back to his last meeting with Moriarty, trying to glean any information he could from his memories.

This was a mystery that he desperately needed to solve.

-

Sherlock crawled out of bed in the morning with a headache, his nose felt stuffy, it felt as though his head was full of even more cotton wool than the previous day, and he felt like crap. He looked around the apartment, it looked as though John wasn't here, or maybe he hadn't woken up yet, he stared out of the window to try to judge the time but the light hurt his eyes too much and he looked away, giving up, he didn't need to rely on John, wherever he was. He went back into his room, grabbed some clean pyjama trousers and a t-shirt and walked into the bathroom.

Five minutes later and Sherlock was stood under the shower and feeling better for it, his nose cleared and his muscles relaxed, he washed his hair, his body, and then sat down on the floor of the shower, he leaned back against the tiles and let his thoughts take over, relaxing completely under the hot water and the warm air around him.

What was he going to do about Moriarty?

As much as Sherlock hated to admit it... he enjoyed everything Moriarty did to him, he loved the danger of it, the excitement, and some part of him enjoyed the pain and he knew that there was something dreadfully wrong with that, that he actually enjoyed it, but he couldn't help it, Moriarty gave him bliss, the pain was just part of the payment. Sherlock knew what this made him, he'd done enough research for cases, he knew, but he wouldn't admit it to himself. He ran his fingers gently over the M carved into the skin on his hip, he'd pulled some of the scab off with his t-shirt and it stung as the water hit it, but he was already getting used to the pain, it reminded him of Moriarty, of that moment on the bed when he'd scarred him, agony followed by bliss.

But as much as he enjoyed it all Sherlock needed it to end, he hated the control Moriarty had over him, too much control, over his friends, over his family, and over him, he couldn't stand it. Sherlock hated being caged, he hated having his freedom taken from him, he'd had it his whole adolescent life and he wasn't about to let someone take it away from him again, he'd sworn to himself when he'd been younger, never again, but right now he didn't have a choice, he didn't have a way of fighting this, he couldn't simply run away like last time, he could try but he knew he wouldn't get far.

So what was he supposed to do...?

He hated this, but he actually needed help, and the one person who was able to help him was the one person he hated the most. Brilliant. Well, at least now he had a plan.

-

It was three days later, Sherlock had finally gotten over his cold and John had gone back to work, the weather had also picked up, though it was still blisteringly cold the sun had come out, melting much of the ice that was laying about. Moriarty hadn't bothered Sherlock since he'd been ill and he appreciated the space, he'd actually managed to focus on work and cases, and was making some money again.

Sherlock was just leaving a crime scene when his mobile bleeped, he'd just reached the street after walking out of the house that the body had been found in, he started off down the road as he stared down at his mobile, curious, and was surprised to find it was from Moriarty, he didn't usually text him outside of his apartment, strange.

'I hope you don't have any plans for this evening. M.'

Sherlock looked up, and as he expected there was a black car sat at the side of the road, lights on, just waiting for him, this wasn't good, he actually had work to do, he needed to go to Barts and run some blood samples, talk to a couple of witnesses at the station and bother John about a time of death, he was too busy for this. He text back immediately 'Actually I do, I have work to do. SH.'

'What a pity. Get in Sherlock, you look like you could use a break. M.'

'I would hardly call spending time with you a break.' Sherlock said aloud and walked to the car, knowing he had no other choice, he climbed in, closed the door and leaned back, wondering what hotel would be their next. His mind was still on the case he was currently on, when he had a case it was difficult to focus on much else, which was probably why eating and sleeping went out the window, he almost didn't notice when the car stopped forty five minutes later outside a very nice looking hotel.

He climbed out of the shiny black Mercedes and walked into the hotel, five stars by the looks of it, very comfy, very smart, Hell on Earth to hire out, he guessed. He took the key from reception and walked up the stairs, a lot calmer than the first time he'd done this... he'd let his guard down and he hadn't even noticed, but when the man was threatening the lives of his friends and he'd left his gun at home because he'd come straight from a crime scene, it couldn't really be helped, could it?

The hallway was a very nice shade of red, with a dark blue border delicately painted in whirls and elegant curves, the furniture was all silk, matching and beautiful, and little chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Personally, he thought it was too much, and it reminded him of home.

He unlocked one of the bedroom doors on the fourth floor and walked inside, he closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, Moriarty was already leaning back on the bed, in another very sharp Italian suit without the jacket, waiting for him.

The room was cream, with that same dark blue border painted around the walls, the room was huge, bigger than his livingroom, the thick carpet a navy blue, with patterned cream and blue furniture to match, and of course the cushions matched the curtains, a very eighteenth century pattern, elegant and regal, framing the floor to ceiling windows. The bed was magnificent, a deep, dark mahogany four poster with beautiful blue silk sheets and pillows everywhere, the mahogany wardrobe beside it matched perfectly, as did the bedside tables either side of the bed. There was a door to the right of it leading into an en suit, no doubt just as glorious as the room, he didn't doubt. He did like five star hotels, but not when they reminded him this much of home, and especially when Moriarty was sat in the middle of it all giving him one of those predatory looks he was so fond of.

'You called.' Sherlock said simply, still leaned back against the door and wondering what he'd done to earn this visit, he hadn't pissed Moriarty off lately, unless you counted solving crimes but that couldn't be it, it was only expected of him, or maybe that was the problem.

'I texted.' Moriarty corrected him.

Sherlock sighed, he wanted to know why he was here 'Well?'

'You should have done this enough times by now to know what to do.' Moriarty said, smiling as if he wasn't a criminal mastermind and Sherlock wasn't his enemy, and he hadn't just trapped the detective in a hotel room.

Sherlock walked over to him, pulling his scarf off as he did, another room that was too warm, it made him want to open a window but he thought better of it 'I'm surprised you're not bored of me yet.'

'You don't want me to get bored of you, Sherlock.' Moriarty smiled tauntingly and grinned at him from the bed.

Sherlock cringed 'No, I don't.' it was the last thing he wanted, because if Moriarty became bored of him then he'd have no use for him, and Sherlock would once again simply become an object in his way, one that could easily be removed. If Moriarty stopped enjoying the sex, and the genius, then Sherlock would be killed without a second thought, that was the way this worked, Moriarty didn't give a damn about him just about what Sherlock could give him, a great sense of power over ones adversary and a good fuck. He stopped in front of Moriarty, shrugging out of his coat and letting it drop on the floor, he did the same with his jacket, glancing around the room at the beautiful décor.

'Lucky for you you're far too interesting.' Moriarty pulled Sherlock's shirt out of his trousers and ran his thumb over the healing wound on his hip, it had scabbed over but it was still sore and red, and bleeding in parts where it had rubbed against Sherlock’s trousers 'I'm glad you're feeling better.'

'Don't pretend to care.' Sherlock said, staring down at him.

'Oh alright.' Moriarty said and rubbed his thumb roughly over the wound, rubbing away some of the scabs, it bled instantly.

Sherlock stepped back out of his reach without thinking, Moriarty grabbed his belt and yanked him forward, he stumbled and ended up on his knees at Moriarty's feet.

'That's better.'

Sherlock stared over at the window, he hated having choices taken away from him, he hated this. He felt fingers unbuttoning his shirt and didn't try to stop Moriarty, he'd done this before enough times to know not to try to stop him, he knew the consequences if he did.

'Stop looking so forlorn.' Moriarty said 'When I know you enjoy it.'

Sherlock bit the inside of his bottom lip, Moriarty was just as clever as he was, he could read him just as easily as Sherlock could read people.

'I do love forcing all of those beautiful noises from your mouth.' Moriarty said as he pulled Sherlock's shirt off 'It's such an amazing feeling, having you, my enemy, pinned beneath me. Fucking you... Sherlock, having you at my mercy is so perfect.'

'Being at your mercy...' Sherlock whispered, staring out of the window. Being at his mercy was perfect, and though he hated it, for some strange reason he craved it, yearned for it, the pleasure and the pain, and the fear of being out of his depth because he'd never been this out of his depth this badly, it was a completely new feeling and it terrified and thrilled him all at the same time. He was addicted, and he realised then, this had been Moriarty's intention from the beginning.

Moriarty grinned triumphantly, he took Sherlock's hand and pulled him easily up onto the bed, he watched him lay on his back, looking melancholy and straddled him, sitting on his thighs 'Have you only just figured it out, Sherlock?'

Sherlock stared up at him, looking confused, his mind seemed to be spiralling with this new revelation, it was making it hard to focus on the things around him. This had always been Moriarty's plan, his trap, and Sherlock had fallen right into it head first.

'You're a masochist, Sherlock' he touched Sherlock's chest, over his heart, and then touched his own chest 'And I'm a sadist.' he smirked down at him 'I told you we were meant to be together.'

'If only you weren't threatening to kill my friends, or me, constantly.' Sherlock breathed 'I could get along with you simply threatening to hurt me, but no, you have to trap me.'

'I have to keep myself safe too, you know.' Moriarty said softly and started kissing Sherlock's neck, his hands either side of Sherlock's head on the pillows, supporting him easily.

Sherlock tipped his head back on the pillows so Moriarty could get to his neck easier, he was relaxing again beneath him, it was just something about having his neck kissed, it was exactly what he needed 'That's true, and if you hadn't threatened them all I would have turned you over to the police already.'

Moriarty's thumb once again found Sherlock's injured hip, he rubbed it against the wound, opening it up again and making it bleed, ensuring that it would scar perfectly 'Exactly.' he didn't care that it was covering his shirt in blood, he had enough money to replace it, and besides it was Sherlock's blood, anyone else's and it would have been a problem 'If I stopped threatening them all now, would you come here anyway?' he asked 'Just for me?' he breathed a hot line against his neck and kissed his skin again.

Sherlock bucked beneath him, already hard, his breathing heavy, he wasn't going to reply to the question, he wouldn't give Moriarty the satisfaction, and besides, he had a question of his own 'How do you have this effect on me...?'

'I'm just that good.' Moriarty said softly, grinning as he moved down to bite Sherlock's nipple.

Sherlock moaned beneath him 'No, that's not it...' he breathed, his skin was burning hot, his hands on Moriarty's shirt cuffs, when had he moved...? And why was he holding onto him? He didn't get a chance to figure it out or move.

'Ouch.' Moriarty grinned and bit down so hard he drew blood.

This time Sherlock cried out, arching his back as Moriarty continued to kiss a line down his torso, he loved this, every moment, it just felt so good, but that wasn't the only thing 'It's not just what you do...' he breathed.

'You say you hate that I have so much power over you, but if I didn't you wouldn't enjoy this as much...' Moriarty whispered against his skin, and Sherlock knew it was true, it was the power that Moriarty held over him that added to it all, the danger of it thrilled him.

Sherlock gasped as Moriarty's tongue found his bloody hip 'It's not fair.' he cringed, the wound stung badly and was being made worse, but his skin was still on fire, and he was still enjoying it.

'Nothing in life is fair.' Moriarty shrugged, looking up at him 'If I was anyone else you wouldn't like me as much.'

Sherlock frowned, it couldn't be right, he was capable of having a healthy relationship 'That's not...'

'You need someone like me, Sherlock. I'm just as smart as you, just as fast, just as cunning,' Moriarty said as he rubbed his thumb against the bloody M carved into Sherlock's hip 'But I am dangerous, and scary, and I like to hurt you.' he rested his chin on Sherlock's thigh and stared up at him 'Anyone else and you would get bored. It would be too mundane.'

Sherlock relaxed on the bed and hoped to God this wasn't true, that what Moriarty was saying was wrong, that it was all a lie to get him to stay close, but something in the back of his mind told him it was true and it scared him. He'd known for a long time that he had a destructive nature, Mycroft had told him so, but he'd only really been destructive to himself. Now he had someone who was more than happy to hurt him, and he wasn't complaining much about it... He enjoyed it. Maybe that was it, maybe he needed someone who would hurt him, maybe that was why no one else had ever interested him enough. There was one other person, who he knew was quite dangerous...

Moriarty unzipped Sherlock's trousers, and Sherlock closed his eyes, he knew what was coming next, a series of sucking, and biting, and him screaming the name of the man who wanted him dead, but enjoyed toying with him enough to let him live. He hated it, and he couldn't get enough of it.

'Wait.' Sherlock breathed, pushing himself up and leaning back on his arms.

Moriarty looked up at him, he leaned his head on his hand lazily 'Hmm?'

'Why do you always get to be in control?' Sherlock demanded, and tried not to sound like he'd just been breathing so heavily it had made him feel dizzy.

Moriarty smiled wide 'What are you suggesting?'

Sherlock bit down on his injured lip, it stung but it helped him to concentrate 'You lay down.'

'I don't think you're strong enough to take me, Sherlock.' Moriarty grinned, he could go from looking happy to looking threatening in the blink of an eye, it was inhuman.

'That wasn't what I was suggesting.' Sherlock replied, he needed to get that threatening look off of Moriarty's face, it put him on edge.

Moriarty shrugged, he climbed off of Sherlock and laid down on the bed, taking his place on the dark blue sheets as Sherlock climbed on top and straddled him, he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing but he wanted to be the one in control, for once.

Sherlock removed his trousers with some difficulty, Moriarty had captured his left hand and was kissing and biting his fingers, leaving bruises behind, watching him like a hawk, the weight of his eyes was quite incredible. He unzipped Moriarty's trousers, his breathing heavy, his whole body hot, he'd never done this before and he wasn't entirely sure he could.

'Do you want some help?' Moriarty said softly as he kissed the palm of Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock looked up at him, looking unsure of himself, a little like a deer caught in headlights. Moriarty let go of Sherlock's hand and sat up, he reached back under the pillow and pulled out a tube of lube, he squeezed some out onto the fingers on his right hand, put the lid back on and threw it onto the floor, when he looked back up Sherlock was blushing a great amount, and it made Moriarty grin.

'Move back.' Moriarty said, the look in his eyes was a dark one, and it made Sherlock's eyes widen slightly, he wasn't about to disagree with him.

Sherlock moved back onto Moriarty's thighs with a shiver of excitement, he'd been trying to keep his body from betraying him but after the dark blush it had been a losing battle and it had become too obvious to hide, he put his hands on Moriarty's shoulders as Moriarty slid his right hand beneath him, and leaned on his left, supporting his weight.

Moriarty leaned in and kissed Sherlock's neck as he slid two of his fingers up into him, and heard the tell tale gasp that he loved to hear come from Sherlock's lips, it made him grin against his skin as he worked to open him up, to make him ready for the sex.

Sherlock moaned as Moriarty found the right spot inside of him and ran his fingertips over it, he gripped his shoulders tight, his breathing already ragged, and to make everything worse, or better, his neck was being kissed, it was completely perfect, all apart from the obvious. It was James Moriarty.

But despite that Sherlock couldn't stop the pleasure rolling through him, it just felt too good, too perfect, he could feel himself getting closer and closer to his orgasm, and this time he didn't want to wait, it had been three days since he'd last seen Moriarty, he wanted it more than he had before. He didn't understand, before Moriarty he hadn't needed it, he'd never even been interested in it, and now... now he couldn't get enough.

Sherlock felt Moriarty pulling his fingers free, and it was his body and not his brain that had him saying 'Don't!' he felt Moriarty grin against his skin and instantly felt stupid for speaking, but he had stopped him.

'What is it worth?' Moriarty breathed against his neck, and slid his fingers back up, bringing about another gasp from Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't have an answer, what was it worth? Not anyone's life, maybe a certain amount of pain on his behalf, but he didn't know what to say, and again he felt like Moriarty was making him feel like an idiot on purpose. He felt Moriarty shift his weight, a finger under his chin lifting his head up, and he was suddenly staring into the eyes of the world's only consulting criminal. Of course he looked terrifying, and full of glee.

'How about,' Moriarty said softly 'If I do this, you owe me a favour?'

'It's not worth it.' Sherlock whispered.

'Isn't it?' Moriarty asked, and moved his fingers slightly. The wave of pleasure that rolled through Sherlock forced his eyes closed, and a moan to slip from his lips, when he opened his eyes again Moriarty looked beyond pleased.

'What kind of a favour?' Sherlock asked, he wanted this now, dammit.

'If I ask you a question, you have to answer honestly.' Moriarty said, and his expression darkened, leaving him looking inhuman again, and scary as Hell. Sherlock was beginning to realise this was his Do what I say or I hurt you look, he gave him a nod, hoping it would be enough, and apparently it was.

A second later and Moriarty's lips were back at his neck, his fingers rubbing against just the right place inside of him, his orgasm building into something strong and touchable and leaving him moaning and gasping and breathing so heavily he was feeling dizzy again.

Just minutes later and he knew he was just a few seconds away from his orgasm, it hit, and the world around him exploded into bright white as the ecstasy rolled over him and through him, the room spun, and the only sound he could hear was his own voice, moaning loud as Moriarty bit down on his ear and drew blood.

When reality finally came screaming back Moriarty was staring into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together so close he was out of focus.

'You owe me a favour,' Moriarty said quietly 'Was it worth it?'

'We'll see.' Sherlock whispered back, trying to catch his breath.

Moriarty smirked 'I think you're ready.'

Sherlock moved back up as Moriarty laid back down on the sheets, against the pillows. He had been waiting for this, as much as he might have wanted it, and as much as he was ready for it he'd never done this before, and not just the position... being the one in charge of the sex between the two of them... it was daunting to say the least 'I can't.'

'Can't or won't?' Moriarty asked him with a smile.

Sherlock mustered a glare and aimed it in Moriarty's direction, but he did have a point.

'Try.'

Sherlock held Moriarty's ready cock to his entrance, he eased down slightly but despite the prepping it still hurt, it made him stop and pull back. Moriarty had a hold of his left hand again, and he didn't think it was a particularly good sign.

'You're not trying hard enough.' Moriarty said and set his teeth against Sherlock's wrist 'I wonder how many of your fingers I would have to break before you stopped being able to play your violin...?'

If he'd needed an incentive that was it, Sherlock eased down against Moriarty, spearing himself, gasping through the pain, he felt hands on his hips, and then Moriarty thrust up into him, and the world disappeared around him for a moment, the room growing dark.

'-Lock. Sherlock.'

He looked up, he was laying on Moriarty's chest, he frowned, unsure how he'd got here, hadn't he just been sitting up...?

'You blacked out.' Moriarty said, looking incredibly pleased with himself 'You're so dramatic.'

'Speak for yourself.' Sherlock breathed, how long had he been out for, seconds? Long enough to collapse, good Lord he felt pathetic.

Moriarty grinned at him 'Sit up and finish this, you wanted it.'

Sherlock pushed himself up, just having Moriarty inside him made his breathing heavy as the excitement of it all ran through him, he moved up, above him, and back down, and knew seconds later that his thighs were going to be killing him later, this would leave him aching for days. He built up a steady rhythm and watched Moriarty relax beneath him, this is what he usually missed, because he usually had his eyes closed, caught up in the moment, but now in this position he had to focus, because he was the one in control.

Moriarty's hands left his hips, creeping up under his shirt and tugging at the buttons to bare his torso, and all of that snow white skin, he ran his hands down his sides, over the fading bruises, making Sherlock shiver above him. Sherlock started to moan, minutes in and it already felt so good, his eyes closed, and he imagined someone different beneath him, driving into him, steady hands, sandy grey hair.

He was forced to open his eyes as Moriarty moved beneath him, he had sat up and wrapped an arm around him, one hand clasped against his shoulderblades, the other arm bracing himself on the bed as he thrust up into him.

Sherlock arched his back and melted above him, Moriarty did it again, in time with his own movements, and it was enough to start his orgasm building, Moriarty was deep inside him, deeper than he'd ever been before and driving up into him, it left him breathless.

He stared down at Moriarty, into his huge brown eyes like dark pools, and even now it felt like Moriarty was trying to work him out, trying to discover what was driving him. He must have known Sherlock was trying to do the same to him and it wasn't surprising, even now they were trying to discover everything about one another, but as usual Moriarty was like a blank wall, impossible to read, and Sherlock knew he did it on purpose so that he couldn't deduce him no matter how hard he tried.

What felt like seconds passed, Sherlock moaned as his second orgasm washed over him, through him, and the world came crashing down, pain ripped through his back and down, and even lost to bliss he knew that Moriarty had dragged his nails through his skin. When all of the bliss faded he was left, staring into those deep eyes, blood rolling down his back, aching and stinging, and in pain like every other time, and wondering why Moriarty didn't just kill him, get him out of the way, and rule the world on his own.

It was a stupid thought, but Moriarty left him feeling stupid, he hated it.

'Maybe I'll have to let you take control more often.' Moriarty grinned at him, his breathing heavy.

Sherlock's bowed his head, his breathing was still ragged, two orgasms in a row tended to leave him breathless and he didn't have an answer for Moriarty.

'I've thought of a question.' Moriarty whispered against his ear.

Sherlock looked up into his eyes, looking tired and spent 'Oh?' he moved back off of him, sitting once again on his thighs, his whole body felt heavy, he was feeling so lazy.

'How do you feel,' he paused, staring into Sherlock's green gray eyes 'About this?'

Sherlock frowned, and then realised exactly what Moriarty was asking him, he was asking not just about the sex, but about everything, about the pain and the pleasure, the horrible mixed up feelings he was having and what he thought about them, and suddenly the first orgasm hadn't seemed that great.

After a few moments of silence Moriarty gave Sherlock one of those looks, he ran his hand across Sherlock's shoulderblades, through the welts on his back that his nails had left behind, making them sting.

Sherlock cringed, Moriarty was staring at him, unblinking, the look in his eyes was threatening 'You know I hate you.'

Moriarty inclined his head slightly, as if it were obvious. It was, and he wanted to point out that it was obvious, so Sherlock continued.

Sherlock stared over at the floor, feeling foolish 'You know already, I fell for your little plan.'

'Just because I know doesn't mean I don't want to hear you say it.' Moriarty said in a sing song voice, he put another finger under Sherlock's chin and turned him back to face him.

'I can't.' Sherlock breathed.

'I'm sure you can,' Moriarty said 'For your friends' sake?'

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and whispered 'I'm addicted to you.'

'Always the addict.' Moriarty whispered in reply, brushing the raven curls out of Sherlock's eyes 'Mm, perfect.' he smiled 'I think you're almost ready.'

'For what?' Sherlock frowned.

Moriarty grinned wickedly at him 'You mean you haven't worked it out yet?'

Sherlock drew back, he had an idea, he'd guessed days ago what would come next but he'd tried to ignore it, tried to put it at the back of his mind.

'So you have.' Moriarty looked ridiculously happy 'And you haven't tried to run away, so you know, and you've resigned yourself to your fate, excellent.'

Sherlock sighed and rested his head on Moriarty's shoulder, this was just getting worse and worse, whenever he tried to get away, whenever he thought Moriarty had left him be, he took him back, and it was about to get so much worse 'I want to be free of you.'

'You should know, we can't all get what we wish for...'

Contiued~