[fic] Caledonian Road Chapter Five; NC-17; Sherlock/John
Title: Caledonian Road (5/?)
Author: omen1x2
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: Sherlock/John, multiple OCs/Sherlock
Disclaimer: Like all fanfic writers, I twist reality to please me. Brit-picked by my very dear friend kdelioncourt. Any remaining issues are entirely my fault and not hers.
Summary: John goes to prison for burglary, and meets a fascinating, broken genius. He wants nothing more than to just keep to himself for the entirety of his sentence, but something about this man gets under his skin.
Warnings: Mentions of non-con, sexual and physical abuse, may have inaccurate info
Caledonian Road
By Omen
Chapter Five
Sherlock stalked around the cell, a captive tiger railing at his chains or an overgrown bat fluttering nervously.
“It’s been three days.”
John gave a loud, put-upon sigh and set his book in his lap. “Really, Sherlock, I am reading.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve been watching me move. Likely trying to pretend you aren’t as fascinated by my backside as everyone else.”
“What?! No!” John’s cheeks were a brilliant shade of red, and the color was bleeding down his neck. “You’re just distracting, is all! How am I supposed to read in all this commotion?”
Sherlock continued as if John hadn’t spoken. “And truly, John, I already made it fairly clear that you can have sex whenever you like. These ridiculous morals of yours are rather misplaced in prison.”
Staring down at the book he had acquired the previous day in the library and absolutely not seeing it, John wondered how the conversation had taken such an unexpected turn. “Is that what you’re complaining about? That you haven’t had sex in three days? Look, if you’re really that desperate for it that you’d be willing to… to… Well, don’t let me stop you!”
Sherlock’s glance was utterly scathing. John wondered if his skin might blister from the force of it. “John, I’m talking about them. Three days since the last skirmish, and nothing. Nothing at all. You’ve upset the order of things, and they should be trying to reestablish the new pecking order, or trying to carry out the best plots their mediocre minds will allow, but nothing. Not in three days.”
John shrugged, stiff and awkward. He and Sherlock had never directly mentioned John’s choice to interfere before, although he had suspected that Sherlock knew. However, it seemed to upset their rather tenuous balance to change that. “Perhaps they just don’t think it’s worth the bother?”
“What, John?” Sherlock drawled. “Really, that is an absolutely horrible way to try to get into anyone’s pants, by suggesting they aren’t worth the bother of effort.” Despite his words, Sherlock seemed amused rather than anything. His eyes were gleaming with suppressed mirth, and his lips twitched slightly.
“Well, as you made it abundantly clear,” John replied, echoing Sherlock’s tone, “You wouldn’t put up much of a fight anyway. Last I checked, you were more than willing to climb into my lap with no clothes on.”
“Are you suggesting something, John?”
“Well, you’re obviously gagging for it,” John gave another exaggerated sigh. “It really is quite difficult to be such a sex magnet. Sadly, I have no interest in you.”
“That is the most absurd lie I’ve ever heard.”
Suddenly, there was a loud clang outside their cell. John jumped and Sherlock didn’t as they both turned to look towards the door.
“Watson, ya’ve gawt a visitor, mate.” The guard fussed with his keys for a moment, frowning, before picking the right one and opening the cell with a triumphant smile.
John groaned. He rarely wanted to see his sister at even the best of times, but now? He’d rather hoped she wouldn’t want anything to do with him while he was in prison, but apparently her guilt had outweighed her revulsion. Biting his lip as he slowly stood, he tentatively asked, “Do you think you might tell her to just come back later? Say I’m in the loo or something.”
“Whatchoo talkin’ about, mate? Ya’ve got yer own, no need to go to th’ bogs. ’Sides, yer visitor’s a bloke.”
“I… see.” John frowned. He didn’t see. Who on earth would visit him other than Harry? Harry’s lawyer? Well, if he somehow managed to wangle a better deal, he’d have none of it. “All right, then. Lead the way, please.”
Sherlock snorted and threw himself onto his bunk. Likely he thought John’s continuous use of etiquette annoying.
Well. Hmmm. This certainly isn’t my lawyer, John thought, freezing in the doorway. Not that the man couldn’t have been a lawyer, because he certainly emitted the aura of loose morals and greasy pleasantry. However, he doubted his sister would be able to afford anything like this. Even with his minimal knowledge of clothing, John could see that everything about this man was expensive, from his watch, to his shoes, to the perfectly fitted silk waistcoat under his also perfectly fitted suit jacket.
“Please, do sit down, Dr. Watson,” the man said with a slight smile.
Back stiff and stride purposeful, John moved across the empty visiting area to sink slowly into the chair. He considered any number of ways to try and politely ask, but decided that there need only be one of them pretending to be pleasant. “Who are you?”
“No one of any real importance to you, unless you want me to be.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I have it within my means to have your stay here shortened considerably.”
“You do.” John’s voice was flat, covering and conveying emotions that not even he could fully identify. So, a lawyer, then. He was going to have to speak to Harry about her constant interference not being of any real use to him this late.
“Interested?”
“Not even remotely. Look, I don’t know how Harry managed to hire you, but I never wanted a lawyer to begin with, and she already stuck her nose in once where it doesn’t belong. You can tell her that after you leave.” Conversation over, John decided, and he stood.
“I am not a lawyer, Dr. Watson. However, I do have the power, if you so choose, to not only make you a free man within the next twenty-four hours, but also to wipe clean your record entirely.”
“What are you talking about?” John clasped his hands behind his back and stared down at the man, who didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. “Who are you?”
“Do not worry, Dr. Watson. I am not speaking of anything illegal. I simply have the means to make all this unpleasantness of yours go away.”
“You’d do all this. What, out of the goodness of your heart? Plenty of inmates here, probably several innocent ones. Why me? I’m not innocent.” He paused. “This has nothing to do with me, does it? It’s about Sherlock.” John frowned and licked his lips. “Holmes. Sherlock Holmes.”
“Quite astute, doctor.”
“Well, forget it. I don’t know who in here you’re working for, or why they’re more interested in getting at Sherlock than getting out, but no. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how many treats you put in front of me.”
“Really, John, this is quite beneath you.” The man’s breath came out in a short huff, possibly annoyance, possibly relief, possibly he just felt it necessary to breathe for a moment before returning to his impression of a marble statue. “Surely you have better things to do with your time.”
“Than keep a man from getting gang raped every time he sets foot outside his cell? And possibly even in it, depending on who gets it after I were to have left? What kind of world do you live in, to think morals are beneath anyone?”
“So that he can instead be raped specifically by you?”
John punched him in the eye.
The angle was bad, across a table with one standing and the other sitting, but John felt he’d made his point as he turned on his heel and marched out.
“I see you’ve met my brother,” Sherlock said as soon as the door crashed shut behind John.
“What?”
“I’d recognise his face marks on a fist anywhere.”
“Your…”
“In fact, I could probably walk down the street and see three people at any given time that have punched him.”
“Your brother…”
“Even if I’ve never seen them before, I’d know they’ve met Mycroft just from the way their knuckles impacted with his face.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s dumbfounded expression. “Really, John, you ought to know at your age when someone’s joking. I’ve never known anyone to actually hit Mycroft before. I’m surprised you’re alive.” His eyes were almost soft despite the smirk in his voice as he continued, “Really, well done.”
“That man is about to come speak to you,” Sherlock murmured into John’s ear as they settled at a table with their dinner trays.
John frowned and looked up. Sherlock did not often give him a “head’s up,” so to speak, when anyone tried to approach, so he thought it likely that this particular person might be an immense threat.
Instead, he saw his ratty acquaintance of the other day scurrying across the room, dashing away from groups and perceived threats. Truly, “Ratty” was a perfect name for this individual.
Sherlock’s attention was on him, so John gave him a bland smile. “I was wondering when he might. It’s been quite a while, after all.”
“Well, it’s a big prison,” Sherlock said vaguely, and then stared down at his tray. By this point, John was familiar enough with this behavior to not worry, and only occasionally wondered if Sherlock were somehow able to imbibe his nutrients by looking at them.
He had finished half his beans when the skittish man finally made it to their table and sunk down on the bench next to John. His eyes kept moving, just as they had when John had first found him, but at a much more panicked pace. “It- It’s done,” he said quietly. “Everyone knows. Your fights helped, o’ course, ‘cause nothing moves quicker than rumours here, but I still made sure.”
“Great, thanks,” John said, and reached into his pocket for the other cigarette.
“Not a good idea, you know,” Ratty said nervously. “Some people won’t like it much.”
“Try none of them,” John said, amiably. “But they’ll have to get used to it.” He held the cigarette out, but the man just stared at it for a long moment, before finally meeting John’s eyes. “Be careful, ‘kay? It’s not… I mean…” With one last frantic look around the cafeteria, he grabbed the cigarette and ran.
John turned to look at Sherlock, only to find his cell mate’s eyes already on him. “What do you suppose that was about?” John asked, utterly incredulous.
“In my experience, he’s always like that.”
“I dunno,” John said. He ran his mind over his two conversations with Ratty. “Last time, he was just cautious. Making sure he knew where all the strong people in the room were so he could stay out of their way. This time, though…” He shook his head. Really, this was preposterous. “Never mind. He was probably just upset that he had to talk to so many convicts.” He picked up his slice of bread and bit into it.
He didn’t notice the way Sherlock’s eyes remained on him, narrowed in thought.
“Well, well, well, ladies. It really does seem like it might be true.”
“Wha’ does it matteh?” another asked. “Jus’ gang up on the ponce and get rid of the problem!”
“Really,” the first voice drawled. “And you feel that this plebeian approach to a rather elegant problem the most fitting?”
“Dun see why not. Shorty’s out o’ the way, and we get free crack again.”
“Yes, I can see now why this would be a good idea for you. It must be so exhausting, not having anyone to rape.”
There was a loud skirmish, and then the sound of something large and wet hitting the floor.
“Thank you. Could you please take the garbage out now, so we can continue this discussion in a civilised manner?”
“Yessir, Mr. Moriarty, sir.”
“Excellent.”
The room slowly emptied, and after a while, a voice permeated the silence.
“Why don’t you just decide on a plan?”
“Well, I will, obviously. But it doesn’t hurt to make them think it’s theirs.”
“Why?”
“So they’ll want to do it, of course. Now shut up and let me think about just what we’re going to do with our dear Johnny.” He inhaled sharply. “These cigarettes really are of vastly superior quality. Be sure to give Anderson my thanks, would you?”
“Before or after I’m done with him?”
“Oh, during.”
~to be continued…~
A/N: I am utterly ecstatic that I’ve finally gotten to the main plot points (that being Jim, and also Mycroft’s particular participation in the plot). Just about everything in this (Mycroft’s entrance, Jim’s intro) were originally supposed to be in chapter four, but I just couldn’t ever stop being busy enough to get around to them, so I decided to wait until I wrote chapter five before I managed two of the major plot points. And now that I have (and am still running on the giddy high of watching Sherlock on PBS last night), fresh chapter with Jim’s intro! FINALLY!
On another note, I actually had planned on “Ratty” to just be a general, no-name character, but then I got several people asking if he was actually Anderson. That got me to thinking, and I went, “Hey, YEAH,” and decided to go with it. XD (And no, that's not how I usually write, but I thought it was an interesting idea.)
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Author: omen1x2
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: Sherlock/John, multiple OCs/Sherlock
Disclaimer: Like all fanfic writers, I twist reality to please me. Brit-picked by my very dear friend kdelioncourt. Any remaining issues are entirely my fault and not hers.
Summary: John goes to prison for burglary, and meets a fascinating, broken genius. He wants nothing more than to just keep to himself for the entirety of his sentence, but something about this man gets under his skin.
Warnings: Mentions of non-con, sexual and physical abuse, may have inaccurate info
Caledonian Road
By Omen
Chapter Five
Sherlock stalked around the cell, a captive tiger railing at his chains or an overgrown bat fluttering nervously.
“It’s been three days.”
John gave a loud, put-upon sigh and set his book in his lap. “Really, Sherlock, I am reading.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve been watching me move. Likely trying to pretend you aren’t as fascinated by my backside as everyone else.”
“What?! No!” John’s cheeks were a brilliant shade of red, and the color was bleeding down his neck. “You’re just distracting, is all! How am I supposed to read in all this commotion?”
Sherlock continued as if John hadn’t spoken. “And truly, John, I already made it fairly clear that you can have sex whenever you like. These ridiculous morals of yours are rather misplaced in prison.”
Staring down at the book he had acquired the previous day in the library and absolutely not seeing it, John wondered how the conversation had taken such an unexpected turn. “Is that what you’re complaining about? That you haven’t had sex in three days? Look, if you’re really that desperate for it that you’d be willing to… to… Well, don’t let me stop you!”
Sherlock’s glance was utterly scathing. John wondered if his skin might blister from the force of it. “John, I’m talking about them. Three days since the last skirmish, and nothing. Nothing at all. You’ve upset the order of things, and they should be trying to reestablish the new pecking order, or trying to carry out the best plots their mediocre minds will allow, but nothing. Not in three days.”
John shrugged, stiff and awkward. He and Sherlock had never directly mentioned John’s choice to interfere before, although he had suspected that Sherlock knew. However, it seemed to upset their rather tenuous balance to change that. “Perhaps they just don’t think it’s worth the bother?”
“What, John?” Sherlock drawled. “Really, that is an absolutely horrible way to try to get into anyone’s pants, by suggesting they aren’t worth the bother of effort.” Despite his words, Sherlock seemed amused rather than anything. His eyes were gleaming with suppressed mirth, and his lips twitched slightly.
“Well, as you made it abundantly clear,” John replied, echoing Sherlock’s tone, “You wouldn’t put up much of a fight anyway. Last I checked, you were more than willing to climb into my lap with no clothes on.”
“Are you suggesting something, John?”
“Well, you’re obviously gagging for it,” John gave another exaggerated sigh. “It really is quite difficult to be such a sex magnet. Sadly, I have no interest in you.”
“That is the most absurd lie I’ve ever heard.”
Suddenly, there was a loud clang outside their cell. John jumped and Sherlock didn’t as they both turned to look towards the door.
“Watson, ya’ve gawt a visitor, mate.” The guard fussed with his keys for a moment, frowning, before picking the right one and opening the cell with a triumphant smile.
John groaned. He rarely wanted to see his sister at even the best of times, but now? He’d rather hoped she wouldn’t want anything to do with him while he was in prison, but apparently her guilt had outweighed her revulsion. Biting his lip as he slowly stood, he tentatively asked, “Do you think you might tell her to just come back later? Say I’m in the loo or something.”
“Whatchoo talkin’ about, mate? Ya’ve got yer own, no need to go to th’ bogs. ’Sides, yer visitor’s a bloke.”
“I… see.” John frowned. He didn’t see. Who on earth would visit him other than Harry? Harry’s lawyer? Well, if he somehow managed to wangle a better deal, he’d have none of it. “All right, then. Lead the way, please.”
Sherlock snorted and threw himself onto his bunk. Likely he thought John’s continuous use of etiquette annoying.
Well. Hmmm. This certainly isn’t my lawyer, John thought, freezing in the doorway. Not that the man couldn’t have been a lawyer, because he certainly emitted the aura of loose morals and greasy pleasantry. However, he doubted his sister would be able to afford anything like this. Even with his minimal knowledge of clothing, John could see that everything about this man was expensive, from his watch, to his shoes, to the perfectly fitted silk waistcoat under his also perfectly fitted suit jacket.
“Please, do sit down, Dr. Watson,” the man said with a slight smile.
Back stiff and stride purposeful, John moved across the empty visiting area to sink slowly into the chair. He considered any number of ways to try and politely ask, but decided that there need only be one of them pretending to be pleasant. “Who are you?”
“No one of any real importance to you, unless you want me to be.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I have it within my means to have your stay here shortened considerably.”
“You do.” John’s voice was flat, covering and conveying emotions that not even he could fully identify. So, a lawyer, then. He was going to have to speak to Harry about her constant interference not being of any real use to him this late.
“Interested?”
“Not even remotely. Look, I don’t know how Harry managed to hire you, but I never wanted a lawyer to begin with, and she already stuck her nose in once where it doesn’t belong. You can tell her that after you leave.” Conversation over, John decided, and he stood.
“I am not a lawyer, Dr. Watson. However, I do have the power, if you so choose, to not only make you a free man within the next twenty-four hours, but also to wipe clean your record entirely.”
“What are you talking about?” John clasped his hands behind his back and stared down at the man, who didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. “Who are you?”
“Do not worry, Dr. Watson. I am not speaking of anything illegal. I simply have the means to make all this unpleasantness of yours go away.”
“You’d do all this. What, out of the goodness of your heart? Plenty of inmates here, probably several innocent ones. Why me? I’m not innocent.” He paused. “This has nothing to do with me, does it? It’s about Sherlock.” John frowned and licked his lips. “Holmes. Sherlock Holmes.”
“Quite astute, doctor.”
“Well, forget it. I don’t know who in here you’re working for, or why they’re more interested in getting at Sherlock than getting out, but no. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how many treats you put in front of me.”
“Really, John, this is quite beneath you.” The man’s breath came out in a short huff, possibly annoyance, possibly relief, possibly he just felt it necessary to breathe for a moment before returning to his impression of a marble statue. “Surely you have better things to do with your time.”
“Than keep a man from getting gang raped every time he sets foot outside his cell? And possibly even in it, depending on who gets it after I were to have left? What kind of world do you live in, to think morals are beneath anyone?”
“So that he can instead be raped specifically by you?”
John punched him in the eye.
The angle was bad, across a table with one standing and the other sitting, but John felt he’d made his point as he turned on his heel and marched out.
“I see you’ve met my brother,” Sherlock said as soon as the door crashed shut behind John.
“What?”
“I’d recognise his face marks on a fist anywhere.”
“Your…”
“In fact, I could probably walk down the street and see three people at any given time that have punched him.”
“Your brother…”
“Even if I’ve never seen them before, I’d know they’ve met Mycroft just from the way their knuckles impacted with his face.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s dumbfounded expression. “Really, John, you ought to know at your age when someone’s joking. I’ve never known anyone to actually hit Mycroft before. I’m surprised you’re alive.” His eyes were almost soft despite the smirk in his voice as he continued, “Really, well done.”
“That man is about to come speak to you,” Sherlock murmured into John’s ear as they settled at a table with their dinner trays.
John frowned and looked up. Sherlock did not often give him a “head’s up,” so to speak, when anyone tried to approach, so he thought it likely that this particular person might be an immense threat.
Instead, he saw his ratty acquaintance of the other day scurrying across the room, dashing away from groups and perceived threats. Truly, “Ratty” was a perfect name for this individual.
Sherlock’s attention was on him, so John gave him a bland smile. “I was wondering when he might. It’s been quite a while, after all.”
“Well, it’s a big prison,” Sherlock said vaguely, and then stared down at his tray. By this point, John was familiar enough with this behavior to not worry, and only occasionally wondered if Sherlock were somehow able to imbibe his nutrients by looking at them.
He had finished half his beans when the skittish man finally made it to their table and sunk down on the bench next to John. His eyes kept moving, just as they had when John had first found him, but at a much more panicked pace. “It- It’s done,” he said quietly. “Everyone knows. Your fights helped, o’ course, ‘cause nothing moves quicker than rumours here, but I still made sure.”
“Great, thanks,” John said, and reached into his pocket for the other cigarette.
“Not a good idea, you know,” Ratty said nervously. “Some people won’t like it much.”
“Try none of them,” John said, amiably. “But they’ll have to get used to it.” He held the cigarette out, but the man just stared at it for a long moment, before finally meeting John’s eyes. “Be careful, ‘kay? It’s not… I mean…” With one last frantic look around the cafeteria, he grabbed the cigarette and ran.
John turned to look at Sherlock, only to find his cell mate’s eyes already on him. “What do you suppose that was about?” John asked, utterly incredulous.
“In my experience, he’s always like that.”
“I dunno,” John said. He ran his mind over his two conversations with Ratty. “Last time, he was just cautious. Making sure he knew where all the strong people in the room were so he could stay out of their way. This time, though…” He shook his head. Really, this was preposterous. “Never mind. He was probably just upset that he had to talk to so many convicts.” He picked up his slice of bread and bit into it.
He didn’t notice the way Sherlock’s eyes remained on him, narrowed in thought.
“Well, well, well, ladies. It really does seem like it might be true.”
“Wha’ does it matteh?” another asked. “Jus’ gang up on the ponce and get rid of the problem!”
“Really,” the first voice drawled. “And you feel that this plebeian approach to a rather elegant problem the most fitting?”
“Dun see why not. Shorty’s out o’ the way, and we get free crack again.”
“Yes, I can see now why this would be a good idea for you. It must be so exhausting, not having anyone to rape.”
There was a loud skirmish, and then the sound of something large and wet hitting the floor.
“Thank you. Could you please take the garbage out now, so we can continue this discussion in a civilised manner?”
“Yessir, Mr. Moriarty, sir.”
“Excellent.”
The room slowly emptied, and after a while, a voice permeated the silence.
“Why don’t you just decide on a plan?”
“Well, I will, obviously. But it doesn’t hurt to make them think it’s theirs.”
“Why?”
“So they’ll want to do it, of course. Now shut up and let me think about just what we’re going to do with our dear Johnny.” He inhaled sharply. “These cigarettes really are of vastly superior quality. Be sure to give Anderson my thanks, would you?”
“Before or after I’m done with him?”
“Oh, during.”
~to be continued…~
A/N: I am utterly ecstatic that I’ve finally gotten to the main plot points (that being Jim, and also Mycroft’s particular participation in the plot). Just about everything in this (Mycroft’s entrance, Jim’s intro) were originally supposed to be in chapter four, but I just couldn’t ever stop being busy enough to get around to them, so I decided to wait until I wrote chapter five before I managed two of the major plot points. And now that I have (and am still running on the giddy high of watching Sherlock on PBS last night), fresh chapter with Jim’s intro! FINALLY!
On another note, I actually had planned on “Ratty” to just be a general, no-name character, but then I got several people asking if he was actually Anderson. That got me to thinking, and I went, “Hey, YEAH,” and decided to go with it. XD (And no, that's not how I usually write, but I thought it was an interesting idea.)
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