Even just after the first session Jim's sense of time was warping. He wasn't counting seconds anymore, or trying to guess minutes. Time crept along slowly with each new injury. So, of course, that's how he started judging. By the time Seb stated to undo the cuffs it was twenty-one hits with the riding crop, several actually drawing blood, one small scrap with a knife on his shoulder, his wrist had been broken, and his ankle had been twisted. After he got his wrist broken, from what he could tell, it had been taken slowly. It was almost how you would treat a lover.

He sobbed quietly as Seb brought him up, keeping one hand over Jim's bloodied back to keep control through pain. The older man smiled, roughly pushing his pet to the front room.

The laptop had been set up on the coffee table, the page open on some video chat site. Jim shuddered, trying desperately to keep pace. The twisted ankle made it much more difficult, and every time he stumbled Seb just smirked. The younger man really didn't like what that could mean. Of course, he still deserved it, but that wouldn't make the process any less painful.

Mum always said breaking the rules got appropriate consequences. Maybe this was some sort of karmic action for Carl? Or even when John got hurt. There were so many things this could be punishment for.

He stumbled on to the couch, hands folding onto his lap and eyes down. Seb nodded approvingly, sitting down beside him on the black and white couch. A small smile traced its way onto his lips and Jim swallowed harshly. He didn't like not knowing what was going on. If it wouldn't have broken the rules he probably would have asked. It turned out he didn't have to.

"We're going to show Johnny-boy that you're okay." Seb instructed, fingers flying over the keyboard. "I want you to make it perfectly clear that everything happening is of your own choice and that you are in complete control of the situation. Make sure to stress that you don't want to see him." He leaned back, grasping Jim's wrist and smiling as the bones grated against each other. "You do anything to hint at a location or try and deviate from my instructions then I will break you, James." Except he was already broken, so what would the point really be?

Still, he nodded, trying desperately to keep his breathing even. A familiar face popped up on the screen, though by no stretch of the imagination was it John.

"Jim!" Lestrade's shocked voice rang through the air, and Jim looked down in the futile hope his hair would cover the bruise on his cheek. "What the hell is going on? John's refusing to tell me. Pacing around front, worried out of his mind about you."

The dark haired man winced slightly, glancing up into the warm eyes of the DI. "I-I need to speak with John, sir." With a nod he walked off, leaving the camera poised on an empty chair. Jim could barely hear hushed voices in the background, and his heart fluttered when he heard the words "trace" and "find him". It sunk just as quickly with the realization that would soon stop.

Once again Seb took his wrist, squeezing the damaged appendage just enough for pain to jolt up Jim's arm. Probably for the stutter. However slight, it would always be one of Seb's largest rules.

With this thought in mind he took a deep, shuddering breath, and waited for John to come on.

{][][}

John paced anxiously outside of Lestrade's office. It had been almost half an hour since he got the video message, and he was honestly worried about what could have been happening to Jim. Were his injuries worse? Was he okay? Was he even alive, or was he just another corpse to be found in the Thames already? Okay, he was probably alive, but Lord knew if it was just physical. Jim's mind was one of his greatest attributes, no matter what anyone said, and without that… without that he would break.

It's as he's running a hand through his hair, cursing himself silently (if you hadn't reacted to the kiss the way you did he wouldn't have ran, he wouldn't be hurt) that Lestrade comes out, muttering something to Sally about tracing a vid chat on his computer. John can feel a sudden weight come off his shoulders at what that meant; Jim was making live contact. The younger man is, well, not fine, but to the very least not passed out in a pool of his own blood. Or maybe he is, and it's not him calling. But John ignores that, and hopes dearly that it is in fact his friend.

(Boyfriend, a small part of him whispers, and it sounds oddly like the skull. You're bi, he's gay, he kissed you and you know you've been waiting for that, so let's just admit that he's your unofficial boyfriend here.)

"He's calling," the older man says, but he doesn't smile. "He already looks a bit worse for wear -more than what we saw- and we need to find him in the next twenty-four hours or we might be cleaning a corpse at this rate. He's asking for you. Keep him talking and we might be able to trace where the signal's coming from." John nodded, walking quickly into the DI's office and sitting at the chair in front of the computer. He took a brief moment to look over Jim before saying anything.

The younger man was looking down, as though afraid of when John would arrive, though he occasionally glanced to his right. (That was probably where Seb was, keeping hold on the broken wrist in case he needed to use it for manipulation.) The bruise which had been forming was now fully visible against pale skin, but Jim did everything he could to hide any pain from his features. His breathing was carefully even, like when he was at work and trying not to stutter in front of his boss to ask for a day off.

"Jim," the blond said quietly, and Jim's head snapped up. "Are you all right?"

Slowly, he shook his head, casting his eyes downward. "I'll be fine. I asked for this." John raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to one side.

"Literally or figuratively?" He kept his tone calm and concerned, trying to convey what I meant. You don't deserve this, Jim. You don't.

"B-Both." The dark haired man muttered. Yes I do. You know I do, and I'm sorry.

He suddenly winced, jerking back from the camera with wide eyes.

John practically jumped forward, hazel eye shinning with concern. "Jim! Are you okay? Tell me you're okay Jim." He paused. "Tell me where I can get you, Jim. Please tell me where I can find you. A general area, where you were picked up."

The younger man shook his head, clearly trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can't tell you, John. Please, please don't start looking. I don't deserve it John, I don't." His breath hitched, and there was a growl from off screen. "I'm sorry, John, I'm sor-"

And for the second time the video was cut off. John deflated into his seat, head in hands. He'd been trying so hard over the years with Jim, but everything always seemed to go over the younger man's head. Self-preservation, the power of his own intelligence, self-worth for God's sake! He had no idea what happened, but Jim never got it. And now he never would.

Because as little as John knew he'd seen the files. After he started working with Sherlock he, occasionally, got access to old cases, and he took anything with the name "Jim Hartford" or "Jim Moriarty". Unsurprisingly there wasn't as much as John would have liked, with large chunks missing between years or even months and weeks. Important details were lost in the transfer or by fear. But it was enough to get and idea of things. Jim's life before they met. More importantly, Jim's life involving Seb.

It started when Jim was seven.

There were reports, far too many of them, of signs of violence sent to Child Services from the school. But the placement, the size of the bruising, stopped any action from being taken. After all, Jim wasn't popular, he was teased a lot, so it only made sense that he would get in the occasional fight too. If someone had bothered to intervene maybe things would have been found out sooner.

Still, this went on for three years. Reports filed, no one does a goddamn thing. And then Carl Power's died and everything got suddenly worse. The two of them met, and suddenly there were several reports, all by different teacher's, but still no one did anything. They couldn't, and Jim denied that there was even anything going on. Of course he did. When you got used to something, no matter what it was, you tried to keep it; with Jim that was doubly true. He'd never had many people or possessions in his life, and routine was always very dear to him. Even knowing that Seb would likely cause his untimely death he tried to protect it. Protected that link to one of the few "friends" he had.

Then, of course, John knew what happened from there, albeit in bits and pieces. He remembered standing in front of Jim with Seb in front of him, but not much after that until he woke up in the hospital. He had no memory of the past week except for minutes of memory with Jim. Jim had small bruises, but he seemed mostly unscathed from the whole ordeal. He was more quiet after that, and tried desperately to please.

Of course, the medical report was another matter entirely.

Jim went under an incredible amount of stress, not being able to see his friend in the hospital because his mum "couldn't" take him. He actually became physically ill at school for an entire day, needing to rest in the nurse's office with small doses of a natural anxiety medication. For almost a month after the incident he took stress relievers and small doses of sleeping pills until they mysteriously disappeared. (John thought it was Mrs. Hartford, who had always seemed depressed and edgy, but he hadn't had a way to prove it back then.) And just like that all the damage was firmly set in place.

Attempted reversal of seven years of that was a long, slow process. John had finally been getting close. Jim was getting better and reaching out, but still it was a long road.

And now all those years of progress were being unwound.

It was John's fault, really. Maybe if he'd reacted a bit differently Jim wouldn't have stormed off and this wouldn't have been happening.

The blonde jumped suddenly as a hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up to see a familiar pair of tired brown eyes. Lestrade smirked slightly, motioning out of the chair. John gave a weary smile back, standing up and allowing the DI to take his desk back.

"We have a general location." Lestrade said, sinking down into his chair. "Incredibly general. We have about a five mile radius of where he could be. The only problem is that it's full of apartment buildings and in one of the neighborhoods this isn't what one would call abnormal." He grimaced and John ran a hand through his hair.

"So unless we get something like that again…"

"…It's going to take a while to find him, yes."

John put his head in one hand, sighing heavily. "Call me if there are any new developments. Thank you, Greg." The grey haired man nodded, a small smile cracking on his lips.

"I've known Jim as long as I've known you. He's a good man who's gotten dealt a few crappy hands, but he'll pull though. He has before."

Nodding silently John made his way from the room.

{][][}

"Guilt complex, little brother?"

Sherlock scowled, ignoring Mycroft as he continued down the street of the average looking neighborhood. He shouldn't have been surprised. Mycroft was always sticking his big nose where it didn't belong. He always seemed more interested in matters which included Jim, as though the younger man would pull a 180 at any moment.

(Of course he had tried going in his elder brother's files to find out why, but anything pertaining to the Angels Unit was securely locked up. Being the head of the large government department had its perks, like having the last surviving copy of Jim's pre-Angel file. No matter how much Sherlock pestered he refused to give it up though, which only frustrated the detective more. He hated being in the dark about anything.)

The sound of Mycroft's umbrella on the pavement trailed behind him, making Sherlock's scowl deepen as his eyes scanned the streets. There had to be a sign somewhere. People couldn't just disappear without a trace, and he had heard a small bit about Northumberland Street while Jim was on the phone. There area would have to be within a fifteen minute driving distance of that (around five miles) based on the message he'd listened to on John's phone.

The government's footsteps sped up, and it was mere seconds before he was caught up with his younger sibling. All Sherlock could think was, damn him and his extra four inches!* Because, really, four inches of added height could make all the difference. Especially when that added height was actually more to the legs.

As Sherlock though; damn him.

"You aren't going to find him, Sherlock. We haven't even found him yet, and his usual tracking device was destroyed when the apartments blew up." For once his tone held none of the usual mocking or superiority. It was almost resigned, a tone Sherlock had never heard from his brother.

Instead of showing how much this really disheveled him the younger man scoffed. It was times like this when he knew, on occasion, he greatly overestimated the British government and the true range of Mycroft's power. In truth he was not, actually, the man behind the curtain. All he had was the Angels, which in turn gave him control over some security cameras, a few little henchmen, and some nice tech. All very impressive, but not what they needed.

Still, despite the sudden silence, Mycroft continued. "I've been talking with Sullivan about this."

Sherlock winced slightly. He had met the near five hundred year old half-angel. He was not the most pleasant person, even in comparison to anyone in the Holmes family. He was a cynic, crotchety, and would hardly take yes as an answer.

"He thinks I should let this go." He sighed, absently twirling the old (very old) drolly at his side. "Jim's been a lost cause for a long time now. What's happening now shouldn't even be happening. Without interference you would be at a pool right now handing over missile plans with John strapped to a bomb. If John never came into the picture Moran would still be in Sussex. No matter what we do disaster follows him and we simply can't help. Benton is saying we should let him get killed and just end it."

Sherlock froze on the middle of the sidewalk, watching as his brother casually continued in blatant shock. Mycroft chuckled, and the umbrella clicked as it was brought down.

"We both know I have problems listening to my predecessors though." He turned around, smirking slightly. "I can give some resources to aid your search, and of course I'll be keeping an eye out. Allison and Kayley are heading up tonight, see if they sense anything."

"Sense?" The younger asked, deflating slightly as he continued walking.

The elder shrugged, umbrella swinging again. "Angels gain a mildly psychic connection to a permanent charge. Every time something is wrong they know. There's never a time when they "drop by" just to visit, even if they don't know it." A nod.

"So if Jim was feeling something like an intense fear or pain…"

"They would drop to the ground if the wings they used were theirs and not just some very good technology."

Cocking his head to one side the detective spoke. "Surely this would still only give them a general area?"

Mycroft scoffed.

"Less general than a five mile radius. We'd have, maybe, two blocks to search rather than five miles in every direction."

Without another word the two brothers walked on, silence falling over the streets. Sharp eyes scanned the streets as the sun fell on the horizon, and the Holmes' were lost in the night.

{][][}

*Who can guess what fanfiction that's from? XD Whoever guesses right first gets a prompt fill. (There is no garuntee that this prompt will actually be filled, but I will try.)

A/N: Bugger Mycroft! why does he have to be so hard to write? (He's the only reason this chaoter took so long. Literally the only reason. Everything else was done by day two. Mycroft though? Nooo, you have to be difficult.)

Once again it feels like the flow is missing. Grr. And it's probably error filled too... So sorry for any typos and the big one(s) in the previous chapter. So, yeah.

Reviews, we all love 'em. ^_^ Also, torture ideas are appreciated. I have plently, but it's nice to get opinions.

~Piki :B