I'm sorry this chapter has been published so late! I have been working and doing schoolwork, but it's break and I'll have more time to write now. Enjoy!

"Something the matter?" Jim asked in a voice dripping with false sweetness. He cringed, listening to the desperate shrieks of John growing louder and more frantic. He so badly wanted to get up and rip the strains on John and run away with him. He wanted to get away from Jim forever, from every memory of his life in London. He wanted to leave behind Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper, Detective Lestrade and even his brother Mycroft. The only reminder of the past he wanted was John Watson. Why he wanted John so badly to be around him for the remainder of his life, he could not explain, but he could not speak anyways. Speaking would give Jim a fire to make the torture worse.

"Please, Dear, say something. Good company is talkative company, didn't you know? Didn't your mum teach you any manners?" smiling sickly, Jim continued, "Now, why don't you answer my question." He felt beads of sweat across his brow and attempted to will them away, but to no avail. Small droplets of sweat began to slide across his corneas, like raindrops across a windshield "No, James, nothing the matter, not in the least." he lied. He gave up not fueling Jim's anger. He had returned to his own stubborn self.

Jim pressed a combination of buttons and the chair and its chords stopped humming and John relaxed, tears brimming at the eyes that were not looking to him. He felt like John's eyes would never look his way again, but that was not the worst feeling, no, for the next was even worse. "Watch this, Sherlock. I've trained him pretty well." Jim said excitedly, then he said a single word to John, "Sherlock."

John, seemingly bound to the chair he was in, toppled over, trying to run. The man looked genuinely terrified; looking beyond the walls and the people in the room. Jim said his name again and again. John became worse and worse in state and he just watched in awe and wonder. How does a man's name register such a pained lo- then it hit him. Jim had trained John to be physically and wholly afraid of him. Any known version of himself was dwindling away as he saw tears finally streaming down the face of John Watson and he blew up.

"STOP." he hollered, not looking away from John. Jim silenced and John went limp, sweating and crying silently. John did not look anywhere but into space. He was crushed. "Oh, Sherlock, why do you love him? He is so simple, so easy to manipulate! I never saw you going for such a dim type. You could do so much better!" he finally tore his eyes from John's troubled, wet face and thought about the question. I- I do love John, don't I. I only want him. I only need his presence to feel comfort. I have never needed a single person, never. "I love him because he believes in me." he sighed in defeat. He did not care what happened now; Jim could kill him out of boredom and he would not mind. He wanted to state the truth and that is, after all, what he was best at.

"Love, it's the greatest weakness, Sherlly! Well, that should make this all the more fun to tell you! I have invented a physical program in which you connect an image to the brain and connect that image to highly painful jolts of electricity. Now, I am sure you know where this is going, but" He screamed, "NO. NO, YOU DIDN'T!" but he knew. "Now, don't interrupt Sherlock, manners! Anyhow, I have programmed your picture in various forms and engrained your image into John's mind as the cause of his daily torture. Aren't I fabulous?" Jim finished with a short laugh, walking over to John. Unbound from clips and ties and practical chains, John stood. He tentatively called "John?" and John slowly turned. Jim was busy laughing and John was so silent and gracefully unnoticeable, movement was left ignored. He looked to John, seeing the gash upon John's face from hitting the floor he now notice was covered in shards of glass. Blood was dripping down and he just stared as the defeated-looking man trudged to the side of his 'bed.' Jim watched and smiled, twisting about in glee, unaware that John was not only doing the worst thing, but also secretly accomplishing the best. John looked him in the eye and said something so quiet and soft he could barely pick it up.

"I know you have not hurt me, Sherlock." and with that sentiment, John pulled out of his sleeve a knife and drew it softly across his face. He was in shock from the words, just as John had planned. He did not feel the pain of the knife blade across his skin, but the happiness inside from the confirmation that John was not truly crippled by the thought of him. The next thing he did notice, though. John took a large needle and stabbed it into the meat of his shoulder. He screamed and fire began to burn his body it felt. He screamed uncontrollably and John said with a false strength, "Done. Now I'll go."

Jim smiled and as stepped out of the room. John quickly held his hand, ice quenching the thirst for cool for just a moment as he was burning inside. A guard walked in and did not question a thing, hitting John over the head with a metal pole, which became covered in blood. He did not scream, but a tear fell from his left eye as he watched John being drug out of the room by his ankles, glass catching the man's limp face.

And then he burned and thrashed his limbs about until John's blood had dried upon the floor and then he fell into a deranged and confused slumber.