Repens

When Stephanie's eyes slowly opened, she was in the large room alone. She looked around, expecting someone to be watching from a distance, but there were no shadows, noises, or any other evidence of lurkers. Calling for help wasn't an option. If she tried moving the chair it would make too much noise. Nothing was in her reach to help with the painful handcuffs. The more she looked around, the more frustrated she became. Jim had placed her in the perfect prison where she didn't need anyone to watch her. She couldn't do anything useful. Any attempts of escape was pointless. But her imprisonment was far too cliché to work. Perhaps that was part of his game, driving her absolutely mad.

Just from the few minutes she had spoken with Moriarty, she had him pegged. Creatures like him worked on a different level than nearly everyone else. She knew because she was a similar creature, only she didn't use her intelligence for evil. People like them were various kinds of mad and there were many levels to each type of madness. The question she couldn't help asking herself was how far he was going to go to lash out at Sherlock. Holmes was strong in body, mind, and spirit but she wasn't sure how he would handle someone torturing someone he cared about. He had, after all, thrown a man out his window for handling her aunt too roughly. How much further would he fight for the woman he layed with each night?

"Want to play a game?" the high pitched voice asked, the man unseen.

That's what this all was to him. A game. A game to see who was better between the two prideful men. One that could possibly cost a life or two.

"I thought we were already playing one," she called out, playing the game, with her eyes glued forward. Her pretending not to care where he was would bother him.

"You like to multi-task," he announced, as if he knew her personally. Then again, he probably had enough information about her to make several correct deductions. "Besides, this game is between you and I. The larger one is between your boyfriend and I."

Her blood boiled though she couldn't show it.

"What sort of game do you want to play?"

Stephanie could sense his presence long before she caught a glimpse of his shadow coming from behind her. She could judge how close he was from the several lights above them. Given more time and energy she could have figured it out but only her survival skills were working at full capacity at the moment. A pair of lips suddenly grazed the back of her neck, the exact place Sherlock's lips had ravished her only nights ago. While she couldn't move far, she moved her neck to minimize the canvas of skin he was intruding upon.

"A dress up game," he whispered with horrific pleasure.

"I don't play dress up games anymore. Grew out of those around the time college began," she sassed.

Jim grabbed her neck, slid his body in front of hers, and grinned, "Then I think it's time to refresh your memory."

"If you want a whore, go back to the city," the defensive beauty snapped.

"Oh, but why would I go hunt one of those dime a dozen girls when the real woman is right here."

"You don't want me. I'm a terrible shag," she confessed as if it were true.

"I don’t believe that," grinned the sly genius while shaking his head.

"It's true, sadly." She was flirting with a line that most didn't know existed. A great deal of nerve and the knowledge of when to use it had always been two of her most useful strengths. The young woman couldn't help a disgusted shiver when he returned to her ear.

"I couldn't find a flaw," he began in a voice lower than before. "Then again," he dramatically whispered, "I was watching from across the street."

"Get away from me!" she barked.

"Not so bold and fearless now, are we? A bit embarrassed that old Jim saw you?" She moved her body as far away from him as the chair would allow but even then she was still too accessible to him. "Now let's get you out of those handcuffs and into something a bit more comfortable. How about it?"

"I'm perfectly fine as I am right here, handcuffs and all," she bitterly announced.

"As the hostess, it is my first priority to make you as comfortable as possible."

Steph didn't like the flirty seductive tone he used when saying "first priority" and "as comfortable as possible". Whatever he had in mind was even unthinkable for clever her.

---

Sherlock paced the living room floor as John accidentally drifted to sleep at the desk, just as they had done many times before. But several things were different this time. HE was different this time. As his friend began to snore, the half mad detective silently gathered and organized the many pieces of known information in his mind.

The man sat down at his chair, held both hands palm to palm just under his lips. Maybe it had been five minutes but that was unlikely. When he went to his mind palace, it usually took hours and several of them. It was around five o'clock when his body betrayed him, sending him into a deep yet dreamful sleep which wasted his time. Sleeping did that, spent hours that could be better spent actually doing work. He has always hated sleep. Until recently. Until her.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, waking him up rather suddenly. The text message photo appeared as if it were sent by Stephanie but he knew that her captors had taken her mobile after he clever little stunt. When his eye wandered below the name, his blood froze in his veins. There was a difference between a criminal having "fun" and being incredibly foolish. Whoever had done this was the later.

Sebastian had always looked wonderful on paper but his critical thinking skills were never as sharp as the successful banker let on. He was actually quite average in the common sense department. That was probably what lead him to the disguised life of crime- his weak mind. Now looking back, Sherlock began to question how much his old school mate had to do with their case John labeled "The Blind Banker". Sherlock's mind went from still to overdrive in only seconds. He had been keen on finding the criminals. Now, he was out to kill. He had just enough time to think of five perfectly deserving ways to kill the head criminal behind all of this when another message came in.

The text alert, showing the message, literally took his breath away.

HOW DOES SHE LOOK TO VIRGIN EYES?

Only one mind in London was clever enough to know his greatest kept secret by deductions alone. The mobile was gently placed beside him on the arm of the chair. It was about seven thirty when the text had come in, completely changing whatever plan the genius had created with special care. There was always a game changer, but not always one so significant.

"Please tell me you slept?" a familiar cross voice said from beside him, tearing him away from his complex scheming.

"A bit."

This reply made John nervous because of the whispering tone used by his usually determined best friend. Whispering, in this situation, was a far cry from good.

"I take it you got somewhere last night?"

Sherlock gathered his words before answering this time, not wanting to send his friend into a panic. This sort of news was difficult to give. John Watson had always been there for him but now the consulting detective wasn't sure how much to involve the good doctor with the remainder of the rescue mission.

"They are torturing her, John." He was still whispering, whatever was bothering him obviously cut the seemingly unfeeling man to his very core. There was even a look of genuine disgust on Sherlock's twisted face. It took something truly horrible to disgust the man that had seen all the grit and grime London had to offer.

"You mean… beating her?" John stuttered, unsure of what tone to use while asking such difficult questions.

"Worse," Sherlock sneered, the very thought killing him inside.

"Have they drugged her?" His panic was steadily growing with each tick of his suddenly loud watch.

"Not yet. But that bit is coming," the brilliant half defeated man sighed. Sherlock's eyes closed, the way normal people's do just before they cry, and his head lowered. John Watson's stare couldn't be torn away from the sight.

"What's worse than being beat--"

"They are humiliating her, John," Sherlock nearly screamed, now red-faced and enraged. Holmes dramatically pulled himself from the chair and began pacing again- pacing was second best to playing his violin at this early hour of the morning. He swiped the mobile and threw it to John. "Don't get excited. It's from her phone but not from her."

Watson nervously tapped the message icon and saw her name on the top. Ignoring the given text, he tapped into the full message. The photo immediately caught his attention and sent a deep blush to his cheeks. He had seen smut like this in telephone booths and on the walls of the tube stations. But this was extremely personal and gave Sherlock every right to behave in such a livid manner.

She was handcuffed to a chair and looking as if she could cry at any moment. Her tall slender form was clothed in a red lingerie corset trimmed in black, shoulders bare and legs completely naked down to red designer heels. The thick strands of her red hair were tangled and messy, like the mental women from films. Someone had put red lipstick on her but it made the horrible sight appear all the more staged, completely unnatural of the sweet free spirited girl he knew. The kidnappers had even put the beauty in a questionable sitting position that would make even the most faithful man's thoughts stray. That's when he looked away.

"Are you sure this is worse than--"

"We're made of the same material, remember? As much as I hate the idea of any hand causing her physical pain, people like us do not respond well to humiliation- I needn't remind you of specific times." He returned to his seat before he did any damage to the room around him. Throwing something through the window sounded lovely at the moment- a decision he would have regretted later. "Torture of the physical paralyzes for a short time, then you heal. Torture of the mind can cripple someone for life." One last pause. "And that's precisely what James Moriarty does. Cripples the mind."

He had looked away before saying the last bit, unable to watch John's face turn from extremely concerned to afraid. The soldier nearly choked up, his mind now racing. His thoughts went towards the months of therapy Jim had caused him and the pain the evil genius had caused even brilliant Sherlock.

"But I thought he was…" The word wouldn't even slip from his mouth.

"I had hoped so. Yet I should have known," Sherlock yelled to himself, running his hands through his moppy curls in frustration. "If I was clever enough to cheat death, why shouldn't he be?"

"You aren't completely mad. He was… is."

"There are several definitions of mad. By the end of this, I may very well be one of them.