Obsession and Enslavement

A/N: Warnings! This story contains non con, torture, explicit content. Do not read if you are under eighteen years of age. By reading this story you consent to being over eighteen and knowing that there are triggers in this story.

I want to thank every one of you that read this.

However, I do have a favor to ask. I'm looking to get my original Yaoi Novel, On the Training of Doctors, published this year. I would appreciate it if you would help make it a success. My original fiction is more detailed and polished, of course, than my fanfics, and I have both an amazing co author and artist. Please visit goo. gl / VS2QQs or look up On the Training of Doctors on Kickstarter.

Chapter One

The Secret Love of Sherlock Holmes

A strange feeling of bubbling excitement crawled its way up Sherlock's throat. Three years, three long years had passed them. He couldn't believe that it had been three years already! Well, almost. But he was coming home early, Mycroft said. And he was ecstatic. So that night, he got off the Skype call and practically floated out the door to the crime scene. Only a little while longer…

"Sherlock!" Lestrade said from the doorway. "What the hell took you so long?" he groused.

Sherlock shrugged. "Previous engagement," he said lightly and stepped under the yellow tape, snapping a set of gloves onto his hands. "Not like a body is going anywhere."

Anderson stood against the wall, arms crossed over his body with a scowl planted on his face. "About time," he growled, rolling his eyes. Sally stood beside him, shaking her head. Sherlock ignored them, and went about what he was doing. Evidence, observation, and deduction. Second victim they'd found. Both had been violently raped and strangled, then dumped in an alley. Both were riddled with drugs, if he didn't miss his guess. The first one had been.

"He's about the same height, build, and age as the first, tall, dark haired, thirties," Sherlock said, looking over the form on the ground. "Ligature marks on the wrists again, same as the first. Posed in a reclined position against the wall, as though they'd just sat down."

He knew there would be no evidence. The bodies were clean, bathed in some sort of bleach solution that destroyed all the evidence on them, and they were dressed in plain white pajamas with a white terry bathrobe. It was as though the killer was putting on a show for them. He did so love the cocky ones.

Sherlock's phone rang, loud in the alley. He frowned when he looked at the ID and answered it. "What?" Sally rolled her eyes at the curt answer. "I'm at a scene, Mycroft. Leave me alone until I'm done. I'll call…no you didn't tell me that. You should have told me, I have a right to know something like that! What? You didn't want to worry me? Bloody hell, Mycroft! Really?" He angrily clicked the button to end the call and shoved it in his pocket. He scrubbed a hand over his forehead and took a breath.

"Anyway…" he mumbled, turning back to the body. His phone rang again. He scowled and answered, "Goddammit Mycroft! Oh, oh, sorry, sorry, no…" he softened immediately. He moved a little ways off to the side this time, but with the acoustics could be heard by those in the alley.

"I thought it was Mycroft again. Well, yes I'm angry. He didn't tell me! Well, I should have been told if it concerns you. You know that I worry already, so it didn't matter. I knew there was a reason for you coming home early. How could you two hide this? I'm mad at you too, you know. I should have known. What? Oh, crime scene. Well, yes. I know, I know. No I'm not alone, do you honestly think I run all over London alone? Okay, yes I do. But not to crime scenes. Yes, I know. Yes. Okay maybe not…I'm sorry. I just…you know I get busy and forget. Yes, yes well, you may not be able to forget to eat but I do. Yes…okay no. Three days." He held the phone away from his ear for a second with a flinch. "Alright! I promise, I'll sleep tonight, okay? Why can't I lie to you…" He huffed, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. "Yes, I am outside. No, I didn't leave my coat at home, what are you, my mother now? Okay, yes you're worse than Mummy. No. Can I go now, since obviously you want to hide things important from me, brat. Oh, yes, Captain. Okay, for fuck's sake, I will get take out on the way home and be in bed before three. Okay one. No earlier, I won't sleep and you know it. Not until you get back. Um...no. No, oh no you don't, I'm hanging up before you get started, I am trying to work here. Call you when I'm home. Yes, I'll have food. You can listen to me eat, how about that. Okay." He walked further away then, the others losing the conversation.

"The hell?" Donovan said, looking to Lestrade. "I've never seen him answer his phone, and never seen him talk so long to someone."

Lestrade's brow crinkled in thought. "Mycroft, the first call was his older brother," he said softly.

Both Anderson and Donovan gave him a shocked look. "He has a brother?" she finally asked.

Lestrade nodded. "Fucking scary goddamned man. Pray you never meet the bastard. Two weeks after I met Sherlock and started working with him I literally got black-bagged outside my house and taken to an abandoned warehouse and handcuffed to a steel chair. He then proceeded to tell me all about his…relationship with his little brother. Intimidating man, especially when he indicates that if something happens to his brother on my watch I'll disappear without a trace."

Donovan and Anderson exchanged a look. "What? Who the hell is he, anyway? Some sort of mobster."

He shook his head. "Worse. I'm not completely sure, but I think he might be MI6. Sherlock calls him 'The British Government', and bitches about him following him with agents. So next time you see him yelling at someone in a black, non-descript car, you'll know it's one of Mycroft's men."

"Wow…" Anderson said. "Someone like that and his little brother is a right wanker and a freak," he said softly.

"You ever do meet him, don't insult Sherlock," Lestrade said, standing up straighter as Sherlock came back, his expression blank once again. "It would be the last thing you did."

"Have a nice chat with Mycroft?" Lestrade said when he got closer. Sherlock glowered. "He is pushing it this time. Keeping information away from me. I don't care about his reasons. I already had to chase off three cars outside my flat this week. Only reason I didn't chase the last one off was because it was too far away and I had to be here," he said with a sigh, seemingly so distracted he forgot that Anderson and Donovan were standing further back in the alley. "Then, he goes off and puts stuff in my flat! Without asking me! I don't care how much he thinks I need it. I didn't want it. Maybe I'll dump it out the window…" he mused, using his magnifier on the body he was looking at.

"What did he put in your flat?" Lestrade asked, amused.

"A new bedroom set! Seriously, I think I can pick my own stuff out," he said sighing. "I'm not ten years old anymore, though he seems to think I am… Of course, I have no idea what he did with the old bed, so I guess I have to keep it." He turned around and looked up at a CCTV that was at the corner and flipped it off. "Fuck off, Mycroft, I know you're watching me."

The phone rang again. "Yes I'm testy! You've got me all wound up and I'm trying to think. Go watch someone else! I'll take down the camera, I promise, if you don't move it," he said, glaring at the camera. "I don't care, I'm standing here with a police officer, I'll pay the goddamn fine. Move it, so I know you aren't spying on me! I can do without you watching my every move." To Anderson and Donovan's surprise, the camera swiveled upward from where it was pointed. "Was that so hard, Mycroft? No I'm not being childish. Most certainly not! Good bye Mycroft. And tell Cecil to quit scaring Mrs. Hudson! He's standing right by the door every morning and she thinks she's being stalked for fuck's sakes!"

He tapped off and slid the phone back in his pocked, exasperated. "Well that ruined a perfectly good night," he growled.

Lestrade snickered. "She thinks she's being stalked?"

"Oh yes, every morning she goes to get the paper, and Cecil, one of Mycroft's idiots, is standing there watching the door. I mean, you would think spies would be a little more, I don't know, discreet?" he huffed, kneeling again.

He looked up and glared at the camera which had turned back down and flipped it off again. "Goddammit Mycroft," he said, ignoring it. "He just does it to get me like this. He knows if I wanted to I could avoid all the cameras in the city."

He examined the area again and sighed. "I'm going to the morgue to look at the other body. I think I have an idea, but I need to compare it to the other. Tell Anderson to wrap it up."

He pulled out his phone again, and started tapping furiously, as Donovan and Anderson blinked in surprise. "Did he really forget we were here?" she asked.

"I think he did. Whatever Mycroft told him, whatever he had hidden from him, really had him worked up. Don't think I've seen him like that in all three years I've known him," Lestrade said, watching him disappear into a cab. "Oh well, if he doesn't want to tell, he won't."

The morgue yielded only more questions for Sherlock. He stood outside, tapping away on his phone to Lestrade.

Both victims were held for a week or more then put somewhere cold, like a cooler of some sort, not freezing, but at least at the level to keep something chilled. Both were drugged with ketamine and several other drugs, mostly muscle relaxers. Cause of death in both was strangulation by a man with small hands. The victims were both relatively tall, over six feet. So, maybe someone who likes to control someone taller than himself? A power play, maybe. Will think more. Took pictures.-SH

He exhaled into the cool night air and thought about the conversation with Mycroft and smiled. Something caught his eye and he glanced to the right, only to have the world explode around him in white sparkling stars that faded into black. He heard the phone clatter to the ground, and felt his body impact the pavement, and realized someone had just knocked him out cold…

The next morning, Molly Hooper stretched as she came from the basement morgue at St. Barts with a yawn. She ran down the steps and kicked something. She frowned and saw a mobile on the ground. She picked it up, thinking she'd take it to lost and found when she realized it was Sherlock's phone. She blinked, turning it over. It had a screen lock, but there were several missed calls and messages recorded, and the screen was cracked from being dropped. But the back of the expensive smart phone's case was engraved with Sherlock Holmes.

She grabbed her own phone and dialed Lestrade immediately. Fear was already thumping through her because Sherlock was a ringer for the two men in the morgue, and if the person doing it was after a type, he fit.

"Molly?" Lestrade asked, sleepily.

"Greg, look, I just left work, and I found Sherlock's phone on the ground by the back entrance," she said in a rush. "And he left here last night at around midnight after examining the bodies. I'm scared, because you know as well as I do, he fits the profile for this guy."

"Shit," Lestrade said. "I'll be down, wait there, I'll bring Donovan and Anderson with me. See if we can find anything, and I have another call to make."

Molly waited impatiently until three cars pulled up. Lestrade came out of his, Anderson and Donovan out of the next one, and two men she didn't know exited a third from the backseat. Lestrade waited and held his hand up to stop her saying anything until the two men came closer. They were talking as they got closer. One was a tallish man with reddish hair and a black umbrella. He wore a very expensive looking tailored suit. The other was a shorter, stocky blonde man wearing jeans and a wool jumper with a leather jacket.

"No CCTV back here?" the blonde asked.

"Checked already, they waited until he was just outside the view of the one across the street and the one on the side of the building over there. They knew where they were," the other man said solemnly.

They moved up now even with the others. Lestrade nodded. "Sargent Sally Donovan," he said pointing to the woman. "Phillip Anderson, forensics. And Molly Hooper, our medical examiner. Well the one Sherlock prefers to work with. Only one willing to let him in and take home random body parts."

The two men nodded to each. "And this, is Dr. John Watson," the other man said, indicating the blond. "And I'm Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother. Now, since my little brother has gotten himself in a situation, I came as soon as the detective inspector called me. Is this where you found his phone?"

Molly nodded, handing it over to Mycroft. He fiddled with it then rolled his eyes. "He's still locking things from me. Ridiculous, I have the overrides to get into his phone remotely."

John smiled. "Mycroft, please," he said, and tapped into it once and shrugged. "He's so transparent," he muttered, and looked. "Missed calls from me and you, and three messages. Looks like the message you and I sent last night, and an unknown number…"

"The fuck!" John exclaimed, then looked up. "Sorry. Mycroft? Did you know about this? I thought you monitored his mobile?"

Mycroft groaned, taking the phone and looking at what John had indicated. "Why can't he tell me these things?"

"Obviously he didn't think it was a threat. You know how many random messages he gets from the website…" John murmured as he flicked through.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked finally.

John sighed. "You know how he gets the obsessed ones now and then? And usually he puts them off quick enough with his sparkling personality. But this one… The last week he's sent Sherlock seventy five text messages. Sherlock answered the first couple it looks like, then simply ignored the rest. Maybe he shouldn't have."

He handed the phone to Lestrade who glanced at it. "Wow. Yeah. He should have told us…"

The other three looked annoyed a bit at the lack of explanation. Lestrade shrugged at them. "Sorry, looks like an obsessive fan of his. Starts out asking questions about science and deduction and then progresses into more personal information, which is when Sherlock quit answering. Requests to meet, requests to talk on the phone, and then he starts getting mad because Sherlock doesn't answer. Claims that he's tired of waiting for him to 'come around' and then he'll 'make him see the truth'. Then last night, there were three messages around midnight. 'Simple enough to prove to you my undying devotion and love. I'll see you at midnight.' Then, 'Waiting is the hardest part.' And finally, 'About time, I've already wasted too much time practicing on the other two.' Oh, shit…what if…do you think…oh no," Lestrade stammered.

Mycroft stared at him and Lestrade cleared his throat. "The two bodies, the case we're working on, Sherlock's a ringer for both of them. But now, maybe it isn't Sherlock who looks like them, maybe it was them that looked like Sherlock."

"Let me see the bodies," John said with a sigh. "And the autopsy reports, the files, anything you have on the case. And I want to see the two dump sights, and do we know where they were taken from?"

Donovan scowled at him. "Look, you can't just waltz in here and demand to run this investigation, we are the ones that are supposed to do this, we don't need the freak as it is, and we certainly don't need someone we don't know coming in and taking over."

Lestrade paled immediately and took a step back. Donovan didn't even realize what she'd said for a moment and then opened her mouth, but before she could Mycroft Holmes shook his head once and turned and left.

"Be nice, John. Don't make me have to cover any mysterious deaths up for you. Again. Lestrade, if you think I'm bad, John's worse," he said smiling wide at the dumbfounded DI.

John's face hadn't changed. "The 'freak' as you like to call him is in immediate danger by a psychopathic man with an unhealthy obsession with him and what he does. He is also very likely to try and escape, and I need to know immediately what kind of location he's in so we can put men on every possible location. I'm moving with the authority of the fucking British Government, just so you know, considering that I spent the last three years in Afghanistan working covert ops until I was shot through the shoulder three months ago by an insurgent. My clearance is higher than the goddamned prime minister, so if anyone is qualified to take over the investigation of the kidnapping of my soon to be husband, Sherlock Holmes, it is me. Now, either work with me, or stay the fuck out of my way."

With that, he headed into the building directly to the morgue, stuffing Sherlock's phone into his pocket, leaving four open mouthed people behind him.