The Case Of The Pharmasist's Price

"I love you so much, Grayson."

"And I love you," Grayson said. "With all my heart and soul."

He led Price through into the shop and looked around. Sherlock had his arms wrapped tightly around John, their foreheads touching, as if he was afraid that the slender man would vanish if he relinquished his grip. Rawlinson had an arm around Robert's shoulders and he could see that the newcomer was reassuring his friend and assistant. He met Rawlinson's gaze levelly as the intelligent dark eyes turned in his direction.

"I realise your accommodation is very small, Mr Black. I am quite happy to sleep down here, perhaps in your store room. I would also suggest that Mr Leigh stays here for his safety, if you have no objections?"

"None at all. Are you alright, Robert?" Grayson asked. The younger man was looking with wide eyes at the dark-haired man at his side.

"I...yes, yes thank you, Grayson. But...but do you really think I am imperilled in some way?"

"The Count is aware that Mr Black has brotherly affection for you and you were brave enough to stand ready to help defend Mr Baker. He would not hesitate to use you against your friend, or simply for his own dark desires. I understand you may find it a little claustrophobic to remain here, but Mr Mycroft is working unceasingly to determine some way to have the Count removed from our shore. Until then, I would prefer to have you and Mr Baker at hand. You are, of course, free to go out as you will, but I would recommend you do so in a group."

"I have few friends and those I have I would not endanger. I...I could stay down here, too, Grayson. There is more room in the store room than upstairs and it would give you and Price some privacy."

"You are more than welcome," Grayson said. "You will need some clothing. Perhaps I could escort you to ensure you can pack a case in safety."

"I will take care of that Mr Black."

"If you are to be a guest in my home, I would prefer you call me Grayson when we are in the company of intimate friends," Grayson said, smiling at Spencer. His smile widened as the dark, young man nodded with a smile of his own.

"Thank you. There are going to be tense times ahead and we will be in quite intimate closeness for that duration at the very least."

Although Spencer began his words looking at Grayson, he ended them looking at Robert. Grayson hugged Price closer. Robert had a few friends but no one with whom he was physically intimate. However, it seemed that the younger man was as equally taken by the dark newcomer as Spencer was by Grayson's protégé. He hoped that some good was going to come from the Count's detested persistence and unwelcome presence.

****

A few days passed without any further contact with or sighting of the Count. Grayson tried to keep things as normal as possible in the pharmacy. He was pleased to see a growing affection between Robert and the somewhat taciturn Spencer. However, their burgeoning relationship helped Price focus away from the Count and, when he relaxed, Spencer proved to be a knowledgeable and entertaining raconteur.

He and Price had made arrangements to go to a violin concerto with John and Sherlock that evening, but his supplies had suffered some kind of accident en route and there was a lot of work needed to sort things correctly. Price had offered to stay and help, but Grayson knew just how excited his young lover had been when John had offered them the tickets.

"Go," Grayson urged softly as Price once again demurred. "You have looked forward to this concert and I want you to go and enjoy yourself. When you return, Robert and I will have sorted out this mess and you and I can enjoy the last of the evening together."

"I'll miss you, Grayson."

The whispered words were accompanied by a deep kiss from his lover and Grayson hugged the slender form tightly.

"I'll miss you, too, love," he assured. "But there's no point in both of us missing the concert. Enjoy yourself and I will be here waiting for you when you return." He walked the younger man to the door where he passed his care into John who stood waiting with an affectionate smile on his lips.

"Sorry you can't come, Grayson. We'll come back in a cab, too. Good luck with your supplies, my friend."

"Enjoy," Grayson exhorted as he watched Price and then John enter the waiting cab. He gave a sigh and then turned resolutely back inside. Robert, with some help from Spencer, was already working on sorting things. He trudged towards the stock room.

****

Humming the music from the concert, Price walked between John and Sherlock as they headed away from the concert hall to pick up a cab. He smiled as John raised his cane and hailed their carriage. The three men entered and gave the pharmacy as their destination.

Lost in reverie, Price did not immediately realise anything was amiss until Sherlock gave a terse order.

"Be ready, John, the cab has turned in the wrong direction."

Price looked up sharply. The curtains on the cab had been closed and he would not have realised the direction was wrong, but Sherlock had noticed immediately.

"Don't worry, Price. If aught happens, you wait here in the cab or run for help. Let Sherlock and I deal with anything else."

Nodding, Price tried to swallow his fear. He gave a gasp as the carriage suddenly surged forwards for several yards and then came to an abrupt halt. John and Sherlock powered out of the door almost before the carriage had stopped. Price stared with frightened eyes at the unfolding drama.

There were four men dressed in black, their faces hidden by rough masks attacking his friends. He gave a cry of warning to Sherlock as a fifth, armed with a cudgel approached him unseen. The cry was enough to ensure John spun away from one of his attackers, the other knocked to the ground. He watched John block the blow meant for his lover with his own body, his face reflecting the agony as the blow landed heavily on his shoulder.

A hand clamped around Price's mouth and waist and he heard a feared and detested voice.

"Bring me John Watson, Jacques."

Struggling determinedly, Price could only watch helplessly as Jacques approached John unseen and brought his own cosh on John's head. His friend was scooped into Jacques arms even before his unconscious body could crumple to the ground. Tears flowed from Price's eyes as he heard the scream of John's name from Sherlock's lips before the detective was struck to the ground.

He was pulled onto the Count's lap as Jacques threw John into the cab and shouted a command. The carriage immediately began to move. There was a light thud and rocking motion that had the henchman look in his master's direction and the Count moved his mouth from where it had been licking at Price's ear.

"It was nothing, probably a stone. Sherlock Holmes now knows who is master. I have my pet back and someone quite precious to your monsieur Holmes."

Looking down at his friend, Price could see a small trickle of blood at John's temple. The Count's hand moved and Price tried to scream for help. However it was quickly replaced and this time a thick rag covered his nose and mouth. His eyes widened as he registered the scent of the ether with which it was impregnated. His last thought was of Grayson.

****

Slowly regaining consciousness, John took a minute to remain motionless and try to ascertain his surroundings. He was no longer travelling, nor in the dark cell he had found himself in thereafter. He remembered how nauseous he had been, his head aching. Price had cared for him, shouting to unseen jailors that they needed help.

The light he could detect, despite his closed lids, informed him he was in a much lighter room. Beneath him was a comfortable mattress, not a cold, hard floor. However, he was still naked, only his groin was covered by something light and, worse still, he was spread-eagled and tightly restrained. There was a dull ache in the shoulder that had been wounded when he was a soldier that told him he had already been in this position some time.

Taking as deep a breath as possible in the over-stretched position he opened his eyes. He was in a conventional bedroom tied to a four-poster bed. A thin wisp of cotton was across his groin. He tested the bonds that held him, but they held tight. There was no hope of him being able to work loose his restraints. He would have to bide his time and hope for another opportunity whereby he could escape.

Several minutes passed before the door opened and the Count entered. John bristled as the other man gave a slow, feral smile.

"Finally. It seemed you reacted badly to the ether after the blow to your head. I had to pay an animal physician a considerable sum for his silence, but I deemed it an expense well worth the price. The boy has cared for you these last twenty four hours. I was told you could not be moved or else we would be in Dover now."

"Indeed?" John retorted, his voice adopting a bored, disinterested tone.

"Yes, indeed."

John fought his natural instinct to try and flinch away as the Count sat at his side, the older man's hands spreading over John's exposed chest to finally centre on his nipples. He endured several minutes of increasingly harder and rougher pinches and tugs to the small nubs before a small sound of pain escaped his lips. To his anger, the smile on the Count's face simply widened.

"Well worth the expense. I have yet to pleasure myself with you or the boy. When I do I want you conscious and aware and him watching. Regrettably, we are now behind schedule and there is little time even for play."

This time John did try to pull away as the Count's hands slid under the meagre covering and began to explore his body where only Sherlock's hands belonged. One began a slow, firm stroking from root to tip of his flaccid flesh, squeezing and rubbing at the slit as a thumb eased the foreskin away and the sensitive glans was exposed. The other hand slid lower, cupping his ball sac and rolling his testes and then rubbing across his perineum.

John dug his fingers into his palms hoping the pain would detract from the persistent touches designed to arouse him against his will. He tried to twist in a futile attempt to get away from the Count but to no avail. The one hand was now pumping his shaft vigorously before resuming a slow slide up and down his unwillingly filling flesh while a finger pressed and probed at his hidden entrance. He could hear the Count's breath coming more quickly as his tormentor became aroused himself and could think of only one thing to do.

Purposely John twisted to deliberately aggravate the pain already centring in the area of his old war wound. He was unable to stop a brief cry of pain escaping his lips as agony flared through him. He lay panting softly, his eyes closed, as the pain slowly abated. As his eyes opened he looked into the furious visage of the Count and gave a soft grunt as the older man backhanded him, splitting his lower lip.

"The only reason I do not cane the boy's bare buttocks until they bleed for this show of defiance is that we have to move quickly. But be assured, mon cher, that any future disobedience or attempt to frustrate my will shall be followed by the boy's punishment. Just as any failure of his to please me shall result in yours."

"You are an unspeakable monster," John ground out from between clenched teeth. "And when Holmes finds you, you are also a dead one."

The laughter came unexpectedly as the Count moved away from John and the captive man watched him warily. His captor picked up a newspaper and brought it to him, folding it and holding it so that John could read the headline. John felt coldness lodge in the pit of his stomach but forced his face to remain calm.

'Sherlock Holmes remains unconscious after cowardly attack.'

"So you see, mon cher, there will be no white knight on his steed coming to save you and the boy. Holmes was the only witness to your abduction and no one knows where we are. We will soon be on our way to Dover and then to Calais. Once we are in la belle France we will go to one of my secluded and remote hideaways where you and the boy will indulge my every whim. To show I am not such a monster you may see the boy."

Twisting his head, John saw the Count go to the door and open it, shouting loudly in French. Within a minute his man was shoving Price into the room. The younger man's face was deathly pale and he had been dressed in knee-length pants and stockings, a white shirt and grey tie, topped off with a grey blazer. He looked a very convincing schoolboy with his youthful, smooth cheeks and slight frame.

"John!"

The relief was heartfelt and obvious to John's ears in the single word as Price ran to clumsily embrace him. John pressed his face close to the quietly sobbing younger man.

"Price, do not move away, just listen. We have to be brave and we have to be strong. We must both endure what we have to and live so that when Grayson and Sherlock come for us, as they surely will, we are waiting. We are both loved by men who will not rest until we are back in their arms. Just nod if you understand."

A slight motion of Price's head indicated he had heard and understood what had been said. John closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Price's cheek. He was asking a lot of a young man who had only recently learned of love and the pleasure that could be shared thanks to Grayson. Having once escaped from the Count's cruel clutches, it would be so much harder to endure captivity again. His own time in the Army had hardened John, although he had only ever been taken by one man. He knew he would endure whatever it took to be back in Sherlock's embrace again.

"Now that I have let you see your friend is well, you will go and wait with Jacques."

John would have liked nothing better than to wipe the supercilious smile off the Count's face as the older man pulled Price away, shoving him carelessly towards his manservant. However, he kept his face neutral and his body as relaxed as he could. If the Count saw something that could be used against him, then John knew it would be ruthlessly employed. His affection for Price was already a potent weapon without him revealing just how fond of the younger man he had so quickly become.

"When Jacques returns, you will be released and you will begin to dress. I thought you would look good in green."

In response to the patronising words and the dress the Count held, John glowered angrily.

"You expect me to dress as a woman?" he demanded, despite his helpless position.

"Monsieur Rawlinson confirmed what I already suspected. The older Holmes also values his brother's pretty and precious plaything. However, we will not be travelling as four men, as they will search for. Instead we will travel as a husband, wife and son with their servant. Regrettably, you will be a helpless cripple and I your devoted spouse. We will travel to the railway station in two carriages. I have selected a nice, quiet station, few witnesses. Once we are nearing the station, then you and the boy will both be sedated and when you next awake, mon cher we will be in my homeland."

Before John could speak, Jacques rejoined them and the Count threw the dress on the bed. He then added flimsy, black, silk drawers, stockings and garters and a black corset with matching brassiere. He ground his teeth together as Jacques pulled away the sheet that gave him a modicum of modesty before slicing through the rope that bound him.

"Jacques will assist with the corset and brassier while you regain some feeling in your arms. I'm sure you can manage the rest."

Knowing that any resistance would be both expected and futile, John decided to make no protest. His muscles ached as he moved and his shoulder throbbed from his own actions. Better to submit now, while he was temporarily incapacitated, and regain his strength. He stood slowly, picking up the corset and placing it against his body. He gave a muted grunt of discomfort at Jacques laced it so tightly John could barely breathe; small, shallow breaths the best he could manage. The corset emphasised his trim waist and pushed out his chest.

Next the brassiere was fastened, the tiny, delicate, black lace cups enfolding his breasts. He reached for the dress, but stopped at the snap of the Count's fingers. Gritting his teeth he picked up the stockings, easing them over his long, lean legs and securing them with the black, lacy garters.

"Ici, mon cher."

The command was slowly followed as John stepped towards the Count. The older man leered openly as John performed the pirouette the Count indicated with a twist of his hand.

"I think I like you dressed like this. Regrettably there is too little time. Continue."

As quickly as he could John donned the rest of the female attire. He then moved to the dressing table where an auburn wig, some face powder, lipstick and perfume and a dainty hat awaited him. In just a few moments, his transformation was completed as he finally secured the hat to the wig.

"C'est bon, mon cher. Now both Jacques and I have knives; silent and deadly. He will have the boy and you will be with me."

"Holmes will find you and he will kill you," John said. The only reply was the Count's mocking laughter.

Outside, the cool evening air instantly chilled John as he followed Price whose arm was held in a vice-like grip by Jacques. Although John could not see a knife in the henchman's hand, he could feel the one that pressed into his own side. He could see the two carriages, one behind the other and was pulled towards the one at the rear.

As they approached the vehicles, armed men appeared from the blind side as did a reassuring and familiar figure.

"Mycroft!" John exclaimed. He felt his confidence surge at the sight of the older man. As meticulous and methodical as his lover was renowned to be, the elder Holmes matched and exceeded the younger.

"I would suggest you release Dr Watson and Mr Baker, Count. There is no escape for you if you attempt to take them."

"I doubt you would risk the life of you own brother's precious lover."

John winced as the knife moved from his side to his throat, pricking the fragile flesh. He could feel the warm wetness of his own blood as it slid down his neck towards his chest.

"Alone you always have the claim of Diplomatic Immunity. That would be nullified if you attempt to take hostages with you."

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Jacques manhandling Price towards the carriage. The man did indeed have a knife, but now it was away from the younger man's body. John muted a gasp of surprise as he recognised Grayson just as his friend's boot connected with Jacques' hand, knocking the knife away. He had time enough to see Price shoved hard into the body of the carriage as Grayson jumped down to tackle the bigger man before he was swung round more directly in front of Mycroft, his body providing a shield for the man who held him.

"Am I expected to trust the brother of a man so close to death?"

"I can assure you, Count, that any such accounts were greatly exaggerated."

"Sherlock Holmes!"

His lover's name was gasped in his ear by the Count. John's eyes locked with those of his lover and he recognised instantly what he saw in their depths. It was now up to him. The shock of seeing Sherlock emerge from behind the larger frame of his older brother had caught the Count completely off-guard. As a consequence, the knife at his throat had moved away and John exploded into action.

In a single, military-precise, coordinated movement, John dragged the heel of his lady's boot down the Count's left shin, jabbed viciously backwards with his left elbow and rammed his right hand upwards, forcing the Count's knife hand away from his body. As the Count's arm was pushed outwards, John grasped the older man's wrist and used his strength and knowledge to twist, earning him a shriek of pain as fragile wrist bones snapped and the weapon dropped from the Count's useless hand.