Watson's Final Problem (Sherlock Holmes/John Watson MD, Jim Moriarty)

John looked at him for a long moment, weighting the other's reaction and what he wanted to say. Sherlock really seemed to be worried though, more about his well-being than anything else, and that was quite a nice feeling.
"It's okay... he... well, he didn't really... touch me..." he muttered, blushing a bit and looking away, trying to ignore the memories of the day before, Jim had enjoyed himself doing what he did, but he reckoned it was more because he knew he was breaking Sherlock, or simply because he was a bloody sadist.
Sherlock didn't need to know the details though.

"You care about me, Sherlock, and I care about you, that should be enough not to ever fall out," he muttered with a reassuring but a bit hesitant smile, he knew things were never that easy, but he reckoned considering his time was running out they didn't really have to worry about the future.

He nodded when Sherlock deleted the picture. "Thank you..." he muttered, and licked his lips. "I am afraid he is going to send more... he took... many... from different angles," he explained embarrassed.

"Don't worry," Sherlock sighed, standing up and moving through towards the kitchen. "When he sends more I'll just delete them too."

He picked up the piece of toast he'd made for himself and took a bite, leaning against the wall and looking at John. "I need to speak to him," he mumbled, almost thinking aloud. "Try and arrange some kind of...meeting...Can't just sit around doing nothing..."

He found it frustrating that Moriarty was out there laughing at them and getting pleasure from sending these sick photographs, whilst he and John were just stuck at home wondering what he was going to do next. It wouldn't be so bad if he'd had a case to distract him, but things had been decidedly quiet recently.