AN 2: There's been an addition to this scene. Please, review.

AN: Don't own Sherlock or the beautifully written Dark Series (Dark Fire, here) by Christine Feehan from which I discovered this scene.

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The man was about forty, large and muscular. He grinned widely at him, his eyes seeming to hold a hint of... worry? "Something, wrong sir?," he asked. "You could say that," John breathed heavily and placed both hands on his hips. "I need a ride... ?" John left the unspoken question hanging between them. "Sure, pop in." He pushed a pile of clutter from the seat to the floor, as John joined him in the cabin. "It's a mess, but what the heck?" "Thanks. The sky looked like it was about to turn nasty on me." And it did. The smell of rain drifted on the wind and thick, towering clouds were floating towards them from the direction the lorry had come.

The man squinted up at the night sky through the windshield. "Crazy. The weather reports said it would be clear. Maybe those clouds will just drift right pass us. I'm Sean." He stuck out his hand. "John," he replied and slipped his hand into the other man's for a brief shake, but the moment he touched him, his stomach lurched and he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck and arms.

He was certain he imagined Sean's meaty thumb purposefully trail the inside of his wrist and palm when he let go and moved to put the lorry back into gear, as he fixed his eyes back on the road. John tried to shake it off the itch, relax and settle in his seat, while he fought his rising nausea and imagination. He needed to focus on how he would get home once they reached somewhere he could call for a cab. However, the moment his head hit the back of the seat, his exhaustion finally caught up with him and his eyelids kept drifting shut.

Sean glanced at him with a concerned frown etched across his face. "Are you sick? I could take you to the nearest clinic. I think there should be a small town a bit further up this road."

John tried to regain something close to his earlier level of alertness and shook his now pounding head in the negative, not trying to speak. He knew he was pale and could feel small beads of sweat perspiration dotting his chest and forehead. "I jogged for awhile before you came along. I think I just... overdid it." But he knew that wasn't the only reason for his discomfort. He was too tired to pay attention to the warning he could now barely sense in the back of his mind. Something wasn't right and the feeling was increasing the longer he sat there, but he didn't think he could bother to ask Sean to pull over or even think about getting out to walk again. He was so tired. Bone weary.

"Got to sleep, then. I'm used to driving alone, anyway," Sean advised. "I usually have the radio on, but if it bothers you I can manage without it." "Not going t' bother me," John mumbled. His eyelids would not stay up no matter how hard he tried to stay awake. He was truly exhausted. Weariness continued to invade his body, deadening his limbs, so at last he gave up the fruitless fight and allowed his eyes to slip closed.

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Sean drove for fifteen minutes, sending quick, covert glances at his hitchhiker. His heart was pounding rapidly away within his chest. His passenger was small with a boy-next-door aura and cornflower blue eyes and he'd fallen right into his lap. He never let such opportunities escape him. Glancing at his watch he was pleased to see that he was ahead of his schedule. He was meeting his boss in a few hours, but had more than enough time to indulge his fantasies with the tempting blonde.

The clouds above thickened and darkened further, occasionally issuing small veins of lightning and a rumble of thunder. They were dark enough to blot out the sun, should they remain when it began its ascent in a short time. He watched for the dense, patch of trees closest to the road as he came around a sharp curve so he could pull off into some measure of relative privacy and remain undetected or at least mostly ignored by any potential passing vehicles.

John jerked awake when a hand fumbled clumsily at his jeans. His eyes flew open. Sean was leaning across him, tearing at his clothes. He punched him as hard as he was able to in the small confines of the lorry, partially out of pure shock. But John was weak from exhaustion and little sleep and Sean was very big and very awake. His enormous fist clipped him behind the ear, then smashed into his left eye. For a brief moment John saw stars, then everything went black and he slid farther down into his seat.

Sean's mouth covered his, wet and slimy. Again he mustered the will to struggle against his attacker, pulling at his greasy hair and trying to shove his body away from him. "Stop! Fuck you! STOP!" he shouted.

A thick fist pounded into his weakened muscles over and over, while another caught and felt like it attempted to crush all the bones in his wrist. He was in so much pain, he groaned his protests.
"You're a whore. Why else would you be walking the road? Why get in here with me? You wanted this. I know you, you did. That's okay, baby, I like it rough. Fight me all you want. It's perfect. Exactly. What. I. Want," he panted his vile breath into John's face.

His knee pressed hard against John's thigh, holding him down so that he could tear at the waistband of his jeans. John's hand found the door handle and he wrenched at it, as he ripped his wrist away and jackknifed out onto the ground. He scrambled to pick himself up and run in any direction away.

Overhead the skies suddenly opened up and the dark clouds emptied on them like a waterfall. He stumbled and felt Sean grab his leg from behind, then quickly flipped him over so hard it drove the precious little air from his lungs.

Lightning flashed, sizzled and arced from cloud to cloud. He saw that clearly as he stared up at the sky. Rain fell in silver sheets drenching them both. His vision blurred and he felt cold dread seep deep into his soul as what little adrenaline he had left from when he was first shocked into the waking world began to desert him as Sean pummeled him repeatedly with his large, clenched fist. "Feels good, feels so good, doesn't it?" he rasped from above him with his eyes filled with ugly hatred, hard and glaring down at him with mad triumph.

John fought him with every ounce of remaining strength he possessed, kicking at him when he could get a leg free, beating at him until his fists were bruised and aching. None of his efforts were working. The rain continued to pour down on them and thunder growled, seeming to shake the very ground.

There was no warning at all. One moment Sean's great weight was pressing down on his body, the next he was jerked back by some unseen force. He heard the thud as his assailant was thrown and landed hard against the lorry. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed by nausea, he tried to roll over and off of his back. Every muscle hurt. He managed to make it to his knees before he vomited violently, again and again. His felt his left eye swelling already and with the rain and wind it was hard to see what was happening.

Then there was a deeply disturbing crack. John recognized the sound of bone breaking. He half crawled, half dragged himself toward a tree and unsteadily braced himself against its trunk. Then arms surrounded him, drawing him towards a solid chest. He instantly reacted by struggling and swinging his heavy limbs in renewed panic as he shouted in anger and despair.

"You are safe," a familiar voice crooned softly, battling down the beast that was his own rage. "No one is going to hurt you. Be calm, John. Calm. You are safe with me." At that moment John didn't care how he'd done it. Sherlock had saved him from his crazed rapist. He clutched the sides of his jacket between his hands and burrowed close, trying to shrink away from the terrible brutality and just disappear into the shelter of his warm body. Sherlock held onto him.

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T.B.C. very soon, b/c I'm on a roll. Next chapter will be up by Friday (9/14) at the absolute latest.

AN: Thoughts? Send me a review. :)