The usually silent laboratory was alive with activity despite the lateness of the hour. Technicians hurried through carrying test tube racks and other pieces of equipment while several scientists hovered about clutching clipboards. In the very center of the room a surgical team prepped the subject strapped to the operation table. The scene was infused with an atmosphere of barely organized chaos with the feeling that no-one was one hundred per cent sure what they were doing. Throughout it all, like the calm at the center of a hurricane, the man in the exquisitely tailored Westwood suit watched the action unfolding around him from where he lent against a highly sterilized surface with disinterest. All of this had been much too easy and there was no sense of satisfaction or enjoyment in the grand finale. The man yawned and stretched, the simple movement making several of the Technicians flinch away from him. He ignored them, having no time for those weak minded individuals, and walked over to the surgical team. Instantly everyone in the lab froze. The man smiled, enjoying the attention.

"Is he ready yet?" The man asked softly in his lilting accent, adding an exasperated sigh for good measure.

The head of the surgical team glanced up from where he was securing the last strap, cautious of how to reply to some one whose moods were so changeable.

"Well?" prompted the man, a manic gleam in his eyes. "Aren't you going to answer?"

A shiver ran down the lead surgeons spine and he was forced to advert his gaze from the man's emotionless grey eyes. "Almost ready. We're just waiting for him to regain consciousness so the serum will work properly."

The man regarded him intently for a moment before nodding and turning his attention to the man strapped to the table whose face, for now at least, was serene and untroubled. He lent over so his face was inches from the subject's and considered what he was about to do. To some people it would appear cruel but in the name of science and human experiments the whole thing would prove fascinating. The subject's eyes opened. At first he seemed unable to focus, the blue eyes hazy and indistinct, but he quickly came to his senses when he saw who was leaning over him.

"Moriarty?" He croaked, his voice cracking with misuse as he struggled weakly against his bonds. "I thought you were dead."

Moriarty grinned widely as he reached for a pair of rubber gloves. "Hello Sherlock, awake at last I see. Scalpel please."
This last was directed at one of the surgical team who scrambled to pick one up from the metallic tray. They promptly dropped it with a loud clatter. Moriarty sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. "Why am I surrounded by fools?" He muttered darkly under his breath, positioning the scalpel at the top of Sherlock's sternum and preparing to make an incision. "You should be able to sympathize Sherlock since I can't imagine John Watson is partially clever." He said with a wink. "This might sting a little." Moriarty continued before pressing down on the small blade and slicing cleanly through the skin.

Sherlock tensed, the jolt of pain more intense than he'd expected, and bit his lip to prevent a scream from escaping. The incision complete Moriarty swapped the scalpel for a syringe of black liquid that gleamed dully under the lab's bright lighting.

"What the hell is that?" Sherlock demanded between gritted teeth.

Moriarty ignored him and gently, almost tenderly, injected the liquid directly into the muscle of Sherlock's heart. The burning sensation started up almost straight away with wave after wave of agony sweeping over the detective, threatening to engulf him. He clenched his fists. Dimly as though through a haze he was aware of Moriarty's smug smile. He tried to curse but the only thing that escaped his mouth was a cry of pain and a few drops of blood.

"Sssh Sherlock." Moriarty said. laying a comforting hand on his forehead. "It'll all be over soon. The first injection was just to suppress those pesky emotions."

Sherlock screamed again, this time managing a name. "JOHN!" He slumped down exhausted. Unlike other times his life had been in danger there was no one coming to help him; he was completely at Moriarty's mercy. The realization sent despair crashing through him. He flinched when Moriarty began to stroke his forehead.

"Don't worry Sherlock, It'll all be over soon."

Sherlock let out a weak groan as pain flared through him. Moriarty smiled and selected the second of the two syringes. Briefly Sherlock struggled against his bonds but quickly went limp. There was simply no point in fighting. He felt the syringes needle sliding into his heart and tensed as a new sensation flooded through him, consuming everything in its path. Agony engulfed him, filling him up until he was aware of nothing else. He was grateful when darkness hovered at the edges of his vision and willingly allowed himself to be swallowed by it. After that Sherlock knew no more.