Author's Note: Critical reviews greatly appreciated. Be as kind or ruthless as you like, especially on characterization. First Sherlock fic. Trying to get a feel for writing these characters. Inspiration for this fic courtesy of "Radio Lab."

Sherlock groaned. His eyes fluttered open.

He was sitting up in a chair in a room he didn't recognize. He was uncomfortable. Blinking drowsily, he tried to move his head and winced when pain greeted his slight motion. He tried to reach up to touch his throbbing temple, but his hands were immobile. He looked down at his hands to see why. After a few minutes of letting his eyes focus, he saw his wrists were clamped down to the arms of the large metal chair he was strapped to.

"Hmph." He didn't have time to be alarmed. He didn't have time to dwell on, "How did I get here?" His mind was already leaping ahead, scanning the room. Large room, dim recessed lighting, tile floors, no windows, a white board folded up in the corner and a large projection screen directly in front of him. A conference room, possibly in a basement, so not a bank or a business, no, they usually display their conference rooms proudly, full of gleaming windows and overpriced furniture. By the peeling paint and the graying dropped ceiling, this was a lecture hall. University…public library…

The projection screen in front of Sherlock flickered and came to life.

Sherlock's racing thoughts calmed as he focused. He tried to crook his head over his shoulder to see where the projection was coming from, but he found his head was also strapped in place. He also found his head was still tender. Pain lashed at his skull in protest of his moving.

"Mmm," Sherlock smarted without humor. For the first time, he considered he might be in danger. After all, that was some bump on his head. It had put him out long enough to be put in this chair without waking up, and rob him of the memory of how he got it. Also, his hair was damp. Was he bleeding?

Let's have a thought experiment.

The letters typed themselves out across the screen.

Sherlock read the words without expression. Then he replied confidently with a slight smile; "Let's." The words on the screen vanished.

Sherlock waited patiently.

New words began to appear:

You are near some train tracks. There are five workers on the tracks, working, repairing the track. They have their backs turned to a trolley which, unbeknownst to them, is approaching. They don't see it. You can't shout to them because you are too far away. And if you do nothing, they will be hit by the train and the five workers will die.

But you have a choice. You can do nothing. Or, it just so happens that next to you is a lever. You can pull the lever and the trolley will jump on the side tracks where there is only one worker. But if the trolley goes on the second track it will kill th one worker.

So there's your choice. Do you kill one man by pulling a lever? Or do you kill five men by doing nothing?

Sherlock sighed. How dull. How 1984. Using a looming computer screen to communicate with him in an effort to intimidate him. Did he person think Sherlock would not be able to glean information about him by masking his identity behind this tedious prop? And most insultingly, rather than tease him with a riddle that took some thought or effort, he was using a tired morality test. "Oh, come off it," Sherlock huffed, disappointed.

It's a thought experiment, explained the screen, that measures your sense of moral justice, not your intellect.

"I know what it is," Sherlock snapped. "You drugged me, abducted me and chained me in this elaborate…," he paused to struggle uselessly, "…and…effective…restraining device just so you could grill me on the moral compass I do not possess?" He sighed, giving up against the chair that did not budge. "Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "Pull the lever, kill the one man."

Why?

"Because obviously it's better that five men should live at one man's expense." He desperately wanted to look over his shoulder. Not only was there a projector that displayed the screen, there must be a camera somewhere recording him so his opponent could respond to him in real-time. He wondered how much of a lag there was in the feed.

Even though if you do nothing and five men die in an accident, it's nothing more than nature taking its course? Whereas if you pull the lever, you are consciously choosing for one man to die…it amounts to murder.

"Murder or accident," reasoned Sherlock impatiently, "the math works out. Five saved over one. It's just logical."

Then let's alter the parameters of the scenario.

"Let's," agreed the agitated Sherlock. "After all, I'm not going anywhere."

You are standing near some train tracks. Five workers are working on the tracks, just as before, the trolley is coming. Except this time you are standing on a foot bridge over the tracks. You are looking down at the tracks. There is no lever now.

But standing next to you is a man. A large man. He is standing next to you on the train tracks watching the trolley approach with you. You realize, "I can save those five men by pushing this man down onto the tracks. Just give him a nudge. He'll land on the tracks and stop the train."

Sherlock curled his lip. "You want me to hypothetically push the large man onto the tracks?"

Would you?

"Yes," Sherlock said dismissively.

You would? You don't find any moral difference between pulling a lever and pushing a man off a bridge to his death?

"No, the immediacy has no moral impact on me," Sherlock explained easily. "The math is still the same."

Most people would disagree with you. Postulate the same scenario to a hundred people on the street, and most people would say pulling the lever is okay while pushing the large man is wrong. But why murder is okay when you're pulling a lever but not okay when you push the man? We found is that consistently, people have no clue.

"I find most people have no clue," Sherlock pointed out, disinterested.

They don't understand what drove their judgment which is completely spontaneous and automatic and immediate and want to kind of appreciate the dilemma they're now in of lack of consistency makes their whole moral core unravel.

"Well, that's what makes me different from most people. I have no moral core to unravel. It's all logic."

And that's what makes you such an effective detective.

"That's right."

That's how you solve crimes-like riddles. There are no real consequences to you. It's just a game.

"I like a spirited chase," Sherlock said defensively.

Then let's raise the stakes. Make it interesting.

Sherlock smirked. "Sounds exciting. What are we playing for?"

The screen went black, the words vanished.

In place of it was a video feed. At first, Sherlock thought it was a mirror image of himself, which was incredibly helpful. It was a large conference room, just like his, and in the middle of the room, facing him, was a man strapped in a metal chair-though it was much larger than Sherlock imagined it was, with many attachments hanging from the ceiling, mechanical moving parts and wires coming out of it. "What am I sitting in?" Sherlock thought to himself.

Then he recognized John Watson as the other man in the chair.

Sherlock's jaw tensed. All pretext of humor or amusement vanished in him.

His automatic reaction was to call out for John. But he didn't. He kept his mouth shut. John couldn't hear him anyway. It was a video.

John was awake, looking dead ahead at the screen. Sherlock felt that John was looking right at him. He wondered what John was seeing, if there was any screen in front of him.

To be continued…