Well hello there.
First of all, I have no idea where this story came from, it just popped into my head and was there, then I started writing it down and *poof*.
I hope you all enjoy my sadistic mind.

Ah right, I don't own Sherlock... obvious, isn't it? xD If I did, there would be even more Sherlock whump in the show *cough*
Enough of the talking, here you go.

Think.

John did not feel anything. His mind yelled at him to be angry or sad or furious, to feel something, anything, but he didn't. This one time he just thought, his mind working through every single aspect that could possibly help him – he didn't know why he didn't feel anything and he didn't waste his precious time wondering about it. His eyes were locked on the computer screen, observing what little he could make of Moriarty's letter, but he thought more than that. He thought about everything that Sherlock had said to him before Moriarty's men had abducted him, because he was sure that the detective must have figured something out to cause this mess and John knew that his friend would have foreseen the trouble and therefore given the blogger hints of what was going on. All John had to do was what Sherlock told him to do whenever he got the chance: Think.

Question one: why didn't Sherlock just tell him? - Well, obvious, as the detective would say. If John had known, he would have been taken, too.

Question two: Why hadn't he been taken? - Moriarty must have figured out that Sherlock had been giving out hints, there was no doubting that… but perhaps if these hints were so subtle, so meaningless to John that he, in Moriarty's eyes, couldn't possibly have figured out the truth behind them… perhaps that would be enough to protect him.

Question three: Would he be able to figure it out in time?

He forced his thoughts back to the last day he had seen his friend and tried to recall everything he had said to him, but the picture that suddenly appeared on the computer screen ripped him from his thoughts. It was Sherlock.

He was dangling from the ceiling, only held by chains around his wrists, his upper body was naked and covered in marks, blood and dirt and his head hung loosely in front of his chest, his brown curls only making him look more pale than he already was. He looked exhausted, almost starved to death, and he shivered violenly.

Suddenly, he looked up and right into the camera, his eyes for once showing what he felt. The doctor saw the hopelessness in them, the fear, the pain and – what shocked him most – something very close to resignation.

It took the doctor a great deal of effort to stay where he was instead of running out into the night, searching every house, every room in London until he found his flatmate.

Right then, a figure stepped into view. "Good morning, Sherlock." Moriarty's voice had adapted its usual, half-singing tone and it caused a very fast reaction from the detective.

"D-don't… please… no more." The detective flinched, trying to get away from Moriarty. "John…", he croaked, a broken, desperate sound and John felt his heart shatter. Sherlock did not plead, he just didn't.

Meanwhile, Moriarty had taken another step towards the detective and grabbed him by his hips. He turned his face to the camera, giving his audience a big smile.

"And good evening ladies and gentlemen.", he chimed. "Tonight, I will have the great honour of answering some very urgent questions of yours. In fact, I will already answer one right away: Yes, as you can see, Sherlock is still alive – although you probably don't even care that he's gone, do you? What other explanation is there that you have not yet stormed into this room to rescue him?" The detective whimpered softly, closing his eyes, but he was not fast enough – John had already seen the agony in them - Sherlock actually believed Moriarty.

"Secondly…", the other continued, his fingers digging into the consulting detective's skin, deep enough to leave marks. "I do consider myself a very generous man and all the Christmas songs are getting to me, so just in (the rather unlikely) case that you actually ARE looking for him I am willing to play a little game of hide and seek. Who knows, you might just win." Moriarty opened his arms as if to welcome someone and his smile grew even wider.
"Isn't that a nice Christmas present?"

He reached for something outside the camera's view and suddenly, a crack sounded, soon followed by a bloodcurdling, hoarse scream and yet another gash on Sherlock's chest, before the computer screen went dark again and John was left with his thoughts.

Why would Moriarty allow him the chance to get Sherlock back after he had apparently kidnapped him because he had figured something out? Once again, a surprisingly clear thought crossed his mind and he could literally hear Sherlock sigh: "Obvious, John, it's so OBVIOUS. It's just the same reason why he chose to become a consulting criminal - he is bored."

Alright, I got it started, so let's see where this ends.
Prepare to deal with some really bad scenes later on.
*hands out some cookies*

Thank you for reading this, everyone!