Sherlock could hear his footsteps echoing through the alleyway; John's trailing not far behind. He wished John would hurry. They were so close he could almost feel it.
Pausing suddenly, he closed his eyes, mapping out the streets of London in his mind. A whirl of colours flashed across his mental vision as John made a noise of frustration behind him, like he often did. He never seemed to fully understand how Sherlock's mind worked, but people rarely did. Sherlock didn't mind so much; with all his old friend had put up with when it came to him, an action or two like that was insignificant.
His eyes flew open and he set off around the closest corner, veering further into the maze of darkened side streets and narrow lanes. He stopped in his tracks again, this time not met with a sigh of anger from Doctor Watson, but rather silence.
"John," he said roughly, turning the corner with a glare as though John had ruined their entire night's work. He was met by nothing but the far off cars; rushing people that he didn't care for off to do likely seemingly meaningless ventures.
"John?" he called out again, this time his voice laced with more concern than most would ever hear from the likes of Sherlock Holmes.
"Problem?"
Sherlock spun back around, his long coat twirling behind him. Behind him stood a man in a suit with slick black hair and a smirk that unsettled Sherlock. He had faced many enemies, dangerous beyond most people's comprehension; however, something about this one was different. He could tell this man was not to be easy outwitted as most were.
"Something wrong, my dear?"
"Where is he?" Sherlock could feel the anger rising in his chest. He had developed a strange sort of defensiveness when it came to John over the years, though he supposed that came along with the title of the world's only consulting detective's only friend.
"The name is Moriarty, since you seem so keen to know." Sherlock hadn't been sure it was even possible, but the man's smirk grew wider as he continued. "But you may call me Loki."
"I didn't ask your name, I asked what you did with my friend."
His voice remained calm and rational; if he played this right, it was possible he could talk John back into safety. Something about the way this man said the name Loki implied that Sherlock should recognize it, though scanning through his mind, he couldn't come up with anything.
Sherlock took a careful step forward, hoping to get a better look at Loki while not scaring him off (though, he thought to himself, this one didn't seem likely to be frightened away.) Before he could do anything else, the figure had vanished, leaving nothing but the alleyway ahead.
This all had to be some sort of elaborate joke, Sherlock told himself, though he hadn't figured out how a hologram could appear so real. He took another few steps forward, inspecting the area around where Loki had stood, to his regret, finding nothing. It was perplexing, to say the least.
"Does your little mortal pet mean that much to you?"
Sherlock felt his heart freeze, seeing that John was standing next to Loki. Something was desperately wrong. John looked cold, in the most literal sense of the word, shivering slightly, his eyes fixed unseeing over Sherlock's shoulder.
"You don't seem to be enjoying our game," Loki grinned, looking just as real as he had before. He now held some sort of golden staff that seemed to be pulled straight from a movie about gods in far off worlds. Sherlock would have laughed at the absurdity of such a piece which clashed with the man's well kept suit, if it weren't for the gravity of the situation.
"Name your price," Sherlock replied, getting impatient. He was slightly worried, but tried not to show it. Whatever this man had up his sleeve, Sherlock wasn't prepared for it.
"I have no price. Merely indulging myself in a little fun, that's all."
Loki was faster than Sherlock had expected; before he could say any more, Sherlock felt himself thrust backward by some burst of light, his head colliding with a brick wall behind him. The last thing he remembered was a high, devious laughter, just as everything went black.
He wasn't sure how long he had been out, but when he woke, everything seemed back to normal. He suspected it was some sort of concussion induced dream until he caught sight of John who still stood where he had before, his attentions still on some far off, non-existent thing. Sherlock rushed to John's side, shaking him gently awake. All at once, John seemed to come back to life, his eyes shooting to Sherlock as his weight fell onto him; he looked dazed and confused.
"S- Sherlock. W- What happened?"
Sherlock furrowed his brow, wondering the same thing.