A/N: Okay, I wasn't gonna jump on the bandwagon, but I find myself drawn to write my own 'Moriarty being a total creeper' fic. Just a note, if you don't like bad language, tread carefully. It's not full of it, but there's a decent amount coming from the hostage. It's justified, though, she kinda gets whumped.
"Shit." Anna awoke to a pounding headache and total lack of mobility. She stared at her surroundings and tried to realign all her senses with the proper organs. Eyes seeing, ears hearing, mouth, obviously, talking. She could smell a staleness that you only got from long-abandoned buildings. She pulled at her arms, trying to move, but nothing happened. Why couldn't she move? Then, she realized she was tied to a chair. Well, this was going from bad to worse. She craned around behind her to see if she was alone. Not a good move. She was almost glad she was bound to the chair, because otherwise, she would have fallen to the floor as a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over her. She groaned heavily.
She was, as far as she could tell, alone for now. She was glad for that, because it gave her a chance to recover some composure. She swallowed hard and breathed in deep, waiting for the ill feelings to retreat. They didn't, instead, a growing tiredness behind her eyes began to force them shut. Her vision blurred, and just before she went out, she heard the sound of a door opening behind her.
Sherlock threw a punch and landed it just before the door burst open and Lestrade rushed in. As he tackled the suspect, he called back, "Bloody hell, Sherlock, what part of 'wait for us' didn't you get?" He sounded more exasperated than actually angry, mostly because he knew Sherlock would just disregard it the next time.
"Didn't have the time," the younger man responded casually. "He was already almost gone by the time John and I got here."
"Where is John, anyway?" Lestrade asked, looking around as he noted the other man's absence.
"Around back helping Sergeant Donovan take care of the other one. Well, I'd say this was altogether a success, how about you?" Lestrade hauled the suspect off the floor and turned him over to the PCs to take out to the police car. As the two headed down the stairs, John and Sally appeared pulling the other man along behind them. After finagling their way out of making their statements until tomorrow, as per usual, the two men hailed a cab and made their way back to Baker Street. Sherlock was over the moon, as he always was after a successfully solved case, and John couldn't help but catch some of his energy, which wasn't at all a bad thing after two days of nonstop legwork. In fact, after a case solved, killers caught, and no injuries on his or Sherlock's part in the process, John was feeling mighty fine as they headed back to 221B. He should have known it wouldn't last.
"I have a date tonight, remember?" he said. In response, he received a blank look from Sherlock. Obviously, he didn't remember. John rolled his eyes and gave a small grin. "I knew you'd have deleted that by now. It's at six thirty." Sherlock gave him a slow, thoughtful nod more suited to 'let's discuss the meaning of life' than 'I'm going on a date tonight'. He quirked an eyebrow.
"Planning on coming back?" he returned mischievously with a sneaky grin of his own.
"It's only our third date, thank you very much, and yes, I'm coming back." John responded indignantly. They unlocked the door and John headed upstairs to change clothes and take a shower. It wouldn't do to go on a date smelling like he'd been running for an hour and a half, even though he had been running for an hour and a half.
His date had been going fine. Nice movie, nice dinner, nice wine, and half way through, John's phone began to ring. He ignored it at first and smiled at Sarah, telling her it was nothing. Then, not thirty seconds later, it rang again. He snatched it out of his pocket and looked at the caller I.D. Sherlock bloody Holmes. "Damn it." Sarah smiled, somewhat used to Sherlock's unusual concept of appropriate behavior.
"Well, I can guess who that is," she joked. John rolled his eyes.
"I told him I had a date tonight, I told him three hours ago, he can't possibly have deleted it that fast." He stuck his phone back in his pocket, but it only rang again, this time accompanied by the beep of a text message. Sarah laughed.
"Go ahead and answer it. It may be something serious." John sighed heavily and hit the answer button.
"What?" he asked irritably. "Did you really forget I had a date this quickly?"
"John, get back to the flat. Now." Sherlock's voice was blunt and hard, and John realized this was no laughing matter.
"What's happened?" Sarah noticed the change in his demeanor and had the feeling that their third date would be ending as abruptly as their first. Though hopefully without the kidnapping. "Is someone hurt?" Then, Sherlock said the two words that John had been hoping against hope he would never hear again.
"It's Moriarty."