Sherlock searched the room again, desperately looking for a way to get John out of this in one piece. Once again, he came up with nothing. The room they were in was typical of Moriarty, extravagant and completely over the top. The carpet beneath their feet was thick and plush and deep red in colour, the walls were panels of dark wood (Oak, Sherlock suspected). The room that Moriarty had them in was large and brightly lit.
Jim Moriarty was sat in a leather armchair with legs draped over the side, looking perfectly at ease, whilst John was sat propped up again the wall with his arms and legs bound together, blood staining the side of his face from where Moriarty's damn 'henchmen' had hit him repeatedly. Sherlock vowed to get revenge on every single one of them that had hurt John. His John.
"You can't delay this forever, Sherly. I might get bored... and you know what happens when people like us get bored" Moriarty drawled. John ground his teeth, nobody called Sherlock 'Sherly' but him, how dare Moriarty use it.
Sherlock looked down at the gun Moriarty had placed next to him. He was fast running out of ideas. 'THINK, Sherlock', He thought, 'You have to save John'.
"Come onnn, Sherly. Either you do it or i do. I'll give you the options again, shall i? Either you shoot Johnny-boy, or I do it. If i do it, I'll make you watch him suffer before shooting you too". Moriarty's sing-song voice wasn't helping Sherlock think, He only wanted to keep John safe, he didn't care what happened to him.
"I said I'd burn the heart out of you, Sherlock... Well now i am". Moriarty was now deadly serious, and the slightly crazed look had returned to his eyes. Sherlock knew he didn't have much time if he was going to save John.
John was vaguely aware of some sort of commotion coming from outside the room, he couldn't tell what exactly, but it sounded like fighting between more of Moriarty's men. 'Those bloody minions' he thought. John couldn't work out why he had been dragged out of his surgery this morning; two men had turned up and told him some cock-and-bull story about Sherlock sending them to get him... John had been confused and refused to go until he'd spoken to Sherlock, which caused them to hit him around the head and knock him out. In all honesty, he knew it had been something bad, and cursed himself for not being able to defend himself.
John didn't know what was going on outside the room, and he suddenly realised he'd lost track of what was going on inside the room and this twisted game that Moriarty was playing with them. John became very aware of the fact that Sherlock had a gun in his hands and was aiming it at John's shoulder before feeling a familiar blinding pain (why was it always the shoulder?) and seeing the door burst open and Sherlock being dragged away, with Moriarty following after, before everything went black.
Some time later, John woke up. He had no idea where he was, but his shoulder had somehow been stitched up and treated. John knew that whoever had done it had known what they were doing and that it would heal. Pain took over again and John lowered his head back to the wall and closed his eyes, drifting off again.
A few hours later, John woke fully. He pulled himself painfully upright, and looked around. He had no memory of having his shoulder treated; all he had was images of Sherlock being dragged out of the room and away from him. John pulled up his kneed and rested his chin on them. He was angry at Sherlock for getting them into yet another situation that ended with him getting injured and more so when, after finding his phone in his pocket (he didn't remember getting it back from Moriarty) he realised that he'd been out cold for three days and didn't have a single missed call or text from Sherlock. 'Bastard', he thought.
Mostly though, John was just scared. He didn't know where he was in relation to home... to Sherlock, He didn't even know if he was still in London. One thing John did know that Sherlock hadn't come back for him and he didn't know why. Terrified and hurting, John began to cry. He'd woken up alone and scared, and felt like Sherlock had abandoned him.
John cried until he felt quite ridiculous, dried his face, and slowly pulled himself to his feet. He was in the same room as he remembered, and everything was still the same. .. Apart from a note on the floor, which John hadn't noticed before. He bent over and picked up the note, and began to read the hastily scrawled writing.
" John, I'm sorry about your shoulder but I've treated the wound and you'll make a full recovery. I've returned your phone, and left some money, please take it and get yourself somewhere new. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes, Moriarty will stop at nothing to get to him. Destroy this note after you've read it, Jim will kill me if he knows what I've done. Sorry again. Seb x"
John had no idea who the hell 'Seb' was, but was grateful all the same. He picked up the note and money, slipping them into his pocket as he walked through the door and out of the house.