Author's note: SPOILER ALERT! DON'T READ IF YOU HAVN'T WATCHED THE SECOND SHERLOCK HOLMES!

This is the "hook scene" in Sherlock Holmes 2: A Game of Shadows written from Sherlock's point of view.

I awoke in a chair in a dark room lit only by a few windows. I was in a warehouse, I knew that much. All I remembered from recent events was finding a room full of bullets and other weaponry of every size and quality and being knocked out. I had just been awoken with a foreign drink.

"A telegram was sent from here…" said a familiar voice. "Who was it sent to?" Professor Moriarty.

I decided to avoid the question for the time being. "My horror at your crimes," I began. "Is matched only by my admiration at the skill it took to achieve them."

Moriarty shifted through some papers at the desk he was sitting at. Running a pen across one of the papers, he asked again. "Who was it sent to?"

Again I avoided answering. "You used the bombs to create a crisis in Europe; nation against nation. Under various…suitor names you bought, schemed or murdered your way into numerous industries…assuring that none of it could be traced to you. Cotton. Steel. Now arms and chemical weaponry. All to be shipped to Europe in less than a week. Everything from bullets to bandages. Now that you own the supply," I went on, looking up at the lighthouse I could see through the window above me. "You intend to create the demand." I looked back to Moriarty. "A world for all."

Moriarty's pen hand tapped the papers as he thought. He then got up and walked to a side window. "You are…familiar with Shubert's work?" he asked, the question seeming to me as more of a statement. "The trout is perhaps my favorite. A fisherman grows weary of trying to catch an elusive fish. So he muddies the water; confuses the fish. It doesn't realize until too late that it has swum into a trap."

In a split second I realized my plight: I was the trout. Before I knew it, a huge, extremely sharp fish hook had been latched into my shoulder. It was raised with a rope by one of Moriarty's henchman, taking me with it. I screamed in agony. I gripped the hook in any attempt to free myself, or possibly reduce the pain. It only made the pain worse. But it gave me something to hold onto.

Moriarty smiled and walked over to a record player in the corner. Turning left, he put a small microphone in front of a pipe that led to an outside speaker. I knew what he was doing. He knew my friend, Dr. John Watson, was out there. He wanted Watson to hear my suffering. Turning back to the record player, he started the song: a German song called "Die Forelle" by Shubert. He began to sing along with it as I swung behind him, held by the metal in my shoulder.

After a few verses, Moriarty turned to face me. He had an idea; I could see it in his eyes. He walk-ran toward me and grabbed by sides, pulling me down. But the rope didn't come down with me, nor did the hook. It stayed stuck in my shoulder. Moriarty yanked harder, causing the hook to bury itself deeper into my skin and muscle. My knuckles were white and my hands were bloody from holding the hook. My screams filled the silence. I heard multiple gunshots outside. I had left Watson a note saying to take down the lighthouse. I hoped he found it.

After a few seconds of pure agony, I was finally released. The hook still embedded in me, I fell and crumpled on the floor in a heap. I just lay there, panting. Moriarty came into my line of vision. He stood over me.

"Let's try this again, shall we? To whom did you send the telegram?"

"To…" I stopped to catch my breath.

Moriarty looked frustrated and dragged me closer. He used the hook, causing me to grunt in pain. Leaning down, he turned his ear to me.

"…to my brother, Mycroft."

Moriarty looked satisfied. He stood up again and walked a few steps away from me. "I just have one more question for you."

He looked out the window.

"Which one of us is the fisherman, and which is the fish?"

I heard a horrible crunching sound and saw the light tower falling onto the building we were in. I quickly rolled over and covered my head and neck. The building collapsed. Afterward, I waited for the dust to clear. When it had, I struggled to roll over and only got halfway. I lay there, happy for the moment of peace. I heard footsteps running toward me.

"Holmes?" Watson. "Holmes!"

I grunted in pain again. "Take your time…" I whimpered in a weak voice. "Take your time…"

Watson followed my voice and eventually found me after climbing over a few bricks. He turned me over the rest of the way onto my back. I exhaled sharply. Watson ripped the hook from my body and cradled my head in one of his hands.

I grunted once more. "Well it's good to see you, Watson…"