A/N- For my lovely friend Dea(dealepage), who pushed me to write Moriarty. The italics are thoughts, as always in my writings. Before Reichenbach.
"I'm gonna go out for some milk, alright?" John asked. He peeked around the door to where Sherlock was on the couch, hands in that praying position.
"Hm?" Sherlock left his mind palace, turning to look at John. "Yes."
John left, carefully closing the door behind him.
Sherlock sighed. Who is John's current girlfriend? Does he even have one now? Is it Sarah? Veronica? I've lost count, and I have no idea why I care in the first place. The case, Sherlock, focus on the case.
John strode confidently down the street. It was dark out, and the crisp wet air fully woke the doctor up. The multicolored lights of the signs and buildings illuminated his route. I love taking walks, I don't know why but they're always lovely. That flower, there, that's pretty. John bent down, and kneeled on the concrete by a moon-brightened lily. Say, it's about the color of Sherlock's eyes. I've never been able to name a color for them before. Now I know. I've got to tell him that his eyes are the color Midnight Lily.
John continued thinking kittenish thoughts as he walked to the store. It was about two blocks away when someone tapped him on the shoulder. "How may I help you?" he asked, being the polite and disciplined man he was.
"May I have directions?" asked the woman. Her red curls literally glowed in the moonlight.
"Uh, sure," John said, not sure whether to be suspicious or not of this woman approaching him in a darkened street.
"Two two one Baker Street," she said, smirking.
"Right…" John let his voice trail off as he thought. Sherlock wouldn't like me directing a stranger straight to our house. "Just keep going this way-" he pointed in the direction of the store he was heading to, the opposite way of the flat. "-And you should come right to it."
"Thanks," she said, placing a gloved hand on the back of his neck. "But you're lying."
John felt something sharp prick the nape of his neck, and his vision began to swim. "Sorry, I didn't mean it," he said groggily, beginning to lose consciousness. Oh, god, help me. What has she injected me with? Poison? God, no. Please, no.
As our loyal doctor continued to fade off, a familiar man stepped before him. "Hahaha. Good, very good." The man laughed some more. "Miss me, Johnny boy?" He ran his hand along John's jaw.
John gritted his teeth, but he couldn't do anything to stop that nightmare man. Sherlock's real arch-nemesis, not Mycroft. Moriarty.
"And you're just the perfect bait for my trap," Moriarty continued, humming a little tune to himself. "My trap for the world's one and only consulting detective."
No. No! Not Sherlock, he can't take Sherlock. It'll be all my fault. "Sherlock! It's a trap! Don't come looking for me…" John's irrational yelled attempt to warn his friend trailed off as his eyes rolled back in his head, the drug finally taking effect. The yell would never reach Sherlock, over four blocks away.
"Oh, look at that," Moriarty said, letting John's small form fall limp onto the concrete. He turned to the cab. "Sebastian!"
The gunman stepped out of the driver's seat and strode over to the pair and the immobile John. It hadn't been hard to hijack the cab. "Yes, sir."
"Could you take our lovely little doctor to the cab, please?" Moriarty asked, posing the order as a question. "And make sure not to hurt that pretty face of his, Sherlock would flip out."
Sebastian easily scooped John off the ground and laid him in the back of the cab. He got in the driver's seat and Moriarty in the passenger. The redhead, Kitty, found room in the back as well. John wasn't very big at all.
And the cab drove off, and for all the passersby knew it was a harmless couple helping their drunk and passed out friend home. No one realized the kidnapping, for the one person who could wasn't there. He was in his mind palace, waiting for a certain doctor to come home.