Sherlock carefully opened the door to the abandoned building. He quickly glanced around, taking stock of his surroundings and confirming that there were no booby traps set. He double-checked the instructions he'd decoded before proceeding up the stairs and through a series of twisting corridors, finally arriving at a closed door with a clean, cheerful welcome mat set in front of it. He never would understand Moriarty's sense of humor.

He carefully opened the door, and as he did, a light switched on. There was a large window on the wall opposite; clearly, this was what he was intended to focus on, but he forced himself to ignore it until he'd taken stock of the rest of the room (a process which took, of course, approximately two seconds). It was small, only about ten feet wide and six feet deep. It was empty but for a speaker in one corner near the ceiling, and a tiny camera next to the speaker. The window took up most of the wall except for a door next to it that led into the room the window looked onto. There was a keypad next to the door. The next puzzle seemed clear.

He finally let himself look through the window.

"John!" he called, not knowing if his friend could see or hear him.

Sherlock was worried he was unconscious, but apparently he was only sleeping, as at the sound of his name he stirred and turned his head.

"Sherlock! Thank god, it's about time!" he gave the detective a lopsided grin, out of place given his current condition.

John Watson was strapped down to some kind of table, which appeared to be a version of a medieval rack. His arms were stretched above his head, his hands and feet bound with metal cuffs. Sherlock saw the key was hung on the wall behind him. He looked like he'd been beaten before being strapped down, with a large bruise on one cheek and several more along his side. Most worrying, though, were the electrodes stuck to his bare torso in at least eight places. Sherlock tried the door, just in case, but was unsurprised to find it locked.

"There's a keypad on the door," Sherlock said almost to himself, examining the numbers. "Think John, whoever did this to you, did they let anything slip that might have been a clue to the code? Actually, just tell me everything they said, you probably don't know what was or wasn't a clue."

A high-pitched laugh rang through the little room, and Moriarty's voice boomed out of the speaker.

"Oh, the keypad. Yes, I'd almost forgotten about that. Don't bother, it was here when I bought the place. It's disconnected. There's only one button that opens that door, and it's right next to me. Oh, and before you decide to come looking for it - and me - we are in Glasgow. John here would be dead long before you arrived." Sherlock's hand moved toward the pocket he kept his phone in. "I believe you'll find it a bit difficult to get cellular reception in there. I wouldn't bother."

"Fine, then. Are you going to tell me what puzzle I must solve, or is that part of the puzzle?" Sherlock's voice held a hint of annoyance, but a larger hint of intrigue.

"No puzzle, Sherlock. Nothing for your great intellect to pull apart or piece together. All I want is the answer to one simple question. And every time you answer that question wrong, this will happen."

As the electricity coursed through his body, John let out an inhuman yell. He stiffened, then shook. Sherlock observed coolly and carefully.

"That shock lasted exactly three seconds," Sherlock began.

"Are you sure?" John interrupted, sounding weary. "I could have sworn it was at least a half an hour."

"Judging from the intensity of your reaction," Sherlock continued, "and assuming the same duration for each shock, I have five to seven chances to answer this question."

"Five to seven chances before what?"

"Before it kills you."

John sighed. "Let's hope it's nothing about pop culture, then."

Moriarty broke in. "Oh don't worry, Dr Watson, I know for a fact that Sherlock knows the answer to this one. Are you ready?"

Sherlock waited several seconds before realizing that Moriarty wasn't being rhetorical. "Get on with it."

"Here it is, then. The one very simple question you must answer to save this man's life: Why on earth do you want me to let him live?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the video camera. "Because he's done nothing to deserve torture, let alone death. And he's not your target anyhow, I am."

"WRONG!" Sherlock whipped his head around to see his friend writhing again at the jolt.

"Of course," he murmured to himself. "It wasn't the answer you wanted, but I am the target, aren't I?"

"I will allow that everything you said is technically true. But it is not the correct answer to my question."

"Fine." Sherlock fixed his gaze on the camera. "I don't want you to kill this man because he is my friend. The only person on earth that I call by that title. I would say that he is my best friend, but as he is my only friend it would be redundant. But yes, Moriarty, I want you to let him live because he is my friend and I care about him."

"WRONG!"

This time, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to look at John until it was over. Then he turned on his heel and headed toward the door. "This is a boring, childish game, and I -"

"CrossthatthresholdandheDIES!" The threat thundered through the tiny room. Sherlock stopped just short of the doorway. He didn't move for half a minute. Finally, he looked back up at the camera.

"All right, Moriarty, is this what you want?" His voice was calm, as was his gaze. "I, the great Sherlock Holmes, am capable of love. I love my friend, John Watson, and that weakness of mine allows you to use him as a pawn in your little games. I am not a perfectly rational man, and my imperfection is love. Though for the record, I'm not sure that I actually regret it. Are you happy? You win. I admit that -"

"WROOOOONG!"

"Damn it!" Sherlock ran back to the window. At first, John's eyes didn't open after this shock, but slowly his head lolled from one side to the other, and his eyes blinked heavily. He attempted to smile, but could only achieve a half-grimace. When he spoke, his voice was raspy and slightly slurred.

"I'm touched. Love you too, mate, but if you've any idea what he's getting at, I'd love you more if you could get me out of here."

"I'm impressed that you're still conscious, my good doctor." Moriarty sounded chipper, perhaps in an even better mood than when they had started. "But I assure you, Sherlock, that he most certainly won't be after the next wrong answer." His voice suddenly switched from cheerful to threatening. "And I daresay he won't survive two more. Now. Why do you want me to let John Watson live?"

Sherlock leaned his forehead on the glass and closed his eyes, his jaw clenched. He knew what he had to say. He didn't know if John would ever forgive him for saying it. If he was lucky, he could pass it off as simply saying whatever he had to to appease Moriarty - but that would only work if John was even more out of it than he looked. He almost wished John had passed out, but he knew that if he had, the video from that camera would likely find its way into his inbox, or more likely a comment on his blog. This way it was at least possible that no one else would ever see it.

Sherlock opened his eyes. John's face contained both a plea that Sherlock get it right this time and trust that he would. That his best friend would save his life once again. Sherlock straightened up and arranged his face into a cold mask of indifference. When he spoke his voice was slow and measured, even bored. Only his haunted eyes, locked on John's, were full of terror and longing.

"I want you to spare his life because I am in love with him."

"WRONG!"

"NO!" His facade dropped, Sherlock slammed his fist into the glass. As predicted, John's eyes didn't open this time.

"Oh wait. I'm sorry, that was the right answer after all! Oopsie! I guess I got a little carried away, this is just too much fun."

A loud click sounded from the door, and Sherlock threw it open. He ran to John and immediately reached for his throat. He let out a sigh of relief as he found a steady pulse.

"Well, congratulations, you two. I'll be looking for my save the date card. I think you'll find that your cell phone is getting reception again, by the way. But before you get any ideas about whom you should call after the ambulance, you should know that by the time they pinpoint my location within Glasgow I will no longer be in Europe."