A/N: Sorry it stops kind of abruptly. There is more after this. So R&R and be gentle x3

I stepped forward, surveying my surroundings as I crept cautiously onward, feeling only a biting curiosity. The meeting place had been chosen and agreed upon without any real contact; I had stated the location and without a word or missive back I knew that he would be here. Waiting for me.

A skittering noise reached my ears and I halted, stopping my breath in order to better listen. When no footsteps accompanied the sound I relaxed slightly, continuing my confident pace forward, throwing only cursory glances toward the stacked and rotting crates that had been forgotten long ago.

Footprints in the dust; there was little use in bending and measuring the tracks. They had been left recently and I did not have to know accurately the smallish prints to surmise that they belonged to the man I had come to seek.

The floor boards squeaked beneath my tread and I glanced up at the window that allowed a shaft of light to skip along my path. I sneezed at all the dust suddenly disturbed after all these years of lying dormant and as I took another step forward I was met with an eerie, disembodied voice that seemed to wrap all round me.

"Now, I really wouldn't do that," the voice said cheerfully, echoing and bouncing off the walls, coming back to me so distorted that I could not judge accurately the direction from which it first emanated.

"You aren't going to come out, then?" I asked, stopping and turning about myself; it was likely he could be behind me, waiting to sneak up on me while I was distracted. All I could see, however, were crates and discarded boxes and I turned to face forward again with a frown. "Content to hide in the shadows?"

"I'd prefer you come to me."

"I thought you said you wouldn't do that…" I said cautiously, and even though I could not see the man I knew that a smile was twisting his words as he spoke them.

"I wouldn't-"

"You would," I said with certainty.

"Ok, I would," he said agreeably, and after a small pause, "and so would you. But don't say I didn't warn you."

I wondered at his words, attempting to discover the danger that he hinted at. If he was to shoot me he would have done it already, and he most likely would not have said anything to tempt me forward. What then?

The floorboard creaked ominously beneath me as I moved forward slowly and I stopped, looking quickly about myself. To the right a spot had rotted through, or had the boards fallen through? There, to the left, a similar area. How long had the warehouse been in disrepair? How long had it been left abandoned to fall into shambles?

I had not considered this factor and I cursed myself, making a wild leap forward, attempting to reach a safe point on the floor level. My bound only had the opposite desired effect, however, and upon landing the boards gave way beneath me without even so much as a warning shudder, dropping down and leaving me to clutch agilely at the wooden planks before me.

My gloved fingers caught the ragged edges of the floor for just a moment and then I was slipping down, down.

I blinked heavy lids, wondering if I had dozed off upon the couch once more. Is that why I felt so strange? But no-when I fell asleep on the seat my neck was stiff and my legs usually felt a bit cramped from hanging over the edges-this was entirely different. My head throbbed painfully and I hissed at the sensation, forcing myself to look around and remember what it was that I had been doing where I had been to force me to feel such a way.

Wrists. My wrists…were tied together. I couldn't see what-I could have glanced up and discovered the item but I did not want the extra pain the motion would bring. No, I believed it was…well, I was nearly certain it was rope from the texture, and whoever had done it had tied it tight enough to bring an additional pain upon me. It didn't matter; I would push it from my mind as that would be the least of my worries.

I was standing, not sitting. Interesting. I was not up against a wall but rather in the middle of a small room so that I had to be attached to some hanging hook, and I frowned at my surroundings, somewhat puzzled. I could not discern if I was still in the warehouse or not as the room was entirely devoid of any decorations or human touches; it was simply wall after wall of pure cement.

"I did warn you," the voice said, pleased, and I rolled my eyes, trying to manoeuvre around the cloth in my mouth that currently served as a gag. I was less worried about the fact that I was trussed up than disgruntled over the realisation that I was gagged and it was my scarf that was silencing me. I groaned aloud, a mixture of pain and the exasperation that it was my own blundering that had dropped me into this role of vulnerability and I struggled slightly, attempting and failing to work one of my wrists free.

"You're that pleased to see me?" he asked gleefully, still allowing himself to keep to the shadows so that I could not clearly make him out.

Of course. I have nowhere better to be than in some tiny room with my arms stretched above my head. It was certainly more appealing than having Mrs. Hudson sigh and complain about the state I had left the kitchen in and certainly preferable to sitting upon the seat for hours on end, wondering if something would come along and snap me from my boredom.

"Perhaps I ought to take this, hm? It's not as much fun talking and not letting you respond, is it?"

And then he was in front of me, reaching for the scarf. Instinctively I leaned away from him; of course I didn't want the fabric in my mouth; I liked it but I liked having it round my neck, not jammed in my mouth! No, I did not want him any closer than necessary; one could hardly trust someone who had killed countless people and who currently delighted in keeping one prisoner.

"Moriarty," I spat after he had wound the cloth away from me and the man offered me a hurt expression at my words, a look I strongly believed to be fake.

"Really, don't you think we know each other well enough to go on first name basis? Moriarty?" he scrunched up his nose at his own surname. "Too formal. Call me Jim and I'll call you Sherlock."

"I'm sorry formality wasn't my top priority," I said wryly, and he looked slightly amused at my response.

"Here, let me look at it," Jim said suddenly, and although he did not specify to what he was referring I could tell by his casual gaze that he meant the inevitable wound upon my right temple and I frowned at his request.

"Somehow I doubt you would be all that helpful."

"I'm huuurt," he announced, bringing his lips together and drawing his brow down in a pout, "I've played doctor before, though I much prefer maid."

I tried to move away again but he was already too close, touching a hand to my face and laughing as I cringed. "Hurts, does it?" he asked softly, searching my face for a moment before snarling, "Get used to the pain!"

He grabbed a tuftful of my hair, pulling upon it sharply before releasing just as quickly as he had snatched it and I fought to keep my expression neutral. His action did not surprise me; I had been waiting for him to do something wantonly cruel and he had not disappointed me. Even as he stepped back, allowing me a little space he was not regretful of his action; he had probably enjoyed it; had restrained himself, even.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked neutrally, careful not to sound bored; to sound bored was dangerous as he might take it as a personal challenge to change my tone to something more appropriate to his ears. I could not sound cheerful either; a bland neutrality, then.

"I wanted some alone time."

"That much is apparent," I responded quickly, once more attempting to tug at least one of my wrists free and he watched me, curious.

"I wanted to taaalk to you; we haven't had a chance to talk…" he said almost regretfully and I frowned at his words.

"Our schedules have not quite aligned," I said dryly, "You having people murdered on Wednesday, me helping the Yard with a case on Thursday…"

"Lucky I made the time for both of us, hm?" he mused, reaching out dragging his fingers almost absentmindedly down my stomach, thankfully above my shirt and I shuddered, shrinking away from his touch.

"You're still not talking," I pointed out and he smiled, resting his hand upon my stomach a moment longer before withdrawing, leaving me to feel the warmth of his fingertips.

"What should we talk about? No government or political issues-I always find the issues too divisive," he joked, but I could not find the humour in the situation.

"Let's not talk about how you plan to kill me; that subject has been done to…well, death."

Jim waved his hand dismissively. "And a little dull, wouldn't you say? I'm going to boil you alive, I'm going to drown you, I'm going to bake you into a cake and eat you, blah blah blah…"

"No one's ever threatened to eat me before."

"Oh, that's a new one?" Jim pondered this revelation before shrugging. "You haven't any helpful suggestions for me, do you? No? You don't have to be shy here, Sherlock."

When he reached for my face I leaned away once more and he dropped his hand, watching me wriggle in place, amusement creeping onto his features. "Have you given any thought to dancing?" he trilled, tilting his head as he observed me. "You do have a supple form…"

"I am not dancing with you," I said, annoyed. Absurdity; I was talking to him about dancing even as I was rooted to this spot, unable to move very far without difficulty and some pain.

Jim once more pouted at my words. "Well, not now, no, of course not; don't be silly. I'd have to lead; I don't like leading, not in dancing," he winked at me and I ignored the gesture, pleased at the frustrated expression that crossed his face, yet he continued anyway. "The tango, however, would suit you."

I ignored him then, pretending that he was not even in the room, pretending that I was at home and lost in some problem and after a moment he left, using some door behind me that I could not see. He flicked off the lights as he departed and the all-encompassing darkness pressed down upon me, nearly smothering me with its oppressive thickness.

I could not begin to judge the time that passed. I was hungry, and thirsty besides, yet I had denied myself food for over a day before this excursion, attempting to settle my full focus on the case at hand. The only sounds that reached my ears were sounds that I myself made, all uncomfortable sighs and grumblings to myself on what an idiot I had been.

My hands alternated between a tingling that crept gradually into numbness and a pain that shifted depending on how much weight I allowed the hook to absorb and I shuffled my feet, attempting to find a more comfortable position in my limited options.

I dozed; there was little else I could do and as I slipped into a deeper sleep I felt the slightest sensation upon my right cheek, snapping me back into consciousness as though I had been slapped.

Jim was standing before me, glancing at me with narrowed eyes and I knew he had drawn his hand, perhaps just a finger, along my cheek to break my slumber. "You looked like you were dead just now; I didn't think you were breathing."

"Isn't that what you want?"

His eyes widened as he fixed me with an expression I usually saved for Anderson. "Yes, of course. But where is the fun in that? I go out to take care of some business and I come back and you've gone and died while I was out answering mail? Big waste of time-on both our parts, I suppose, but more importantly a waste of my effort, of course."

"Does it take much effort sticking someone onto a hook?" I mused, wondering at how thick my tongue was in my mouth. Dehydration? I didn't know-I wasn't the doctor.

"Well, no. But you work with what you have at hand," he said casually, setting down the bag that he had in his arms and he disappeared once more, reappearing with a rather small table and a matching white chair, which he plopped down directly in front of me.

Jim sat in the seat and propped his legs up upon the table, grinning at me as he shook a box of Chinese food in the air. "It isn't the best but it'll do, I suppose."

It had been mid-afternoon when I had gone to the warehouse; I had not planned to stay long. If Jim was eating food, eating Chinese, it was not morning. It would have to be evening, then, or afternoon of the next day. In the time that had passed he had switched from his grey suit to a darker blue one that better brought out his eyes and I could smell the after-shave on him, mingling with the food he had purchased.

"You look dreadful," he said happily, daintily eating at his noodles and I glowered at him.

"And you are short."

"Keeping your observational skills sharp, are you? Would you like me to play I spy with you-"

"No."

"I spy with my liiiiittle eye, this one, here-"

"I'm not playing."

"Something…grey," he said, and I stared at him. "What! It is a little more difficult than you would imagine to be creative here, unless you would like me to use you as a subject," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, one that made me look away.

"Suit yourself; I was only trying to help. I can't imagine how boring it must be, stuck here with nothing to do but stare at the walls or stand around in darkness; it must be fairly maddening."

I ignored him; I would not give him the opportunity to taunt me further and instead I concentrated upon the pain in my legs, which had been building steadily. I needed to sit and stretch them properly; they ached from lack of movement and the position I had been forced into and I winced involuntarily, shuffling once again although the action afforded me little relief.

Jim abandoned his meal, sneaking closer to me and regarding me with a strange curiosity before his hand was on my left knee. Mostly innocuous, but I knew the gesture would not last long and moments later he was gripping my thigh, curling his fingers as he rubbed it once, twice even as I tensed and tried to draw away from him. "Hurts from standing, doesn't it?" he asked, and I knew he cared little if I was in pain or not; would probably prefer that I hurted and that I showed some physical distress in front of him.

"Y-yes," I said despite myself, cursing the inadvertent stammer as it left my mouth. He was in a sensitive area to begin with, and should he have moved his fingers only slightly to the right I would have become even more helpless within his care.

He withdrew, almost as though he could read my thoughts and he once more held his food up at me, grinning. "I have always wanted to feed someone Chinese."

"I'm not hungry," I lied, and he blinked.

"I don't remember asking if you were."

"I don't want it," I said firmly.

"I don't care what you want, obviously," he chirped, standing before me. Briefly I contemplated kicking him fiercely, revelling in whatever brief pain I could bring him but I rejected this idea, knowing that the slim joy I would get from dispensing some of my frustration would pale in comparison to the retribution he would undoubtedly mete out from such an action. Judging by the smile he offered me, he knew exactly what decision I mulled and already knew my conclusion before I had even come to it. "Just be glad the worst of our disagreements is over me feeding you; I could attempt to dress you in an outfit that I like."

Jim produced a sugary roll, twisting it enticingly before me and despite my misgivings I wanted it and I watched hungrily as he tore off a chunk, pausing reflectively before me.

"Is it too old and clichéd if I simply eat in front of you? Needlessly cruel, yes, but very basic too. Plus all of these carbs…" he made a face.

"Watching your figure?"

"I don't have to do much of that," Jim preened, "You, on the other hand, I can see turning to fat if you're not careful. No one will want the great Sherlock Holmes if he's tipping the scales at fifteen stone," he reached out, poking me in the stomach lightly.

"Not a vast change over present conditions," I remarked, and he toyed with the bread.

"Welllll…I don't know about that," he said easily, holding the chunk of food in front of my mouth.

I hesitated.

"It isn't poisoned…I'm feeling lazy today. What…you don't trust me?" he looked at me, wide-eyed.

"Forgive me," I muttered dryly, "You've given me no reason not to."

Jim nibbled on the tidbit, then held it up to me again, pressing it to my lips and I accepted it, eating quickly, warily. He broke off another piece, offering it to me and I resisted the urge to bite him, once more unwilling to accept any punishment he might dole out. This time he ran his finger along my lips, causing me to tense at his action.

"You're being good," he remarked, somewhat surprised, and I was annoyed.

I was not a pet.

The next morsel he pushed forward and suddenly his fingers were in my mouth. I locked eyes with him and he wriggled a brow at me, gaze otherwise serious and I found myself tentatively licking along the length of one of his digits. When he had withdrawn he reached his hand up to brush against my cheek and I pulled away once more, attempting to avoid his touch.

"You like this," he said and I decided to ignore him, not speaking as he walked to the table, pacing leisurely before returning to me, "You're gonna talk to me sooome tiiiiime," he trilled, rocking on his heels in front of me.

"I could go days without speaking; I have done so before," I said and he shrugged, hands buried in his pockets.

"But you won't," he remarked with some certainty and I scowled. I didn't have to ask why he thought this way; I should be frightened of him or at the very least intimidated by him, by what he has done in the past and what he is capable of in the future but I was bored. Wouldn't you be? There is very little to do when one is forced to stand in one spot for hours on end; I didn't even have a telly to occupy myself with.