It's been a long time since I've actually written anything so please give me some reviews and let me know if you want me to continue this story!

Also…though it's obvious…I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters blah, blah, blah…

Enjoy!

"John Watson…you don't seem to be aware of the absolutely absurd, unstoppable attraction to danger you have acquired over the years. And it will be the death of you; that I can promise. Of course I'll make it nice and slow, keep it…marvelously painful. Sherlock will not like it one bit, now will he? Seeing his pet had such a slow, drawn out, excruciating death. This really will be fun. Oh! And look at the time! Looks like you get your call, Doctor Watson."

"It won't work you sick son of a bi – "

A heavy slam to John's already-bruised temple had him seeing stars, forcing him to the edge of consciousness. He'd already been beaten, bruised, and knocked out during his 'relaxing' walk to clear his head. He absolutely despised the man in front of him, but he didn't know how many more blows he could take without permanent brain damage. "Did I tell you to speak, you useless little volatile PET?! If ONE more word comes out of your mouth without my permission, I will end you."

John took a moment to categorize his surroundings, trying to deduce the way Sherlock always does. He was in a dirty room, the once-white walls were a molded down yellow with several cracks showing the plaster beneath it, the windows were boarded up with old wood that allowed minimal light to stream into the room, and the old carpet was decorated with a questionable mosaic of stains. This was all appropriately paired with an unwelcome smell that invaded John's nostrils, almost making him want to gag and the thick dust accumulating the air made it hard to suck in a solid breath – although that may be due to the broken nose he was currently sporting.

There was clearly no escaping at the moment – the deep burns caused by the struggle of rope against flesh was an unwelcomed reminder of that. The only pieces of furniture in the room were an obnoxiously uncomfortable wooden chair that the injured John Watson was tied to and a box that his kidnapper was currently sitting on.

The man in question – one James Moriarty – was a psychopathic, arrogant, manipulative, ruthless, calculating, malicious, and extremely intelligent master of criminal affairs. Though on the outside he showed a suave demeanor, it couldn't completely conceal the egotistical megalomaniac that lay just beneath the surface.

When John had first awoken from his daze he had assumed he was in yet another PTSD induced nightmare, but as the pain throughout his body began to settle he realized this was all very much real. He would be surprised, but after Sherlock returned from the dead, it didn't seem all that shocking that his villainous counterpart would be back as well.

"Now," Moriarty began as he quickly swept his fingers over John's cellphone; in the two hours since John had woken up in a daze, the phone had gone off at least thirty times, all of the messages were most likely from Sherlock. "You are going to do as I say, and do only as I say. Is that clear, Doctor Watson?"

John stared at the frightening man before him and simply nodded his head, knowing the repercussions of defying his abductor. Moriarty stood and began to pace as he brought the phone up to his ear and began to speak in his usual singsong voice "Ah, hello my old friend. Long time no speak, what's with the silent treatment you've been giving me? I mean you can cut a guy some slack, I know I've been bad, but I didn't think I would have to take such…extreme measures to get your attention." He paused a moment to hear the response from the Consulting Detective – John couldn't even begin to translate the furious barking coming from the speaker – before continuing to speak, "Oh dear, well you see…I've found your lost pet. Do I get a reward if I return him? At first I thought about keeping him around, but I've found a few more things that are much more fun to do with him. I see why you've kept him for so long."

Moriarty quickly brought a blade down into John's thigh, bringing out a sharp cry that couldn't be contained. John could distantly hear the muffled anger of Sherlock, undoubtedly making threats and promises of getting John and hurting Moriarty in the process.

"Now," Moriarty continued his dramatic monologue. "Why don't I tell you how this story goes, huh? You deduce our location and come gallantly racing here to save the damsel in distress! Then, once you set him free from the highest room in the tallest tower, you'll have to face the fierce dragon. Of course, only the bravest and strongest in all the land can sleigh this mighty beast. Do you really think you're up for it, Sherlock? I mean…is this little ordinary man truly worth the life of the amazing Sherlock Holmes?" Moriarty then pulled the blade from John's leg and forcefully thrust it back into the same wound, causing another cry to erupt from the poor doctor.

"Alright then…I'll be leaving you some clues. You have two weeks Mr. Holmes, you better hurry; because for every day it takes you, your precious little Doctor Watson will be losing a body part. Hmm…what do I want to take first…maybe a finger? Oh wouldn't that be fun! I could even take the ring finger, that way you could never –"a viscously smug grin crept up the madman's face as the line cut off.

"It'll never work." John barely mumbled, attempting to ignore the dull throb in his temple that seemed to be intensifying by the minute, not to mention the metal currently embedded in his leg.

Moriarty ripped the blade from John's thigh and began to cackled in between words as he spilled out "Oh really? And why is that Johnny boy?"

In between clenched teeth – attempting and failing to hide his pain – John responded, "He knows this is a trick for you to lure him here. He's not stupid enough to risk his life over someone as insignificant as me."

"Methinks not. You see John, as much as I'd like to think you're right, as much as I'd like to think he has not fallen trap into something so ordinary, you are wrong. He's made a mistake, one stupid little mistake that will cost him everything."

John could easily see Moriarty was baiting him, always trying to play the dramatics, but he was curious. "And what would that mistake be?"

"The brave knight has fallen in love with the princess."