Just a few more steps. A few more steps and Sherlock would arrive at the abandoned warehouse. He never imagined he would die in a warehouse, how undignified. But there was no turning back now. Not that he even wanted to.
He walked around the corner and into a huge, virtually empty space. The windows to his left made up the entire wall. The ceiling was supported by dozens of pillars, all roughly 30 feet apart. The paint, a shade of light blue, in which they had once been covered, was more or less, completely chipped off , revealing the yellow rusted iron underneath. Bits of rubbish and chunks of metal and wood lay scattered across the floor and a thick layer of dust covered everything. The air smelled of wet concrete and mould.
Sherlock had tried to prepare himself for what he would find in it, but the sight which presented itself in front of him now almost immobilised him. John was sitting on a chair in the middle of an invisible rectangle formed by four pillars. His hands were tied together at the back and his feet were each tied to one leg of the chair. John seemed to be very calm, his breathing was even. Sherlock knew that he himself appeared to be as serene as his partner, who was staring at him in, what seemed to be disbelief. Why was he so surprised to see him here? Did John honestly believe that Sherlock would not come? Sherlock felt a little pang of disappointment at that thought. John should know better by now, considering everything they've been through, especially the ordeal of the last few days.
Everybody had been convinced that Jim Moriarty was just a character, which Sherlock had constructed and a paid actor with the name of Richard Brook had brought to life. That it was actually Sherlock who had done all these horrible things just so he wouldn't be bored. Everybody, especially sergeant Donovan, had thought Sherlock to be the criminal.
Not so John, he had never even considered that any of the rumours could be true and had been solid as a rock, the one person in Sherlock's life that he could trust with anything. It was not the first time John had proven his loyalty, but this time it seemed even more precious. Sherlock knew perfectly well how easy human minds could be manipulated and made to question every single thing they were sure to be true. John hadn't faltered once but had stood by Sherlock.
Seeing him now, restrained the way he was, with a knife at his throat caused Sherlock's heart to ache. A part of him wished that they had never met. John was only in this mess because of Sherlock.
Three men, all dressed in black, were surrounding John. Two of them wore practical clothes, fitted, long sleeved shirts, army pants and sneakers. They were each positioned on either side of John. The one on his right was holding the knife that was threatening to cut open the soft skin beneath. The one on his left was just standing there with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on a point on the wall opposite of him.
Sherlock found himself visualising a fight with them, calculating the odds of the two gorillas losing. They were rather high, but he could not risk it, because of the man standing behind John. He was wearing a tailor made suit and a sickeningly smug expression. Moriarty was considerably smaller but much more dangerous. He took a step forward and placed his hands on John's shoulders. The smile on Moriarty's face widened as he saw the disgust, which Sherlock could not keep from appearing on his face.
"Hello Sherlock. I'm so glad you could spare some of your precious time for this."
John felt Moriarty's sweet voice trickle down his neck like honey. Involuntarily he shuddered, feeling the hated man's hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Sherlock's eyes stayed fixed on John's as if he feared that John would disappear as soon as he looked away.
"Hello Jim, a pleasure as always." Even though Sherlock's voice was dripping with sarcasm it was also very cool.
John was not surprised by this, he had expected Sherlock to be cool Sherlock was pretty much always cool. But John could recognise an additional emotion not only in Sherlock's eyes but also in his posture. Resignation. Sherlock had resigned himself to his fate. And apparently Sherlock thought his fate was to sacrifice himself for John, to die so that John could live.
Sherlock Holmes had given up.
Bloody hell, Sherlock. John wanted to scream, to yell at Sherlock. But seeing as he was currently gagged and could only produce muffled sounds, he tried to communicate with his eyes.
Trust me, Sherlock! John tried to tell him.
I have a plan!
