All Sherlock did was go out for some nicotine patches. That was all he was doing. But fate had other plans.
Sherlock, of course, had to leave without notifying anyone as to where he was going, John was at the clinic and Sherlock avoided, skillfully, all of his brother, Mycroft's, cameras and cronies. He had to if he wanted the patches. He knew a small convenience store six blocks away from Baker Street that was out of Mycroft's vision, and they sold good , if not the best, patches.
He was walking slowly to the store, in no rush, and breathing in the crisp air of his city, London. He made mental exercise of deducing those he passed on the sidewalk.
Widowed three children, alcoholic.
Mormon, married to three women, owns a Australian Shepard and a guinea pig.
Single, alcohol/drug/sex addict...carrying a gun.
Sherlock had just passed the last man he deduced when he realised the stranger was potentially dangerous. He turned around but the gun carrier was gone...what? Then it happened so quickly he didn't have time to realize what was happening.
A gun fired behind him, from a .22 he was sure. A growling voice with breath smelling of cocaine and Bud Light came to Sherlock's ear saying, "Why, hello there, pretty,". He felt an object (Fist? Pole? Brick?) collide with his head and he was put into a blind state of concussion confusion. Then a sharp stinging his neck, followed by the semi-euphoric sensation coursing through his veins. His brain was turned off, lying dormant, unused….it was awfull.
Sherlock closed his eyes and he knew no more.
--ooooo00000OOOOO00000ooooo--
When Sherlock opened his eyes, he still felt the numbness in his mind, blocking out all of his deductive reasoning and thoughts. He was in his bed...no a bed not his own. He wearily opened his eyes and rubber the sleep off. Where was he?
The entire room was spinning and blurred and he sat up his vision was definitely not improved.He moaned from the pain, this...this was terrible, why couldn't he think? How did he get here? Where was here? Is this what all those helpless normal people feel like on a daily basis?
Just when his eyes where adjusting and he could see better, light flooded the room.It wasn't especially bright, but to him itodas like the Pearly Gates had opened and the Archangel was ascending. He covered his eyes, protecting his vision and now sensitive head.
The light was quickly discontinued, and Sherlock heard a man speaking to him, "I'm so sorry, darling. If I had known you were awake I would have turned the lights off. Oh, they gave you a generous dose? I'm soooo sorry, love."
The...the voice. That snake like, sinister, scheming, diabolical voice. Their he had last heard five years ago…no. He wasn't, he couldn't…
Sherlock put his hands in front of him, not knowing where the voice was coming from due to his loss of full sight, "M-M-Moriarty…?"
Sherlock felt someone sit beside him on the plush bed, and the chill hands of an enemy wrap around him, cradling him like a child. And the unmistakable sound of James Moriarty's voice, talked softly, "Sherlock, there's no need to be so formal… I want you to call me Jim...or Master if you like."
"Y-your dead! I s-saw you sh-shoot yourself, how-,"
Sherlock's mind was beginning to clear now but gradually.
"Even under the influence of drugs, your still sparkling!" Moriarty said as though Sherlock was a pet he was praising,"Sherlock, you really thought I would kill myself when of was clear you had no intention of jumping off that building? Besides, I didn't want you to die, love, your simply to gorgeous to kill… but Reichenbach was rather fun, dear."
Moriarty wasn't dead? He didn't want to kill Sherlock? What? Sherlock groaned when his brain sent a dumbing, unintelligible wave of a pulse through his body...he felt so ordinary. He relied on his mind for everything, and now it was like a useless muscle.
Moriarty made Sherlock lay down, the detective to weak in mind to fight the criminal. Moriarty leaned over Sherlock, brushing the man's curly locks off of his face, and petting the sick man in a comforting manner. Moriarty laid down next to Sherlock, keeping him in his grasp.
"Sherly, I'm sorry they gave you so much, they will pay...for know, my love, just rest. When you wake up you'll be good as new...I promise…"
--ooooo00000OOOOO00000ooooo--
The second time Sherlock woke up from his drugged trance, his first realization was that he could think again. His second realization was that something wet and disturbing was running up and down his neck. He looked to see what the thing was. It was Moriarty's lips.
Sherlock was terrified. He jumped away from his enemy, but was stopped by chains around his ankles, tying him to the bed. At least his hands were free.
"Oh goodie!" Moriarty clapped, "Are you feeling better?"
Sherlock was still trying to get over the fact his arch nemesis was alive, and thriving, "What do you want?" he growled.
Moriarty's face dropped, "Sherly, answer my question…don't be mean…"
Sherlock once more asked more forcefully, "Damn it, Moriarty, what the hell do you want?!?!"
The next moment Moriarty's hand flew toward him, a second away from slapping the detective's cheek. But Sherlock reacted quickly and caught it.
Moriarty grinned, "I'll take that as a yes?"
Sherlock was confused, "Yes?"
"That your feeling better, love."
"Don't call me that."
"What?"
"Lo-" Sherlock began but stopped himself, "I don't need to answer you! Once more, what-do-you-want?!?!"
Moriarty stood up from the bed, hovering around Sherlock like a vulture, "You know, I always thought you were wasted in London. With Scotland Yard. With John. You know, the idiots, the slow ones. You said it yourself, 'You are me'. We should be on the same side, you and me. We could do great things."
Sherlock laughed, "Is that what this? You, back from the dead, convincing me to join you army of evil? Your spider web?"
"Well, that's about 45% of the answer you are looking for dearest. I wonder if you can guess the other 55%? Ohhh, I bet you can't! "
There was a crazy maniacal gleam in Moriarty's eyes that sent shivers up Sherlock's spine. But he kept his mask of cool, calm, and unconcerned boredom. He was a pro at that. He looked Moriarty straight in the eye, "Alright, I can't guess would you do the honors of telling me?"
Moriarty smiled and came closer to where Sherlock was sitting, chained to the bed. Sherlock felt disgusted at the look in Moriarty's eyes, a hunger, eagerness, and threatening glee that was sick and unnatural. No matter how much he wanted to scuttle away from this insane man, he stood his ground.
"Why you are here is because…" Moriarty started, bringing his hand up to Sherlock's face and stroking his chin softly, "because...and I bet no one has said this to you before...I love you."
It felt as though Sherlock's insides had collapsed. That was resulting. Even though Moriarty was obviously not actually in love with him, the thought of the consulting criminal lusting for him...for his body...was sickening.
This was not what he had planned for the evening...was it still evening? Had he slept through the night?
God, all he wanted were some nicotine patches.
Moriarty continued, "Now I know I cannot expect you to love me back...yet...but you here with me, is a start, love."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You know I could get out of here any time I wished, now that your drugs affects have gone and I have my mind back."
"You could," Moriarty said thoughtfully, "By the way, Sherly, did you enjoy my little concoction? I had it made just for you!"
"Ingenious. What was it?"
"I call it Jimlock. Get it? It's our names put together-"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I understand the reference."
Moriarty smiled brightly, picking up an ominous riding crop that had been leaning on the wall, "Love, you know you like it. We were made for each other."
Sherlock eyed the crop hesitantly, "As you, apparently, never cease to remind me-"
Moriarty cut him off, his smile gone and stone hard viciousness in his face, his voice raised in pitch,"You will not escape!!!!!!"
Sherlock smirked raising his eyebrows, "I could leave anytime."
"Not if it means killing your friends."
Sherlock's thoughts froze, he would have to tread carefully, "Haven't you used that threat on me before?"
"And it worked perfectly. Right now I have nine snipers out there, and ninet targets on the people you love most."
Sherlock swallowed, he could put all of his friends at risk...not again. Nine targets…that would be...John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Ma and Da, Euros, Irene...who was missing? No, Moriarty couldn't possibility know about...his feeling for… for…
As he began playing with the riding crop in his hand, Moriarty seemed to read his mind, "You didn't possibly think, you and Miss. Hooper would get passed me, now did you? I thought me and her dating would have been a clear sign, I wanted to burn you, love...but that was before I knew you, before I loved you…"
"But… on the roof…"
"Your wondering why I didn't use her as leverage? Because I was saving her for this special moment. You would never want a scrape of harm to come to Molly. Would you really put her life in danger, instead of staying here with me?"
Sherlock's mask of vacant calm was beginning to break. He cast his eyes downward in defeat "No."
Sherlock's capture came closer, leaning forward so their faces were only half an inch apart, "I thought that might be your answer." He leaned in, closing the barrier between them, pushing his mouth against the detective's lips.
Sherlock panicked. No, he didn't want this! His mind went on overdrive and he leapt as far away, as the chains would let him, from the man giving him an unwanted kiss. When he drew back, the riding crop Moriarty was holding lashed across his face, leaving a straight cut on his cheek, bleeding freely. And, damn it hurt!
Moriarty looked murderous, "Perhaps I haven't pain down the terms clear enough...each time you run from me, every time you disobey me, whenever he resist, I will kill one of your nine loved ones...I'll start with your sister, then your dear Mummy, then Daddy…all one-by-one until I reach John and Molly...and it will all be your fault. You are in deep waters Sherlock Holmes, now which is it? Sink or swim?"
Sherlock's mask was shattered now. He bit his lip. God, for the first time in his life, he was utterly cornered and defenceless. Tears began to swell up in his eyes. No! Why was he crying, he couldn't cry, especially not in front of the resurrected Moriarty!!! Nevertheless, big, hot, salty tears flowed down his face, stinging on his cut face.
Moriarty knew he had won. He stroked the tears off of his prisoner's face, "There, there, love, it's alright. One day you will be begging me to let you stay. I love you and soon, you will love me back...I promise."
He pulled Sherlock near and the detective did not resist. Moriarty wrapped his arms around the thin delicate body and passionately kissed the soft pink lips, staring deep into the beautiful, sea blue eyes. He had waited for this for so long and now he had his lover. Sherlock was his now, body, mind, and soul. He was the luckiest man alive.
Sherlock did not resist and allowed Moriarty to pull him close like a lifeless rag doll. He was stuck here with a psychopath, lusting for him. He thought back to Baker Street, attempting to draw his thoughts away from his situation and escape into his mind. He thought to John, to Mycroft, to Molly, even Anderson. But nothing could avert the fact his enemy, James Moriarty. Was kissing him like a lover and slowly unbuttoning his shirt…
Thank you for reading! This is my first Sherlock fanfiction and I am so excited! I hope you liked it. I am also on Quotev, if you want to check out all my stuff there, https//AmyStark