Chapter 2: Mutilation is the most sincere form of flattery.

Sherlock rushed down the stairs, ignoring Mrs. Hudsons questions as he all but ripped the door from its hinges to get out quickly. As he reached the door to the room which he calculated had the red curtains, Sherlock took a deep breath and put his hand on the door. John was in there. His friend. His only friend. Moriarty knew him all too well and using John against him would be his biggest downfall.

"Sentiment" Sherlock tutted.

As Sherlock opened the door he could see John, strapped to a chair and a bomb. He was unconscious and the bruises were starting to show. His head was bowed in sleeplessness and his eyes moving erratically beneath their lids. He would be waking soon.

"Ah, Sherlock. So glad you could make it…I would say take a seat, but I have no furniture." Moriarty chimed.

"Enough of the small talk. It is utterly pointless and honestly a waste of our time. How's John?" Sherlock said, his lip curling, fist clenching, trying so desperately to get a hold of his emotions.

"You brought rage I see, annnnnndddd, something else, Fondness? Lust?...all for John? Or am I the lucky man?"

"Stop playing games and get to the point!"

"Oh, but I love games. Games are fun. Games predict if Johnny-boy here lives…or dies."

"What are you insinuating?"

"You mean you can't deduce that from me? John here said you were good. I don't see how"

Sherlock turned to look at John, really look at him. He has so much faith in Sherlock it was astounding. He didn't know why. That perplexed him more than anything had before. Did he really have so much faith in him, getting him out of this debacle alive?

"I see you've brought your emotions to the occasion. That was a really stupid move."

"Maybe. Maybe not, but I tell you what is stupid. The fact that you're here alone."

"Oh, but that's not true, I have Johnny here to keep me company. To make me feel at home" Moriarty said with voice like silk, walking over towards John and trailing his fingers gently down his hair, but then violently grabbing his by the scruff of his neck.

"This! This piss poor excuse for a human is what you value the most? Above even your own brother…oh don't look at me like that…I know about Mycroft. How could I not, we have similar interests….you."

"Let him go" Sherlock snarled, someone touching John like that really riled him up.

"Ohh not yet, I'm not done with him yet…" Moriarty emphasised this by letting John go from his grip and smoothing his hair and collar down. He continued to stroke John's hair, much like a pet. Sherlock was quiet. Too quiet for him. The minute he looked down at John with disgust, Sherlock had moved closer.

"Uh, uh, uh. Stay back." He pulled something from his pocket, a keyring.

"What is it with you and explosives? Isn't this a little repetitive?"

"Don't know the power of explosives Sherlock, they are very effective, and so very dramatic…it suits our little quarrel here very well. Guns and knives are just tools, they can be taken too easily, one slip and your opponent had the power, but explosives, they make you really think." He brought the key ring up into the light so Sherlock could inspect it. There was a button on top. It was red.

"Nice touch. The red."

"Ohhh, you know me. Master of detail…and death. Maybe the other way round"

"Quit being so trivial with your stereotypes and get on with it. You bore me."

"You really shouldn't have said that" Moriarty raised the key ring for effect and Sherlock could see what was coming. He was going to push the button. He was going to blow John up.

Thanks for reading! :D