A/N: OK, so I meant to upload this yesterday, but I forgot to ask KCS's permission to use Cummings and Alfie, two of her OC's. Many thanks to Lemon Zinger's proofreading comment for reminding me. Hope you enjoy! -SWS


We all praise fidelity; but the true friend pays the penalty when he supports those whom Fortune crushes. -Lucan


-Holmes-

I had to admit that Mycroft was right: Moriarty was too smart to use violence where intellect would do. So in the event that he had kidnapped Watson, at least I could be assured that my Boswell would not be directly harmed. But of course the Professor had other matters to attend to, so Watson might be left to Moran, who, being the only member of the group not afraid of Moriarty, would not hesitate to disobey orders, and there would inevitably be violence there.

The thought of my stalwart companion left to the likes of Colonel Moran horrified me immensely, and I had to shove the images which sprang to mind into the back of the proverbial closet with some force.

There was no cabby in London stupid enough to wander the streets looking for passengers in this dismal weather; those few I saw were undoubtedly in the employ of Moriarty, and I was forced to walk the cursedly long way back to Baker St.

I did sorely need to change my soaking clothes before checking in with Watson.

I sighed out of longing and relief when I came in sight of 221B, Baker St. A strong cup of coffee with a dash of brandy and a change of dry clothes awaited me inside.

I arrived on the doorstep. Why were the front windows shattered… and the lock broken?

Something was utterly wrong about this scene. I pulled my revolver from my cloak where I had strove to somehow keep it dry and slipped silently into the front hall.

Such a mess I had not seen since the day we moved in. But then the hall had been cluttered with stacks of boxes, not broken glass and furniture.

I leaned over an upturned table to examine the gas jets below where jagged shards of the bulbs were still attached to the mount on the wall. I gulped fearfully, for the knobs spoke that the gas was still on, if at this point disabled.

So that was why the windows had been smashed from the inside, leaving the majority of that debris scattered in the bushes outside. But who had been trapped inside this enclosed space with the leaking gas to do it? And did they manage to disperse the toxic fumes before lasting damage was done?

I prayed it was not my all too faithful Boswell who had been imprisoned in the makeshift gas chamber.

I began to ascend the stairs. "Watson?" I called.

Dead silence. Hopefully not literally.


-Watson-

I woke slowly, gradually, and on opening my eyes could detect no difference in light. Swabs of cotton seemed to muffle my senses, and I had to struggle back into full consciousness. Evidently I'd inhaled even more of the chloroform than I'd thought.

As my brain began to function at its normal rate again the most recent of memorable events all came flooding back at once in an inescapable torrent of visions and feelings, sights and sounds alike.

Holmes! Where had they taken him… and where was I?

I was lying somewhere indescribably comfortable, and my hands did not appear to be bound, so if I chose to do so I was seemingly free to get up, but I was not about to risk it. Knowing Holmes had broadened my spectrum of doing daredevil things, but it was pitch black, and I had no idea what was there waiting for me that I could not see. It was clearly some sort of mental torture, designed to frustrate me and maybe get me to talk. Obviously Moriarty didn't get my limits any more than Holmes did.

In the silence I heightened my senses, assuring myself that I'd notice any peculiar sound.

Perhaps it was not as long as it felt in the darkness, but finally, after some measure of time I heard voices.

"Don't be an imbecile, Downing, and let me in. I wish to speak with him."

"But sir, the chloroform might not have - "

"It has been hours, of course it has worn off. Now do as I say, Downing."

"Yes, sir."

I heard a latch or a bolt click and slide back, and a door opened behind me. I twisted around from my position to look, and squinted in the sudden light to make out the silhouette in the doorway, my attempts to no avail.

The figure was tall, and reminded me of the one I believed had passed me as I had stopped for breath on my way to Baker St.

The door shut, leaving the room dimly lit by the glow of a single candle held by my visitor. The flame floated through the room as the man who held it moved eerily, as silently as a cat stalking the mouse.

I then heard a soft creak as the figure sat down somewhere across from me and the candle was set down in between us.

I looked up at who it was. The dancing flame cast patches of shadow on his strangely illuminated face, but I recognized the reptilian features of Professor Moriarty.

He smiled, the effect was frightening combined with his cold, unfeeling eyes. "It's good to see you awake at last, doctor."


-Holmes-

I had searched every nook and cranny of this house, but still found no sign of Watson, either alive or dead. So no sign that he had ever been here at all… but there were signs of a struggle, he had returned from his reconnaissance, and Moriarty, as cunning as he was being aware of my friends' presence, sent men to follow him back. Then he was taken by surprise, and kidnapped. But no… not merely that, for he was trained enough not to let them take him without enough of a struggle that would inflict sufficient damage that I would be able to see traces of it left behind. So he would have had to have been knocked unconscious for them to take him. It was at least consolation that his body was not here.

But I had been a fool in not being there with him. I wondered once again if it was right for me to withhold the truth about the matter, if I should have told him… but no, he was much better off not knowing the full extent of the danger he was in. I could not help but feel selfish, but I would do anything to retain his life, and I had to promise myself that I would tell him once it was over, and he was safe.

But I had failed to keep him safe even after I had sworn by all I held dear that I would take it upon myself as my sole duty. I cursed angrily and kicked an already broken chair to vent my feelings, just as I heard a small noise from the doorway.

As an automatic reflex I whirled around, pointing my revolver at said door. I only saw a very small, dirty face, who raised his hands to show that he was not armed, and stepped completely into my view.

"S'only me, Mr. 'Olmes, sir!"

I sighed in relief and put down my weapon. "Alfie! What in blazes are you doing here?"

"Oi was walkin' down the street and saw some windows broken, decided to see wot 'appened 'ere, and if yew and the doctor were all roight."

"I appreciate your concern, lad. Now I have an errand for you to run, and two shillings for you if you get back in half an hour to complete the second half of the task."

"Anything for yew, Mr. 'Olmes!" the lad said eagerly, motivated by the prospect of money.

"Do you remember where my brother lives?"

"Yes, sir!" The young irregular nodded.

"Well, I need you to go get him and bring him back here, tell him I said so. Once he's here, I want you to go grab the other boys and have them patrol this street and a specific address on High St., I will tell you which house once you have done the first part."

"Yes, Mr. 'Olmes." The little one nodded vigorously and ran off. I thanked God for his youthful energy and speed, and only prayed that Mycroft could help me.


-Watson-

Taking advantage of the dim and flickering light I took in my surroundings, albeit that I could feel the eyes of the criminal mastermind watching me closely, no doubt observing things I could not even comprehend.

There were no traps on the floor, it was just plain and carpeted from what I could see. I had lain on a sofa, and my 'prison' appeared to be only a sitting room, cozy and furnished in the usual style.

"I would hope you are not formulating a plan for escape, doctor," said Moriarty, any possible emotion in his voice not identifiable.

"No, though I confess I do not find myself in the most ideal of situations."

"I would consider it quite ideal considering the full circumstances, and also the other less pleasant alternatives."

I shifted positions where I sat on the sofa, staring into the face of a genius. "If you don't mind my asking, professor, what is your motivation in this?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What do you hope to gain from holding me captive in these… unusually civilized circumstances?"

He smiled faintly, and I could read an almost nonexistent vein of humor in his face. "You mean that Holmes has not told you?"

"Since I do not know of what you speak, I think it probable that he has not. Perhaps you would care to elaborate?"

"To answer the second half first, surely he has told you that I am a gentleman. A gentleman does not hold people in dark, dismal dungeons with enormous rats and salty meat rations but no water. Surely if a gentleman is to follow a path as I did, then he must be civilized with his prisoners, or it will tarnish his splendid reputation."

"I am compelled to point out that that 'reputation' of yours only lies with the more blind of the community. There are those of us who are cognizant enough to see past your masquerade."

"And I am quite sure you would not have been cognizant enough were it not for Holmes."

"I would not have heard of you were it not for Holmes."

The professor's eyebrows raised. "Now I confess I did not expect that."

"I had other things on my mind besides European celebrities."

"Yes, I have heard your practice has been doing quite well."

"I might inquire of you why we are discussing this, but it brings me back to the first half of my previous inquiry, which you still have not answered."

"Of course I must be courteous, doctor."

Courteous? He was holding me captive… though in a sitting room, and excepting the chloroform it appeared I had not been physically harmed in any way.

"Holmes has gotten far too close. In a proverbial sense, I fear that before long he will bring down the temple around me. I have told him twice to drop the matter, but we both know how stubborn he can be."

I cocked my head, actually surprised at how calm I was in this conversation. "I am afraid you are not telling me the whole story. I should like to know the rest."

"The rest is not for me to tell. It is Holmes who is mostly responsible, I would suggest you ask him about the rest."

"I assure you that I would if I could, but there is the obvious to take into account."

"Of course."

Wait a moment… "You're holding me as leverage until he drops the case."

Professor Moriarty's eyes flickered to the ground for a moment before he looked me straight in the eye again, still that calm calculating machine, less than human to eyes like mine. "Yes. But I cannot tell you any more than that, for I have already told you that I am not the one to ask. I only made the proposition."

"What proposition?"

There was silence for a moment. Moriarty looked me over, as if deciding if it was worth giving me an answer. Finally he spoke the ultimatum he had given my friend, and I felt my heart skip a beat. "He drops the case, or you die, doctor."


-Holmes-

I did one more walk around the place while waiting for my brother to arrive with Alfie. There were no more clues that I could perceive, but having another great mind on it might do that bit of good we so desperately needed.

I ran quickly down the stairs when I heard them return, in hopes that I could convince Mycroft to give his profound deductions on this unfortunate matter.

When I reached the ground floor I found a very out of breath and flushed Mycroft standing in the hall, revolver at his side and looking about him in dismay. "Sherlock!" he cried. "What in heaven's name happened?"

"It is an equation, brother, just the way the professor likes it. There are too many variables here, and I was rather hoping you might help me with them."

"Sherlock, do slow down. To use your too appropriate metaphor, variables in what equation?"

I willed myself to take a breath before retelling my narrative from the beginning. "After I went to see you I came back here because I hoped Watson would be back. I found... well, this. It appears there was a struggle, then he was knocked unconscious so as to be easily taken. But as I said, there are variables. There is no evidence save the broken furniture. In fact, no sign that he was ever here at all. I need to know what more you can gather, Mycroft."

As my brother pocketed his revolver and began to look around, I turned to Alfie, pulling two shillings as promised from my pocket and holding them out to the boy, who eagerly grabbed them. "Alfie, I want you to go find the other boys now. Send some here to watch the street, the others to 13, High St. Can you remember that address, lad?"

"13 High St., Mr. 'Olmes."

With that he left again, and I could be assured that the specified areas would be well guarded before long.

Mycroft turned to me with a grim face. "It's all a setup, Sherlock."

"A setup? Please elaborate, brother."

"Moriarty knew the Doctor was there. He sent two men to follow him back here. The Doctor arrived to find the place like this. He would have thought they kidnapped you. While his attention was turned they took him. All this was staged, and it worked quite well. They got just what they wanted. It's obvious what they want now: you drop the case, or the good Doctor is left to Moran... or else the professor himself would kill him."

My face darkened to match my sibling's, and a lump formed in my throat on hearing kill him.

I could not let it happen... but it was happening, right under my nose.

Finally I mastered my anger and spoke. "We need Lestrade here."


-Watson-

"You know he won't drop the case, professor. He has all the evidence he needs to convict you. It merely needs it to be handed over to Inspector Patterson. You don't even know that hasn't happened already."

"I know more than you think, doctor."

"He won't drop the case." I repeated it only to assure myself of it. He couldn't. We were so close, too close, only to have it end now. It couldn't end now.

"You had better hope for your sake that you're wrong." Moriarty looked straight at me, he did not smile, nor frown. The emotion was impossible to read, perhaps because it was so carefully nonexistent.

Holmes could not lose the battle now, after all his hard work. I would gladly sacrifice myself to see that the case was finished and Moriarty and the syndicate brought to justice. So since I had almost no chance of leaving this place, I decided to take advantage of it.

"You knew there was no chance of me reaching Holmes to tell him what you were plotting. That is why you allowed me to leave."

A cruel smile twisted his features and his eyes glinted in amusement. "Of course I only deal in certainties."

At his words my mind flashed back one year in time, to the trial of one Mr. Culverton Smith.

"Did you or did you not have any deliberate intentions as to the death of your nephew, Victor Savage?"

"But of course I only deal in certainties."

I only just refrained from calling him what was in my mind. "So how do you plan to pull it off?"

Moriarty stood up, eyeing me strangely. "Just sit back and watch," he said, and then left without another word.


A/N: I don't exactly know why, but brilliant minded criminals are SO fun to write. I've always loved doing Moriarty :) I know so many people think that Moriarty isn't the best villain, since Conan Doyle was in a rush to write FINA and "kill off" Holmes, and I agree. But I think fanfic authors who aren't in a hurry have brought so much more to the character. Giving the actual person more depth and description has been my joy, and I confess that now I've made Moriarty a better (or more terrible criminal), FINA is my favorite to fanfic for. Let me know if you agree, I love to get people's opinions! -SWS