I'm back sooner than I thought with an update! Thanks to those who reviewed, followed, etc. You are lovely! Disclaimer: If I ever own this show, I'll let you know, but for now (sigh) nope.
Special thanks to johnsarmylady for helping me with this little edit! :)
Riddles in the Dark
Chapter Two: Breathing's Boring
oOOOo
Come and play, Johnny. Embankment. Jim Moriarty x
"Oh, God," John said, raising the phone back to his ear. "Lestrade, it's him. It's Moriarty again."
"What? What do you mean? What did he say?" Lestrade sounded startled, worried.
"He told me to go to Embankment. I don't ... What should I do?"
"Where are you now? I don't know if you should go on your own, John ... Wait until I get over there."
"Greg, if Moriarty has kidnapped Sherlock, there's no time to lose! He could be hurt, or worse..."
Lestrade sighed, just a loud rush of static over the phone. "Are you armed?" He sounded resigned.
"No, I just came from work. Look, I'll be fine, just meet me there quickly."
"Where exactly...?"
John paused. "Embankment somewhere. I don't know. I'll call when I get there, alright?"
"Yeah. Be careful, John."
oOOOo
The cabbie had been faintly irritated that John had changed the route halfway to Baker Street, but John couldn't have cared less. If Sherlock really had been kidnapped, then they had very little time to find him. Moriarty liked his games to move along rapidly, not drawing them out unnecessarily. If John didn't come to Embankment, it would probably be just a few short hours before Moriarty did something drastic to lure him out. Like dangling a kidnapped Sherlock over his conscience.
The cab stopped near the Hayward Gallery. John paid the cabbie and leapt out onto the street. He looked up and down the street uncertainly. Where would Moriarty want to meet?
His phone buzzed then, and he grabbed it.
Eye see you. JM
Well if that wasn't a hint, he didn't know what was. He walked hesitantly down the street, looking around for anything suspicious. There was construction, surprise surprise, on the elevated path he was on. If he wanted to get to the Eye now, he would have to walk almost two kilometers. He stepped off the pavement and onto Belvedere Road. From there he made his way to the mostly-deserted Westminster Bridge and began to cross the Thames.
As he walked, he let his mind ponder the gravity of the situation. Sherlock had been in highly dangerous, even deadly situations before, but he had never been in quite this much peril. Alone somewhere, no means of communication, and depending on John to find and save him. John couldn't imagine what was going through the detective's mind on the best of days, least of all now.
All John knew for certain was that he was not going to allow Moriarty to hurt Sherlock, not if he could help it. He and Sherlock had been through too much for him to let the maddening, confusing, brilliant man down.
Looking up, John saw the colorful spiral of the iconic London Eye, its lights changing from red to blue to green and back, casting a glow over the surrounding area, except when it was transitioning to another color. John approached it, hoping he would find Moriarty soon. He pulled out his phone and prepared to call Lestrade back.
A dark car drove past him and parked by the side of the road. John, preoccupied, barely noticed it. He kept walking, the lights of the Eye flashing on and off every thirty seconds or so. He neared the car just as the light switched off those precious seconds to change from green to red. At that moment of darkness, two men emerged from the car and seized John. His mobile phone fell from his hand and landed with a clatter on the pavement. Throwing a cloth bag over his head, the two men managed to toss him in the car before he really knew what hit him.
He struggled, but the distinctive, sweet smell of chloroform on the bag was already weakening him. The car lurched forward, but he couldn't even muster the energy to keep track of the turns. So much for deducing his location, John thought bitterly. Sherlock will be disappointed if we get out of this.
As he began to lose consciousness, one thought stuck out in his mind. It was in Sherlock's voice, and in his dizzied and confused brain, it sounded as though it was whispered in his ear.
"Breathing's boring."
John took one last desperate gasp and passed out.
Boring? No, not really.
Well, that chapter was a bit longer than the last, and hopefully more interesting. I do have to apologize, however, if some of my fumbled descriptions of London locations are inaccurate. I've visited but don't know the city well enough to be entirely comfortable writing about the places like that. If I got anything wrong, please let me know in a review or pm. I genuinely would like to know :)
Read and be merry, my friends!