This chapter's a bit short, but I'm going to be busy for a while so I figured I'd post it anyways. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own.

John slowly opened his groggy eyes and was met with a sharp pain from the wound on his head which was slowly bleeding down his face. He realized that he was in a very dimly lit room and was sitting on a metal chair. He tried to move his hands to wipe the blood off of his face but couldn't, they were tied behind him; he figured as much. He then tried moving his legs, tied as well. Perfect. He squinted as he looked into the single light bulb dangling from the ceiling and tried to recollect his thoughts and remember what happened, how he got there. It suddenly all came flooding back to him; Sherlock falling, dead, his nightmares, Moran...

He was suddenly overcome with a state of panic. All traces of the normally composed John Watson were now gone. He struggled with all of strength against his bonds. He had to get away because this was not going to end well for him if he didn't. He tried with no avail and let his head drop with a groan escaping from his lips; he stared blankly at the dark cement floor. He closed his eyes and attempted to clear his mind and regain his composure. He needed to remain calm if he was going to figure a way out of this situation. He looked around the room and tried to figure out where he was but the dark room left little for his mind to deduce. He figured it was most likely an abandoned warehouse of some sorts.

His deductions were cut short when he suddenly heard movement behind the large steel door directly across from him, putting his senses on full alert and causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. Someone was coming in. He struggled to maintain his wits and keep his breathing steady as Sebastian Moran opened the large, creaky door and walked into the room. He was flanked by two rather large, ugly-looking henchmen, both looking equally intimidating and dressed in black suits.

Moran walked to John and stood directly in front of him with an ugly grin spreading across his face. John could feel unmistakable fear but tried his best to not let it show on his face. He was absolutely determined to be brave even though he felt like a complete coward at that moment.

He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he saw the one of the two henchman walk and stand behind John.

"Hope everything's to your liking, doctor," Moran said with complete fake sincerity as he looked around the dark room. "I really tried to make you as comfortable as possible."

John stared fervently at the floor, not saying a word.

John saw, out of the corner of his eye, Moran motioning to the henchmen standing behind John. John held back a nervous whimper that was fighting to escape from his mouth.

"Relax, doctor." Apparently John wasn't concealing his emotions as well as he thought.

To his surprise, the henchmen bent down and untied John's legs and then his hands; he was completely free of his bonds.

"Now, I'm sure you know much more about your friend's little charade he played on the top of St. Barts," Moran began walking slowly around John, "and I would like nothing than for you to inform me about that."

A look of utter confusion and desperation appeared on John's face. "I dun-dunno what you're talking about."

"I figured you'd say as much." He said with an exasperated sigh.

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but Jim Moriarty put a bullet through his own brain before your friend's little stunt." He said this with utter contempt and spat the last word's in John's face; he was now looming over him with a sinister look. John sat with his fists clenched; he dare not do anything rash at this point. If he did, he was sure these two henchmen would be on him before he could even throw a punch.

"Now, normally, Holmes would be sitting in that chair you're in, paying for what happened to Jim but, since he's nowhere to be found, you'll have to do, for now anyways."

Moran walked over to the second henchmen who was, John noticed for the first time, holding a pair of black leather gloves.

Moran took the gloves, slowly slipped them on, and walked back to stand in front of John. He motioned to the henchmen behind John. John was suddenly pulled roughly onto his feet and the chair he had just been sitting on was thrown into the corner of the room with a loud crash.

Silence settled on them and the single light bulb lazily swung back and forth in the middle of the two military men, causing dark shadows to play across the room. John thought he could hear his heart beating out of his chest, he did not like where this seemed to be going.

"We're going to fight this out, like men." Moran stared intently at John, excitement in his voice. "Here's the deal: if I win you tell me everything you know about Sherlock's apparent death," John began to stutter something in protest until he felt a gun jam into his back, "and, if you win, well, if you win we'll discuss your options later."

The two henchman suddenly walked to the door and stood like statues in front of it; no possible escape, John thought to himself with dread swelling up inside of him.

John's mind was racing with escape plans when suddenly, without warning, Moran sprang at John, tackling him to the hard cement floor. John's head wound was a definite disadvantage; his reaction time was slower than normal. A day earlier and Moran wouldn't have taken John down as easily.

Moran unleashed a relentless hail of punches at John and suddenly his entire body was crying, screaming out with pain. He tried to fight back at first, but there was only so much he could do with Moran on top of him and throwing punch after punch at him.

Finally, after what seemed like hours and hours of torture, Moran stopped and stood up staring down at John with a look of satisfaction.

John lay on the ground, his breathing was uneven and he was fighting to stay conscious. He had several deep gashes on his face and sported a bloody nose, lip, and several nasty looking bruises which were beginning to form all over his body.

Moran dusted himself off and straightened out his black suit before savagely kicking John hard in the stomach; Moran heard a satisfying crack as a rib broke. John let out a strangled cry and rolled over onto his side. Each breath that he let out was preceded by a pathetic whimper. He squeezed his eyes shut; he couldn't believe the situation he was in right now. He thought all of this 'being in danger stuff' was a thing of the past. At least, when he was in sticky situations in the past, he could always count on Sherlock to come to the rescue before anything life threatening presented itself. But now he was all alone with no one to save him.

He clutched his stomach and lay on the cold cement floor in the fetal position, praying that the worst was over.

Moran walked around John and knelt, coming face to face with him.

"So, where is Sherlock Holmes?"

"I-I, dunno," John stammered; his words came out in a slur from pain. "He's d-dead. I watched. Him. I watched him. He fell. I f-felt his pulse. Nothing." His head was swimming and his whole body felt like it was on fire.

Moran stood up with a sigh. "Very well, you leave me with no choice, doctor."

Moran walked over to the two henchmen guarding the door and turned to John, "I'll let you sleep on it for a while but, when I come back you'd better be willing to talk. It'd be in your best interest." Moran opened the door, flipped a light switch off, and he and his henchmen left the room. John was suddenly engulfed in darkness and left wishing for death to come and have mercy on him.

Moran's intentions are starting to be revealed...how's John going to survive?! :O

Thanks for the review and follow! :)