Sherlock's face filled the previously blank screen in front of John, he stared at it as if it was a personal lifeline and Sherlock's pale cerulean eyes stared back out from that pale face.
"John." The word isn't a question or a shout – it is simply Sherlock acknowledging that it is indeed his friend that is on what is presumably his laptop's screen. John can see the wallpaper of 221B Baker Street behind Sherlock's face, the dimming orange light on the wall tells him that it is sunset, so he knows that he has been gone for at least 12 hours after the Pool incident.
John does not attempt to reply, knowing that trying to speak around the rather humiliating gag would be pointless and would most likely just give Moriarty more ammunition with which to mock the both of them. He merely fixed his eyes on Sherlock's – staring straight ahead, trying to ignore Moriarty who released his grip on John's chin and grinned, with his dark eyes flicking from the screen to John and back again.
"Hello again Sherlock, I apologise for the abruptness and rather clichéd dramatics – but your pet seemed rather impatient to be getting on with things, and to tell you the truth I can understand why..." Moriarty's eyes glittered maliciously and his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips momentarily. "We're going to have so much fun."
"Boring Jim." Said Sherlock; still staring straight ahead in his usual expression of indifference, though there was a muscle in his face that was jumping slightly as he spoke.
"Oh don't try that one on me Sherlock; we both know that you care about Johnny-boy here, your reaction to any previous threats towards him proved that obvious enough." Moriarty fixed Sherlock with a faux disapproving look and wagged his finger at him as the consulting detective was a misbehaving child.
Both Sherlock and John rolled their eyes at that one, though neither of them made comment – not that John could.
"Oh come on boys! Where's your sense of fun?" Moriarty asked, but then his eyes hardened. "But in all seriousness..." Moriarty released John's face and stood slightly to the side, staring down at John with cold black eyes. "That leg wound of yours really needs taking care of – wouldn't want you to be a cripple, now would we?"
The consulting criminal saw how John flinched slightly at the word, Moriarty's lips twitched upward slightly, but his eyes remained icy. "However would you run about after Sherlock on all his little adventures otherwise?" he asked in a half-whisper.
John's breathing increased, he knew that something bad was coming, and despite all of his soldier's training, he was scared – John Watson was scared. And rightly so.
A metal table was wheeled into his cell, upon it, John recognised various pieces of medical equipment – but what concerned him most was that he could see an IV of some kind, but it was filled with a thick green liquid that was most definitely not painkillers. It appeared that they were going to perform treatment on his fractured kneecap without any anaesthetic, and mostly likely in the most barbaric way that they could. John felt tears burning at the back of his eyes, but he blinked hard and tried to fix his gaze solely upon the ceiling as he heard the medical instruments being moved about on the metal table.
The blonde henchman approached the chair and pulled across yet another metal band that closed just over John's knee – presumably to keep it in place while they worked. The one Moriarty called 'Seb' pulled up John's sleeve on his left arm and none-too-gently inserted a needle into his flesh. Whatever solution was in the IV was now entering his system and John could very quickly feel everything around him getting sharper. The pain in his leg more acute, his chest and throat ached further, and his vision was suddenly much brighter and more focused than it had been. The doctor also recognised the familiar rush of adrenaline as it flushed though his body – whatever was in this solution was designed to keep him awake and hyper-aware. This thought scared him even more.
He heard Sherlock's voice over the speakers then and if he didn't know the detective any better, he would say that he sounded slightly panicked. "Moriarty!" The aforementioned chuckled, clearly enjoying his distress, but otherwise ignored the consulting detective.
John tried to focus on breathing evenly as the redheaded sniper approached him once more; he gripped the material of his left trouser leg and ripped it open, baring the wound further. John glanced down at it, from this angle and without his clothes in the way, the doctor could see the still-bleeding bullet puncture and could see the way the marred flesh was only barely covering the clearly fractured bone pieces.
"Now I must admit that Sebastian doesn't have the best medical experience in the room." Moriarty commented in a light, airy tone, as John began to struggle in his bindings. "So you may have to guide us a bit Johnny-boy, as the resident doctor in the house."
Moriarty leaned into put his ear by John's face, smirking slightly. "No? No advice to give? Well I guess that Seb will just have to go in free hand won't he?" John began to make muffled protests through the ball-gag that were quickly turned into a stifled scream as Sebastian placed his scalpel on the skin of John's injured knee, and began to cut into the marred flesh.
