Chapter Three
John groaned. What was going on? The last thing he remembered, Moriarty had kidnapped him while he was buying cabbage and strawberry jam, and then…
Oh, my God. Then they'd gone to Baker Street and met Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. Were they with him? He kind of assumed so. But hadn't Donovan come? Whatever. If she had, there wasn't any hope. After all, she didn't believe in Moriarty. But if she'd seen him, would she believe?
John was in a room with peeling gray paint with two lumpy mattresses, one which he was laying on. John got up off of it. The room had a low ceiling, and the only thing besides the mattresses was an old, junky television on a side table.
"Hello, John." John whipped around and saw Sherlock.
"Oh, Sherlock!" John said. "Did Mrs. Hudson get taken, too?"
Sherlock nodded. "Yes, but I don't know where she is. Have you seen her?"
John shook his head. "I'm assuming you haven't?"
"Well…" Sherlock replied. "No. But we can try to find her."
"You mean you haven't been able to deduce the facts to find out where she is?"
"No. But we aren't tied or chained or anything, so perhaps the door isn't locked. Then we'd be able to get out," Sherlock told him.
"Is the door unlocked?" John asked, growing rather impatient.
Sherlock shrugged. "I haven't checked yet. I thought that if I could get out, I'd at least want to bring you. Or else, who knows what Moriarty could do to you?"
John rolled his eyes. "Just try to open it!"
"Fine!" Sherlock shouted. He ran over to the door and tried the doorknob, but it wouldn't turn. "There! It doesn't open!"
Just then, on the TV screen, Jim Moriarty's face appeared. "Hello, Johnny Boy! How are you, Mr. Holmes?"
"Terrible!" John yelled, feeling immensely foolish, talking to a TV screen. "Let us out of here!"
"Well, I could…" Jim said, his voice trailing off. "But then I wouldn't be able to have my fun. Just to continue playing, the door is unlocked." Sherlock tried to open the door, and it opened easily. "But if you leave, we'll still have the housekeeper."
"The landlady!" John and Sherlock heard a voice in the background. It was her!
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock screamed. "James Moriarty, let her go, or else I swear, we'll kill you!"
The psychopath laughed. "You say that like you could actually do that. But if you even lay a finger on me, I'll kill either her or your dear Inspector." The screen then showed a video of a man running. He had a mop of gray hair and looked exhausted.
"Lestrade!" John said. "But what are you doing to him? Is he running from your men or something?"
"What? I didn't do this, Johnny," Moriarty told them. "He's working out. I've been watching him for hours. It's been immensely funny."
"Don't you dare call him fu—wait, he's working out? Can I see?" Sherlock asked, chuckling.
"Are you serious, Sherlock?" John yelled, getting rather angry. "This is not the time to laugh at Greg Lestrade's attempts to work out. We need to think of a plan to get out with Mrs. Hudson."
"Oh," Sherlock giggled. "Oh, yes. Now I remember. But why is he working out, of all things?"
"Someone who he called Sally Donovan insulted him," Moriarty replied. "He was very offended, and that's why he made the decision."
"Anyway," Sherlock said, fighting to keep his face straight. "Will you just tell us why you've brought us here?"
Jim Moriarty shook his head. "Oh, Sherlock," he said softly, tauntingly. "I thought you would've figured that out already."
"But why?" John pressed.
Moriarty cocked his head. "So that you can play in my game, of course."