February 23rd

Her screams echoed across the fields, but there was no one for miles around. Moriarty basked in the sound. They were in large tent in the middle of a huge expanse of farmland, and his gunmen were stationed at various strategic locations.

"Oh, Watson, it's a symphony!"

"GO TO HELL!" He just laughed, and bent down again, wiping his knife off on her arm. With a manic glint in his eyes, he started carving a huge, dramatically ornate "M" into her stomach, next to his drawing of a crown.

"Molly!"

"Oh! Sherlock! You scared me. What are you doing here already?"

"It's Watson. I need your lab." He looked slightly crazed, and pushed past her when she opened the doors. He disappeared into a flurry of microscope slides and chemical tests, and did not reappear for hours. When she went to check on him, he ignored her completely, except to spit out, "Call Lestrade."

Watson lay gasping for air as Moriarty cleaned his knives, humming "Stayin' Alive." The gunmen were taking down the tent, and she focused on the sunrise in the distance, trying desperately to control herself, to give Moriarty less of a show. By now, she'd realized that Sherlock was being led, and it was hard to stay strong when she probably still had days of captivity left.

"He'll catch up, you know," she said with as much force as she could muster. Moriarty turned towards her with a mocking expression, packing the set of knives away.

"Oh, eventually, of course, I'll let him catch up with you, love, but he's never going to catch me. No one ever does. It might be possible, but, you know, I'm so changeable, so unpredictable. That's going to stay with you by the way… the 'M' on your fair stomach. I'm sure Sherlock would love to see my mark on you when he goes to take you for himself."

"That… we're not like that, you sick bastard."

"Oh, sure you are, you just haven't realized it quite yet." He dropped the false good humor and turned to the workers. "Let's go! ETA in three hours!" Watson blacked out as she was bundled off the table and into a truck.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade called. He emerged from a supplies closet.

"Ah! Perfect timing! Swanbourne! Go! Go!" He made shooing motions.

"What?" Sherlock began to look angry.

"Must I explain everything? Paint residue, manure, fields, Swanbourne! Let's GO!"