Sally woke with a start, not remembering falling asleep. Her mouth was dangerously dry now, lips sticking to her teeth and clinging there like netting. Stupid lips. Who needed lips anyway? She coughed and wished she hadn't – sandpaper was her primary thought when she put a hand to her throat. It was awful.

Sherlock was next to her, his eyes glinting in the darkness – someone had turned out the lights then. Who? When? How long had she been asleep?

"A couple of hours," said Sherlock before she could ask. "I've been keeping watch, don't worry. The light went out a few minutes ago, so something interesting should be happening soon."

As soon as he'd finished speaking there was a click and a whirr of a tape of some kind; it made too much noise to be a CD or even a live speaker. A pre-recorded tape, an old fashioned one, playing loudly and booming in her ears. The Beejees. Was that Staying Alive? She hated that song.

The music stopped a high-pitched voice rang out, Irish. Moriarty then, it had to be.

"Hello there baby! Did you miss me? I see you've brought a different friend this time. Well, I wouldn't say friend…"

Sherlock stiffened and clenched his fists, but neither of them dared speak in case they missed anything important.

"Let's cut to the chase my little chickies. I'm bored at the moment, very bored, so I set this up. It's a bit like that movie, the one with the games. Except we don't want any blood. Yet."

Sally shuddered. Sherlock twitched.

"You'll probably have realised by now those eyes of yours aren't quite up to spec – get it? Spec? Spectacles? Oh, alright, it's not one of my best, but there's nothing you can do about it." How could such a ridiculous sounding voice be so terrifying? "There are very few rules to this game, because it's all fairly self-explanatory. I just wanted to let you know someone is watching you and if you try anything they can make life very, very uncomfortable. So have fun!"

There was a click and a silence that washed over her and made her spine feel as if it was going to twist itself into knots of terror. Then the light flared and something appeared in white on the far wall, but it was just a lot of smudges to her. It could have been symbols or actual letters, maybe even a very strange picture, but she couldn't make any of it out.

"Projected," Sherlock muttered, glancing up. "There's a projector in the ceiling up there." She could see a pinprick of light where his finger was pointing. "And there has to be a camera somewhere…" He was talking to himself again, so she cut across him.

"What does it say?"

He glanced at the wall and began to read, but the words sounded as if someone had hooked a machine into his throat – they weren't his own. "Three questions chickies. Don't fail me now. One: What is the name of the Voldemort's snake?" He frowned. "Who or what is Voldemort?"

She sighed. "Long story. So, we have to answer them?"

He nodded. "We have to work together – none of these questions mean anything to me, being associated with pointless things my brain has no room for. I read, you answer."

She felt she would have to get used to this working together thing. "Alright. The snake was Nagini."

Nothing happened, but Sherlock ploughed on regardless. "Complete the lyric - 'It's Friday, Friday…'"

She pulled a face – the song was not one she was fond of. "Gotta get down on Friday. And the last one?"

"What's the name of the actor who played the sixth doctor?"

Her face fell – she wasn't a fan of Doctor Who and never had been. She turned to Sherlock, but he was staring at her intently, obviously waiting for her to answer. She shook her head.

"No idea. What happens if we get it wrong?"

"It doesn't say." His arms dropped to his side, and he tipped his forehead against the bars. "Guess. We'll see what happens if we do get it wrong."
She thought back to one of the people she knew had played the doctor, once – she didn't remember what number he was, but she knew he was early on.

"Tom Baker."

There was nothing. "Did I get it right?" Her voice was too high. The light faded from the opposite wall and she waited, but nothing happened. Then there was a second click and another white flare that seared her eyeballs slightly. More words, right in front her, very tiny words that were hard for her to see, let alone Sherlock.

She leaned forwards and peered and them, and her heart sank. She knew Sherlock was clever…but did he really know all this?

"Okay, these are yours," she said. "I hope to god you know what they're on about, because I have no idea."

Sherlock nodded. "Read it."

"What is pi to ten decimal places?" She knew what pi was, perhaps to one or two places, but certainly not ten.

"3.1415926536," Sherlock said with no more than a second's hesitation.

She gave a sigh. "How the fuck do you even do that?"

"I'm a genius."

"Freak."

He chuckled and she read the next one without prompting. "The exact chemical formula for..." she squinted at the name. "Er…Tourmuline? Tormalin? Do you want me to spell it, it looks tricky."

"Tourmaline," he said snappily. "Use your eyes, been as they're so much better at this task than mine."

She ignored him, but the snapping worried her – it meant he was nervous. Or maybe he was just being his usual prickish self. "Do you know it?"

"Mind palace."

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. When she turned to look at him he was completely still, his eyes darting as if looking at something in the distance that was moving very rapidly. Every now and then his arms would move from left to right, or his face would twitch. It was unnerving, but he didn't appear to be having a seizure, which she supposed was good.

Eventually he spread his hands with a triumphant snort. "Got it. Right next to Einstein."

"What?"

"Method of Loci – look it up when we get out of here." She liked how he could make such easy assumptions. "The formula is XY3Z6(T6O18)(BO3)3V3W."

She snorted. "This is ridiculous. My questions were easy! Yours are just…beyond testing."

"That's the point though," Sherlock said. "The questions had to be something the person who could read would have no idea of the answer to. It's very neat."

"It's creepy."

He didn't deny the fact. "And the last one?"

She sighed and leaned forwards to read it. "What is the common name for the plant Helianthus Annuus?" That one, actually, sounded very vaguely familiar – her grandmother had been a keen gardener – but she wouldn't have been able to give an answer.

"Sunflower," he said, with only a half-minute of thinking. There was another click and the sound of slow clapping filled the room.

"Very good, you two. I suppose I'll have to say you're through to the next round then!" The fact it was still a pre-recorded tape talking made her nervous – it was like Moriarty had known all along how they were going to answer. Or maybe he'd decided to pass them no matter what they got right because knew he wasn't going to be bored of the game yet.

There was a click and three of the bars of the cage vanished into the ceiling, sliding up slightly until there was a space large enough to get through – it looked just like it was out of a film. Sherlock went through without so much as blinking – she supposed he didn't watch enough movies to be amazed – and she followed quickly. The trapdoor was easy to find, and she dropped down after him as quickly as possible, glad to be rid of the metal that surrounded them.

So...what do you think of the first test? There will be more. And they are going to get much, much harder.

Thanks for reading! Reviews welcome.

To be continued.