Sherlock and the Case of the Captured Best Friend

A Sherlock Fan Fiction

By: Amber Warren

Hey guys! Thank-you guys sooooo much for the reviews, favorites, and followers! It makes me so happy seeing that you guys like this story! It makes me want to upload faster :)

Disclaimer: (Sadly) I don't own Sherlock. :'(. First off, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns Sherlock Holmes and Steven Moffast and Mark Gatniss (sorry if I spelt that wrong) own the AMAZING BBC show Sherlock. I only own oringinal characters. Oh, wait. There isn't any really. Oh Well!

Sitting there in that dark, dank cell, with nothing but a simple cot and a dirty toilet he was not going to be using any time soon, Sherlock is silently freaking out. If Sally had anything to do with his case, she would guarantee him a spot on death row. This was not fair! If only he had the bloody letter, he could prove his innocence! It said right on there that Moriarty was going to have "LOTS of fun" with them!

But why would he do this? Now, Moriarty and Sherlock couldn't "play their fun little games" that Moriarty loved so much. With him stuck in jail, Sherlock couldn't do anything and Moriarty would get what both he and Sherlock hated more than anything: bored. So why would he do this? He'd do anything to keep from being bored. Why would he lock up the one person who kept him from being bored?

Sherlock doesn't understand what the point of this is but he knows he will figure it out. Bloody hell, he's Sherlock Holmes for crying out loud!

But he can't help feeling as if he isn't complete. As if a part of his heart is missing. Scientifically speaking, his heart is good and dandy and working properly, or else he wouldn't be here living and breathing as he is. But deep down, he understands what this feeling is that he's never experienced before: he misses John.

Sherlock misses John.

Wait, what?

No, no, no. John helps him not to be bored and gets the groceries when Sherlock doesn't feel like it, why does he feel like this? He doesn't care for anyone. The closest he has ever come to loving someone is the admiration he has for Einstein, but this is different. He actually misses John and to miss someone, you have to care for them.

Sherlock cares for someone.

Well, that's new.

When John wakes up, he rubs his head which is radiating pain from every inch of it.

What happened?

All John remembers was seeing Moriarty and freaking out, trying to escape, and being blocked by automatic-lock doors. He remembers not being able to use his mobile in the taxi, too, and being brought to an abandoned warehouse, much like the one they found the bodies at. He remembers refusing to cooperate and get out of the car, and then he remembers being knocked out by the butt of a gun.

Explaining why he's here.

And where he is, is not a very pretty place. At all.

The dark, musty room John is in is absolutely disgusting. Spider webs cling for dear life to dark corners. Water drips from deep cracks in the ceiling. John swears he sees a rat scuttle across the faded wooden floorboards.

John draws his legs to his chest and tries to soothe his erratic breathing and even more erratic heartbeat. Why had Moriarty captured him? Didn't he want Sherlock? But then again, he had strapped bombs to him before, so who knew what screwed-up plans Moriarty had cooked up in his equally screwed-up mind.

Whatever his plan was, it certainly wasn't good.

Somehow sensing John's thoughts of himself, Moriarty enters the room. "Hello, Johnny-Boy! Happy to see me? Because I'm just delighted to see you!"

John shudders. Moriarty is such a horrible sight to behold. It's not the way he looks that's terrible. Moriarty just looks like any other bloke: dark brown, cropped hair, fiery green eyes, light skin with a bit of stubble grasping his chin. It's the fact that he is absolutely mad and very powerful that sends a shiver down John's spine. A

"Not particularly, no," John mutters, through a clenched jaw.

"Really?" Moriarty put on a pout as a five-year-old would when told he couldn't have another lollipop. "Awww, I'm soooo sowwy!"

"I appreciate your apology so much…" John mumbles sarcastically.

"Good!" Moriarty's face changes to a happy delighted expression. And it absolutely terrified John.

"Why'd you capture me?" John asks, being straight forward.

"Why?" Moriarty asks innocently. "Why do people do anything? Because I got bored! And I knew if I captured his best little pal in the world, he'd come straight here! But, wait, he's in jail now, isn't he? Hmmm, quite the dilemma!"

Moriarty starts to pace back and forth, his hand stroking his stubble and looking off into the distance, as if he's trying to comprehend the situation.

"What to do? What to do?"

"Moriarty!"

"Losing our temper, are we, Johnny-Boy?"

John takes a deep breath. He really didn't want to anger the nutjob. "What was the point of those dolls in our flat? That looked like Mrs. Hudson and all?"

"I got bored!" Moriarty smiles a devious smile. "I decided to give you a scare as well as steal the good detective fingerprints! Some presents! Did you like them? They're quite delightful, aren't they?"

"Try freaky and disgusting," John replied, an edge clear in his voice.

"What was the point of getting Sherlock in jail and then capturing me? He doesn't know I'm captured. He won't come."

"Well, he also won't come because he can't."

"Yes, but what's the point?"

Moriarty's eyes blazed with a fiery intensity. "I'm going to let Sherlock know that I have you and we're gonna' play some games. Oh, and we will! It will torture Sherlock knowing that you're here and there's not a thing he can about it! And even if they allow him out, I'm going to set a trap for him. A great one."

"And where is here exactly?"

"The warehouse where the bodies were found, of course!" Moriarty grinned evilly.

"Oh, of course. Silly me…"

"He'll think to come here and I'll trap him!"

"Bloody brilliant for someone with a mind as crazy as a box full of cats…"

"Shhhh, Johnny," Moriarty coos. "Stop talking. I need you now. Be a lamb and come here."

John gives him an incredious look that says, "Are you kidding me?"

"No!"

"Suit yourself. Frank! Topher!"

Two big, burly men come into the room, obviously Moriarty's minions. "Bring Johnny-Boy out here."

"Okay, I'm coming!" John begrudgingly stands up and walks over to Moriarty. "What?"

"Don't talk like that to me! Be nice!" Moriarty gets a look on his face that sends about seventeen shivers down John's spine. "We're going to have fun now. Lots of fun."

"Please! You have to let me find him! He's my… best friend."

Sally whirls around at this comment. "Sorry? What? I thought you didn't have friends."

"Just please! You have to! Don't do it for me. Do it for John."

Sherlock had just found out John had been reported missing and he knew it had to do with Moriarty. A man had reported it and Sherlock had to save his best friend.

"You know I wouldn't run away to escape my 'sentence'," Sherlock does air quotations do add emphasize to how stupid of him to have a sentence was, "because I wouldn't abandon John. I need to find him! I'm the only who can get him back if we're dealing Moriarty which we are. Do it for John."

Sally sighs. "I'll ask Lestrade. But you'll go right back in that cell after we find him."

Sally walked away from Sherlock's cell and was back in a few minutes. "Lestrade trusts you so…" She didn't finish her sentence, but unlocked his cell. "Just be fast."

"You thinks so little of me," Sherlock gives her a weak smile and she actually returns it.

"Bring him back, Freak," Sally says in a soft voice. "And don't have too much fun on it."

"I'll try," Sherlock smiles and with that, disappears from sight into the swirl of the Scotland Yard workers.

Coming to the warehouse, Sherlock receives multiple shivers down his spine as just about everyone who comes to the place does. Tightening his famous black coat around him, he pushes open the door and is greeted by layers of grime and filth.

Accidentally inhaling the dust, Sherlock coughs violently. Disgusting.

After his fit is over with, Sherlock narrows his eyes to get a better view of the place. It's so creepy and dark; he can barely see a thing. Luckily, he'd been smart enough to run home to grab a flashlight.

Sherlock flicks it on, his heart drops into his stomach, and is met with the most horrible sight he's ever seen.

John sits against an old wall, his eyes wide open and glassy, one of his hands cupped under his chin, one in his lap, a clean bullet hole in his temple.

John was Moriarty's next victim and Sherlock had been too stupid to notice.

Tears flood Sherlock's vision and his knees buckle from beneath him. Tears stream down his ashen cheeks and he can barely breathe. Sherlock is sick to his stomach at the sight of his best friend like this.

You stupid idiot! Sherlock thinks. This is your fault! You should have known Moriarty was going to pull something like this! John's dead because of you!

Sherlock staggers over to John and chokes out the words, "O-Oh, J-J-John. I, th-this, it-it's m-my fault."

Sherlock finally had started to care for someone and now they'd been ripped away from him. Like his heart feels right now. This is why he never gotten attached to people because they always were taken away from him and he just felt like falling apart. Like know.

And the person whose fault that John is dead is…

"Moriarty," Sherlock says with an acidity in his voice that could burn a hole through metal.

Moriarty had taken away the one person he cared for. Just like he was any other bloke walking down the street.

But John wasn't any other bloke. John was special. Special to Sherlock. And Sherlock was the same to John. They were best friends, for crying out loud!

Moriarty would pay.

Sherlock didn't kill those other people, but he might just become a killer tonight.

No more chapters until I get more reviews people! Sorry but I need some more if I'm going to upload more :) sowwy