"My word!" gasped John.
There was a little bit of blood on the floor, as well.
He looked around a bit more.
Just barely poking out from under the bed was the knife Sherlock used to keep his letters on the mantelpiece. It had blood on it. Other than that, there was not much different in the room, all things considered.
John carefully took out a handkerchief and gently picked up the knife. "I think I found what caused Mrs. Hudson's wounds, Inspector."
"I'll take it down to Donovan. Don't touch anything; this entire flat's a crime scene now."
"I need temporary housing arrangements then."
"Surely you have someone you can stay with, right?"
"Not in town unfortunately."
"Well, I'm sure we can rent you out a hotel room or something, then."
"Thank you so much, Inspector."
Lestrade nodded and left the room with the knife.
"Wait, Inspector. You should also have a guard for Mrs. Hudson when she gets to the hospital. Whoever did this might come back to finish the job."
"Of course." He said before disappearing out of the flat, leaving John alone.
He sighed as he looked around some more.
The message carved onto the wall was eerie and intimidating. Had Sherlock written it, or was it written by someone else? And, for the record, where on Earth had the Consulting Detective even gone?
He didn't dare to call out to him since the Inspector was still about.
Suddenly, he got a text.
He took out his phone and looked at the text.
It was Lestrade saying that something had come up and he needed to leave in a rush, but he would contact him asap when they'd booked him someplace to stay.
He text back then put his phone away.
He almost half-expected for Sherlock to roll out from under the bed, but no such thing occurred.
He sighed as he left the flat.
It felt both peaceful and off-putting to be alone for once.
He missed being around Sherlock.
Again, the question popped into his head of just where exactly Sherlock had gone.
He wished he knew where he went off to.
What if he'd got himself hurt? He was currently recovering from a gunshot wound...
He began to worry more about Sherlock.
The message on the wall and the comment about the killer knowing the ins and outs of their flat didn't help to ease his mind.
He needed to help solve this case as soon as possible.
Just as he thought that, Sherlock's phone, which he still had on him, received a text.
He looked at the text.
It was from an unknown contact and said only, "Tick tock."
John gulped as he put the phone away and went on his way.
Another text.
He looked at the phone again.
It said, "Sherlock is doomed... Dear me, Dr. Watson, dear me."
John paled. The culprit knew he had the cell phone.
Which meant he must have watched Sherlock give it to him.
Which also meant the culprit knew where Sherlock went.
Or worse, that the culprit had lured Sherlock somewhere.
So now the case and perhaps even Sherlock himself is depending on him.
He needed to figure out where the culprit had gone and if he had Sherlock.
He began to look around for any clues.
There were none so far as he could tell. Perhaps he could try to text back.
So that's what he did.
The response was he received was "Well I'll be. The precious doctor really isn't ignoring me. I'm flattered."
"What do you want from Sherlock and I?" he text back.
"What a cute question! Are you looking to rescue your damsel detective?"
"Where have you taken him?" John demanded.
"Oh, honestly, nowhere yet. He's in the back of this car. Well, in the trunk."
"You fiend!"
"I'll be sure to give you a hint once I decide where I'm taking him. No promises that I won't lie though."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I'd like to watch Sherlock's world collapse around him."
"What has he ever do to you?"
"Nothing. He's just a smartass, and I'd like to prove that I'm smartest."
"I'm going to prove you wrong."
"Bring it on, doctor. Just keep in mind that if you try anything stupid, I will hurt Sherlock."
"I won't. Don't you worry about that."
"Oh, how I worry for you. Ha ha!"
"This isn't a joke."
"Everything is a joke."
"Not when there's lives involved."
"No, maybe joke's the wrong word. Everything is a game."
"When I find Sherlock and we catch you, it'll be game over for you."
"Well, if it comes down to that, you'll have won fair and square. But I don't intend to let it go down like that."
"We will beat you."
"Whatever helps you sleep better at night. Wish you were here. Sherlock seems to have removed the gag around his mouth somehow, and he's only shouting about you. Where's John this, what did you do you to John that. Yaawn. Maybe I should shut him up."
"Don't you dare harm a hair on him!"
"Well, I've technically already hurt him... Damned guy's leaking blood all over my damned trunk. A bit late for that plea, doctor!"
"I will find you and make you pay!"
"We'll be waiting in a building on William Morris Way. Tick tock, Dr. Watson."
"I'll be there. Don't you worry."
He got no further response.
William Morris Way was almost halfway across London from where he was at the moment, however.
He would have to hail a cab in order to get there.
However, it was getting to be late at night. Taxis would be sparse.
But he had to try for Sherlock's sake.
He had to hurry.
He rushed to hail a cab.
After several minutes, he found one.
He quickly got in and told the cabbie where to go.
He started driving, but John felt they weren't going to get there fast enough.
And he hoped he would get there in time to save Sherlock.
This maniac had made it seem like there was a time limit.
He urged the cabbie to go faster.
He did so, however slightly.
He couldn't help but think about what would happen if he didn't get there in time.
What if he killed Sherlock?
His face paled as he thought about that.
There was, frighteningly enough, a good chance that would happen.
He wished the cab would go faster.
Not quite as quickly as John would have liked, the cabbie stopped the vehicle. "This is William Morris Way."
He paid the cabbie and got out.
Now he just had to figure out which building Sherlock had been taken into.
He took a deep breath as he picked a building and went in.
He soon heard Sherlock's phone play its text alert noise.
John read it.
"Wrong building." it said, accompanied by a smiley face emoticon.
He hurried out and tried another building.
"Wrong, but you're getting warmer!"
He tried another building.
"Upstairs." This time, the text was accompanied by a winking emote.
John hurried up the stairs.
It lead him up to a long hallway. All of the doors in this hallway were sealed with chains and padlocks; all of the doors but the one at the furthest end of the hallway. This door was slightly ajar.
He slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The room was pitch-black but for a chair across the room illuminated by a lamp. Tied to this chair, with his head down, was Sherlock, however when he heard the door squeak open, he raised his head, revealing the gag around his mouth. Seeing John, a look of horror slowly emerged in his pale blue eyes.
From somewhere in the darkness behind Sherlock, someone began clapping.
"Good grief, Dr. Watson, we were beginning to worry that you would never show up." said a smug, vaguely-Irish voice.
"Let Sherlock go now." John demanded.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You're in no position to make demands." A hand appeared from the darkness and stroked itself along Sherlock's cheekbones, to which the consulting detective surprisingly flinched, and continued, "What do you say, Sherly? You wouldn't mind so much if I, maybe..."
At this point, John felt the cold barrel of a gun press against the back of his head.
"... had one of my men blow out the brains of your crush-" The hand quickly retracted itself back into the darkness, and with a gasp from the hidden culprit, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut.
"Oops! Oh dear, I've said too much, haven't I... Oh well~!"
"What are you talking about? Sherlock has no silly crush on me!"
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that, Dr. Watson... But I suppose in your defense, he does do a pretty damn good job of hiding his feelings on just about anything, doesn't he? Well, I mean, not now, at least. Look at him, he looks absolutely terrified! It's hilarious what a little bit of blackmail can do!"
In fact, the culprit appeared to be right; the more he spoke on this topic, the more nervous Sherlock seemed to become. The Consulting Detective was now even quivering slightly.
John didn't know to react.
The hand re-emerged and this time ran itself down the length of Sherlock's long neck.
"D'aww, it's okay, Sherlock. Soon enough, John Watson will be dead, and you'll never feel anything again. How does that sound?"
Sherlock didn't flinch this time. His quivering slowly began to cease, and he was starting to look a tad angry.
"You are sick."
The culprit revealed his face, a look of complete madness plastered on. "Which one of us are you talking to?"
Before John could answer, the man pulled out a gun and aimed it at John.
"C'mon, Sherlock." He said as he roughly ripped the gag from Sherlock's mouth. "Say it's the truth. Admit your feelings. Else I'll take your silence as him meaning nothing to you, and I'll shoot him."
John looked at Sherlock with a scared look.
Sherlock watched, but kept his mouth shut.
The culprit stepped closer to John. "I'll shoot him right in the forehead. I'll destroy his silly little human brain."
Sherlock shifted his gaze to the floor, still not saying anything.
John backed away, scared for his life.
The presence of another armed man behind him prevented him from going very far. The culprit stepped closer, the barrel of his gun now inches from John's forehead.
"Say anything, Sherlock. Anything at all, and we'll know that Dr. Watson means the world to you."
Sherlock's lips parted to say something, but he opted to instead close his mouth with that comment.
John sighed in defeat as he looked down.
The culprit smiled and began to press down on the trigger.
"Stop!" Sherlock suddenly shouted.
"Oh~?" The culprit looked at Sherlock, seeming amused.
"Stop it NOW!"
"See? I knew it was true~!" The madman said as he turned around, aimed his gun at Sherlock, and pulled the trigger, to which the gun clicked.
Sherlock stared in awe as the culprit started to chuckle.
"I bluffed. Got you again, Sherlock."
John nearly fainted.
"You're so gullible, Sherlock. So... stupid, really."
At this comment, Sherlock looked down at his own lap. "I'm not stupid." He mumbled.
"You really are. Anyway, I think I've had enough fun for one day. I'll leave you two to whatever the heck it is you two do for a while, but try not to miss me too much, 'cause I will be back." The culprit walked past John, and with his men leading him down the hall, he turned back before the stairs. "Oh, and by the way, Dr. Watson... The name's James Moriarty, but you can call me Jim. Smell you later~!" Just like that, Moriarty left.
As soon as he left, John went over to Sherlock and untied him.
Sherlock pulled his hands into his lap and started rubbing his reddened wrists quietly.
"We have to come up with a plan of escape."
"We don't need one." Sherlock muttered. "He's not going to stop us from leaving. He'll have no trouble finding us later on, wherever we are."
"If that's the case then we'll come up with a plan to stop him."
"He's not going down unless he's taking me with him, John..."
"You can't think like that."
"I also can't lie. That's what he told me, and he meant it."
"There has to be a way to beat him, Sherlock."
"The only way is for me to allow him to drag me with him to Hell or wherever he ends up."
"I can't believe what I'm hearing come out of your mouth, Sherlock."
"There is no other way, John. He's just like me. He's what I would have become had I not decided to become a detective."
John sighed as he shook his head.
"... Why did you come here? Was it to save me?"
"Of course it was, Sherlock! I didn't want to lose you!"
Sherlock took a long moment to gaze at John before he lowered his head again. "That was really dangerous and stupid of you. But... thank you, John."
"You're welcome, Sherlock."
For a moment, an awkward silence lingered between them.
"... Um, John... What he said... uh..."
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"About..." Sherlock cleared his throat. "About me having a crush on you..."
"Was it true?"
Apparently not having expected this question, Sherlock stammered. "Well... No. I mean, yeah, no. Of... Of course not. That would be stupid; love is a dangerous disadvantage in any and all scenarios. So, of course... I can't. I don't. I meant I don't."
"Oh, I see. He was using it to catch me off guard." he said; seeming a bit hurt but trying to hide it.
"Besides, you keep on saying that you're completely straight whenever anyone pokes fun at us. Because of that, it wouldn't work anyway even if I was interested in you in that way, but I consider myself to be married to my work, so..."
"I understand, Sherlock."
"Do you, really? I can't help but notice you look a little disappointed. ... Did... Did you want me to have a crush on you?"
"Let's just get out of this place." John quickly said; changing the subject.
"You did, didn't you?" Sherlock asked, standing up now.
"Just drop it, Sherlock." he said as he started walking.
"Oh, don't try so hard to avoid the question, John. Your body language already answered it for me." Sherlock said matter-of-factly as he followed. "Dinner?" He then added, asking if John was hungry.
"Alright."
When they got downstairs, they were surprised to see Moriarty and four of his men still there.
"Syke~! You didn't really think I'd leave that easily, did you?" The madman sung as his men aimed their guns at the duo.