PART 4

"Sherlock?" John Watson pushed the door of 221b Baker street open, calling his flatmates name up the stairs as he entered. "Hey, Sherlock? I've got a case I think you might be interested in here!" He unfolded the newspaper that he had tucked under his arm, flipping through the pages as he progressed up the stairs towards the flat. "Apparently, a few nights before her wedding day, one 'Julia Stoner' promptly died whilst shouting about a 'Speckled Band' of some sorts. Police have no leads but are investigating, though it'd be right up your str-" John had reached the top of the stairs now and was staring into the empty living room of the shared flat.

"Oh…" Sighing, he continued on towards Sherlock's bedroom, it'd be unusual for the detective to be in there at this time but no more so than him leaving without a word. His knuckles rapped against the door softly as he awaited a response. "Sherlock…? Are you in there?" Pushing the door gently open, he peered into the darkened room. The curtains were drawn as usual, but the bed was still made up as it was 3 nights prior. It was verging on unhealthy how poorly the detective looked after himself.

"Well…Great." Pursing his lips in thought, the Doctor made his way back into the living room, slouching down into his chair and throwing the newspaper over onto Sherlocks. He pulled his Nokia out of his jeans pocket, flipping it open and composing a message to his friend.

"At the flat, found a case you'd like. Where are you?

JW."

It felt as though someone had taken a particularly heavy sledgehammer to Sherlock Holmes' head as he blearily came to his senses. Murmuring incoherently, the detective attempted to move from his currently uncomfortable position. A jolt of pain went through his shoulders, however, as he moved. A solid clunk of metal above him, alerting him to where the source of his pain was coming from. Slowly, he managed to raise his head enough to see a faint silver glint in the dull lighting of the room. Handcuffed to the wall like a common prisoner. "Tch…" He was disappointed in this development, how boringly predictable.

Finally, he cast his eyes around the rest of the room. It was a decent size, would easily fit a double bed inside it. On the far wall there was a large sheet of metal covering the window, the only light in the room coming in from very slight cracks around the edge of the metal. And…That was it, there was a door to his left and that was it.
There was a quiet music coming from behind the door, Etude 12 in C Minor by Chopin if he was correct… And he usually was.

Where on Earth was he…With such limited surroundings and the music cutting off any external noise…There was no way for him to figure out where he was. Of course…this must have all been planned out from the start. How could he of been so blind?

Shakily, he started to try and stand up properly, rather than hang from his wrists. This wasn't the wisest of moves on his part, his feet couldn't seem to get a grip on the floor causing him to slip and fall, jerking his arms by his wrists and making him cry out a little in pain.

The music stopped.

Sherlock held his breath as his eyes quickly flicked towards the door. There was movement beyond the wood then the sound of a key slipping into the lock and the click of it opening, the door swinging inwards.

"Ah, Sherlock! Nice of you to join us again!" James Moriarty swanned into the room, hands clasped together in glee as he eyed his rival. "You've been out for quite some time! It seems the sedative from 's supplies is much more potent then I'd expected! I was beginning to wonder if I'd perhaps given you a little too much!"

As he spoke, the criminal had closed the door behind him and made his way across the room to stand face to face with his rival. "Moriarty…" Sherlock hissed quietly, attempting to stand again to relieve the pressure from his wrists and shoulders. Jim was tutting at him, bringing up a hand and placing it on Sherlock's sore shoulder, pressing down on the area to prevent the other man from standing and eliciting a cry of pain as he squeezed the shoulder in his grip. "Now, now…I thought we were passed all this 'Moriarty' business. You will call me Jim."

The pressure on Sherlock's shoulder ceased as Jim pulled his hand away suddenly, dark eyes watching his face closely. "…Jim." Sherlock finally stated quietly. Thin lips spread themselves into a large grin as Jim clapped his hands together once in delight.

"There we are! You're learning, Sherlock!" His voice was dancing in that sing song way of talking he so enjoyed, as he stepped back away from the wall, throwing his arms wide in gesture. "What do you think then, hrm? I had this all set up for you! I've been planning this for absolute months…"

For months? Why on Earth would Moriarty be planning to kidnap Sherlock for so long? And what would he hope to gain from doing so? Questions were bombarding the detective as he watching the criminal infront of him carefully, almost daring him to slip up. "So then…What are you going to do?" He questioned in an even tone, unwilling to give too much away. "Kill me?" No. He knew the answer to that already…But perhaps he could get something out of him like this…

Moriarty's face fell from its gleeful expression into something completely frustrated. "KILL YOU?" He almost bellowed, his composure slipping momentarily. "Why would I kill you now?" A few broad steps and Jim was inches from Sherlock again, eyes only for each other. "No, no, my dear… Daddy has a much more interesting plan in store for you…"
Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he produced a small leather casing, waving it infront of Sherlock's face in a mocking manor. "Now…What do you think this is…?"

Sherlock's brows had knitted themselves together as his gaze fell on the case. It looked like something used in the medicine… Blue eyes widened slightly as realization and shock fell upon him.

"A syringe case?" He stated in a matter of fact tone, though his eyes shone with absolute confusion.
His deduction was met with a pleased laugh as Moriarty pulled a little vial out of his pocket as well, clearly impressed with Sherlock once more.

"Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!" He chided, snapping the case open and pulling the syringe out of it before throwing the casing to one side. "Now then…Can you deduce for me…What my plans are for you…?" As he spoke, he had inserted the needle of the syringe into the vial, withdrawing the contents into the syringe.
Sherlock had recognized the contents of the vial instantly, causing him to squirm against his chains once more as he attempted to escape. No, no, no, no… This couldn't be… How…
"That brother of yours…" Moriarty held the syringe up to eye level, tapping the glass section as he did so before continuing. "He does like to chat on doesn't he?" He was smirking now as he brought the tip of the needle towards Sherlock's neck, dragging the sharp object across the exposed skin there and splitting it very finely. "He told me a good few things about you, Sherlock dear… I know all about your previous exploits…" Tutting again, he brought the needle to Sherlock's cheek again using the thin end of it to leave a cut on the skin. Eyes dancing on the wound he had left, he finally raised his hands up towards Sherlock's sleeves, reaching up to roll them down towards his captive's elbows.
Sherlock started to struggle again, pulling away from Moriarty's touch as a very mild panic started to bubble up inside him.
His brother had told this man about him? Why would he do that? Why would he tell him about his past addictions?
"Come now, Sherlock…this will just take a moment…It'll be worse for you if you struggle, the needle may break in your arm…I for one would be happy enough to leave it in there too, just to teach you…"
Sherlock stilled his actions, breathing heavily as he caught eyes with Moriarty.
"Oh I do enjoy seeing you like this…" Moriarty cooed, a smile still evident on his lips as he finally pierced Sherlock's skin with the needle. He watched as Sherlock's eyes closed and his smile split into a grin as he saw Sherlock biting his lip.
"No need to be so melodramatic, dear… After all, you should be used to this sensation from what I've heard…It's Benzoylmethylecgonine or more commonly known as cocaine…But you already knew that anyway didn't you?"
Pressing down on the end of the needle, he administered the contents into Sherlock's system. As he removed the syringe from Sherlock's arm, Moriarty took precautions to leave another thin slice along the tied up man's under arm, watching in fascination as he saw blood appear.
"Why…!" Sherlock was hanging his head, eyes still closed as his breathing became more ragged due to the stress he was currently under.
"Why?" Moriarty repeated, frowning as he grabbed Sherlock's face and forced it up to look at him again. "Because…Sherlock Holmes…I'm delighted to finally have such leverage to use against you…Who would of suspected that the great, noble Sherlock Holmes used to have such an addiction, hrm…? By the time daddy is done with you, darling, you will be crying for more…begging me to help with the itch… You'll be completely and utterly….Mine."