This is written from John's point of view in case you don't catch on to that quick enough.


Sitting cooped up in a dark room for several months isn't really the way I like to spend my time away from Sherlock. I'd rather be at the pub, at work, or just even at the morgue. But after Moriarty locked me in here, I hadn't had much of a choice. The morning after Sherlock and I had finally taken our relationship to the next level, I got out of bed early because I thought I heard something or someone moving around the flat.

Moriarty caught me by surprise, gagged me, and cuffed me before I'd even come to the realization that the James Moriarty was in our flat. Unfortunately, when he grabbed me, I was wearing only a robe… And let's just say things get a little drafty down there.

I'd been sitting in the same room, wearing the same robe for a total of 100 days. I kept a tally running on the wall, and as far as I was aware, I hadn't missed a single day.

I had no visitors. Two meals were delivered a day, pushed through a small door in the wall. Cold tea, fish and chips, and a side of mushy peas. Let me tell you, after so long, your stomach starts to hate you for that diet. My room was furnished with a small toilet and sink, an extremely uncomfortable sofa that was filled with holes, a small bed, and a stack of books which included: Murder for Dummies, 100 Simple Ways to Kill a Man, and 10 Steps for a Successful Homicide. Not really my top choice for a late night read. Not that I could read at night if I wanted to. All the light I received came from the measly window I had in the corner, so only during the early morning was I allowed a bright and sunny room.

During my stay, I tried on multiple occasions to escape my dirty, rat infested prison. The door was well barred, the walls made of stone, and my window was so high and so small so that even if I could've got past the bars in front of it, I couldn't possible get out that way. Moriarty had done well.

So what did I get to do during my 100 days of captivity? I could've learned easy ways to kill a man, or possibly spent the time catching rats. But what good would learning to kill a man do if I was never to see another human being again?

On certain occasions I was "allowed" (if you could call it that) a brief chat with Moriarty. It was normally done over video chat, in which he showed me certain things that I might possibly find "amusing." For example, 12 days after my arrival, I was "fortunate" enough to get to view my own funeral. I watched as Sherlock got up and spoke, I cried as I watched my love say the sweetest things about me. I could see the pain in his face, but he did not cry. My strong Sherlock Holmes. I knew that if I ever got out of this bloody place, I would propose. There was not a single person on this Earth that could possibly be better than the one and only Consulting Detective.

On day 76, I watched Sherlock go to the market for milk. It was quite a sight, and I felt guilty when I laughed at his confusion at all the different types and sizes and flavors. On day 84, I watched him try a case for the first time and accidently say my name on the crime scene, he left upset and angry. I hoped he wasn't angry at me. He had every right to be angry at me, but my sorrow would only deepen if I knew that look of pure hatred and resentment was aimed towards my leaving him. Later than same day, I watched Mycroft pick up Sherlock in his car, and found out later, thanks to Moriarty, that Sherlock had planned on shooting himself.

This news was too much for me to handle. I slammed the computer screen down and pulled my knees up to my chest. Trying to imagine the world without Sherlock was like trying to imagine the world without the moon… Or fire… Or ground. That's just how messed up the world would be if Sherlock Holmes was no longer in it.

If John Watson did die, the world would keep turning. The sun would still rise and set. The hands on the clocks would still turn and the ground would still be below you. However, if Sherlock Holmes ceased to exist, time would stop. The ground would fall out from beneath us all. The sun would cry up to the point of putting itself out with its tears and the world itself would stop turning. Maybe I was exaggerating a little, but that's how I would feel if I knew that he was gone forever.

I sobbed to myself quietly. I now knew how much I really did mean to Sherlock. Before I had questioned it. He was a "high functioning sociopath" after all. I never really did understand what he saw in me, or why all of a sudden we could be considered a thing. I had thought maybe it was just an experiment. But the fact that he would've taken his own life because I was no longer in it startled me. Sherlock Holmes does care. And he cares about me. I owe everything to Mycroft, if not for him… I would now be witnessing another funeral on a small screen and I would no longer have anything to live for.

But on day 100, Moriarty's game plan changed.

By the amount of light in my room, I can assume that it was early morning when my door slowly opened. "Dr. John Watson?"

I heard his high, annoying voice before I could see him.

"Jim Moriarty."

"Ah. Good, you're awake." He walked in and sat down, making himself comfortable. "I'd like to have a little chat if you don't mind."

I stayed silent and didn't look at him. He'd reduced me to being a coward. I'd spent all this time in the dark and I couldn't even look him in the eye, let alone reach over and punch his nose into his brain. (Way to kill a man #27.)

He patted my knee. I imagined myself grabbing him by the head and shoulders and breaking his scrawny little neck. (Way to kill a man #86.) "John. I have some news for you! Oh, how you will love this! I'm letting you go."

I looked up at him, taken completely by surprised. "You're letting me go?"

"Must I repeat myself John?" He rolled his eyes. "Don't be so ordinary."

I stood up. "You mean I can just leave?" How easy it would be to kick his throat and smash his windpipe. (Way to kill a man #53.)

"Is there anything from stopping you?" He gestured toward the door, but my eyes stayed on him. There had to be some sort of catch. I could just use my finger to gouge out his eyes. (Way to kill a man #99.)

"No catch my dear Johnny boy. But please go before I change my mind. It was nice to have a pet stay for a while." He smiled. "Oh and please. Change before you go."

One of his guards walked in with an – what I assume to be – very expensive suit, along with a recently shined pair of shoes. Jim turned away as I pulled on pants and then trousers, having to deal with the fancy buttons that I wasn't used to. I prefer jeans.

"Ah, I see it fits you nicely." His evil grin was back as he escorted me out of the room. "This little experiment has been fun. And please, say hello to Sherlock for me."

I was walked to the front door and practically shoved out.

Sun. Fresh air. I could've danced I was so happy. But there was a task at hand. I had to find Sherlock.


Yayyy. John isn't dead. (: Hope you guys feel better now.

But... I'm afraid things may not be so happy after all.

I love to read your guys' reviews!

Last chapter coming soon!