Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN 'SHERLOCK'.

One count of swearing, but apart from that I think it's all clear =D

Thanks for all the fab reviews and I'm going to start answering you back from now on, but I forgot to add it for this chapter and I wanted to get it posted so I didn't bother. Thanks for the story alerts too! :)

Enjoy!


(JOHN'S POV)

It took fifteen minutes for Mycroft's people to arrive, as well as Mycroft himself. Arriving in his black Mercedes, he got out before the car had even properly stopped. He went straight to John - who now sat on a bench just outside the front door. His head was held in his hands, his face hidden.

"John? What happened?" Mycroft began.

"Shouldn't you already know? You were supposed to be having him protected here. Your people were supposed to prevent this from happening" John replied, standing up, looking straight in Mycroft's eyes.

"The CCTV was tampered with by someone on the inside. Moriarty paid off someone to put the tape in a loop. As for the guards that should have been here…they're missing" Mycroft replied. "I'll be rethinking who I allow into my employment, and revaluating my current employees, but first we need to find Sherlock".

"Moriarty took him, Mr Holmes. You haven't been able to find him, and you probably won't. What makes you think you can find Sherlock?" John asked, just keeping his anger in check. It wasn't Mycroft that he was angry at really.

"Because it is Sherlock we're talking about. There is no way he will just sit and listen to Moriarty. He will send us a clue somehow" Mycroft finally answered.

John was doubtful. They were putting their hope of finding Sherlock on that? Surely there was something else. Something they had not thought of. Sherlock needed help, and John didn't know what to do.

"The good thing is that Moriarty won't harm Sherlock. He doesn't want that, something both Sherlock and I agree on".

"Why did he take Sherlock at all? I thought it was me that he was after?" John asked.

Mycroft looked confused. "Why would you think-". Then his eyes widened in realization. "You were there, you were listening. Last night, in the library".

John nodded apprehensively. Mycroft sighed.

"Did Sherlock find out?" he asked.

"I don't think so, he was too distracted by…whatever he was looking at out the window".

"Out the window?" Mycroft repeated, to which John nodded his reply. "What would be so-?" Mycroft began. "He knew" he added, after another moment of realization.

"Who? Sherlock? Knew what?".

"That Moriarty would make an attempt. Damn it, Sherlock, if you had only told me" he replied, finishing by talking to himself more than John.

John couldn't hide his surprise. Sherlock had known an attack would be made - or at least he had suspected. He made a mental note to lecture Sherlock the next time he saw Sherlock, forbidding him from keeping such things to himself.


(SHERLOCK'S POV)

Sherlock felt himself waking up, but not wanting to. He knew only more of the drug they were giving him would be waiting. He'd already woken up three times in the car, and they had had to give him more in order to knock him out and stop him escaping. Moriarty would not risk giving him too much too fast, but Sherlock was very resilient to the drug - after all, he did used to use them.

This time was different. He was waking up somewhere else. Somewhere dark, a stone floor beneath him, and no doubt four thick stone walls around him too.

He realized he was lying on his front, and rolled over onto his side as he opened his eyes slowly. No one else was there. In the corner was a single bed, pushed up against the wall. No other furniture, but the wall was decorated with strange metal rings that had been screwed on. He saw a rope tied through one of the rings - it was bloodstained.

He started sitting up, but found that his head hurt too much - obviously the drug was still in his system. Sitting up slowly, he leaned against the bed and looked at the other side of the room. The other walls were bare, but the door was opposite him. He could tell, even from that distance that it was locked, probably with guards on the other side.

He wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but as he felt it calling him away from reality, the door was unlocked. He stood, a little too fast, making his head scream at him. Leaning against a wall, he waited for them to enter. Three people came through into the cell, two moved to the corners of the room, with Moriarty standing in the centre.

"Well, Sherlock, it is good to see you up and about. You've been unconscious for nearly twelve hours! I was beginning to think that you didn't want to play my little game" Moriarty began, smirking at him.

"Well, you know what drugs can do to a person. It makes them very uncooperative" he replied.

"If only you hadn't resisted. Those drugs would not have been necessary" Moriarty retorted.

Sherlock remained silent. Waiting for Moriarty to make his move, wondering what he wanted this time.

"I assume you don't want to kill me yet, considering you would have done by now if you did" Sherlock continued, when Moriarty stood silent.

"Of course I don't. I told you - I'm saving that for something special. I was so happy when I heard that you awoke from your coma. I had to kill the bastard who shot you, just to get rid of my anger about the whole event. But really, Sherlock! Did you have to protect your little pet? You should have let him die there and then. It would have been quick, less painful. Now I'll have to kill him another way - I don't really like to repeat myself".

"Like you did with Carl Powers? Or Connie Prince? You repeated yourself then" he burst.

"Well, that was special circumstances. Besides, you're acting like you care. Don't do that, we both know that you don't" Moriarty replied.

"Special circumstances?".

"Yeah, I wanted to give you a little hint. After all, what fun is the game if no one knows who's playing?" he replied.

"Please, I knew it was you the moment the…'game' started".

"I love that you're calling it 'the game'!" he exclaimed, a wide smile on his face, and clasping his hands together.

"What do you want…James?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh! Looks who's done their homework!".

"Well, I do my research. Your father: Professor Moriarty, a professor of Mathematics. When you were born he had you home schooled, which is - I'm guessing - how you got to be so skilled in the finance business. Well, criminal finance, at any rate".

"Well done, my dear Sherlock. You really do get all the information you can about your opponent, don't you? I do the same. You were sent to the same school as your brother, and everyone had high expectations of you because of it. Which is most likely why you rebelled throughout your childhood, despite the fact that you are smarter than him. See? We're more alike than you think".

"I doubt that".

"I don't".

There was a moment of silence, as Moriarty started slowly pacing back and forwards. Sherlock stood still, waiting for whatever it was that was coming.

"You still haven't answered my question: what do you want?" Sherlock continued.

"Just the usual, Sherlock. A little warning to stop searching for me, as well as a notice about a few more games heading your way".

"I haven't been searching for you, James. My brother has-"

"Well, tell him to stop. If he doesn't…I may have to do something about it" Moriarty continued. "He's already snatched a few of my…pilot fish. Not a great inconvenience, but still irritating".

"I don't exactly control what my brother gets up to, James-".

"Well, you had better find a way. It's bad enough having one Holmes in my way, if I get two who knows how I'll react" he smiled. "I would also suggest you stop calling me that. I really don't like being called that, so I would recommend that you restrain yourself from doing so" his irritation clearly showing on his face.

"So why am I here? If that's all you wanted, if that's all you wanted to tell me, why bring me here? What was the point? You could have 'warned' me at the house, you had enough time".

Moriarty smiled in reply, without actually saying anything.

"You're so smart, you figure it out. I'm sure it won't take you long. Meanwhile, I better be off, got some business to attend to. My good friend, Moran will take care of you, Sherlock. Don't worry, I've told him not to hurt you…too much" he finally said, a smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth.

He casually walked out, leaving Sherlock with the two men who had entered with him. Then another man entered. He was tall, though not so tall as Sherlock. He looked like he was one of those people who you would see in the street, and completely forget about them later on. There was nothing at all unique about him, or anything that would be particularly remember able about him. His dark brown hair was like all the other brown hair out there, as well as his unshaven face, and bushy eyebrows.

He edged his way towards Sherlock, bringing out a bowie knife from the back of his belt.

"It's a shame I'm not allowed to kill you, I would have greatly enjoyed it" his low voice complained.

Sherlock wanted to back away from him, but he was already against the wall.

'Observation: three against one. Armed with bowie knife' he thought.

Sherlock Holmes knew he was in trouble.


I wanted to make this chapter longer, but it made more sense to continue it as a new chapter, otherwise it might get a little confusing - too many POV changes. If anyone has any ideas of things I could write then I would love to hear about them - or any ideas as to how you think this story should continue. :D Thanks for reading!

Any comments - positive or negative - are completely welcome! I love getting advice from people, because advice from the actual reader - who doesn't know how it's going to end - is EXTREMELY helpful! lol :D Thanks!