Warning: Gun shot wound, and Moriarty being creepy (I guess?). Nothing too horrible though. Least, not past PG13.
A/N: Yeesh, it's been a while. Hope you all remember this story, and enjoy the newest chapter.
Lestrade huffed, and John nearly pointed his weapon at him, his thoughts jumbled so badly he could barely focus on anything…other than the fact that they were being hunted and the numerous sand dunes. Kind of mesmerizing, those sands. Dangerous, Demmock told them. They could lure a soldier into complacency just by existing. John shook his head and tightened his grip on his gun, which he'd only just noticed was somewhat lax.
Gotta stop daydreaming. John glanced at Lestrade. "You think they got someone on us?"
"Maybe." Lestrade licked his cracked lips. "They'd be stupid not to try, at least. Gives me the willies, not knowing, you know?"
"Yeah." John blew out an even breath. "But wouldn't Sherlock have seen them?"
Lestrade snorted. "For all we know, they've got more people like him, just different. Probably some lizard chameleon freak."
John paused and turned to Lestrade. "Sherlock's not a freak."
"Of course not!" Lestrade spluttered. "I didn't…you know I would never…now see here John, I like Sherlock as much as – "
John didn't get to find out what Lestrade was going to say, though he'd an inclination. A strange buzzing sound zipped close. John stiffened. Bullet. Then the pain hit.
Hard.
His right shoulder burned as his mind whited out and he screamed, grabbing his right shoulder. Fire blast through him and he went down, gun falling from his limp hands. Lestrade scrambled over while still trying to cover them both with his own gun. Warm blood ran over John hand and down his side, seeming to scald him.
He couldn't breathe.
Nothing.
No air would come to him! John tried to tell Lestrade the danger he was in, but couldn't get enough oxygen to complete the words of help. His mind started to panic.
"John! John! How bad is it! John!" the blurred image of Lestrade looked up. "Sherlock!"
But the older man needn't have yelled. Sherlock landed not two seconds later, black wings curling round them all. Something was clapping loudly nearby, like giant hands applauding them. It got closer and closer. Everything got fuzzier and thinner, grey creeping in the sides of his vision.
He still couldn't breathe right. Only thin wisps were getting through now. Not enough to warn them he needed help.
"John!" he heard Sherlock yell. Someone pushed him back and he fell onto the hot sand. His back arched as he screamed again. Someone leaned over him, and John barely got in Sherlock's wide, panicked eyes before his vision went black.
0/0/0/0/0
"Joooohn," a voice cooed from the black. "Wakey, wakey, Johnny boooy!"
John resolutely ignored the voice and snuggled deeper into the warmth of the ink around him. He hadn't had this sort of tranquility in a while. Not since before he went to Iraq…Iraq! John knocked the darkness back a bit. He'd been in the desert. With Lestrade and…someone…why'd they been in the desert? What was their mission? Had they been compromised?
He needed to find out.
"That's it Johnny," the voice said now. "You're missing all the fun."
Fun? What fun? John struggled to remember, but it wouldn't come. He stifled a groan. He'd have to leave this calm to find out. He really didn't want to, but, then, a soldier couldn't always do what he wanted, now could he?
That fact established, John attempted to push the darkness away.
He succeeded the third try.
An ugly maroon ceiling, splattered with mold and peeling paint, met his eyes. Bits of the paint waved as a fan blew air at them. The plastic fan rotated back and forth like a shaking bobble-head. It did sort of look like a pug dog, or maybe the prime minister. The black spot in the middle was definitely a nose.
Okay, I'm out of it. John blinked hard and noticed someone was standing beside him. He forced his tired, achy muscles to turn his head to them.
A young man – maybe in his early thirties? – grinned over at him. Lips curled up higher when he saw John focusing on him. His eyes practically sparkled with delight and he clapped his hands like a little kid. "Oh good, you're awake! I did so worry Bastion had killed you."
"B-Bastion?" John croaked out and winced when his dry throat protested the action. He tried to rub it, but found his hands wouldn't move. Alarm burst through him and he jerked his hands up. His wrists were restrained by, what felt like, handcuffs.
Great.
John made his body relax. He needed a plan, so panicking was out.
"Don't worry, Johnny boy," the man said, patting John's head. "I gave him a stern talking to when you all got back. He knows not to do it again."
But John's mind froze on only one part of that sentence. You all? Lestrade! Sherlock!
It came rushing back with the speed of an avalanche.
They'd been attacked. Or, rather, he'd been shot. Lestrade and Sherlock had freaked out, which wasn't that surprising – John had been a bit freaked himself, though the blood loss had muted the fact. Something had been coming towards them. A helicopter, if John's memory was accurate.
And then nothing.
He'd woken up here. With this man, who claimed his subordinate had shot John. And tied him to a table of some sort. John scanned the man up and down. An expensive grey suit coat went with matching pants. A blue tie completed the get up. His hair, short and black, was done to perfection. Not army. Didn't fit their MO…or budget, for that matter.
That left one person.
"Where are they, Moriarty?" John demanded, just keeping his tone just on this side of civil. No need to rock the boat too much just yet. He needed to scope out this man first, before he made any big moves.
"Ooo! Sherly was right!" Moriarty squealed – actually squealed. "You are smarter than you look. I'm so happy. It'll make The Game so much more interesting."
"Where are they?" John asked again.
Moriarty's lip jutted out and he folded his arms. "Now you're just being boring, John. Of course they're all right. I can't have a game without my pieces, now can I?"
"Bit hard."
"Exactly!" Moriarty beamed at him again and leaned down on the table, so that he was inches from John's face. Peppermint breath washed over John. "I knew you'd understand. The old frog didn't. Kept insisting I let you go. That I'd be caught. Silly. I'm the best. No one can outdo me. Everyone knows that."
Something nasty crept into Moriarty's eyes then.
"Cept Sherly. He believes he's better than me." Moriarty's gaze flicked over to John's. "You think it too, don't you, Johnny boy? You think Sherlock is smarter than me."
John kept his opinion to himself.
Moriarty huffed and straightened. "I can hear you thinking, John. You're practically shouting 'yes'."
Well then, if he's going to play it that way. Might as well accommodate him. John hardened his look. "He is smarter than you."
"No he's not!" Moriarty screamed, slamming his palms on the metal whatever John lay on. "I am the best! Everyone else knows it. I showed them. I…I showed them…Of course!"
Moriarty chuckled. "Mory, Mory, of course. Show them. Show, don't tell."
Oh boy. John watched as Moriarty pulled out a cell phone from his pocket and hit a speed dial.
"Hey, Bastion, could you bring them in?" His face darkened. "Of course I mean now! Why wouldn't I mean now? Don't be stupid. You know what happens to stupid people. Oh good. Right. You were there. Good. Oh. Yes, bring those too. See? You're using your brain now, Bastion."
He hung up and smiled down at John. "Bastion's good, he just needs reminding every once in a while. Fire up those tiny brain cells, you know?"
John glared, even as his mind raced. The man beside him was insane. His very actions showed it. His words confirmed it. Also, prideful. To the point where nothing else mattered except being the best. They could use that.
But not right away.
This is going to hurt.
And that's it, folks. Sorry it's short, but it felt like the right place to stop. Please, let me know what you think. Makes my day, when you do. :D
