Chapter 8

Sherlock was still crying silently, unable to stop thinking of all the pain and torment that his actions had caused John, when the door creaked open and the dark-haired man stepped into the room, holding the bloodied crowbar. He glanced up, the dried blood that had coated his left eye washed away by the seemingly endless stream of tears, allowing him to open both eyes once more. He watched fearfully as the man quietly closed the door and walked towards the fireplace. The man smiled as he gazed around the room and immediately noticed John, slumped forward in his chair, whimpering softly as he slept.

He stopped in front of Sherlock and crouched down, looking directly at him and laughing as he saw the tears streaming down his face. The man reached out and placed a hand upon his face, gently stroking his cheek. Scared, Sherlock tried to pull away from the man's touch, his muddled brain unable to cope with everything that was going on. However, trying to resist the drug for the past hour had sapped all the strength out of him and he found that he could not break the man's gentle grip. Unable to control the various emotions racing through his mind, he continued to cry as he stared back at the man, his mouth hanging slightly open, as if he were about to speak. The man smiled again, amused by Sherlock's reaction, and spoke quietly, his cold, mocking voice sending a shiver down Sherlock's spine.

"Aww... Sherly. Did the big, bad Mr Moriarty come out and scare you? Don't worry, I'm here now. Everything's going to be alright"

Sherlock grimaced as the man let go of his face, gently tapping his cheek and ruffling his hair, laughing. He screwed up his eyes as he desperately tried to gain control of his emotions, fighting against the drug that was still surging through his system, just as strong as it had been an hour ago, if not stronger. Eventually, he was able to stop the flow of tears that ran down his face but that was all he could manage, the drug was just too strong. Exhausted, he slumped forward in his chair, the thick length of rope binding him tightly to the chair was the only thing keeping him upright.

Amused by the effect that Moriarty's drug was having upon Sherlock, the man continued to watch him for a few more minutes, grinning, before and rising to his feet and walking across the room towards John. He bent down, briefly examining the unconscious man in front of him before twisting around to face Sherlock, laughing as he spoke.

"Do you want me to wake your boyfriend Sherly? I think he's been sleeping long enough"

Sherlock could hear the excitement in his voice and hesitated before looking up, dreading the sight that awaited him. Slowly, he lifted his head, looking up at John and the man standing next to him. As he did so, he felt the blood rush to his face and, again, had to fight to stay in control of his emotions. It took all of his strength to prevent himself from bursting into tears once more.

The man stood, towering over John. His expression terrified Sherlock. His cold, black, bloodthirsty eyes seemed to twinkle with excitement as a cruel smile danced upon his face. His lips were parted slightly, revealing his sharp, white teeth. He continued to stare at Sherlock as he slowly lifted his crowbar, bringing it above his head. Unable to tear his gaze away, Sherlock watched with horror as the man twisted round, bringing the crowbar crashing down upon his only friend. John.


John awoke with a start, letting out a sharp cry of pain as the crowbar struck his right shoulder. His eyes snapped open and he looked around, alarmed. His gaze fell upon Sherlock, who was sat in the chair opposite him, and his heart sunk. Sherlock looked... defeated. There was no other way to describe it. He felt fresh tears running down his cheeks as he gazed at the man in front of him. Sherlock Holmes, the most amazing person he had ever met. Or at least, he used to be Sherlock Holmes, John wasn't so sure anymore.

"Welcome back John, your boyfriend's been missing you"

He glared at the dark haired man now standing in front him, unable to find the words to describe exactly how he felt. Anger and hatred towards the man that had caused both himself and Sherlock so much pain threatened to overtake him and, for a moment, he was tempted to give in to his emotions. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. The man laughed as he saw the expression on John's face and turned around, slowly walking across the room towards the sofa, placing his crowbar down upon the table on his way. He settled down in the sofa and watched as John continued to cry, his face screwed up, tears streaming down his cheeks.

John desperately tried to regain control over his emotions, Sherlock needed him and crying wouldn't help anyone. Determined to find a way to escape from the flat, he asked himself, what would Sherlock do? He had been thinking for about five minutes when, suddenly, an idea popped into his head.

He felt his mind clear, the anger and hatred that had previously occupied it replaced with a small spark of hope. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he could make it work. He glanced at the clock on the wall, 4.30 am. Perfect. He struggled not to smile as he realised how everything slotted into place. This might actually work.

Careful to make sure his face didn't give anything away, he began to formulate a plan...