Argh, guys, I'm so sorry to do this to you. But I want to do my research and get the next bit right. It's going to be amazing, I promise.
"John!"
"I'm right here, Sherlock."
His gloved hand slipped into mine. I gripped it hard before I let go, not sure whether I was giving comfort or receiving it. Either way, I was glad to know he was next to me in the oppressive darkness. I couldn't see anything. It was like being blind-whether my eyes were open or not made no difference.
"We can't just stand here," he hissed, leaning down to whisper into my ear.
"What if we set something off? Besides, someone will notice that there's been a power cut to just this building."
"No they won't. Look outside."
I did. There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary.
Then I realized. "Ah."
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact-it was dark out, too. Completely dark.
I cleared my throat, nervous all of a sudden. "But…he couldn't have cut the power to the whole city…could he?"
"I don't know. It would be the logical thing to do, try and hide in plain sight."
A hissing noise cut through his words. "What…"
"Shut up!" I interrupted harshly. "Try not to….breathe…"
Too late.
I gagged, sank to my knees.
The last thing I remembered was a searing pain in my throat and then…nothing.
Sherlock sat up, blind in the darkness of the supermarket. His stomach lurched slightly as he got to his feet. He had a headache coming on. There was a red light in front of him…blurred…odd. He blinked. Ah, that was better. He picked the object up cautiously.
It was a laser pointer.
"So that's the game," he muttered to himself.
"Oh, do you like it?" interrupted a high, cold voice. He was so startled he nearly dropped the pointer. It was coming from the PA system. He reached backwards to feel for the metal shelf, gripping it for support, heart pounding.
"Did I scare you?" continued Moriarty, an almost childish glee seeping into his voice. It echoed. It was unsettling, all this sound that appeared to be coming from nowhere. "Terribly sorry, we're under new management."
"So it seems."
"Well…I have to say, I'm touched, really I am. The first person you thought of upon awaking was me. Sweet of you. Doctor Watson would be jealous."
He wished he could say the only emotion this evoked in him was righteous fury. But he would be lying.
The truth was that he started to panic. The physiological signs were there: elevated heart rate, sweating palms, shallow breathing. He couldn't see, but was willing to bet that his pupils had dilated.
A few milliseconds later the psychological symptoms manifested themselves. His mind leapt into overdrive, playing out all the things Moriarty could be doing to John as he stood there, blind. John, asphyxiating. John, twitching in pain, alone, helpless, lost…
Overall, said the part of his brain still thinking rationally, all of these appear to have the same outcome. You are afraid of only one thing.
John Watson, his doctor, his colleague, his friend, gone. Dead. It just didn't make any sense.
My fault.
His voice shook with the effort of keeping it under control. "What. Have you. Done. To him."
Moriarty's voice, by contrast, sank to a low and dangerous level. "Play the game, Sherlock. Then we'll see."
