A/N: I am SO SORRY. Last chapter was terrible, and then I allowed myself to cringe away from writing more. I am soooo sorry. Things get less violent from here. Jim has other things to do.

February 27th

She thought for sure this time that she was going to die. When Sherlock didn't show up in the woods, Moriarty had practically thrown a temper tantrum, ranting about how Sherlock's sentiment was making him stupid. It was a relief when Moran came with a blanket and the syringe.

Lestrade found Sherlock kneeling next to what seemed to be a hole from a tent spike, staring at the clearing blankly.

"Sherlock?" he said softly. "What has he done?"

"I thought he was going to kill her."

"What? I thought – " Sherlock stood without turning around.

"I was mistaken."

"Oh." The two men stood in silence until the rest of the team started working on the scene.

Waking up on the floor of house beats coming to on the ground in some woods any day, Jane thought, but she hoped the house had been abandoned. The room she was in looked as though it had been someone's lounge, but most of the furniture was gone. In one corner, there was a large, thread-bare pink chair; it faced the opposite corner, which had a television atop a cabinet.

Sherlock was having trouble thinking, having trouble like he hadn't since Irene Adler. The tape Moriarty had left told him clearly what had happened, but the last half of it was mostly Jim monologuing at Sherlock.

"I know you'll be thinking I've killed the good doctor, but don't be boring. I haven't finished drawing the diagram, and you can't connect dots that you can't see. We're both very disappointed in you, Sherlock, but I think Miss Watson may be stronger than she looks. Lucky for her, I suppose, since she doesn't look like much… That's just perfect, though. The last puzzle piece should squash any naïve hopes…"

As she struggled to get up off her stomach despite her hands being cuffed behind her back, she heard Moriarty come in and chuckle darkly. She couldn't hide her shudder as he dragged a foot along her leg, but it made her all the more determined to struggle. Without warning, Moriarty brought his foot down hard on her ankle, and she cried out as something snapped.

"Let's not get any ideas, Doctor." He leaned over and flipped her onto her back to glare into her face. "You are the thorn in my side, bitch. I play the game, and I don't cheat on my own rules, because how pedestrian, but this is pissing me off. You are the freak of nature, not Sherlock. Who the hell survives being carved, scarred, marked, beaten, bludgeoned, fucking raped, and still thinks their beloved detective can saved them?! I've dislocated joints! I've carved my mark into your skin! AND STILL YOU HAVE THE GUTS TO TRUST IN SHERLOCK HOLMES."

She cowered in absolute terror has he listed the tortures he'd inflicted on her as though they were nothing more than a checklist. A memory flashed in her mind, of Mycroft's cold, calculating face… "Bravery is just another word for stupidity, isn't it?" And she trembled.

But Moriarty looked shocked and then even more enraged as she gasped, took a deep breath, and Set. He had never seen anyone look like that. She set her jaw in a stoic grimace. She set a hardness in her eyes. She set steel in her spine. And she stopped tensing her injured leg.

"I don't care if you kill me. Rip me to shreds, Jim. DESTROY ME. But when you leave the pieces for Sherlock to find… He'll be able to tell in the microscopic bits that he peers at, that I never stopped fighting. I never stopped believing in Sherlock Holmes."