Author's notes- Still with me? Fabulous i'll treat you guys with a bit of violence and flirtation in the next few chapters, you've been warned.
Sherlock returned from his meeting with his Lestrade, entered the flat and called for John; silence. He wandered round the flat, no sign. He took his place in the armchair; 8:27pm, his phone buzzed in his pocket, a message from John: 'Same place, Same time. Round two. JM.' He barely had time for the shock to kick in before he was sprinting down the staircase to the street. Time slowed excruciatingly while sitting at the back of the taxi: "I'll triple the fare if you can get me there before 9."
"Yes sir!" The cab darted through back ways and sped through the city to the pool.
8.59. Sherlock charged the pool doors: "John?!" He heard the doors bolt behind him. John was tied to a chair in the centre of the room in nothing but his boxers and that ugly parker Moriarty forced him in last time. Head slumped on to his chest. Gagged.
"John!" Sherlock ran forward. A glisten of red told Sherlock it had been a rough blow to the back of the head rather than a drug induced sleep that caused John to be unresponsive.
"Uh, uh, uh. Stop right there, Sherlock." That lyrical voice melted in the air as Moriarty stepped out of the door, which Sherlock heard also bolt shut behind him. Sherlock stopped when he saw the flash of red dots that always accompanied his nemesis.
"John! Are you ok?"
"He'll be joining us shortly, so while we wait, why don't we have a little chat." Moriarty was dressed as impeccably as expected. With a rich blue tie that shone boldly contrasting his black suit.
Sherlock had raised his gun, composed his thoughts and strengthened his posture: "So, round two. I didn't think you were the one for monotonous routine."
"Weeelll, it may be the same scene, the same cast, but the act is a little different."
"Ah yes, the red eyed actors." His eyes whipped round trying to identify how many snipers there actually was. "Why don't you just face me?"
"Because, I'm not stupid Sherlock." He was sauntering around the poolside, hands in his pockets, completely at ease.
"Just forget about John we can handle this ourselves, one to one."
"Kinky, but Sherlock when did you become so predictable, so simple? This pet must be slowing you down."
Sherlock glared at the smirking man till John stirred. A grumble that sounded like his name.
"John are you alright?" John lifted his head revealing the gag; he tried to mumble something again then settled with a nod.
"Ah, now the damsel is awake how about we cause a lot of distress?" Moriarty floated over to John and rested his hands on his shoulders and his chin on the top of John's head. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in disgust.
"You have two choices, my dear." He had started running a finger down John's cheek. Sherlock's jaw and fists clenched. Moriarty chuckled: "Down boy, it's just one little choice, no big deal." He moved his lips to John's ear: "Whether to save darling Johnny boy here." The musical purr of his words so close to him it made John shudder.
"Whether?"
"Mmhmm. You see Shirley, I promised you a burn. But as I'm sure you remember, you think you're nothing but a vessel of intellect. Somewhere under that luscious mop of yours is a heart and tonight you're going to see its face." John spat something angrily in to his gag.
"Adorable." He ruffled John's hair while letting his other hand reach into his pocket. Sherlock locked his gun on Moriarty again as a threat.
"Oh please, why don't you throw that piece of cheap plastic away, we both know you're not going to use it, well not yet anyway..." Moriarty locked eyes with Sherlock grinning as he pulled the blade from his pocket and without a blink of conscious buried it in to John's scar on his shoulder.
John couldn't hold back a scream and Sherlock reactively took a step forward.
"DONT YOU MOVE SHERLOCK HOLMES!" Moriarty roared deafening the echoic pool. Sherlock stopped, if he tried to help him undoubtedly the snipers would shoot John before he got close enough to help, he thought about just shooting Moriarty.
"Don't be dull Sherlock, I mean, you could shoot me. Although...I'd feel sorry for the staff who'd have to clear up our little John and yourself...not to mention the others."
"Others?"
"Yep."
"What others?"
"Well are you going to play the game, not that you have a choice I suppose. But that comes later."
"Fine."
"Brilliant! Right Johnny pet, it's your big debut, remember to smile, act your heart out!"
He pressed the side of his cheek to John's as he burrowed the knife in deeper, twisting as it went. But John bit the gag refusing to give the satisfaction of a scream. He clamped his eyes shut.
"You have two choices, Sherlock. You have to shoot your loyal dog here. Or you, well don't." He dug the knife in further; "Come on doctor, no one's believing that." Sherlock figured by John's scream and the length of the remaining knife that he was touching bone now.
"I choose don't."
"Aren't you going to wait for the rules?"
"Worth a shot."
Moriarty giggled and moved on top of John so he was lounging on his slap, his legs folded over John's arms secured to the armrest. Even from there Sherlock could see John's skin crawl and as was his. He watched Moriarty lean in to John, his lips millimetres from his, Sherlock couldn't see much but the back of Moriarty's head, but the tensing in John's muscles said millions. Moriarty reached over the chair at an excruciatingly slow pace and slid out a hammer. He stroked it down John cheek, down his chest and rested it over one of John's exposed nipples, the cold metal making his skin flinch.
'Pockets attached to the back of the chair.' "So what are the stakes then?"
Moriarty still draped over John's lap began swinging the hammer like a pendulum in front of John's knees; "Uncomfortable are we?"
Sherlock forced his cheeks to cool. "The terms"
"Jealous more like."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed to slits. "Well we know Johnny wishes you were here don't we lovely?" Moriarty forcibly nodded John's head; John kept his eyes down cast from Sherlock's. "Awh, young love, how...pitiable. And don't you know how to pick 'em John, eh? Mr. Tall, Dark and Sexy over there, a statuesque man with the emotional capacity of a rock."
"Enough. Tell me the terms so we can end this nonsense."
"Oh Shirley I go all tingly when you get all commanding. But nonsense? I wouldn't go that far..." He paused then swung the hammer to strike John's knee.
"NO! STOP!" Moriarty paused just before impact; John's face relaxed in relief but was still shiny sweat. "Please."
Moriarty smiled back to Sherlock; "That's better, ok, so here's where it gets interesting. If you kill Jumpers here; it will also mean you have made the decision to sacrifice everyone you or John have ever cared for, not only your damn brother and your sweet, old landlord but everyone, parents, girlfriends, Lestrade, Molly. Everyone. And everyone is being monitored right now; they're all waiting for your signal." John's eyes were wide; his cheeks had gone from blushing red to a sickening white. As had Sherlock.
Moriarty had closed his eyes, lying back in to John, relishing, absorbing the energy of the situation. "Or..." Suddenly he smashed the tool in to John's right knee. "Not so psychosomatic now eh?"John yelled and tears stained his scrunched up face. Sherlock's chest was burning and he was almost struggling to control his breathing.
"Or, if you choose to save lover boy over here, I start blowing shit up. And I'm not talking about the odd building or car here and there, the whole "terrorist business." Noooo. I'm talking about World War Three! Hundreds and hundreds of buildings crumbling and bowing to me. Multiple countries. Billions will die Sherlock. A true piece of art."
Sherlock made sure he had control of his voice before he spoke. "You've been busy."
"Oh don't flatter yourself, I've had this planned for a while, just been waiting for the perfect opportunity and here you came striding in with your hat and your sidekick and your sharpened cheekbones, oh perfection! But!" He turned back to John: "Look at what you've done naughty, you've made him human! Well, human-ish. You tried your hardest to destroy this masterpiece with humanity and look you've only made him soft. Tut tut."
He leant in to John's ear. "And he still didn't get it did he." The Irish man rose from John's lap, kicked the hammer out of the way and ambled over to Sherlock. Sherlock ignored him, now he had a clear eye line to John, his knee had already started to swell and the knife hadn't been removed, but he had stopped crying. What Moriarty had said made John red with anger again.
"What did you say to him?" Sherlock hissed, Jim belted with laughter.
"You see doctor! He's never going to get it. The virgin here separated himself so far from relationships and intimacy as child he can't even recognize it anymore." The criminal was circling the detective like a bird of prey. "Your ignorance is pathetic Sherlock."