Sherlock woke up strapped to John's chair. No, the chair, he corrected, don't think about him when you haven't got that blasted baby out of here yet.
"Morning dear." The detective thought of 143 ways to kill this man that would bring as much pain as possible and 96 more that would let him savour that look of surprise on his face when he did it.
"What's going on? You said I could leave."
"Yes I did, well done. But I said you could leave when either John or Zara are dead and they are both alive so you are staying there for now."
"I pulled the trigger Moriarty, you can't fool me into thinking he survived that, now let me go!"
He spat the words out with as much venom as he could muster but that just made the mad-man happier.
"Oops! Did I forget to tell you that I have invented a type of blank bullet so that the weight is exactly the same as a normal bullet so as not to be detected by, I dunno, people like consulting detectives?"
"Sure you did."
"Uhhh geniuses always need proof."
He opened a bin bag that was by his feet and threw the contents at the detective. It was the clothes John was wearing when he was shot. The smell and texture made them undoubtedly his as an imitation wouldn't have the smell as embedded in the fabric as these. There was blood on them but only from the explosion, apart from a fresher small circle that was on the collar of his undershirt that came from the hole the tranquilliser dart made in his neck.
"Finally remembering that you didn't witness his death are you?"
"It wasn't important that I didn't remember as people regularly forget traumatic situations."
"But you are not people Sherlock, you would never be able to just forget something because you liked him."
"Why would I ever want to remember what it felt like to kill John? Remember what he looked like dead? Remember the way the blood across his chest?"
"Do you understand what this man is doing to you? He is making you normal and you are so much more than that."
"He isn't making me normal, he is making me better. I am solving cases quicker now that he is with me as he knows popular culture and can understand people's feelings and conscience better than I can. Sure I know all the theory behind those things but the insight he gives me into people's hearts is crucial to many cases of mine."
"I am not talking about you solving your cases you dimwit I am talking about you having, feelings." He visibly shivered from head to foot as if he was disgusted by such a word. "Other than rage of course, you are such an angry man. But I've gotta say you look good when you're shouting. What was I talking about?"
"I don't care."
"I'll ignore that. Ah yes, 'love'. Now that we are alone you can tell me the truth and don't worry this isn't being recorded so he won't hear this. Do you really 'love' him?" The word 'love' seemed to amuse him and briefly shook his head as he said it.
"Of course I do. I would never lie to him."
"You lied about the missile plans. You came to see me with them even though you told him you gave them back to your brother. And no, you don't want to know how I know that."
"Well you obviously..."
"I know what I did, you don't have to tell me. We are wasting precious time that's need for telling secrets. Now, we both know how you think, we are both geniuses after all, and you would never tell someone you loved them unless you have something to gain from doing it. It's not the sex, sex is irrelevant and you could get it anywhere, I mean look at you. So it has to be his usefulness that you desire. You tell him you love him because you want him to think the relationship is going somewhere and that you cherish him so he will stay and make you tea. Someone like you can't comprehend 'love'."
"You really are a sad little man."
"I am taller than John."
"John is the perfect height for me. You on the other hand are an inch too big."
"And sad? I really couldn't be happier at the moment. I have you here under my control because I control John and that baby. My life is great."
"I am not under your control. No matter what I do you will just change the rules and kill us at the end of it so there is no point in me doing anything but sitting here."
"Well this backfired." With that he burst into forced hysterics, wiping fake tears from his eyes after half a minute. "You will get why that is funny in a second."
The door opened and a man in white overalls and a plain white mask wheeled in a television. He placed it ten meters away from Sherlock, switched it on and left. On the screen was a naked John strapped to a chair identical to the one the detective was sat on with his wrists tied to it. He was still unconscious and the walls and ceiling were covered with grates. Fire was undoubtedly going to be produced behind it which would either enter the room or just brutally heat the room.
Just? There is never just anything when it is going to hurt John, Sherlock thought.
"Well you have undoubtedly deduced what I am going to do so I guess you want to know how you can stop it. I want you to break out of those bounds and kiss my feet."
"Why? You won't let him die because you gave me blanks and you obviously have more planned so why should I break free?"
"That's the beauty of this Sherlock. I have fooled you before so you don't know whether I am serious about killing him or when I will get bored and let him die. But I admit he isn't going to die in there. Maybe. But can you really sit there and watch 'the love of your life' get hurt? Surely a sociopath like you shouldn't be affected by your heart being burned."
He clapped twice in quick succession and the screens showed a burst of orange as flames erupted through all the grates.