As promised, John didn't go anywhere the next day. He worked, sold coffee and pastries, tried to avoid talking to Molly and ended up having to make an enormous amount of sandwiches for Mrs Turner, who was having a "little party with some old friends". Lizzie was going as well, so he'd have the flat for himself, which actually had him hoping that Sherlock would miraculously turn up at his doorstep.
"John, dearie, would you help Mrs Turner carry all those sandwiches?" Lizzie called from the little kitchen. "You can be off when you're done, Molly offered to help me clean up."
He grabbed bags full of food and nodded at Mrs Turner, who was waiting for him at the door. "Yes, of course."
When he reached the door, a thought nagged at his mind. John, would you do me a favour and stay at home tomorrow night? He shook his head slightly, it was just across the street and a quick look at the window on the other side left him quite certain that nobody was home. There had been nothing going on all day, he had kept his eyes on the street, but he had seen nothing unusual. Of course, he hadn't been looking nonstop, still, he was sure that whatever Sherlock had planned wasn't going to happen here.
After listening to Mrs Turner thanking him for what seemed like an eternity, he eventually said goodbye to her. He was on his way to the front door, the door, however, was blocked by someone leaning against it. John instantly recognized his face, now he was in trouble.
"Well, well, little Johnny", he said smugly.
"You are…?" John trailed off. What do you say to a guy of whom you know that he's a criminal?
"Jim Moriarty. Hi." He pushed himself off the door and took a couple of steps towards John. "See, Johnny, your friend Sherlock is planning on catching me tonight. And, I suppose you'll understand, I can't let that happen. So if you will follow me outside, there's a car waiting for us and I would like you to get inside. Don't even think about running." He wasn't a very tall fellow, maybe a couple of years older than him, wearing the most expensive suit John had ever seen. At first glance he didn't seem dangerous at all, but they way he talked gave John goose bumps. Moriarty was right, running wasn't an option. "Come on now. Pretty please," he purred with a vicious grin.
John recognized the guy who was behind the steering wheel as the other bloke from across the street, Moriarty called him Seb and he was driving like a lunatic. All in all, John wasn't sure if he should be afraid of dying in a car accident or of being murdered by those two nutters. He felt surprisingly calm on the outside, but his mind was raging, another thought occupying his mind was trying to find a way of warning Sherlock. He still had his phone, but he could hardly pull it out of his pocket, not with Moriarty's eyes on him, watching his every move.
He had no idea where they were going, nothing seemed familiar, but then again, he didn't know a whole lot about London, he'd been here a couple of times with his family visiting aunt Lizzie and such, but they'd only ever done the touristy stuff and nothing else.
They eventually reached their destination, it was an abandoned warehouse, somewhere in the outskirts of the city. John almost rolled his eyes, this was so cliché, he was almost tempted to laugh. The sun was going down behind the building that had obviously been empty for ages, slowly falling apart and weeds growing all over the place.
"I like the location you picked, Seb, it's very convenient. Is everything else ready?" Moriarty looked out the tinted windows of the car with a smirk. "Is everything else ready?"
Seb nodded and wordlessly got out of the car, picking up a duffle bag and a gun from the passenger seat.
"If you would follow Sebastian, John." He motioned at him to get out of the car and John did what he said, scanning his surroundings for a way to escape, but those idiots had taken him to the middle of nowhere, with no chance to get away whatsoever. Of course, he could run, but where would he run to? Seb would probably shoot him before he got away.
He ended up being handcuffed to a rusty pipe behind a pile of wooden boxes, out of sight of anyone who might enter the warehouse. Seb snatched John's phone out of his pocked and placed it on one of the boxes, just out of reach. "Don't get any ideas."
Moriarty looked down at John. "Your friend Sherlock has started taking down my network, I bet he's really proud of himself now. Maybe we should let him know, that his precious friend is not as safe and sound as he wants him to be." With a pleased smile, he typed a text. "Take your position, Seb, I suspect he will be here before long."
Seb walked off, with his gun and his dufflebag and John suddenly felt extremely anxious. He threw Moriarty the most murderous glance he could manage. "He's not stupid, he won't just come here on his own with you waiting for him." That, at least, was what he was hoping most sincerely, but actually he knew that Sherlock would come here by himself, that was just the way he was. Stupid. And God knows what they'd do to him.
"Oh, we'll see about that, Johnny. We'll see. Now be a good boy and don't wander off while daddy's taking care of his business." His slid his fingers over the wooden boxes and for a second they hovered on John's phone. "Seb has his eyes on you, John. His father was in the army, he's taught him well. He's never missed a shot in his entire life. Just… for your information." With that, he headed off into the darkness of the warehouse.
It wasn't long until John's phone buzzed for the first time and he realized why Moriarty hadn't taken it. That was Sherlock texting him. John yanked at the handcuffs, trying to somehow break the pipe, to get to his phone.
A few minutes later, there was another text. And John sat on the dusty floor, watching, angry and scared. He forced himself to breath steadily, now was not the time to panic. Another yank at the handcuffs left read streaks on his wrists, but the pipe wouldn't break.
His phone was buzzing constantly now, obviously somebody was calling.
After what seemed like ages it finally stopped and John sat in complete silence, surrounded by darkness, until he heard a car pulling up outside the warehouse, a door banging shut, only one door, so he'd come alone after all, hurried footsteps on the gravel, one of the rusty iron doors opening with a creak.
John closed his eyes for a second, thinking about just yelling at Sherlock to get out while he could, but it was too late, so all that was left for him was hoping that they would somehow get out of this mess alive.