Warnings: PG to PG13, I think. Let me know if you disagree.

As always, my beta, Jess, really helped me get things right. She's the bestest. :D

Last chapter:

"I was hoping you'd say that," Moriarty said with a delight smirk. He put both hands around John's throat, and squeezed. "I've been so bored lately, John."

John made his body go limp, knowing that to clench his muscles would only use up his oxygen faster. It didn't stop the panic growing in his body though. The primal air, I need air! dying! animal instincts roaring to life as his mouth involuntarily opened.

"I'm so glad you decided to help Sherlock." Moriarty pressed harder as he leaned close to John's ear. "I will enjoy ripping that hope out of him again."

Ow! Ow! OW! Hot lava burned underneath John's cheek. His senses pushed outward and John opened his gummy eyes. He blinked at the dark mounds of sand inches from his face. Bits of the grains blew into his eyes and inflamed them. Tears welled up – the body's automatic defense – and John struggled to think about getting up.

Why was he outside?

Heavy orange and purple streaked the sky above him. He, again, toyed with getting up, but the scorching temperature of the ground actually helped dull what Moriarty had done to him. It some weird way it loosened muscles and lulled him into closing his eyes.

No, that's bad! Can't go to sleep.

But he gave into the lure anyway.

When he opened his eyes again, the sky was black. Not even stars twinkled.

Odd. But he didn't have time to ponder it. He needed to know his current situation and lying about wouldn't help him.

Time to face the music, John. He pushed up and had to bite his tongue. Bloody Nora!

His shoulder burned reminiscent to the time he'd got bit by those fire ants, and John found himself lying on his stomach, his left arm painfully twisted underneath him. Had he just been dumped on the ground, with no consideration at all? He blinked. Sounded like something this Moriarty character would do, actually. It also explained the pounding headache. Must've hit his head hard when he landed, not that he remembered the transfer.

0/0/0/0/0

It hurt. Bloody Nora, it hurt. But John wouldn't give Moriarty the satisfaction of screaming. The criminal had more than enough power. John wouldn't let him have this too.

0/0/0/0/0

Careful of the mounting dizziness pushing to the front of his forehead, John pushed himself up, wincing at the pins and needles affect this caused in his arm. Bugger. He couldn't feel three of his fingers, and closer inspection – hindered by his slightly blurred vision – found them looking a bit pudgy. Great. They'd lost enough blood to swell. He experimented to see if they were a lost cause, stifling his worry, and they just barely twitched.

Good.

He hadn't been out long enough to permanently damage them.

John checked his surroundings and jerked. He was surrounded by concrete walls that stretch out and turned into intersections. A concrete maze? He'd been put in a concrete maze? Lestrade lay only a few feet away, one of his ankles clasped in an iron manacle, attached to the floor. Really? Who used manacles anymore? Oh, right, psycho nutcases like Moriarty. He probably thought it gave 'The Game' ambience, or some other weird nonsense. John looked to his own feet and found his right ankle also entrapped.

Wonderful.

Just what they needed.

Whatever plans Moriarty had for chains and a giant maze outside did not spell out anything good for them.

Better than torture though.

John peered out into the long passage in front of him. He could just make out a black bundle of clothes huddled against one side of the concrete walls. Looming wings encircled the man. Sherlock. It had to be. Unless Moriarty had more than one winged experiment running around. Which, granted, John wouldn't put past him. But that didn't seem like something that would factor into Moriarty's plans.

Least, not yet. John pressed a hand to his temple. He really needed to come up with a plan, but his vision kept fading in and out, and Lestrade was out cold for now. Sherlock…Sherlock didn't seem to be in any position to talk – not if his deliberate turning away was any indication.

I've dealt with worse. Though John couldn't think of any such situation at the moment.

"Wakey, wakey, boys!" Moriarty's voice sing-songed through a speaker John hadn't noticed until just then. "Time to start phase one."

Sherlock shuddered, but made no other answer. Lestrade groaned and rolled over. John watched as the older man stiffened, scanned his surroundings, and then focused on John. He raised a greying eyebrow. John shrugged and pointed with his thumb to the speaker.

"Goodie, you're all awake," Moriarty chirped. "Right, shall we start? Good? Good. So, Sherly, I've had a stroke of brilliance – which shouldn't come as any surprise – and decided to try out this little beauty. Do you like her?"

John's fear of Moriarty went up a tiny notch, unwillingly, despite how much he wanted to squish it back down. That voice was truly mad. It hinted towards a depravity John couldn't imagine, and didn't want to experience firsthand.

"But enough about me, this is your lesson, after all." A dramatic pause. "Aren't you going to ask what the lesson is, John?"

Me? Why ask me? But John kept his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes. He wouldn't give Moriarty the satisfaction of feeding the mad man his lines.

"So boring," Moriarty groaned. "But never fear, I will remedy that!"

Something hissed above them and suddenly a large stone slammed inches from John's leg. He yelped and backed away into the rock. He could hear Lestrade scrambling as well. The stone stood an impressive ten feet high and – John glanced around it – he honestly couldn't say how wide. He couldn't see Lestrade anymore, so…big.

Where did it come from? John craned his neck up, but only black sky met him. Where had the rock fallen from? How?

"No!" Sherlock darted forward, only to be abruptly stopped by the collar around his neck. The thing attached to a one of the walls by a large hook. Poor Sherlock struggled with frantic fingers to claw the collar off. Then he switched to tugging against the hook on the wall. Nothing for it. The blasted collar stayed on regardless.

By this time, a thin layer of sweat coated John's neck. What did all this mean? What "Game" had Moriarty planned for them all?

"Now, now, Sherly, no rushing. I have to explain the rules first," Moriarty crooned, and John could just imagine the twit shaking a finger at them all.

"Then get on with it already," John yelled, clenching his hands into fists.

"Well, aren't we just pushy? Nervous?" Moriarty chuckled. "The rules are simple really, Sherly. I'm going to let them go, then you have to get them to the end of the maze before my dogs get them."

That sounded way too simple for Moriarty. There had to be a twist somewhere.

"Then we'll move on to phase two." Moriarty chuckled. "Actually, we'll go on regardless if they live, but having them alive will make phase two so much more interesting. So do try and get at least one of them out in time, Sherly."

Sherlock strained against his collar and growled at the speaker.

"Don't waste time," Moriarty sang out. "I've given you ten minutes before the dogs are loosed. Oh, this is so exciting, Bastion! I told you – "

But whatever he told Bastion was lost, because the speaker turned off abruptly. Sherlock's collar clicked off at the same time John's manacle did. No one moved for a second. Then:

"John? You okay?" Lestrade asked from around the stone.

"Fine." John rubbed his ankle. Bruised but doable. "You?"

"Good." Lestrade appeared and hunched down. He scanned John before glancing over at Sherlock. "Sherlock, can you come here? We need to plan this."

The winged man dashed to them, nails scraping against the concrete, and John winced as he nearly crashed into Lestrade. But if Lestrade felt any hesitation or discomfort at the near collision, he didn't let it show. No, he just reached over, slowly, and patted Sherlock on the knee.

"Easy, Sherlock. We've got ten minutes. Let's make good use of them."

Sherlock let out a strangled sob as he looked away. "Smarter."

"No, Sherlock," John said, scooting until he was close to the young man. He ignored the fact that the seconds were ticking away. Lestrade nodded for John to continue.

"He's not smarter, Sherlock." John said firmly.

"Wrong again," Moriarty's voice taunted suddenly.

"Ignore him, Sherlock," John said, glaring at the speaker. "He's just trying to get inside your head."

"It's working," Moriarty sung. "See? See that look! Even Sherly knows the truth. I. Am. Smarter. He knows it. I know it. And soon, Johnny boy, you will too."

"Shut it," Lestrade suddenly barked.

John blinked at the unexpected shout. Since when did Lestrade let his temper show? Heaven's sake, the man had the patience of a saint. He put up with all of Anderson's whining every day. Was this really the breaking point for the older man? John dearly hoped not. He didn't need two panicking teammates.

"Greg –" John started, inching away from Sherlock.

Lestrade waved a hand at him, focusing hard on the speaker. "You think you're so bloody smart. Some great shadow that we're all going to cower before, don't you? But you're wrong." Lestrade sat straighter. "I was a former DI at the MET. John, here, is the best medic around. And Sherlock is not only a genius, he has wings. We're going to beat you, Moriarty, right where it counts. Your pride."

"I'm trembling in my boots, really I am. Such an amazing speech, Greggo. Did you think of it yourself? Probably. Only an idiot would be so sentimental."

A deliberate pause.

"You see, Sherlock? This is what emotions get you. Stupidity. The side of the angels will always be delusional, because of that. Caring isn't an advantage, Sherly, it's a bullet wound."

But the droop in Sherlock's wings had lifted sometime during Lestrade's speech, as had his trembling. Now a determined gleam rose in those dark eyes. Sitting up, Sherlock glared at the top of the maze and then leaped high into the air, his wings flapping wildly. He scrambled, clawing at the edges of the walls, and made it to the top of one. There, the young man set about sniffing and looking around every which way.

John let him scout. "That was some speech, Greg. You been holding out on me?"

Lestrade grinned. "There's a reason I was DI, you know. Got a way with words. Could pull people together, even if they hated each other. MET loved that. I hated it. Felt mushy, you know? But I figured I might as well put it to good use here."

"Worked for Sherlock," John said. The winged man probably hadn't ever had encouragement a day in his life. Water to a man dying in the desert.

Lestrade snorted. "Right, let's see if we can do anything on our end. I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy, and it's creeping me out."

John grinned. Trust Lestrade to be embarrassed about encouraging others. He found a stray stick and tested its strength against the rock. Good enough to maybe hold up against attacking dogs. Dogs….

"Greg," John hissed as a horrid idea came to him.

"What?"

"Ten minutes."

Lestrade cursed. "I didn't check my watch. You think it's passed?"

"Hard to say." John glanced up at Sherlock. The winged man was bolt straight now, staring hard to the right. "But Moriarty strikes me as the type of guy to crow."

"So, no bragging might be good then."

"Exactly."

"Or he could've escalated and switched his MO."

John threw a small glare at Lestrade. "Remind me why they made you DI again."

"My sunny personality, of course." Lestrade grinned.

A flurry of feathers and humid air, and Sherlock was on the ground again. He signaled them over.

"Which way?" John asked.

"Four right, two left, six right, five back, one left," Sherlock said in a rush.

It took a moment for that process. "You saw all that?"

"Yes." Sherlock seemed to hunch back as he said that.

"Incredible." John shook his head. "You memorized that all. Brilliant."

Sherlock blinked. "Good?"

"Very good," Lestrade answer.

John nodded his agreement.

"I changed my miiind!" Moriarty shouted. "Dogs are coming now. You were being boring."

"Bastard!"

"Run, run, ruuuun!"

The baying of dogs sounded close by. John jumped to his feet seconds before Lestrade. He gripped his stick hard. "Lead on, Sherlock!"

The winged man darted forward, a streak of black against the dimly lit concrete. Feathers fluttered down behind him. John blinked, a little taken aback, and rushed after him. Lestrade not far behind. They ran round three right corners, John nearly falling flat on his face because of a sudden crack in the concrete. He righted himself and then turned down a left passage.

All the while, the dogs barking was getting closer and closer.

"Bloody well should've known he'd cheat," Lestrade gasped beside him.

John grunted in response, his lungs burning too much to talk. He pumped his legs faster. He couldn't be the reason they failed. That Sherlock got beaten by Moriarty. No. He'd run until he burst, if need be. They'd win! Sherlock's wings rubbed against the walls. A few feathers snapped off and John winced.

They were leaving a very obvious path for the dogs.

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped. John nearly ran past him. Lestrade did.

"What?" Lestrade asked, looking back, chest heaving. "Why'd you stop?"

"Go," Sherlock said, pushing John forward. "I fight them."

"What? No!" John planted his feet. "You will do no such thing. Who knows what kind of mutant dogs he's set loose. You're coming with. Plus, we didn't memorize the way. We need you."

"Go left." Sherlock pushed him again. "At end."

"We're that close?" Lestrade glanced that way. "Then why not take a stand there?"

"Get hurt." Sherlock gestured to them both. "Bad."

"No." John placed a hand on the vibrating shoulder. It flinched under his touch. "We're not leaving you, Sherlock."

"We're all getting through this," Lestrade put in. "Together."

"So get your butt into gear and run," John ended, pulling at the young man's arm.

Sherlock stared at both of them and then whirled around to punch a dog that somehow got ahead of the others. It stood a good eight feet on its hind legs. Foam slathered its jaws and black filled the place where its eyes should've been. It lunged at Sherlock, who only smacked it down again and then broke its neck. Casually, like he'd done this before and it meant nothing to him. But then Sherlock looked back at them and John could see the terror in his eyes. Screaming for all this to stop, to just stop and let him go.

John nodded and they all run to the end of the passage. A dead end. Sherlock blinked at it.

"What the…?" Lestrade said.

Another wall slammed up behind them, trapping them in the passage. Sherlock jumped into the air, but something crackled and Sherlock jerked about before falling to the ground again. An invisible fence. No….John narrowed his eyes.

An electric net.

Bloody great. Just what they needed right now.

John hurried over to the quivering form on the ground and checked his pulse.

"Whoops! Sorry. I'm sooo changeable." Moriarty purred. "This is the second part, Sherly. You gotta choose which one you want to live.

The dogs were scratching on the other side of the wall on their left.

"Kill the other and then I'll open the wall. Your choice, Sherly. But remember…" Moriarty laughed. "Time's a-runnin' away."

It finally came! It took FOREVER for this chapter to reveal itself to me. Don't ask me why, it just did. I hope it lives up to all of your expectations. Your patience with me, during the wait, was so appreciated. The next update...*hides*...will either be late October (at best) or November (at worst). It all depends on my work schedule and such, which is very hectic.

Reviews are life people. Let me know what you wanna see in the next chapter.