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"So, Johnny, how's life?"
John remained stoically silent.
If it weren't for the bloody handcuffs, he would be experiencing the pleasure of connecting his fist with Moriarty's smug face.
"Ah, giving me the silent treatment then Johnny?"
"It's John."
Moriarty cackled. "Alright, John."
John remained silent, biting his cheeks.
"Now, where did I leave Sherlock?"
A groan emanated from a dark corner of the room.
"Ah, there he is! Come on out Sherlock, don't be shy!"
Masked figures unceremoniously dumped a body on the hard, concrete floor like it was a sack of potatoes. John suppressed the urge the gasp as Sherlock's bruised face lolled in his direction.
Showing weakness was not an option.
John cast a fleeting, analysing glance over Sherlock's body. The bullet wound in Sherlock's chest was oozing blood at an alarmingly fast rate, and he was so pale he appeared almost corpse-like. John could see no broken bones thankfully, but he appeared bruised and sore.
"Now, John, I presume you remember our little meeting at the pool?"
"How could I forget?" John bit down hard on his tongue, but it was too late. The biting comment had slipped out.
"Ah, finally, he speaks! Well, you must remember what I said then, don't you?"
John didn't reply.
"Ah, come on, John, don't be a spoil sport. Well, if you want to be that way, it's fine with me. Anyways, back to point. I'm going to burn the heart out of Sherlock. Well I'm guessing you know what that means for you, don't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Now come on, I know Sherlock said you were an idiot, but really?"
Silence.
"Okay then, make me spoil the dramatics by explaining. Really, you're no fun as a hostage. You are Sherlock's heart, John."
John remained very still.
"Sherlock has no heart. He's a sociopath."John lied through his teeth.
"Well we both now that's not quite true."
A tingle of déjà vu flew up John's spine. It was the pool all over again.
"You hear that Sherlock? I'm going to burn the heart out of you!" Moriarty ambled over to the crumpled figure of Sherlock, and gave him a sharp kick in the side.
"Don't touch him!" John yelled instinctively.
Moriarty laughed triumphantly.
"Ah, pets are always so touchingly protective."
John snarled ferociously.
"Ah, he even has the sound effects to match!"
"Shut up."
"Now now John, weren't you taught any manners? Anyway, I don't think you're in the position to make any demands. Lights, camera, action!"
The huge, industrial light bulbs suspended from the ceiling burst into blaring light, and momentarily blinded John. He had to blink several times before he could see again.
And when he did, he recoiled.
For there, in the centre of the room, was a huge stake of wood, sunk into a large platform, surrounded in clusters of twigs.
Burn the heart out of you.
"Burn? Do you get it, John? I'm going to burn you!" Moriarty chuckled. "And Sherlock is going to watch. Now if you would be so kind as to follow me, John?"
Two pairs of large, rough hands grabbed him from behind, hoisting him up. John felt helplessly like a doll.
His dangling feet knocked against the wooden steps leading up to the platform. He struggled and squirmed helplessly, and received a swift whack in the shins after he attempted to kick out. The after effects of the drug hadn't worn off, and he felt groggy and heavy, body refusing to co-operate.
His body was thrust against the splintery stake, and a tight, thick rope tied around his waist, his hands still handcuffed painfully behind his back. His whole body ached, and his muscles were burning. His feet would not hold his weight, and he slouched against the rope, which was digging into his stomach, burning his skin. His head lolled, and his neck ached from the strain of holding it up.
He just wanted to sleep.
"John!"
John let out an involuntary sigh of relief as Sherlock's voice filled the room. But then he remembered the state Sherlock was in, and his hopes deflated once more. He scanned the room for Sherlock, and saw him propped up on a chair, hands restrained behind his back, a rope tied around his middle, and his ankles bound together.
John cringed at the thought of the agony Sherlock must be going through.
"Ah, my dear Sherlock, you're awake! Just in time to watch the show."Moriarty giggled.
"Don't."Sherlock uttered.
"Is that a plea I hear Sherlock? Really? The great detective, Sherlock Holmes, begging? I'm disappointed."
Sherlock thrashed in his bindings. More blood seeped from his gaping wound.
"Stop it Sherlock!" John yelled. The man really had no sense of self preservation.
"Ah, young love, how touching."
"Shut up Moriarty." John was desperate now. All the fear he had felt before left him. He had nothing to lose.
"What was that John? Burn me Moriarty? Well, if that's what you want." Moriarty produced a lighter from his pocket, flourishing it. "Tada!"
"What do you want Moriarty?" Sherlock growled.
"I want to burn the heart of you Sherlock."
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."
"Well we both now that's not quite true."
"Why can't you just stop this pathetic little game, Moriarty? I'm bored."
"Already? But I was just getting started!"
"I'll leave you alone."
"Bit late for that now, isn't it Sherlock?"
"I'll do anything."
"No, no, dear, you just sit there. I saved you the best seat!"
Sherlock growled, but Moriarty ignored him.
"Let the show commence!" Moriarty flicked the lighter open, delicately holding it over the twigs until they caught fire.
"Now isn't that lovely!"
John choked on the smoke that was beginning to rise.
Suddenly two shots echoed throughout the room.
John heard a sound like to heavy weights dropping to the ground.
"Put it out Moriarty." A familiar voice filled the room.
Irene!
"Ah, Irene. How lovely of you to join us. Bit of a shame with the men though, they were quite good at their job."
"Put the god damn fire out Moriarty!"
"Do I need to remind you I have your sister?" Moriarty snarled.
"You can't hurt my sister anymore."
"Oh yes, I think I can."
"You're a bit cocky when I've got the gun."
"Well I don't usually like to get my hands dirty, but safety precautions-" He pulled out a gun – "are necessary."
He aimed the gun at John.
John gulped. He could feel the searing hurt beginning his legs, and the flames were getting a bit too close for comfort. His vision was distorted by the smoke, and it was beginning to irritate his eyes.
A shot fired through the air. Moriarty crumpled to the ground.
John gasped audibly. It had been so easy. Moriarty was dead.
But the gasp had been a mistake. Smoke filled his lungs and he choked, gasping like a goldfish, which only succeed in inhaling more smoke. His world slowed down as the oxygen slowly left him, and his pounding heart slowed down, tightening.
Flames were licking at his legs, and it was pure agony.
I will burn the heart out of you.
And John Watson burned.
"John!"