Chapter 11: SHERLOCK!

SHERLOCK'S POV

A lot must have happened while I was drugged, and unconscious. I had been loaded up into a car or some sort of transport (Probably a van, if being kidnapped is really like it is in those strange films and TV shows John watches) and driven... somewhere. I didn't actually know where I was when I woke up. It was dark, and not because I had a blind on, it was actually dark. The lights had been turned off. Or something similar.

I was sitting on soft ground. Like I was sitting on a cushion, only this time I wasn't enjoying it. My back was resting against something hard though; not every part of my body was comfortable. I could make out a table at the far end of the room. It had a white table cloth, and a cross. There were no windows – or at least I couldn't see any. I stood up. If they hadn't tied me to the chair I had been sitting on, then the door must be locked. Otherwise I could probably just escape really easily. I walked around a bit, trying to familiarize my surroundings. I wasn't sure why, but I had a feeling it would help. I tried to find a door, but no such luck. I thought I saw something flap in the corner of my eye; I turned my head quickly in the direction of the flapping. There was a massive sheet of black on the wall. It was weird; every time it flapped a bit of light peaked through. My mouth twitched into a smile.

I ran over to the flapping. I paused in the middle of the sheet and jumped, my arm outstretched. I got a grasp on the blackness and pulled. Light suddenly burst through into the room. A window... With a picture on it. It was a picture of a woman, carrying a baby, wearing a blue robe. I looked around. The table was an altar, the seat I had been sitting on actually a long bench. It was still semi-dark though, and I went in search of other sheets of black.

Eventually, I had the long hall lit up. It was a church. I walked up to the altar, and played with the cross, picking it up and turning it upside down and vice versa. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. Someone was behind me. And I knew exactly who it was.

"I didn't know you were religious."

I turned round, facing the famous Mr Jim Moriarty. I grinned. Jim shrugged, his black suit (Different from the blue one he was wearing last time I saw him) crinkled.

"Not really. Just thought it would be a nice place to keep you. Nobody ever comes in except for Sundays. So nobody would ask questions. Or see you. Perfect, right?" My eyes dropped down from his face to the floor and I turned slowly so my back was to him. I fiddled with the table cloth, a smirk carved into my face. "Right." I replied. "But why not an abandoned warehouse? Or something similar?" Jim raised his eyebrows and laughed. He looked surprised.

"An abandoned warehouse?" I heard him take a few steps closer. "We are traditional, aren't we?" I felt his eyes bare into the back of my head, and his grin widen. "Atmospheric? It would really make this seem... Scarier for me. I would be weaker, and you'd have more power over me." I suggested. Of course I wouldn't be more scared, I'd just think it was as traditional and boring as he finds the idea. Moriarty laughed again. Am I really that funny? I thought to myself. I looked back round at him. "Why would I want you to weak? I like it when you fight." He said in mock puzzlement.

"You have no idea how psychopathic that sounds." I muttered, turning back to the altar. But instead of looking at the altar, I stared at the stained glass window above. It displayed a man in a flowing red robe sitting on a cloud. He had sun-kissed skin and shoulder length brown hair. Jesus? A man I believe founded the faith they celebrate in churches. Christ... Christianity. Unnecessary information. I heard the calm, sarcastic voice of Jim Moriarty again behind me.

"Oh. I do." This time I turned my full body and strode up to him. My voice was suddenly bitter, my mind suddenly angry.

"Why did use Avril to get to me?" He looked at me oddly for a second, and then sighed.

"How else could I get to you? I've already used John; to use him again would be boring." I glared at him and kicked the stone tiles. "Sherlock!" Jim warned. I felt like spitting at him. I don't know how and why, but my coolness had evaporated and it left was anger. "You didn't have to involve her in this." I ran my hand through my hair. But it was true. She could have stayed out of this, not have been used like that, and she would be safe. "Why not? She was prepared. She was ready. Cooked." He sneered. My fists clenched. He noticed, and his eyebrows rose. "I thought you had no heart?" I frowned. He continued. "It's too late now anyway. She's in this, in deep and out of her comfort zone. And I know Sherlock, and you know too, she's coming. Because," He took a step closer, a nasty smile set above his chin.

"She loves you."

YAY! That's the fasted I've updated a story. But anyway, what happens next? Sherlock knows now. Or does he? Does he believe "Jim"? Or has Sherlock known all along? Maybe Jim told Sherlock Avril loved him so he would soften, and then Sherlock would be ripe enough to be cooked? If that makes any sense. I just made Sherlock sound like a Banana. Oh well.

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