- Quick recap – The baby Zara was kidnapped by Moriarty and Sherlock and John went after her. John also got taken by him and when Sherlock found the warehouse he was told to shoot either John or Zara. He shot John but the bullets were blank and they were both knocked out. John was then taken to a room and Sherlock was told to kiss Moriarty's feet or John would burn. -


The flash of orange was brief, obviously used to show the power of the source. It wasn't a complicated system, gas and a flint, but that wouldn't stop John from being severely burned.

He was still unconscious but I knew that it wouldn't be long before he came around and could feel the flames that would eventually engulf him if I didn't do something to stop it soon.

A few seconds later the screen again showed fire coming through grates at the bottom of the room. As these were made of metal and John's feet were resting on them, it was likely to cause serious burning to the soles of his feet and even scarring if left too long. Already they were going red from the slight blaze that licked at them and I finally understood why people likened anger to flashes of red behind the eyes.

How dare Moriarty hurt John? Kind John. Strong John. How dare he reduce him to looking like a small child, slumped and exposed as he tortured him just to get to me?

I pulled at the metal shackles that kept my wrists captive though I already knew that there was no way to budge them as they were welded to the metal arms of the chair.

"Did you really think I would make it easy for you to get out? I want to see your face as you hurt yourself to save the maggot getting burned. If you will that is."

I could taste bile in my mouth as he referred to my John like that but showed no external reaction.

"Of course I will get out you idiot, pain could never bother me."

"I was referring to the kissing of my feet. Will your ego let you do that? Sure it's easy to submit to one of the 'normals' but can you give in to a genius?"

He was right of course. As simple as a task it may sound I didn't want to touch the man in front of me in any way. Especially in a manner which would show a loss of my free well.

"You're taking too long, I am getting bored." He clapped again and the flames started to rise getting to just below the doctor's knees before stopping.

He was now starting to stir, the pain making his come around from the drug haze quicker. There was no sound so I couldn't hear him but that didn't make things any better as I could picture his screaming in my head. I had heard him cry out in his sleep many times due to dreams of war but imagining that many times over due to physical pain made my chest hurt. Was this empathy? I was feeling pain because he was, it was irrational yet if I was unaffected by it I would hate myself.

Seeing him like that was the push I needed and I forced my hands out of the shackles. The skin sliced open at the bottom of the back of my hand and an inch practically peeled off as I kept pulling. As soon as the pain receptors were triggered I forced the sensation down and pulled my hands out quicker which caused my thumbs to break, the left one in two places.

Most people would say that the hard part was over but to me that was nothing compared to what I had to do now. If we survived this I would never be able to admit to John that I hesitated before getting out of the chair for a few seconds. Doing this would be like giving in to Moriarty, giving in to a corrupted mind.

I mentally chastised myself. I had to look at this simply, it's either do this or let John die. The fact that I didn't just kiss the mad-man's feet straight away gave me another pain in my chest. Was this empathy again? Or guilt that I found it possible to pause in this situation?

The problem with being me is that I see everything. I see everything that could possibly come from a person's actions and that is why I hesitated. I could see what it would mean for Moriarty. What it would mean to have me submit to him to save another human being; the man I love.

I love John Watson.

I sprung off the chair and pressed my lips to the shoes of my greatest enemy.

He clicked his fingers as he began to chuckle.


-This story was continued because of sentarla giving the idea that the bullets were blanks as a test to see how much John had changed Sherlock.

I will try and update this as often as I can but I have to study four hours of maths a night, fun times-