Sherlock spent the first hour of his imprisonment pacing. The second hour shouting at the cameras and bloody bugs that were planted everywhere. And the third hour sitting calmly, contemplating a suicide attempt to force Moriarty to show his hand.
He was completely and utterly bored, and at that very moment all he wanted to do was rip Moriarty in half, and then do it again.
Not exactly possible, as his arch enemy cross fiancé was refusing to show his slimly, odious, and detestable face.
In that hour of pacing, he had thought of every possible reason for Moriarty bringing criminals together. He had used John in every possible way to help him to escape. He had figured out the most painful way to destroy Moriarty and his minions, one with the help of Mycroft, and the other without. And he had very studiously ignored the emotional feelings he was growing.
A lot of his plans were relying on either Moriarty or John making an appearance, and as Moriarty would almost certainly have warned John he was about to loose his life, that particular option one was out the window, and sunk in the sea.
Moriarty also refused to appear, despite hour two being full of jibes, promises, pleas and hate filled accusations.
Sherlock knew as he screamed for his release, and howled for Moriarty's blood what was happening.
He was loosing his mind.
The slender threads of sanity which had kept him anchored to the ground were being ripped one by one, brining him to the level of an idiot, albeit an idiot with some slightly eccentric ideas.
And the sudden and painful news that he was going crazy just served as another layer of wistful wishes, and plotted revenges.
By hour three he had managed to pull himself out of the never ending circle, and calmed down enough to just sit and think.
Well actually, Sherlock didn't think. He didn't want to. He just sat, waiting.
It wasn't long afterwards that a knock at the door sounded, and stonily silent minion entered, leaving a tray of food on the floor, before leaving.
The key's locking the door echoed loudly.
Sherlock reluctantly dragged himself over to examine the sustenance he had been granted.
Alphabet soup, toast soldiers and a hunk of cheese.
Sherlock left all of it, and slouched back to his bed.
Time passed.
He decoded the message Moriarty had left the alphabet soup -Patience Dearest, you must learn to behave.
He nibbled on a piece of toast.
He cut the wires of all the camera's with the slightly blunt cheese knife he'd been given, and stamped on the bugs until they were just pieces of broken technology under his feet.
Then he lay down and waited.
Second after second dragged by. Painfully slow.
He was just falling into a fitful doze, full of the usual nightmares deceit, hate and pain featuring strongly in them, when there was a scuffling outside.
He immediately sat up, hand landing on the light switch, waiting to turn them on.
The noise continued, but nothing happened. Sherlock's arm grew heavy with the effort of holding it up for so long. And then, when he was about to put it down to his newly acquired status of insanity, the door opened.
He waited five seconds, then switched the lights on, opening his eyes after the initial glare.
He was met with a shock when his eyes fell upon a John Watson.
Once John had recovered from the sudden light, his gaze met Sherlock's, and they surveyed each other for a few long, tense seconds.
"Are there any cam-" John began
"No. I dismantled them." Sherlock said quickly, letting his hand drop from the light switch.
He remained silent a John slowly approached, apparently unsure what to say.
"Why are you here?" he demanded as John shuffled from one foot to another.
"I- I want to know if I can help you." John said slowly.
"I don't need help." Sherlock snapped, the word slipping out, as they had so many times in the past.
John scowled, stepping over cautiously, as if he were approaching an animal.
"Yes, you do Sherlock. You have to get out of here." John said.
Sherlock paused. Yes, he wanted desperately to get out of this place. But would he accept an offer like that? His pride, the very same one which had ignored such offers from Mycroft and Lestrade, was suspicious.
He read a million things in John's face, but he still couldn't decide whether he was trustworthy.
"Why? Why should I trust you?" he blurted.
John stepped closer, leaning down so their eyes were within centimetres.
"You have no choice." he said softly.
He hesitated a second, then pressed his lips to Sherlock's in a gentle kiss. It took all of his willpower for Sherlock not to pull away at the sudden invasion. Instead, he stiffened, allowing John's lips to caress his in a loving kiss, so unlike anything he had ever received before. He let John kiss him for what seemed like a blissful eternity, minutely returning the pressure so John wouldn't feel rejected.
However tempted he was to be kissed like this forever, Sherlock pulled away, letting the full power of his stare match John's blue eyed gaze.
After several minutes at staring into John's worried, kind and beautiful eyes, he relented.
"You're right. I... I need you." he said.
John sat down carefully beside him on the bed, as if he were breakable, and continued to watch him closely.
"What do we do then?"
Sherlock let a sharp, an completely fake crack his lips.
"I know exactly what we're going to do."
Sorry for delays. I've started nanowrimo, a 'write 50k of words in a month' event, and writing fanfiction has become second priority. That's partly why this chapter is so short, but also I want to move the plot along, and I can't from Sherlock POV.
Happy reading, and reviews are love.