John woke up a few hours later.
He was alone in a hospital bed.
He still couldn't believe Sherlock would stab him like he did.
His phone was on the table beside him.
He wanted to call Sherlock but decided not to.
He found that he had one text from Sherlock's number.
He looked at it.
It read, simply, "I love you."
John quickly deleted it.
It was quiet.
He felt so betrayed and alone.
His phone vibrated as he got a new text from an unknown number.
He looked at it.
"What hurts more, Dr. Watson? Losing Sherlock to me, or losing Sherlock to me and then having me send him back to C.A.M.?" was what it said.
He deleted the message and put his phone down.
C.A.M... What if Moriarty had taken Sherlock to Charles Augustus Magnussen?
Why should he care? He was betrayed by Sherlock.
But was he, really? Given that Sherlock was now unstable, and had warned him that he himself was dangerous... not to mention, he had got an ambulance to arrive as quickly as he could.
True but he left him there; bleeding out.
But he had done so under the impression, however possibly false, that doing so would benefit John.
John didn't know what to think anymore.
It appeared that Sherlock was recklessly selfless, truly not caring what happened to himself so long as it kept John safe. He had said that the only way to take down Moriarty was to allow himself to take the fall with him... if he was right, no one should be hearing anything more of the criminal.
But that would mean no one will ever hear from Sherlock ever again as well. This brought tears to the doctor's eyes.
Another text from the same unknown number made his cellphone rumble again.
He slowly looked at it.
"Are you still asleep? Geez, sleepy head. Just because I promised Sherlock I wouldn't kill you doesn't mean I can't talk to you, does it?"
He texted. "What do you want?"
"To brag, really. I mean, I have finally won over Sherlock. He must have been surprised to find out just how intimately he knew my partner, ha ha!"
"You're so cruel."
"Are you only just realizing that? Anyway, the ever-elusive Mr. Holmes is with my partner right now. I can only imagine what they're getting up to. Perhaps I'll check up on them soon and send you pictures. Wouldn't want you to feel left out, would we?"
"Pig."
"Well, hey, I'm sure my partner can pleasure him better than you can, even if there's fighting and blackmail involved. Have you two even done it yet? Or are you two not a thing now?"
"That's none of your business!"
"Ah, well, it doesn't matter. I'll find out from Sherlock eventually. We're going to break him, you know? We've got the best tool in Britain now. With Sherlock, we can get whatever we want... not that we couldn't already."
John growled and threw his phone across the room.
Sherlock was in danger.
But what could he do?
There wasn't much he could do but get ahold of Mycroft again.
So he dialed on the hospital phone and called him.
"Hello?" He heard.
"He has him again. C.A.M."
"Understood. I'll see what I can do."
"Be careful. He and Moriarty are going to try to break him."
"Well, let's hope it hasn't already come to that."
"I hope he's alright."
"I'll get back to you with news afterwards."
"Okay."
Mycroft hung up.
Watson hung up and carefully laid back.
He could only hope that the situation would work itself out.
He prayed for Sherlock's safety.
It took an hour for the room's phone to ring.
He answered it.
It was Mycroft. "John? There's been a problem."
"What happened?"
Mycroft cleared his throat. "The problem is blackmail. Magnussen has stated he will use his knowledge against the British Embacy if we try to take him into custody or take Sherlock away from him."
"Oh, I see..."
"He did say, however, that if Sherlock wanted to leave of his own free will, it would be fair game... but rest assured that Magnussen will stop at nothing to twist Sherlock's mind into believing he is unable to leave. What we need is a way to prevent that from happening. Someone on the outside to keep him... well, alive."
"How about me?"
"That's the plan."
"What do I have to do?"
"I'd recommend texting him. Unless Magnussen has his phone, it's discreet and the best way to get hold of him."
"That might be a problem. I threw my phone across the room when Moriarty pissed me off texting me."
"That wasn't very smart. Nevertheless, I'll have someone bring you a new one."
"Thank you."
"I hope it won't be too late by then."
"Yeah, me too."
"Well, just give it a bit and a cellphone will be with you shortly."
"Okay."
True to Mycroft's word, after about half an hour a nurse walked in and handed him a cellphone. "I was told to give this to you, Dr. Watson."
"Thank you, nurse." he said as he took it.
The phone already had Sherlock's number registered as a contact.
He text "Sherlock?" to it.
After a minute or so, he got the response of "Who is this?"
"It's me John Watson."
"John? Why the new number?"
"Moriarty pissed me off when he texted me and I kind of threw my old phone against the wall."
"I'm sorry he's been texting you."
"He told me why he wanted you, Sherlock. He wants to use you for evil."
"Maybe that's what I'm best at..."
"No it's not, Sherlock!"
"Trying to be good has resulted in nothing but me getting mocked all my life and ultimately hurting you."
"I never mocked you, Sherlock."
"You were the only one who never did..."
"Because I respect you."
"Do you, still?"
"I still do, Sherlock, and I always will."
"I'm sorry for leaving. I love you. Magnussen is coming back, I have to go."
"I love you too, Sherlock. Be careful."
Sherlock stopped responding.
John sighed a bit.
He could only hope that Sherlock would be okay.
For now he would have to wait and see.
... If Sherlock was able to respond.
He prayed for his safety.
After a few minutes, he got another text. "Dr. Watson?" It said.
"Yes?" he texted back.
"I was wondering why you stopped responding to my texts! I've taken Sherlock's cell. Magnussen's having fun with him. Want pictures?" This was followed by a heart emoticon.
"You're a sick monster, Moriarty!"
The next text was a picture of Sherlock, half naked and freshly beaten, struggling to obscure his face from the camera.
"Hey, I'm just the one with the camera." Moriarty replied.
"Stop tormenting him!"
"Why? He's letting us do this now. For you, might I add."
"I hope you burn in Hell, Moriarty!"
"Oh, I hope I do too... But on the bright side, I'll be taking Sherlock with me when the time comes. I'm not going to Hell alone. Here's another picture~!"
This picture showed Sherlock's face, bleeding and bruised and covered in faint hickies. It also captured the floor underneath him, and the top of Magnussen's head as the older man had his face in the crook of the Consulting Detective's neck and appeared to be sucking there again.
"Make him stop!"
"I have no control over Magnussen. I couldn't make him stop even if I wanted to. Are you upset yet, Dr. Watson? Why don't you limp your way over here?" Moriarty sent him an address. "Come try to save your damsel in distress. See what happens."
"I'll be there."
"You're going to regret it. Here's one last picture for the road."
This one showed Sherlock in apparent agony and discomfort with a knife against his pale, marked throat. Though it wasn't entirely made clear in what the photo captured, it was likely that Magnussen was now taking this sexual assault a step further.
That last picture made John pissed. He ripped out his IVs and went out the door.
The nurses tried to stop him, telling him he needed time to recover.
He pushed them aside and kept going.
His destination was quite far. He needed to be quick.
He tried to quicken his pace.
Despite the wound on his stomach hurting, he quickly made it outside. The next step was to find a taxi.
So he tried to hail one.
As one stopped for him, he got another text.
He quickly looked at it.
"He's started crying out your name. How cute." It said.
He growled and got into the taxi.
Another text. This one read, "And now he's actually sobbing. Aww, I almost feel bad."
"Bastard!"
The taxi driver asked him where he was headed.
He told him the location.
The taxi driver began to drive as he got another text.
"Now this is getting really pitiful. I think we've broken poor little Sherlock Holmes... He's blubbering like a baby."
"You're dead!"
"We'll see about that."
The doctor growled angerly.
It took almost a whole hour for the taxi to pull up at the address John had told him.
Watson got out and limped to the building.
Moriarty stepped out as he got close. "Ah, Doctor Watson! Glad you could join us. Come in, come in."
He grumbled as he went in.
He found Magnussen sitting on a white couch, his arm wrapped around Sherlock, who was leaning against his chest and was still beaten but now fully dressed. Sherlock looked traumatized, and did not respond to John's entry.
Magnussen gestured for John to sit on another couch across from them.
He sat down on it and winced.
"Would you like something to drink?" Magnussen asked. "Tea? Water, perhaps?"
Sherlock blinked, but didn't dare move other than that.
"So you could poison me? No thank you."
Magnussen chuckled a little. "Moriarty might do that, but not I, Doctor Watson."
Sherlock shivered a bit, and Magnussen leaned down somewhat, kissing the man's forehead.
"I have to apologize for the poor behavior of Sherlock Holmes. He's still adjusting, that's all."
"He's only here to protect me."
"Your arrival has nullified that."
As Magnussen said that, John could feel Moriarty press the barrel of a pistol against the back of his head.
"You're both scum." he growled.
"Hmm, actually." Moriarty removed the gun and walked over to Sherlock and Magnussen. He stood beside where Sherlock sat, and aimed his gun at John from there. "I want to make sure Sherlock sees the whole thing."
"... P-please..." Sherlock mumbled.
"Begging won't save him, Sherlock."
John didn't flinch. He sat there and glared at the two evil men.
Moriarty shrugged and calmly shot John in the stomach.
Sherlock watched, his eyes widening though his facial expression remained otherwise blank.
John grunted as he held his stomach.
Something in Sherlock snapped in that moment.
Moriarty, whether he realized this or not, grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his coat and tugged him up. "Come on, stand up, Sherlock. Here." He handed the Consulting Detective the gun and made him aim at John. "Pull the trigger. Do the honors." Casually, Moriarty then backed up.
The good doctor coughed up blood as he weakly looked up at Sherlock.
A broken smile slowly but surely crept its way onto Sherlock's face as his aim remained firm. Looking into his eyes, it was hard to recognize him.
"Go on, Sherlock. What are you waiting f-" Before Moriarty could finish, Sherlock, without turning his face from John, aimed behind him and easily shot him in the head. Moriarty's corpse slumped to the ground. Magnussen didn't seem surprised or even startled, as he simply continued to sit on the couch.
"Sherlock...?"
Sherlock closed his mouth but kept smiling as he dropped the gun to the floor.
"Would you like your cellphone back?" Magnussen asked. When he got no response, he slowly walked over to Moriarty and dug out Sherlock's cell. He tossed it at the Consulting Detective, who caught it without bothering to look.
Sherlock then dialed a number, making a call, which was strange considering he preferred texting.
"Hello?" He said in a hoarse voice. "Yes, I'd like to report an incident. Two men are dead and another is injured. Gunshot wound. The address?" He told them the address. "Please hurry." With that, he hung up and slowly turned his gaze onto Magnussen, who didn't even look away.
John coughed up more blood as his wound reopened.
Sherlock tossed his cellphone down onto the couch beside John and began walking casually toward Magnussen. "Say..." He began. "Where do you keep the knives around here?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I'm not going to make your death as painless as his. You're going to suffer, just like I have."
"Mr. Holmes-"
"I'M GOING TO RIP YOU APART." Sherlock snarled.
John soon passed out from blood loss.