John could have laughed.
'You think that pressing a knife in my hand and ordering me to kill my best friend is all that it would take for me to commit murder? What kind of madman do you think I am? Seriously?' The doctor barked. Jim gave a tight-lipped smile.
'Perhaps not. But by the end of the night you will be begging me to end his life.' Moriarty said. Sherlock looked at him, John clearly hadn't worked out what Moriarty was talking about. His pride was stopping him from seeing it.
'Just kill me, John.' He said, forcing his voice to remain level. The doctor looked at him like he had turned a bright shade of green.
'You can't be serious.' He stuttered. Sherlock grit his teeth together.
'Hoe can you be so thick, John. Of course I don't want to die! But I'd much rather die quickly than being tortured in front of you until you finally snap and plead to kill me. If there's one thing I cannot take, it's that. Now for Gods sake, just do it!' A sweat had manifested on the detective brow as he gave up all pretence of being calm. John's eyes widened as realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks. He turned to Moriarty and back to Sherlock. He took a breath and moved the knife into a better grip. Jim raised an eyebrow, Pet has wielded a knife before. Interesting. The solider stepped towards his flatmate and stopped. He opened his hand and the blade fell, clattering on the ground with an eerie echo.
'I can't.' His voice cracked. 'I'm so sorry Sherlock but I just can't.' The soldier sank to his knees in the hope that the concrete floor held the key to his escape. The detective's expression softened as he placed a hand on his flatmates head. Moriarty clicked his tongue.
'Well that's annoying, it seems I've pushed Pet in the abyss before teaching him to swim. Oh well.' He muttered to himself, knowing that Sherlock could hear. Then he lifted the blond off the floor. 'Come on Johnny. It's ok. I didn't realise Shirley meant so much to you.' The doctor looked confused. And Jim laughed. 'Did you really think I'd force you to kill someone? I know that's not how this works. Not yet anyway. Come on, you must be hungry.' Then Moriarty dragged his prisoner from the room and into the arms of the awaiting goons. Once they were out of sight, he walked back into the cell.
'Ok, Shirley darling, here's the deal. I'm going to let you go back to big brother and you will not come after me at all for the next three months. That means taking cases that I have had a part in as well. After that, you're free to do what you like. If I can't break little solider boy be then then he can't be broken and I will happily give you back the pieces. Tell your American friends I say hi.' Before the detective could answer, he left a prick in his neck and the world went dark.
There were many things Mycroft had come to expect when Sherlock was finally brought back to him. He expected a mangled corpse to be unceremoniously dumped on the doorstep in the middle of the night or perhaps to wake to find the lifeless body hanging outside his office window or even, heaven forbid, the various pieces of his dismembered body found in increasingly public places whereby the death of his brother also caused widespread panic across England. So when he opened the door to a man holding his brother unharmed out to him, he automatically took the younger man in his arms, mostly from the shock. The fragile thing stirred and he smiled. When he looked back up, the man-obviously someone who worked for Moriarty-was gone. Lisbon appeared behind him asking what he was doing. All he heard was the, 'Oh. My. God.' Which mirrored his thoughts exactly.
Sherlock woke in a haze of movement and background noise. Mycroft sat on the chair next to his bed and held his hand firmly, as if afraid to let go. He tried to form words but his mouth was still refused to work. After minutes of trying he managed sound.
'Ughnm.' Not quite what he wanted but it did the trick.
'Sherlock. You're awake. I was worried for you. How could you be so stupid?' The elder Holmes voice started with relief but soon crept into a yell. Sherlock flinched. That was the third person that had called him stupid in the space pf one day, at least he thought it was a day-he didn't know how long he had been out. His brother softened his tone immediately.
'I'm sorry, there will be time for lectures later. Right now you need to wake up properly.'
'John.' Sherlock rasped. The elder Holmes looked at him.
'I know, Lock, I know. We will do all we can. We'll get him out.' He cooed.
'No.' Sherlock said between breaths. 'Mustn't try. To rescue. John. Will die. Please don't.' Mycroft stared at the lanky man as he struggled to find the words. Something inside the British Government twinged.
'Of course, dear brother, what ever you wish.' Then he walked out.