Look. No-one dead this chapter. You can put your shovels, knives, forks or any other sharp implements down.


CHAPTER 29

SIS HQ

Vauxhall Cross, London

England

UK

Chief Francis Stone slammed the phone down for the eighth time as there was no response from his agents in Australia. Where the hell were they? Watson has a meeting with Howell tonight!

Stone fell into his leather chair and spun around so that he was staring out at the Thames and the city that spread from its banks, rain lashing the city and blurring outline far below. He sighed and picked up the phone again. He'd call AFP HQ in Sydney and see what they had to say. Maybe they could shed some light on where the four English agents and their two Aussie 'minders' had gotten to.


Traralgon

Regional Victoria

Victoria

Australia

The ceiling came into focus slowly and the sunlight streamed through the barred windows and splashed off the light blue walls. The doctor blinked for a moment as he got his bearings and tried to remember what had happened. He was about to close his eyes to ease the pain in his entire body when suddenly he remembered Sherlock's scream and then the sight of Moriarty at the end of the hall and then…nothing.

He sat up slowly, expecting to find the others here, but he was alone on the huge master bed. He looked at the walls for an escape and spotted a door to the right. He got up slowly and stumbled, more than walked to the door. He went for the handle, expecting it to be locked but was pleased when he found that it turned easily. Instead of a corridor as he'd hoped – somewhat foolishly, he supposed – it was a bathroom, beautiful, clean and shiny. The walls were a painfully sparkling white and the sink, shower and bathtub was complete with gilded handles.

Bloody Moriarty.

John expected the tiles to be cold, but hey were warm, probably heated from underneath. He went to the window overlooking a golden field, the grass swaying in the morning breeze, and found that it was just glass and wondered for a moment if Moriarty was that careless. He was about to see if he could lift the window up when he caught sight of the red laser beams that criss-crossed the window.

He grimaced and backed away and out again, back into the bedroom. Looking around the room he could see no other door and even after he ran his hand along the walls, he could feel no cracks or joints. Giving up, the doctor returned to the bed and lay back down, wishing his pounding headache – probably caused by that laser burst that could well have killed him – would just bugger off.

In fact, he wished Moriarty would just bugger off and jump of the nearest cliff, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Rolling over, John closed his eyes and decided he could at least get some more sleep, as he may need his energy soon.


Underneath the Westgate bridge

Melbounre

Victoria

Australia

All four agents woke up at exactly the same time. A car horn honked from somewhere nearby and Sally, Greg, Mitch and James jerked awake like they'd been poked simultaneously.

All were lying flat on their backs.

Greg was the first to sit up, "What…" he held his head at it pounded and stared at their surroundings and groaned as him muscles ached from spending a long, obviously cold, night on the ground.

Sally looked around them as she registered the fact that they were no longer in the country, 'We're under a bridge," she said, looking at the other three men, who were staring around and trying not to groan too loud,

'So we are," said Lestrade looking around, thinking something was missing – and then it clicked,

'Where's John?" That quickly brought everyone back to themselves,

'Shit," Mitch said, 'That Moriarty guy got us last night, remember?" he said, standing up and almost falling back down again. He offered a hand to Sally, who took it and watched as James and Lestrade got to their feet,

"We…need to find John and Sherlock," said Lestrade, swaying slightly as the blood rushed to his head. He looked up.

They were underneath a bridge, that looked to be several hundred metres tall, and next to them, a river flowed, deep and dark, probably able to conceal a body. Lestrade just thanked God that it wasn' t their bodies floating in the river.

'Where are we?" asked Sally, the shadow of the bridge keeping everything very cool underneath here and making her shiver. James glanced up again,

"I think we're under Westgate bridge. How the hell did we get down here?" He looked around, spinning in a full circle and shivering slightly when a burst of breeze, cooled in the giant shadow cast by the bridge, hit them.

"There's a ramp," said Mitch, nodding to it,

"It's at forty-five degrees," said Lestrade, looking at it in despair,

"And we have to walk up it," said Sally, making for it, stumbling slightly as her knee buckled,

"This isn't fair," Lestrade mumbled as he followed Sally up,

"Look at it this way," James said, "all that army training will come in useful,"

Lestrade could have punched the man.


By the time they had reached the top, it was mid-morning and the sun was blazing down onto the dirt road they had been walking on. They were tired, exhausted, dirty and hungry and cars here were zipping past them at frankly alarming speeds. No one was going to stop to help them,

"We need to call HQ," said Sally, leaning against one of the giant cement poles that held the bridge up, feeling horrendously dirty,

"Yeah," Lestrade's muscles were begging for a respite and he slumped to the ground at Sally's feet,

"There's only one problem with that suggestion," said Mitch,

'What is it?" Sally asked,

"Does anyone have a mobile phone?"

Lestrade and Sally both patted themselves down, looking for their phones, as did the Aussie agents,

"They must have taken it," Lestrade said,

"Goddamn," James muttered

'So how to we get out of here?" Mitch nodded to the service lane,

"We walk," he said and took the lead as the other three followed, none of them even having the strength to complain.


Traralgon

Regional Victoria

Victoria

Australia

Moriarty stared at the screens and had to congratulate himself. John in one room, Sherlock in the other – it's like all his Christmas's had come at once.

John was sleeping, but Sherlock was pacing in nervous agitation. If he kept it up he was going to wear a hole in the plush carpet. It cost a fair bit, too.

Moriarty got to his feet. All night, he had stayed awake, planning and had arrived at the perfect plan. A year and two months ago, he had told Sherlock he would burn the heart right out of him.

Now, finally, the psychopath was looking at Sherlock's heart, sleeping a little troubled on the master bed, his long-ish hair falling into his eyes, practically holding his heart in his hand. One move and Sherlock could be metaphorically, dead. At least the part of him that was human would.

Moriarty smiled. The plan was a simple one. Release Sherlock and then kill John, but record it all. Send the tape to the detective, and he would be destroyed. Then Moriarty would have all his attention, finally.

The Irishman could have almost danced. He looked back at Sherlock – it was almost as thought he knew that John was here, the way he couldn't sit still. It was adorable, really.

Moriarty looked back at John. Before he killed him, he might have a look at him. A real, good look. There had to be something about the man that made Sherlock stay for so long. That made Sherlock love. Perhaps, Moriarty could discover this? It would be fun.

He crossed his arms over his chest.

Yes, I could keep him, and if he were 'dead' then no-one would come after him. Not even Sherlock.

Moriarty sat back down in front of the screens. His plan had just got more interesting. More fun. He was going to break Sherlock to a thousand small pieces and then some. The man wouldn't be a man by the time he was through with him.

This was his best plan yet. Tomorrow, he was taking John and leaving.

See, he had left the other agents alive for a reason. It wouldn't be any fun if they were dead. When people lost someone they loved they were even more fun to play with. It was decided, then.

Jim Moriarty walked to his room and pulled out his suitcase, in it, two Westwood suits and shoes made especially for him. He could feel a new game and it was even better than the last one they had played. Someone was going to die.


It is seriously way too much fun writing as Moriarty. Really.

My apologies to Phoebe who seems to have had a mental breakdown after my last chapter. I do that a lot...

I also believe the line to kill me is getting longer...hmm...that could be a problem.

Aza

xoxo