25-1
John could taste blood when he regained consciousness. He heard no sounds around him, so he kept his eyes shut, pretending, concealing the fact he was awake. He had to plan something, and to do that, he tried to think like Sherlock. He knew that there were at least three snipers above him aimed ready to shoot and wound him. Then there was the mysterious man, who was much stronger than john, and would no doubt beat him in a hands on fight. Moriarty to him didn't post that much of a problem. Sure he was incredibly clever, but he didn't dirty his hands, everything else was done by someone else, he would probably run away from a physical challenge, especially with John, who was trained in combat. His handcuffs posed a serious problem, for he had neither the knowledge nor the tools to unpick the lock and free himself. Having his hands behind his back would pose a serious problem when it came to confrontation. He was also aware he was in the middle of an empty warehouse with no cover to hide behind, making stealth very difficult. He could possibly hide amongst the shadows, but he had no idea how to get from his obvious position into a secure hiding place. Then his last obstacle of the warehouse: the door. He had seen packages on both side, and knowing Moriarty nothing good could come of them, and they most likely could somehow put an end to johns escape whatever they were.
His mental escape plan was brought to an abrupt halt by a slap across the face. His cheek burned with pain and his eyes snapped open to see Moriarty grinning at him.
"Wakey wakey Johnny boy, it's time to chat!"
A chair had appeared in front of John and Moriarty proceeded to sit on it. He sat like a true gentleman, ankles crossed, hands folded in his lap. He could have fooled anyone into thinking he was a fine, respectable human being, but of course john knew different, he knew the horrific things the man was capable of.
He heard footsteps behind him and he felt a large hand clap on his shoulder, digging in considerably, irritating his bullet wound, and causing him to grind his teeth with pure discomfort. He assumed it was the man from the car, who he took to be Moriarty's personal hitman of some sort, or at least something along those lines. He did most of the dirty work for Moriarty, and was probably working with him during the previous cases Sherlock and him had solved.
"We're going to talk Johnny, nothing more," said Moriarty. "Let's have a nice civilised conversation. Of course if you start to misbehave, my associate here will cause a considerable amount of pain to you, so play nice."
"Why are you under the impression that pain would matter to me?" asked john.
"Because," smiled Moriarty. "I lied earlier, you know I lied. I told you that your owner had gone up like a firework, but you knew it wasn't true from the beginning; I would have had much more of a severe reaction from you if you had truly believed it. Play nice or Sherlock Holmes will endure a painful and drawn out death, by your hands"
John then lunged forward at him, their heads missing by inches, john almost deploying a cracking head butt upon the man. He was pulled back by the man behind him, and struck across the face for his attack. Of course he knew Sherlock was alive. He knew all along that Moriarty wouldn't do something so crazy, not just yet. The man had a plan for both of them, and he knew just straight out murdering Sherlock wouldn't provide enough satisfaction for Jim Moriarty.
"There we go!" said Moriarty clapping his hands together. "Trivial human emotion, now that's what I like to see! First question, what are you and Sherlock?"
"Colleagues. Flatmates." John answered sharply, feeling angry that he was being forced into this conversation.
Moriarty leaned forward, resting one elbow on his knee and a knuckle upon his chin and began to study John's face. The detective cursed silently. Of course Moriarty knew how to read people like a book, he was almost as clever as Sherlock, and it was obvious now that he too would have such frustrating abilities.
"You love him," stated Moriarty, causing john to bubble with anger. "No, I'm wrong. Not yet, but you almost do, oh how cute John, not even I saw this coming!"
"Just tell me what you want Moriarty."
The madman leaned back in his chair and resumed his gentlemanly pose.
"I wanted you and that stupid detective to leave me and my work alone, but you couldn't could you? You both just had to keep digging, had to keep searching for clues. So I am going to end you both."
Moriarty jumped up looking positively insane. He plunged a hand into the inside of his suit jacket, and pulled out a switchblade. He flicked it up and took two steps towards john, closing the distance in-between them so their faces were uncomfortably close. Moriarty then proceeded to drag the blade across john's cheek, causing him to hiss loudly with pain.
"You just couldn't leave me alone," he growled, spit hitting john in the face. They were so close john could see every detail on the man's face, every perfection and every flaw. "What I'm going to do john, is turn you into a jigsaw, cut you into tiny pieces. And while you sit in this chair, whimpering pathetically and bleeding to death, Sherlock Holmes will bravely come running through that door, and be blown into tiny little pieces by the bombs surrounding the door. Bye-bye to the annoying little duo!"
He stood back to clap his hands with glee like the madman he was, only to return to johns fresh facial wound, carving his knife in deeper. John sat there, taking the pain, refusing to cry out, and he wondered to himself, if he would ever get out of here alive, or if Lestrade would find his remains amongst the exploded building next to Sherlock Holmes.
