TheDarkestShinobi: Moriarty's Turn, things don't look so good for poor Johnny boy.
Earlier
John holds out his arm to stop Sherlock, and only brings it back down after the other has bumped into it and halted. Sherlock starts scanning the surrounding area but he's not looking up so he doesn't catch what John has. There is a man on the roof with a rifle and he doesn't look like he's alone. Sherlock has already figured out how this killing is related to a local gang and an international operation, so John hasn't been taking chances.
"Our killer went down to the river, let Lestrade's men get him." John says lowly and Sherlock narrows his eyes as they narrow in on John.
"What? Why?" John lets out a small breath as his eyes find Sherlock's.
"There's a shooter on the roof." John pulls on Sherlock's coat and is grateful when Sherlock comes without resistance. They wait the few seconds it takes for Sherlock to text Lestrade before going up to the building.
Moments like these remind Sherlock of just how dangerous John Watson can be. It reminds him of the army and how terrifying John must have looked with a rifle and uniform because he already looks lethal in a cream jumper. Sherlock lets John lead the way and scout the roof before putting the other in a chokehold that knocked him out quickly and quietly. Sherlock takes the handgun out of John's waistband while he's bending down to lower the other and John only spares him a curious look.
"I know how to shoot a handgun, John, not a rifle." John only nods and takes the rifle from the other, briefly glancing down the scope and checking the ammo, and if Sherlock imagined that John did it in his army uniform, then it was a secret he'd keep.
"This is a far place to have a guard; there may be more as we get closer to the boat." Sherlock has already figured out three possible security configurations. "Stay with me, Sherlock." John's voice is low and serious and to Sherlock's credit, they stay together until the very end, where Sherlock dashes after the murderer. John leaves the rifle with Lestrade and when John chases Sherlock he mistakenly turns a street early and the alley doesn't contain the fighting pair but Moriarty's men.
Present
"The men that took you must have been the same ones that knocked me out and deposited me here." Sherlock concludes as John wraps his hands around his tea. Sherlock has a bruise on his forehead and nose, so John knows that he was knocked out with the butt of a gun. "How did you sleep?"
"Well," John said truthfully. "Best I've had in months."
"What did Moriarty want?" John notices the edge in Sherlock's voice and sighs.
"I don't know. He threatened me, apologized-"
"For threatening you?" Sherlock sounds skeptical.
"No," John pauses and Sherlock scans his body, noticing the faint bruising.
"For choking you,"
"Yeah, he said he was doing this because of you, to try and figure out why you keep me around." Sherlock tilts his head as John picks up Sherlock's right arm. He slides the braces off and Sherlock winces as John uses his fingers to check the swelling. "Honestly Sherlock, the recoil of a gun is not the best way to heal a sprain." Sherlock waves his left hand about as John makes him a bag of ice to put on it.
"There's something else, something you're not telling me." John rubs his face before nodding.
"Yeah," John looked up from the ice to Sherlock. "He was lying." Sherlock had nothing to say to that, so he let John stand up and push his chair in in silence. He didn't move as John retreated up the stairs, not even when he heard John's door close.
Sherlock's wrist throbs as he plays the violin at four in the morning that night, but he is the only one who hears it.
It's the same the night after.
…
"Nothing?"
"Nope. He's sleeping like a child." Moran crosses his legs on the table and Moriarty growls out.
"Bring him back." He demands as his hands clench into fists.
"What do you want with him?" Moran asks as he drops his legs and surges forward.
"I'm going to break him."
…
It's the last patient of the day, and for his part, John wants nothing more than some Thai food in front of the telly. Sherlock might even eat today: they haven't got a case on and today looks empty so far. John is paging through the patient files when he walks into the room, briefly glancing at the man on the seat before turning to close the door.
"So what seems to be the prob-" John's voice cuts out as he feels the dart break the skin on his neck. There is a hand over his mouth before he can yell out and David holds him until he is sure John is out from the count. John isn't a light man, especially for his size, but he's easy to carry.
"John?" Sarah calls out as she rubs her forehead. There is a slew of last minute patients and she hopes he can stay overtime again, since he hasn't dashed out yet he probably can. "John?" The door opens as she knocks on it and she frowns. He hardly leaves without saying goodbye, even when Sherlock's got one of his cases. His paperwork is still on his desk which is odd because he's meticulous about that, good part about army doctor she supposes. She takes a few steps forward before looking around the room but nothing seems out of place. She dials him but gets his voicemail twice.
"Hey, John, it's Sarah. Give me a ring when you can."
She hangs up before tapping the phone against her palm and furrowing her brows. She looks back to the line of patients and with a sigh she walks back over making a mental note to stop by Baker Street on her way home.
…
It's warm and stuffy. John wakes up with a gag in his mouth and his arms tied above his head. For a split second John is worried that the past years have been a dream and he never made it out, but he knows that's not true. Even so, he can't stop the rush of panic that flares up. John groans as he tugs on his bounds before looking around to see Moran sitting cross legged on a chair in front of him.
This isn't like any of the other times the criminal has taken him. John pulls until his wrists burn. This is like Kandahar. He can feel the panic building. He knows he's in for pain today.
A doctor who kills.
His arm starts to hurt and his leg throbs. He starts to whisper in Pashto and Moran simply watches him lose himself. Moriarty had given explicit instructions. Find a dark secluded place, turn the heat on and tie him up by his arms, retie his shoelaces so that they were tight, then sit and watch. His shirt was to be left on. No injections. No weapons other than a knife and blunt piece of wood. This isn't about the physical so much as the mental. Moran listens to the whispers and recognizes the language. He doesn't speak it, but he knows its Pashto. It takes John about five minutes before he stops muttering the same two phrases over and over again, more specifically it takes the creaking of the door behind him opening.
John's mind seems to focus on the creaking door and he feels like he can breathe again. He focuses on staring at Moran, John bites down on the gag to remind himself it's different. He's not back there again and he never will be. He glares at Moran as he tries to get his breathing to return to normal.
Now it's about the physical. John hears the footsteps of another person coming up behind him. His hands grip the rope because he just knows what's coming and he hopes that Sherlock notices the deviation in his schedule. He prays that Mycroft has noticed something odd. The two of them have the uncanny ability to annoy him like that, so please, let them come through for him. Moran doesn't move and John stares because he wants to see whatever sign Moran is going to send to the other. He lets out a breath and sees the tiny nod Moran sends.
He grits his teeth as the pain ignites from his lower back and sends him forward. The other hits don't hurt as much. He lets out another breath as Moran stands and punches him twice. Winded, John can't help the breathless cry that comes out when he is hit again from behind. There are two punches to his head and John can tell this won't end well. He can feel other blows, but nothing hurts in the fog he's been enveloped in. Moran's hand wraps around John's throat next and John knows this isn't the end. Moriarty would want to be there, he'd want Sherlock to see. John struggles but he can't move, he can't move. John feels the deeper fog enter his brain and curses, maybe this is it.
If you were dying, if you were murdered, in the very last seconds, what would you say?
I'm sorry, Sherlock, you daft bastard.
I hope you don't find me.
…
"Sarah," Sherlock stands with a flourish as she bites her lip. "He's not here." Sherlock is running out the door when Mycroft answers on the second ring.
"Don't be so stupid." Sherlock responds before getting into a cab. He is surprised when Sarah pushes him over and climbs in.
"Drive!" she tells the driver and he does. Sherlock gives him an address less than a minute later.
…
John doesn't move when he wakes up. Groans and movements would give it away to whoever was here and he had no desire to relieve that. He listens for any type of movement as he gathers his bearings. He's on the floor somewhere but that's all he knows, that and he's got a headache fitting a migraine.
"I know you're awake, Johnny boy," Moriarty says and John doesn't move because there is so much pain and every word is a throb in his head. "Look at me now," he says in a softer voice and John does, pushing himself up slowly to see he's back in that dreadful cage. Moriarty watches John move around until finally he's looking at him.
"Do you know what today was about?" He asks and John just groans.
Punishment. Jim answers and Moriarty smiles in response.
"No," John leans against the bars. "I'm not seeking you out, you keep getting me." Jim feels cold and Moriarty lets out a laugh.
"Want me to stop?"
"Yes!" He closes his eyes, "stop whatever this is." Jim is shaking.
"Do you know what I can do to you?" They watch the tears fall from John's eyes, Moriarty knows John doesn't know it's there, then again, given the bumps on his head, Moriarty doubts he can tell much of anything.
"Can't imagine there's much you can't."
"Instead of bruising your back I could have stabbed it and left you unable to run with dear Sherlock." John stills and fights to take deep breaths. "Hit you hard enough in the head to make you useless to him." John's hands tighten on the bars. "Cut off your hands and feet; Sherlock wouldn't take well to a cripple."
"You want me to leave him?" John's voice is pained but it doesn't sound like he's giving up. Moriarty doesn't speak again for a long time, just watches John struggle. His injuries won't kill him if he can get out of here.
John is flitting in and out of consciousness when he hears the sound of metal clattering next to him. It's a sharp piece of metal he could use as a lock-pick. He reaches for it and Moriarty's steps on it. John looks up, his fingers centimeters from the shoe.
"I can end you, and I may just yet. You'd do well to remember that." He sends the pick closer to John. "Get out if you can."