…1 ½ ish hours ago…

"Wakey wakey it's almost time"

John groaned and opened his eyes, straining against the bright light of a flashlight. Holy hell did his head hurt, a pounding migraine induced by the chemical or whatever he was tricked into eating. Angelo, Vinci and three other bigger men stood in a circle around John, who was stuck in a chair.

Not that John could've run away if he hadn't been bound, his limbs were like jelly, his vision fuzzy and muscles drowsy. Nonetheless, his hands were tied behind him in a fierce, biting knot, his legs each zip tied to a leg of the chair. The cold winter air touched his bare chest and John shivered.

They were in the café. It was almost indistinguishable with no whirring machines, sweet confectionaries or the cozy deco it usually adorned. "What the hell?" John tugged a bit at his restraints.

"Don't bother, Johnny. You see, you're going to die and there's nothing you can do about it. We begin at seven." Angelo was obviously the leader, Vinci being his second. Angelo nodded at the guys, dismissing them for the time being. They went through a door behind the counter, presumably leaving to create an alibi.

"Before I explain John, do you have any last requests?" Angelo seemed relaxed.

"A phone call?" John spat, kind of sarcastically.

Angelo seemed to think for a moment, then pulled out a disposable phone from a black bag on the counter, and handed it to John. "A text. Good idea actually, why don't you text that 'ex' of yours, tell 'em that you're gone for good. Make him believe it. One text, any funny business and I beat you over the head, you are in no way to indicate you are in trouble or anything is wrong, you hear me boy? Make him believe that you hate him." He snickered.

John inwardly cringed, what if Sherlock honestly didn't care if he lived or died? If he figured it out some way to code a message, and Sherlock figured it out, would he try to save John? It's worth a shot, and if Sherlock doesn't care then why live anyway. That's a horrible mind-set. Your life is your own, not for someone else to decide. Everyone hates you. Then I'll run away and start again. Argh. John felt like Gollum, arguing with himself, the back and forth bickering between his logic and self-conscious.

John typed in the number he memorized that one night after Sherlock got beat up. John had taken the phone whilst Sherlock was sleeping and made sure he committed it to memory. Although John didn't, and still does not have a phone, he figured that if in an emergency it would be better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. Seems like he made the right choice.

When he finished, he handed it to Angelo, who read it over and pressed send. "Aw that's a bit rude, don't ya think?" Angelo grinned.

John kept a straight face, nothing he said in the message was true, rather the opposite, but he couldn't let that show. "He deserves to know the truth."

Angelo shrugged. "Do you really feel that way?" John stayed silent. "Whatever, better for me that he won't come investigating."

"Can you please tell me what's going on?!" The shock of who was kidnapping him and his situation descended upon him. John always thought there was more to Angelo, but he'd been nice to John for years! Why now? Why this?

"I suppose you deserve an explanation. Very well, you see, it began not too long ago, 'bout a year and a bit. We met at an event for restaurant owners to get to know each other, me and Vince. Talked about teaming up, make some friends and what not about business. We got to talking about legends and myths. Long story short we formed a cult, weekly satanic sacrifices. See, we believe that if we sacrifice fresh young blood at the same time every week, we'll eventually either summon the devil himself or earn ourselves a right place on the throne o' hell, ruling the underworld." Angelo sighed,

"We've got a whole stock of you lot to choose from, being employees of us. See John, you were all alone, nobody to miss you or look into it, I was waiting until our… older supply ran out first. Make sure we use our resources wisely. Then you had to go and get yourself a little boyfriend, which initially I was a bit peeved at, cause it forced me to kill that sweet girl who worked here. Didn't want to, but needs be needs." Angelo stopped to take a breath.

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO KILL ANYONE! YOU'RE INSANE, INHUMAN." John shouted, struggling angrily.

"Ah, we'll see who's ruling who when death takes us. Understand John, this isn't personal. It's just something I have to do for myself, it's my purpose, I can feel it. Continuing… it all worked out because you made a bloody stupid mistake which cost you his trust and friendship and blah. Now you have no one to care about you, poor Johnny." Angelo looked at his watch. "An hour to go, hmmm, let me tell you about our little hints that, should you have seen, you wouldn't be in this situation."

John bared his teeth.

"Let's start with Vinci. He's a great guy, you know his tattoos? Janus. The two-faced Greek God. See, we also ran with that whole 'double-faced' theme when he renamed his restaurant doppia faccia, the literal Italian translation of 'double face'. How we attract people, we're up to five guys now. The more we have together in a group, the less we have to kill, and the more options we have. Good innit that I know how to advertise. I have hidden messages everywhere." Angelo chuckled. "Anyway enough chit-chat for now, I'll be back in about a half hour to wake you up. See ya," Angelo reached behind the counter to grab something.

Wake up? But… And as the bat caught the side of his head, John prayed.