I'm sorry it's been a few days since my last update, my internet has been on the fritz and I wasn't able to upload. To make up for it, I have two updates for you =D
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you guys are awesome!
It was the second morning after John had left for work and still, he had not returned to the flat, nor had he reported for work at the surgery the previous day. Jim had, at first, believed John to have had a run in with an old girlfriend, but now he was worried it was something far more sinister. Besides that, they were out of tea, and Moriarty had no idea what his favorite flavour was called. He needed his blogger with him.
So, he set out to track him down. He talked first with Lestrade, who informed him he had last seen John with Jim himself, when they were investigating the suicide. Anderson hadn't seen him either. Sally was rather annoyed that he "didn't show up the other day," but Moriarty had the distinct feeling she wasn't talking about work. Finally, he asked Mrs. Hudson.
"Oh, well let's think. I suppose I haven't seen him since he ordered that coffee the other morning with... Gregory, I think he said his name was," she told him.
"Gregory?" he asked. "Who's Gregory?"
"I'm sure I don't know. I've never seen him here before. Struck up a bit of friendly conversation with John and left." Never once did she stop working as she recalled that day.
"What were they talking about?"
"Goodness me Jim, you worry too much. John would never cheat on you," she assured him. "That boy is quite fond of you."
"Mrs. Hudson, I've told you multiple times we are not a couple. Now, what were they talking about?" He did not want to have to repeat the question and Mrs. Hudson stopped for just a second to think.
"Sugar, I think. John grabbed the wrong coffee by mistake and Greg had his with two sugars, so they were talking about that," she recalled, then smiled and laughed a bit. "Of course I could be wrong, my mind is not what it used to be Jim. Now please, I've got customers." Jim was already halfway out the door though, uninterested in anything else she had to say. He had a theory on what happened to John.
Meanwhile, John had been staring at the same pair of eyes on the wall since he awoke that first morning. He had been uncuffed after he fell asleep the first night, but hadn't moved from his spot in the chair often, simply driving himself mad staring at the deaths he was responsible for. He'd woken up every morning to two trays lined in front of the door. Always toast and jam with coffee for a breakfast, and a stack of potato crisps and dip with a jug of ice water. Last night, he'd also received a tray of fish and chips and more water for dinner. He'd neither seen nor heard from anybody, however, since the first time he woke up.
John wondered if he were eating poisoned food. His coffee had been drugged, he was certain, and now perhaps he was slowly being drugged, doomed to become more and more ill until finally his body couldn't take anymore and shut down. John wondered if he should care. The voice had, after all, assured him he would not survive this encounter, but he couldn't help but find some comfort in that. If he were going to die regardless, he might as well die well fed.
He'd long since noticed the window, giving him the perfect taste of just how isolated he was. He'd also noticed the mirror. The chair, unfortunately, was bolted to the ground of John would have thrown it at the mirror in hopes that he might break through. He'd tried to break the door down and succeeded only in injuring his shoulder.
"Jim sent you a text, John. He wants to know 'R' the letter, not the word, 'U' again, the letter 'OK'. Is he really just realizing you're missing now? Perhaps he's not as observant as he appears." There was a long silence and John was under the impression whoever the voice was had left before it continued. "Well John. R U Ok?"
John was filled with a sense of fury at his situation. He was going to die in this 10x10 steel box of a room and there wasn't anything he could do about it but sit around and listen to his kidnapper mock him. Furious, he ran at the window and punched it with all his might, then cursed as he succeeded in shattering it, nearly falling through the window and down the twelve stories to his death.
That night, he received a roll of cloth bandages, antiseptic, and pain reliever along with a tray of Chinese take out, his exact order. Whoever this man was, he knew John well. He hadn't served him one thing he did not love tremendously. And the pain reliever showed he may be cruel, but there might be more to him than that after all.
The next day, he received no breakfast, but the window had been boarded up and there was the man behind the voice himself. He knew immediately because he recognized him from the cafe, but struggled to remember the name he'd given him. Behind the man, he noticed, the pictures on the wall had disappeared.
"Greg?" The man smiled, his gray-blue eyes lit with amusement.
"That's not my real name, you know. Just one of the many I go by as of late. You may feel free to call me it however, since I will not be giving you my real name. I just figured since you're going to die soon anyways, we might as well be honest with each other," here, the man gave John a hard stare down. "Are you prepared to be honest with me, John?"
"Honesty would be telling me your real name," John told him, taking into account every detail he could remember about the man for when Moriarty eventually found him. The man wasn't hard to remember- around six feet tall, with a dark, perfectly curled head of hair framing the sharp features of his face, the man was... well, gorgeous.
"Alright John, I'll give you an honest answer to one question, if you give me an honest answer to mine. Lie, and I'll do the same. Agreed?" Sherlock asked. John contemplated this, then finally nodded.
"I suppose so," John told him.
"Excellent. Easy questions first John, nothing difficult. When are you planning on re-enlisting?"
"What?" John asked, bewelidered. "How did you know?"
"I've observed you, John, you're just dying for a good fight. The way Moriarty keeps you from all but the most mundane crimes if he can help it, it's far too boring to keep your self-destructive adrenaline kick at bay, and that was your first question by the way, so I get another. Now answer, when did you plan to re-enlist?"
"I... after we're through with with the case we're on, I was planning on putting my two weeks notice in. And what do you mean, that was my first question?"
"You're asking out of turn again John, you're quickly running out of questions. But to answer your second question- every question you ask counts John, so choose carefully. Now- how long have you lived with Moriarty?"
"Wh-" John was about to ask what Jim had to do with this, but then thought better of it. He hadn't had one real question yet and he didn't want to waste another. "Not long."
"Not an answer John."
"A few months. Maybe four."
"I see. And what do you think of your flatmate?"
"What do I think of him? No wait, don't answer, that's not my question! Well, I-" John wasn't sure how to answer. "he's brilliant, of course. A bit blunt at times, and quite aggravating most of the time, but underneath it all, he's actually a great man."
"Wrong. Underneath it all he is a budding psychopath, there's nothing great about him. He cares about nothing and no one but himself and the only thing stopping him from being exactly like me only much, much worse is that helping the ordinary people gives him the sense that he is God, without him they would be nothing, lost as a flock of sheep without a herder, and that gives him a bigger hard on than the most beautiful woman in the world could ever dream of giving him. He'll never care for anyone, and certainly not y-" Sherlock realized his mistake. He had kidnapped John to get back at Moriarty, but it was clear Moriarty did not truly care about John. Sherlock had overlooked the facts and gone for the obvious. Killing John would not hurt Moriarty one bit, and Sherlock was wasting his time. Furious, he stood up quickly and left, leaving John alone.
John received no dinner, either.