So I signed into my e-mail at school and seen all the followers I've gotten overnight! You guys are awesome =)
I had a question on Sherlock's blonde hair- he's wanted for crimes in other places and I just imagined he'd have to change his appearance constantly, so I didn't imagine he would look exactly the same as Sherlock. Originally I was going to have him have a shorter haircut as well, but I couldn't bear to picture him without curls. The blonde was hard enough! =P
Thanks to all my reviewers and followers out there, you guys rock =D
Sherlock, as John now knew his captor was called, came in shortly before the sun came up. He did not make himself comfortable, which suggested to John he wasn't staying very long. It was almost sad, in a way. This could be the last day he would see, and he would spend it alone.
"What would you like for breakfast?" Sherlock asked. "I don't yet know what time I'd like to kill you, so we should assume any item of food you eat could be your last. With that in mind, I supposed you might like a say in what your breakfast was, at least for today."
John could think of nothing he wanted more than a few pieces of toast and marmalade with a tall, black coffee however, and so Sherlock prepared the meal to the best of his cooking ability. Toast, he could make.
He still wasn't sold on killing John. He still wasn't sold on keeping him alive. Logically, he knew that the best way to avoid prosecution was if John died. John had seen him, could recognize him now. He could always threaten John, force him to agree not to press charges, but he could never trust that. No, there was no way John could make it out of this building alive.
But who said he had to die today? The irrational side of his brain, though he knew most everything about John already, said he wanted to get to know John, which wasn't the same as merely deducing him. He wanted to spend time with the man. This was yet another reason the logical side of his brain wanted John dead and done with; there were people who wanted him dead, others who would like to lock him up and leave him to rot in a cell somewhere. He couldn't afford to be distracted by anything right now.
Sherlock was sure he was attracted to John, a complication he hadn't anticipated. Sherlock had never been interested in a man before- in fact, he hadn't been interested in anyone before John. He'd had sex before, yes, but never out of an attraction to the women he'd been with- only out of a mutual need even he occasionally needed to fill. He had no set plan in mind to deal with this sudden attraction. Instead, he served the bread plain with the orange marmalade on the side, so that John could decide how much or how little he wanted on his toast, served with a tall, black coffee, then took a seat outside the room, watching him eat through the two-way mirror.
About once every ten minutes, Sherlock made up his mind to kill John. He would get up off the floor and head to John's door, but then he would notice John hadn't yet finished his toast, or that John was still working on his coffee, or that John seemed rather deep in thought and it would be rude to disturb him now, and so Sherlock would turn around and put an increasingly large amount of space between him and the door, eventually ending with Sherlock escaping to the roof for a moment to clear his head. He could do this, he had to do this. Besides, it wasn't as though he wasn't responsible for plenty of deaths. Technically, he wasn't going to kill John, either. He was simply going to make him jump.
Sherlock sat on the edge of the roof he wasn't sure he wanted his hostage to jump off of. The sun was shining, as lovely a morning as the one he'd taken John on. Had he known what he realized now, Sherlock couldn't say for certain if he would have taken John or not. Logically, Sherlock knew that he had always known Moriarty was a psychopath, and clearly not capable of caring for John in a manner that was necessary for kidnapping John to mean anything. So why had he taken him? Had this attraction been there the whole time? The though disturbed him so much that Sherlock stayed on the rooftop until it started to become chilly and the sun had started to set. He left the rooftop and returned to the rest of the warehouse.
"Evidently, I am not going to kill you today and, in all honesty, tomorrow doesn't look promising either. In fact, it may be a while before I decide to kill you, so you might as well get used to being here, I suppose." Sherlock told him and then left, forgetting entirely about dinner. Somehow though, John had forgotten about it too.
When John awoke, he expected to find breakfast waiting for him. Instead, he found Molly and Harriet in the room in front of him, visible only through the window John hadn't really payed attention to before. Both were handcuffed in similar ways as he had been, each arm and leg individually shackled, but they were also gagged with some sort of cloth. A man stood in the room with a gun pointed to either one's head.
"Good morning, John. Sleep well?" Sherlock's voice came across the intercom. "I'm afraid Molly and Harriet didn't have such a great time. They were tossing and turning all night, poor things."
"What are you doing with them Sherlock? Let them go!" John had never felt such fear before. He rushed toward the window and started to bang on it, which seemed only to alarm the girls further. John realized they couldn't see him though he could see them.
"They can't see or hear you John. It might as well just be you and I, alone. To answer your question John, they are part of an... experiment of mine. Letting them go, therefore, would be counterproductive. You understand, of course, don't you John?" Sherlock said. "Do you want to know what the experiment is?"
John watched the women as he nodded, knowing Sherlock could see him on the camera.
"It's a study on decision making, John. I'm curious to know- giving the choice of only one, which woman would you prefer lived? Logic would say your sister, whom you've known your entire life. But you're not so fond of your sister as of late, are you John? You've been fighting recently, haven't you?"
"But then there's Molly, the sentimental choice. Sweet, innocent Molly. She's never done anything to anyone, and though you've just met her, you care for her more already than you do your sister, don't you John? Your relationship is certainly better, that's for certain. So who will it be, John? Shall I have Molly killed? Or should it be Harry? Think carefully now, there's no going back."
John couldn't believe what was happening. It couldn't be happening. "Me, I choose me. Please, let me take their place!" John was frantic- he couldn't let either of the girls be harmed.
"You're not part of the experiment, John. I already know you're foolish, readily putting yourself on the line to save others. What I want to know are your priorities, your way of thinking. Do you put love, or family first? Passion, or time-tested loyalty? Take your time John, there's no rush."
John sat there, staring at the two women, for longer than he had ever started at anything before in his life. Seconds, minutes, hours, days might have passed as his eyes passed from each of them to the other and back again over, and over, and over.
"I can't decide," John said when he'd finally made a decision. He knew the decision all along, really, but he couldn't bring his heart to admit it. He was tearing now, and Sherlock's chuckle came across the intercom loud and clear as day.
"You've already made a chouce John, just say a name. Who shall I kill?" he asked. "Harry, or Molly?"
"It's not a choice Sherlock, I didn't CHOOSE this! God damn it, just kill me and get it over with, please!" John was actively crying now, brought to the floor with his sobs.
"I'll give you ten seconds John, and then I'm going to order them both killed. Neither will survive because of yourselfishness. Just tell me who to kill, Molly, or Harry. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Tw-"
"Save Harry," it was a mere whisper, John himself could barely hear it.
"What was that?" Sherlock asked. "I couldn't quite hear you."
"Save Harry." John said louder. "I want Harry."
"Kill Molly? Are you sure?" Sherlock asked, and John winced. Though they were the same statement 'Kill Molly' seemed so much crueler than 'Save Harry'. He didn't want to think about it in terms of killing her. "She's an innocent in all this, never harmed you. Are you sure that's what you want?" John didn't answer, only stared ahead through the window at the girl John had come to feel so much for, then again to his sister. Harry, who he hadn't talked to in months. Was he sure?
Suddenly, the room in front of him went dark and the shot that rang out was so loud, John could hear it from through the soundproofing in the walls. The door opened a moment later and a horrified Molly walked into the room. John's eyes widened.
"Harry," he whispered, too stunned to say anything else.
"John?" Molly asked, disbelieving. "John, is that you? Wh- what is this place? Who was that girl?"
"That was my sister," he whispered, still stunned beyond comprehension, staring at the still blackened window in front of him, where his sister had been only moments before. He could still see the fear on her face. Harry was... dead?
"You chose me over your own sister?" Molly was stunned as she half stumbled onto the floor beside him. John said nothing, just wrapped his arms around her and sobbed.