Well, I must say, I'm quite proud of myself! Two updates in two days! I've had quite a bit of free time this weekend, so I've been using it to write. Thanks again for the reviews; they are what keeps me writing this story! :)

Darkness filled Greg's vision as he sagged helplessly against the ropes holding him tight to the tree. He wasn't sure if the cause of the darkness was because it was night time or if it was because he was dying. It was hard to differentiate between the two at the moment.

As soon as he saw Moriarty's men dragging John away, he knew that he was going to die. Unless, by some miracle, Sherlock came to his rescue. He was trying to maintain a positive outlook, but, as he stood dying, tied to a tree, it was difficult to do. Even if Sherlock had survived the crash, the odds of him stumbling across Greg in the middle of the jungle was near impossible. Still though, a little part of him couldn't help but hold on to the hope that Sherlock was searching through the forest trying to find him.

He stared down at his stomach and, though he couldn't see it, he could still feel the wetness of his blood covering his front; some of it felt fresh. Lestrade had always been a strong man and had always been proud of it but, as he looked back out into the dark abyss surrounding him, he started to cry.

John felt like he had been walking for eternity. It was now dark all around him and he could just see the outline of the large man, who was dragging John through the jungle, in front of him, steering him in all sorts of different directions.

Since he had been dragged away from Greg, he had entered an almost trance like state. As far as he was currently concerned, all hope was lost. Greg would die in the middle of a bloody forest, tied to a tree, and Moriarty would use John to lure Sherlock to him and would kill them both.

He trudged along behind the large man and didn't say a word. Sometimes he would get lost in his thoughts and the man would pull on the rope because John had slowed down but, other than that, there was no talking or interaction between them.

The large man suddenly stopped walking and John followed suit, looking at him quizzically. The man pulled something out of his pocket and walked up to John. John was instinctively on guard until he saw that the man had pulled out a blindfold.

"Gotta put this on ya for the rest of the way," the man grunted to John as he put the blindfold around John's eyes.

"Yeah, like I could have remembered how to get here without the blindfold," he muttered under his breath with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

They continued walking and John was definitely having a harder time walking being blindfolded. Roots and sticks seemed to be much bigger and in his way now that he couldn't see them.

Well, John thought to himself, at least we must be close.

But then John started thinking about what he was walking towards. The realization that he was going to be face to face with Moriarty had settled in and it was extremely disconcerting. After some thought, he decided that he would rather walk blindfolded through the forest forever than face Moriarty ever again.

Now his nerves were starting to get to him and butterflies erupted in his stomach.

Before long, they had stopped and John felt his blindfold being removed. He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted. The sun was just starting to come up and it cast a dim light over everything. He looked around at his new surroundings. They had emerged from the grassy forest onto dirt ground and it looked as if they had walked into a military camp. A very large warehouse looking building stood in front of them and, to the right of that, stood a smaller building, which John took to be sleeping quarters of some kind. To the left of the large building was some sort of training grounds, which was easily twice as big as a large building, where a large group of men looked like they were being trained for battle. Some were doing cardio exercises and he saw others firing rifles. It looked like Moriarty's own private army.

A jerk on the rope pulled John out of his observations.

"Come on, boss wants to see ya." The man had started leading John to the entrance of the large building.

John begrudgingly followed, as if he had a choice, and anxiety crept into his mind.

As the neared closer to the entrance John saw a man step out from the entrance to the large building. The man had dark, slicked back hair and was wearing what looked to be a very expensive suit.

The large man pulled John so that he was right in front of Moriarty.

John, who was looking at the ground, lifted his gaze to meet Moriarty's and felt uneasy that, though it was unsurprising, Moriarty was smiling at him.

Moriarty grabbed the rope that was attached to John's wrist and moved his hands along it until he was standing nose to nose in front of John and his hands were almost touching John's. Then, abruptly, Moriarty's expression turned angry and he pulled down hard on the rope, causing John to fall on his knees. John looked away, his jaw tight.

Moriarty laughed.

"He's still acting like a brave soldier," he said in an amused voice while looking at the large man who had brought John there. The large man chuckled.

His gaze drifted back to John and he leaned over so that he could whisper in John's ear.

"But that's all going to change," he whispered, so quiet that John had to strain to hear, "I'm going to break you John. By the time this is said and done, you'll be begging me to kill you. And, in the process, you'll draw Sherlock here and I'll make him suffer too, before I kill him."

He pulled his head back and looked at John with a smile, waiting for a reaction. But John gave him nothing, he continued to stare off into the distance, pretending not to listen.

Moriarty's expression turned angry again and he looked at John's injured shoulder, which was still bleeding freely.

"Oh!" he said with surprise, "poor Johnny's got an owie. Does it hurt?"

John said nothing, jaw clenched.

"How about if I do this?" Moriarty put his hand around John's shoulder and dug his thumb into the wound as hard as he could."

John had a feeling it was coming, but he could brace himself completely; he screamed.

Moriarty removed his thumb from John's shoulder and stood up looking down at John, who was now doubled over in pain, breathing heavily. He casually pulled a handkerchief from his front jacket pocket and cleaned his hands slowly and carefully.

"Get used to it Johnny boy, because it's only just beginning."

John looked up at Moriarty with as much hate as he could muster before two rough hands grabbed him and started pulling him into the building.

Moriarty just stood and laughed.