By Sherlock's best guess, it had been two days since the crash, and that meant one day since John had been taken by Moriarty. After he had found and re-patched up Greg, he decided they should go back to the front half of the plane that was closest to them. It would be better shelter from animals, the elements, and Moriarty's goons. Together they made the trek back to the wreckage and Sherlock went to work clearing out the debris and the bodies, deciding to give them a proper burial later, since he knew that's what John would want. He salvaged as many seat cushions as he could and turned the inside of the plane into a pretty spacious room, with two seat cushion beds. He also stored the food, water, clothes, and supplies in the overhead compartments. He was pretty happy with their new temporary home but, of course, every ounce of his being wanted to run back off into the jungle in search of John; he knew, however, that he had to make sure Greg would be alright first, then he could focus on John.

"Hey, this looks pretty good!" Greg peeked inside to view Sherlock's handiwork. Sherlock offered a hand and helped Greg inside their new home. Greg sat down on one of the seats and the mood suddenly turned somber.

"Look, Sherlock, I know your doing all of this for me, and I really appreciate it, I do. But I also know that you really need to go find John and I feel terrible that I'm holding you back. I think that if you can make me some sort of spear or weapon to defend myself if need be, tomorrow you need to go and find him."

He looked up at Sherlock expectantly. " I can survive on my own. There's plenty of food and water and plus, I'll be able to try and get the radio working. See if I can us rescued from this bloody island."

Sherlock slowly nodded his head. "That's a good plan. I'll make sure you have something to defend yourself with, and I'll head out first thing in the morning."

With that Sherlock headed out in search of a makeshift weapon for Greg. It didn't take too long, he had found a piece of metal among the debris that had a sharp, jagged edge, a and a pointy tip. He found a piece of wood for the handle and, with a little ingenuity, had made Greg a pretty decent knife. He realized, as he stood admiring his handiwork, that he still needed give the people that died a proper burial of some sorts. He didn't have a shovel or any way to dig, so he dragged each body a ways away from the wreckage and covered them all with leaves and sticks. When he had finished, he stood in front of them for a minute, silently apologizing, because he knew their death was his fault. Even though technically Moriarty had killed them, it was all done because of him.

He felt a tear roll down his cheek. It's all my fault.

"What is taking Sherlock so long!"

Moriarty yelled, enunciating every word slowly. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling of the dark room, throwing strange shadows on Moriarty's face, making him look even more sinister. His gaze was directed at John, who was sitting, tied to a chair, calmly answering Moriarty's gaze with his own. It had only been two days since he had been separated from Greg and only about two days since the crash, but John felt like he had been here for much, much longer. Besides getting punched every now and again by a crazy and bored Moriarty, John was surprised that he hadn't received worse treatment.

Of course, I'm sure the worst is yet to come. He reminded himself grimly.

Moriarty started pacing back and forth in front of John, his hands wringing behind his back. "He's getting so SLOW these days!"

He stopped his pacing and stood in front of John, leaning so that he was face to face with him. "Do you want to know how your friend is? What's his name, Greg? If he's still alive or not?"

John took the bait. "How would you know?"

Moriarty started circling around John, tauntingly. "Oh, I know everything that goes on on this island. For instance, I know that Sherlock is alive. I know that he found Greg? And I know that Greg is dead."

John felt a wave of nausea and shook his head, jaw clenched. "I don't believe you."

Moriarty laughed as he walked in front of John, pulling something out of his pocket: a phone. He set it up on a tripod and carefully adjusted it so it was facing John. He reached into his other pocket, pulling out a small object. John didn't know what was coming, but he knew it wasn't good. Moriarty knelt in front of John, dangling a taser in hand.

He grinned. "Time to give Sherlock a little extra incentive."

Sherlock woke up suddenly, becoming aware of a buzzing in his pocket. Soft light was filtering through the windows, suggesting it was early morning. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, instantly on edge. A message from a number he didn't recognize. He glanced over at Greg, glad that he was still asleep. Quietly, he snuck out of the plane and hopped onto the mossy jungle ground, sitting on a nearby log. With bated breath he opened the message and saw that there was a video attachment. His thumb hovered over the video and he closed his eyes for a moment before he opened it, his heartbeat suddenly very fast.

A grinning face filled his screen that sent a shiver down his spine. Moriarty.

"Hi Sherlock! It's is taking you so dreadfully long to find me, so I thought I'd give you a little incentive to hurry up!"

Moriarty retreated away from the camera and Sherlock became aware of John, tied a chair, beaten but otherwise looking okay. There was a glint of fear in John's eyes that Sherlock was so unaccustomed too; it made him feel uneasy. Moriarty was standing right next to John, something small in his hand.

"You see, Sherlock, the game can't really commence until you get here and find John, and I'm getting quite impatient."

Sherlock watched helplessly as Moriarty pushed what Sherlock had deducted to be a taser, into John's injured shoulder. John's body went rigid and Sherlock could tell he was trying his best to not give Moriarty the satisfaction of screaming. Over and over and over again Moriarty tased John, all over his torso and arms. He didn't once scream, but the stifled cries and groans was enough for Sherlock to feel enraged.

Finally, it was over and Moriarty's face once again filled Sherlock's screen.

"Hurry, hurry, Sherlock!" And his screen went black.

He shakily looked up and was startled to see Greg sitting on a log not too far away. "How long...did you...hear..."

Greg cut Sherlock off. "You need to go find him now Sherlock. And kill that bastard while you're at it."

Sherlock was caught off guard but somehow encouraged by Greg's steely resolve. He nodded at Greg and went to gather a few supplies for his journey. He returned to Greg with a backpack on his back and new found determination in his eyes.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, in the meantime, good luck with the radio and try not to overdo it." Sherlock reached out to shake Greg's hand.

Greg looked down at Sherlock's hand. He smiled, looked up, and went in for a hug. Surprisingly, Sherlock reciprocated. They both backed up and shared an awkward silence.

Sherlock turned to go when Greg piped up, "Good luck, Sherlock. I'll see you and John soon."

Sherlock nodded and began his trek to find his friend.

Hang on, John.