Fog
by: Ismira Daugene

Chapter 11: The East Entrance

"You'll be well accommodated, I can assure you. It won't be nearly as bad as Baker Street." James Moriarty was typing away on his mobile still as he sat cross-legged next to John on the train to Holyhead.

"I like 221," John grumbled, but Moriarty ignored him.

"I don't expect you to like it immediately, but I do hope you'll realize the trouble you're causing me."

"Trouble? If you'd just leave me alone, there wouldn't be any trouble at all!"

Moriarty put his mobile down for a moment and looked up at John from under his eyelashes. "Now Johnny-boy, is that anyway to speak to the man who's essentially taking you in?"

"I don't want to be taken in!" John nearly shouted and a few of the other passengers looked back at them in concern.

Moriarty's eyebrows furrowed. "You will keep your voice down, John," he ordered and John felt the compellation wash over him with a shiver. The angry look melted away though and the next thing John knew, Moriarty was smiling again as he leaned close and took in John's scent again. The man had been doing that periodically as if to ingrain the scent into his memory by repeated exposure and John leaned away just as he'd done every other time.

When Moriarty leaned back into his own space and continued typing on his mobile, John sighed and looked back out the window. The countryside had given way to suburbs indicating that they were getting close to Liverpool where they would switch trains. John sat up straighter in anticipation as the train slowed. The station was just ahead and if he did this right, he could make an escape attempt. He would have to wait until Moriarty released him from his seat and until they reached the platform. The Irish man slipped his mobile back into his pocket and looked up then, frowning. His dark eyes examined the platform as the train rolled in. His mobile was back in his hand and pressed to his ear in less time than it took for the train to come to a halt. "He's not as slow as I thought. You'll need to get into position quickly." He paused for a moment before speaking again. "Make sure the car is pulled up outside the east entrance."

With that he tucked the phone away and turned to John with a frown. "Your mate is extremely irritating, did you know?"

The former army doctor's eyebrows rose. Sherlock was here? Despite the fact that Sherlock had kidnapped him in the first place, John would much rather be with the devil he knew than the man sitting beside him now. However John should've known better than to get his hopes up. Moriarty turned to him as the train screeched to a halt. "You will not leave my side nor will your hand leave mine," he compelled John as he took hold of his left hand with his right tightly. "Stand up," he directed, and John felt the compellation to sit lift. He rose to his feet, rubbing at his achy lower back.

A minute later, they were exiting the train. John craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Sherlock, but he saw nothing except for the confusing jumble of people exiting and entering the platform. Moriarty's grip on his hand tightened then and the man pulled John toward a crowded area that was moving toward one of the exits. John tried to pull away, hoping he could get lost in the crowd, but the second his fingers loosened and he started to tug away a sharp pain ricocheted up his spine and into the back of his head. The blond man squeezed his eyes shut and stumbled to a halt. He almost went down to his knees, but he renewed his grip on Moriarty's hand and the pain immediately started to melt away. A second later, he looked up to see an annoyed Moriarty looking back at him. "That was very stupid, Johnny," he hissed. "Though I doubt you'll be doing it again after that. Come."

With that they continued toward the exit. John kept an eye out for a tall man with messy black curls, but didn't see anyone. Instead, they reached the east exit unmolested. However the next moment, everything turned to chaos. John and Moriarty had just stepped outside the train station when a balding man in a three piece suit and a brolly sauntered up to them. John's eyes widened as he recognized the man as being Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother. "Evening John," he said smiling pleasantly. "And you are Mr. James Moriarty, if my information is correct."

Moriarty halted in his tracks at the sight of the man. Mycroft was standing nonchalantly leaning on his brolly, but Moriarty had stiffened as though a dozen snipers were suddenly targeting him. John swallowed dryly as he looked around. Knowing Mycroft, there was a distinct possibility that there were a dozen snipers situated around them. "Mycroft Holmes, the iceman," Moriarty replied after a moment. "I must say that you've surprised me."

Mycroft smiled, though John could tell it was false. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"As you should! Not many are able to do so," Moriarty remarked. "Though I'm afraid you can't have what you came here to get."

"I don't see that you have many other options but to give me what I came here for."

Moriarty cocked his head to the side and a menacing smile crossed his lips. "Don't you?" He slowly raised the hand not holding John's until it was just higher than his head then snapped his fingers. A muffled shot rang out that had John not been in the army he wouldn't have recognized it as a sniper's rifle. Mycroft frowned as he held a hand up to his ear. "One down, five to go, Iceman. It's your call. Either you make way for us, or your team is annihilated."

"That's not how this works, James."

Moriarty snapped his fingers again and another muffled shot could be heard. John flinched, but otherwise didn't move. "Four left," Moriarty sing-songed. "What'll it be?"

"What are your intentions with Doctor Watson?" Mycroft asked and John could tell it was a bid to stall time.

Moriarty's grin grew wider. "That would be telling," he chimed in a falsetto voice. "But I'm sure you can guess. They say that the Iceman is even better than his brother at the guessing game."

Mycroft straightened and rested the umbrella in front of him now, both hands on the handle, but still a neutral expression on his face. John was starting to see why Moriarty called him the Iceman. "You want to make John your own mate," Mycroft stated. "You want Sherlock's attention because he's the only person intelligent enough to play your games and have a chance at succeeding, so you're stealing his mate to garner it. I would have thought that beneath you frankly, seeing as how submissives are only pets to you."

"Never underestimate a Dominant's attachment to their mate," Moriarty smirked.

"Yes, what I haven't figured out yet is why you want to mate with John instead of just breaking the bond? Is emotion clouding your judgment? Or are you more ignorant than I thought? Afterall, a mate, as you're so efficiently proving, creates a weak spot in any Dominant."

Moriarty frowned. "Yes yours was particularly weak when it came to being compelled. Wasn't even a challenge really. I could have told him anything."

For the first time since the exchange had started, Mycroft showed emotion. A frown blackened his features and his knuckles turned white as his hands tightened on the umbrella handle. "Ah ha! Finally, the ice breaks!" Moriarty crowed and his hand tightened for a moment around John's. "You see, you let your submissive have far too much power over himself. I don't plan to make that mistake. Provide the right orders and a submissive will never want to leave you or speak ill of you. They'll always be exactly where they're supposed to be… on their knees waiting for their Dominant."

John shivered as he looked at Moriarty's expression. It was terrifying. Not just because of the menacing grin, but because he meant every single word he said. If John became this man's mate his future would involve no freedom whatsoever and probably more pain and suffering than he'd every endured in the army when he'd been taken prisoner. John's gaze went down to his hand wrapped in Moriarty's. An idea began to slowly formulate in this head, but it couldn't be rushed. He needed a moment to work out the details because if he succeeded, then he wasn't going to be in any shape to do any thinking afterwards.

"Speaking of Dominants, where is little Sherlock anyway. Didn't think he'd trust his brother to come after his submissive," Moriarty asked not taking his eyes off of Mycroft.

"Just waiting for you to finish insulting each other," a familiar baritone sounded from behind them. John whipped his head around to see Sherlock standing in the entrance to the train station with his hands tucked in his Belfast coat and the usual navy blue scarf wrapped around his neck. Moriarty rolled his eyes and turned so that he was standing sideways between the Holmes brothers. "Really, Sherlock? You're quite translucent. You should work on that. Daddy likes a challenge."

"Let him go," Sherlock ordered.

Moriarty smiled sadistically and held up the hand that was clenched tightly around John's. "Okay," he sing-songed and let go.

John crumpled in pain, his hand automatically searching to reconnect with the Dominant werewolf. Lightening shot up and down his spine and rattled around his brain until his fingertips found Moriarty's palm again. However this time the pain lingered, etching pathways in this body as though to remind him that he shouldn't do that. Nausea curled in his stomach and he wrapped a hand around his middle as he stood back up. Looking up, John could see how difficult it was for Sherlock to stay still. He nodded his head subtly to let Sherlock know that he was okay.

"You're wasting my time, the both of you," Moriarty growled and John heard another snap quickly followed by another muffled shot. "Eventually there won't be anymore of your men to shoot and then who do you suppose will be next?"

"Enough of this!" Sherlock snapped. "You only want him because I already have him!"

"OF COURSE I DO!" Moriarty bellowed and several people on the street jumped and moved away from them. "But that isn't all. Johnny-boy and I have formed a special kind of bond during the train ride. Haven't we, Johnny?"

John slowly shook his head, still panting from the pain earlier. "You're mad," he muttered.

Moriarty let out a giggle at this, "Of course I am! But that's why you all love me so, isn't it?" At this he snapped his fingers once again. The shot sounded closer this time and a couple of people on the street nearby looked around worriedly. "That's only two more left, I believe," Moriarty quipped. "Now, in an effort to save you some paperwork and phone calls to widows, I'm going to take Doctor Watson here to my car right over there and neither you nor your brother will stop me. Do I make myself clear?" Moriarty directed this towards Mycroft. "If a bullet finds me from one of your remaining team members, you can guarantee that one will find Johnny-boy too."

Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock said anything, so Moriarty began walking toward a black sedan parked fifteen feet away. John shook his head towards Sherlock when the consulting detective made a move to follow. Instead, John followed meekly with his hand still in Moriarty's grasp. They reached the car that was already running and waiting to go and Moriarty opened the back door. Before he could say anything though, John reached up with his free hand and quickly grasped Moriarty's head and brought it forward to meet the edge of the door. The man slumped down in a heap and several startled people gasped and or screamed.

The driver turned in his seat, a gun in his hand, but John was already out of the line of fire. Taking a deep breath, he let go of Moriarty's hand and started to run back to Sherlock. However two things happened at the nearly same time. The first was the pain from letting go of Moriarty's hand. The second was a numb feeling that spread down his arm and a hot wet feeling that was spreading down the back of his shoulder. He went down to the ground, flailing and trying to land with the least amount of damage, but his hands and forearms scrapped against the tarmac anyway and he winced. Bile rose in the back of his throat and blackness covered his vision as he squeezed his eyes shut.

There was so much pain! Everything else had been drowned out by it. He could distantly hear Mycroft yelling something and could faintly feel ghostly touches and his name being called softly. However anything beyond that was gone. There was only pain in this world. Pain, nausea, and fear. He was going to die. That was the only option. John didn't see how this could end any other way. There was too much pain, too much! And he'd realized finally that the warm wetness soaking through the back of his jacket and shirt was blood. This would be it. He hoped distantly, that they would put H instead of Hamish on his tombstone.

Author's Note: I would just like to start by apologizing for missing my update last week. It was midterms for us and I've had a pretty heavy workload from school. However it's spring break now and I'm happy to update for you and start working on the next chapter!

Secondly, we're rounding off towards the end. It's most likely going to be the next chapter. Unless something happens and the characters go on a rampage in my word document... Anyway, I hope that you have enjoyed this story! And I hope that you will want to read more of my works! I'll most likely be taking a small break from writing after this so that I can catch up with school work. The second half of term is going to be even more rocky than the first because of projects galore and trying to figure out what classes to take next fall! AND to top it all off, I plan on doing a semester abroad in the spring of 2015! So time to plan for that as well.

Thanks again for reading, and stay tuned for the conclusion next chapter!