Sherlock and the Case of the Captured Best Friend

A Sherlock Fan Fiction

By: Amber Warren

Hey guys! So, I really appreciate reviews! Alot! So please review! Who knows? It might speed up the writing process and make me upload faster? :)

Disclaimer: (Sadly) I don't own Sherlock. :'(. First off, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns Sherlock Holmes and Steven Moffast and Mark Gatniss (sorry if I spelt that wrong) own the AMAZING BBC show Sherlock. I only own oringinal characters. Oh, wait. There isn't any really. Oh Well!

"Sherlock? What does it say? Who's it from?"

Sherlock looks up into the soft brown eyes of his best friend. They hide a tint of worry, as if John suspects it is who it is, too.

"It says that there's much more to come and that I'll probably solve this case," Sherlock says, a tad quieter than he usually is. Sherlock decides to leave out the part about John; he doesn't want to scare his best friend. And with Moriarty who knew if he was lying? He was a consulting criminal after all, wasn't he? Moriarty was a madman. Who knew what he would or wouldn't do? He was very, er, creative. That's what intrigued Sherlock about Moriarty. Unlike most of the criminals in London, you never knew what he was thinking. But the very fact that Sherlock was intrigued by the criminal mastermind scared him a bit. John had told Sherlock one time that Sally had told John that one day they'll be standing around a body and that Sherlock will have been the one to put it there. Sherlock shivered at the thought. Did people really think that? And would that actually happen? No. He enjoyed solving cases. If he had killed someone, that wouldn't be much of a case to solve, now would it?

"Who's it from?" John repeats, interrupting Sherlock's thoughts.

With a sigh, Sherlock answers, "Moriarty."

John's eyes widen. "Oh, wonderful! We have to deal with that bastard again!" John says with a hint of anger and annoyance in his voice. Those are the most two obvious emotions, but Sherlock detects a slight hint of terror there. "So all he said was there's more to come and that you'll probably solve the case?"

Sherlock nods and bites his lip. He hates lying to John but he doesn't want to worry John. Just at the name of Moriarty, John freaked out a bit. To find out Moriarty could be after him? He'd absolutely loose it.

John shakes his head, obviously trying to forget about the night at the pool when he was almost blown to bits by the madman. John absolutely despises Moriarty. Not only had he almost killed John himself, but he'd also almost killed multiple people and had killed a few. Who would do that?

"Anyway," John says, trying to change the subject, "what do you know about the young woman?"

Sherlock tells them all he knows and the record all of the information.

Sally nods. "Alright. Well, would you two like to see the other crime scenes?"

"Of course," Sherlock replies quite excitedly and they head off to the next crime scene.

After Sherlock and John had investigated the crime scenes, they return to their flat. Sherlock flops back on the couch and gets into his signature hands-together-pressed -to-lips pose. He thinks about all of the evidence he'd gather at the other two crime scenes.

First crime scene: It had been a young man about seventeen or eighteen. He'd been found in a park by a river. He was a student at the Belford School for Juvenile Boys judging by his jacket. The boy had a bag of cocaine in his pocket, so this Belford School wasn't really helping this bloke with his problem. He was either dealing or using it himself. It was a big bag, so he probably sold it or took some for himself, that much wasn't clear, even for Sherlock. He was in the same position as the woman was and had the same wound.

Second crime scene: This one had been an older woman than the first. She'd been found in her own apartment when her friend had come to visit her. That's a nice surprise. In her wallet, she had a picture of herself and her family, but an older male had been ripped out of the picture, so she was obviously divorced and Sherlock deduced the children had gone with father dearest, because even if they were divorced, she probably wouldn't of crossed him out if he hadn't done something horrible to her or at least horrible in her eyes. Again, she was in the same position and had the same gunshot wound.

This was obviously Moriarty's work. Everyone was the same way and had the same wound. He obviously shot them, wiped up the blood to make it look, er, cleaner? Sherlock didn't know why he'd do that. Anyway, then he'd position them. Why? They looked like creepy dolls almost. They were so off-putting.

But why? Why would he kill them? Last time, he'd made Sherlock and John (mostly Sherlock) solve various cases or he would blow up people. Why would he just kill people? It wasn't very theatrical.

"Hey, Sherlock?" John's soft voice floated into Sherlock's mind and brought him out of his thoughts.

"What, John?!" Sherlock snaps madly at his flat mate, his eyes widen open and angry. "Haven't I told you multiple times not to talk to me when I'm in my Mind Palace?"

John stares at the floor and says, "Sorry, but I was just wondering if you wanted any more tea since you never had any."

Sherlock's eyes soften and so does his voice. He really shouldn't be such an ass all the time. John was nothing but nice and how did he reciprocate? By being a total jerk. Be nice, Sherlock. What had John said? Use manners? "Oh, yes please. Thank-you."

John raises his eyes and his eyebrows are furrowed. "What did you just say?"

"I said, 'Oh, yes please. Thank-you,'" Sherlock says, tilting his head in confusion. "Why?"

"No, it's nothing," John shakes his head and smiles. "I just didn't think you were cable of being polite."

"John," Sherlock grins, "I'm capable of everything."

John laughs and says, "Wow!"

John makes another batch of tea and sets it before the consulting detective. Sherlock takes a big sip and smiles. "Thank-you."

"No problem," John smiles.

So the duo sit in their cluttered living room, both sipping tea and just talking. Talking about life at the hospital, crap telly, and just life. Like real friends. Not just flatmates, but best friends.

"Hey, John," Sherlock says. He feels he should tell his friend about the part in Moriarty's letter about John. He should know just so he can be alert. "I need to te-"

But at that moment, John mobile rings. "Oh, one sec," he says and answers his phone. "Hello? John Watson."

There's a little awkward silence in the room as the person on the other end of the line talks. John says things like, "Yes,", "Yeah,", "Alright,", and other things like that. At one point, John picks up a notepad and begins to scribble words and numbers. After a while he says, "Alright, we'll be right over. Bye."

"Who was that?" Sherlock asks.

"Someone who needs our help," John replies. "They want us to find out who broke into their house. Here's the address."

John hands Sherlock the notepad and Sherlock doesn't recognize the address but shrugs. "Alright, let's head out."

When they come to the place, they don't know where the heck they are. It's dark and creepy and they want to leave as soon as they arrive.

The house is a small flat with bars on the windows and a creaky, rusty door. They knock on the door and when they don't get an answer, they carefully walk in.

The place is dusty and dark. Old furniture that hasn't been used in years sits on a cold, wooden floor. They rotting drapes are closed and the only light comes from a single bulb that hangs over a table with an envelope on it. Sherlock's heartbeat starts to quicken as he recognizes the handwriting all too well on the cover: To My Friend Sherlock

Sherlock takes a deep breath and opens the letter, John to the left of him, scared out of his mind.

To My Best Bud Sherlock,

It's me again! How are you, sexy? I'm doing fantastic because you've fallen right into my trap! So, thanks! Oh, and there wasn't a burglar here. But there is one at 221B Baker Street. :)

Love,

Moriarty

Sherlock drops the letter on the old oak table and steadies himself on the table.

"John, he's at our flat," Sherlock explains quietly. "He's in our bloody flat!"

"What?" John asks, brown eyes widening in disbelief. "No, he can't be! He picks up the letter and reads it for himself. "W-Well, let's go g-get him!"

"This is Moriarty we're talking about!" Sherlock says, turning to face John. "Who know what he's planning! He's unpredictable!"

"I know that!" John says, his temper rising. "I was the one he strapped a bomb to!"

Sherlock sighs. "This is what he wants. To tear us apart. And to kill us, but also tear us apart." Sherlock looks John straight in the eyes and says, "I don't want that to happen, John."

"Me, neither," John agrees, nodding. "Well, what do we do now?"

"John, there's something I haven't told you something-" Sherlock tries to tell John again.

"If it's that you stashed a dead hand in my dresser, I know that, but Sherlock this isn't the time for confession!" John interrupts. "Come on. Moriarty's probably long gone by now."

The two catch a taxi back to their flat and steel their nerves, trying to prepare themselves for anything.

They walk up the steps to their flat, unlock the door and walk in. They walk up the steps to their living room and they both let out a blood-curdling scream at the scene before them.

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