Sherlock and the Case of the Captured Best Friend

A Sherlock Fan Fiction

By: Amber Warren

Alright guys! Somebody reviewed so now you guys get more :) Your welcome :P

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

Sherlock Holmes is mad. I mean really mad. Ready-to-kill-somebody mad.

Sherlock's heart is still thumping wildly against his chest and he still feels as if someone had punched him in the stomach. The initial shock of finding his best friend dead has faded away. Now all that remains is depression, sadness, and anger.

"I'm s-so sorry, John," Sherlock cries, large tears rolling down his cheeks. "I just w-want you to know, w-well, even though you c-can't hear me, that you are my best friend. I didn't even know I could have a friend, let a-alone a best friend. I just h-hope that I was yours, too. If not, that's fine. But you're my best friend and no one else will ever, ever come close. You just understand me, and put up with all of," Sherlock pauses. "Well, everything a-about me. I care about you so much, more th-than you'll ever know. And I'm so sorry you're dead be-because of me."

More tears rush to Sherlock's eyes.

"I'm so sorry, John."

Sherlock rises from John's corpse and wipes the big, thick tears from his eyes. He takes one last look at John, as if John was just faking being dead. No. No such luck.

Sherlock takes a deep breath and shakily walks deeper into the warehouse.

Sherlock creeps silently through the corridors, looking for any sign of life. Up the hallway he sees a room that emanates light from it. Sherlock calls Scotland Yard just so they'll know what's going on if things take a turn for the worst. Sherlock heads into the room and gasps at the sight before him.

Moriarty is sitting in a chair, in the same exact position as the dolls were: a hand cupped under his chin, and one lying in his lap. His eyes are creepily staring off in to the distance and a sick, sadistic smile on his face.

Sherlock isn't sure if Moriarty is dead, since the only source of light is a flickering light bulb hanging from the high rafters above them, so he can't see if Moriarty has the tell-tale bullet hole all the other victims had.

But Sherlock doesn't have much time to decide because before he can, Moriarty pops out of his position and nearly gives Sherlock a heart attack.

"Bloody hell, Moriarty," Sherlock says, trying to soothe his racing heart.

"Hello there, buddy! Oh, did I scare you?" Moriarty puts on his five-year-old pout. "I'm vewy sowwy!"

Sherlock glares at the sick, demented man. "How could you kill John? Now, I'm going to have to kill you, you dick."

Moriarty cackles an evil laugh. "Oh, you're a riot! You? Kill me? Oh, you're too much!"

Sherlock narrows his eyes. "You don't think I could?"

"It's not that, honey," Moriarty says. "It's just that, you could never do it. Your morals are too high and mighty or whatever. And that's not how the story goes, anyways."

"Oh?" Sherlock raises his eyebrows, slightly intrigued. "So, tell me, Moriarty. How does the story go?"

"Well," Moriarty grins a wicked smile. "If I just told you, that wouldn't be very fun, now would it? But I will tell you what I've done already. I've burned you."

Sherlock's eyes narrow more.

"I've burned your heart. I did tell I'd do that, didn't I?" Moriarty grins wickedly. Man, he likes doing that. "By killing John, I've crushed your heart. You can feel it, can't you? Feel it deep down in your heart, even your soul. It feels as if your whole world is falling apart, doesn't it?"

"How'd you guess?" Sherlock glares at his arch-nemesis.

Moriarty shrugs. "I'm good at guessing. It's just one of my numerous and fabulous qualities."

"Oh, is that it?" Sherlock says, ready to kill the sick, sadistic bastard.

"Yes, and now I have a surprise for you!" Moriarty claps his hands together and his goons Frank and Topher come bundling out from the shadows. Sherlock takes a step back when his back is met with the distinct head of a gun. "Oh, you're not going anywhere, sweetie."

Sherlock's heartbeat accelerates at the feeling of the gun pressed into his back. Was Moriarty going to kill him? No. No, he wouldn't.

"We're here to play some games, now," Moriarty gets the creepiest look on his face Sherlock has ever seen and he gulps down his fear.

"I'm guessing you're not talking about Monopoly, are you?"

"You are correct. Oh no, the games I have in mind are much better than plain ol' Monopoly!"

Greg Lestrade is sipping his coffee, one hand clenching a pen to death, doing his loads of paperwork when he gets the call.

"Scotland Yard, how may we help you today?" he says in his uniform police department voice.

Lestrade waits a few seconds when all he hears is silence before asking, "Hello? Is there anyone there?"

But his heart stops when he hears Sherlock Holmes' voice saying, "Blood hell, Moriarty."

Moriarty. Oh, wonderful.

Lestrade continues listening to the conversation. John? Dead? Damn it. He's such a nice bloke. Burned Sherlock's heart? What is Moriarty talking about? Games? Oh, he doesn't like the sound of that.

Lestrade stands, knocking over his coffee all over his paperwork. Oh, who cares? "Sally! Sally, get in here now!"

"What's wrong?" Sally rushes in, noting the stressed and slightly scared tint to Lestrade's voice.

"It's Sherlock. He's in trouble. With Moriarty," Lestrade says.

"And John?"

"…"

"Greg?"

"He's dead."

Sally gasps. "What? How? Oh, I'm going to kill Moriarty!"

Lestrade nods. "We have to get over there right now before he kills again."

"Why'd it have to be John?" Sally sighs, pulling on her jacket. "He's so nice! Couldn't it of been the Freak?"

"Sally!" Lestrade scolds.

"What?" Sally says as the two race down to their cars. "Where are they?

"I think I have an idea," Lestrade says. "Sally, we could actually catch this psycho!"

"I wouldn't count on it," Sally says, as the two pull out and head out to save the consulting detective from the, well, consulting criminal.

"Much more fun than Monopoly. I don't think that's possible!" Sherlock mocks Moriarty.

"Oh, it's very possible," Moriarty laughs.

Sherlock is strapped against the back wall of the creepy room with Moriarty smiling creepily at the detective.

"So, what's this little game we're going to play?" Sherlock says, trying to steel his nerves.

"Oh, it's one of my favorites!" Moriarty explains. "What happens is the evil mastermind tortures the good brave hero until he cries! Sound like fun?"

Sherlock grimaces. "Loads."

Moriarty walks over to a table heavily laden with objects. Cigarettes, a lighter, and an electric taser are scattered on the table. Wait, cigarettes?

"Why cigarettes?" Sherlock asks. "How will you torture me with those? By not letting me have one? Lame."

"Oh, you'll see," Moriarty grins evilly. "Yes. Yes, you'll see."

Oh, joy.

Moriarty picks up the pack of cigarettes. "Care for a smoke?"

"I'm fine. I'm on the patch," Sherlock says with acidity as he sees Moriarty pick up a lighter and light the cigarette.

After smoking it for a few minutes, Moriarty walks over to Sherlock. He blows smoke into Sherlock's face and says, "Like that, sexy? Well, then you'll love this!"

With on swift move, Moriarty sticks the boiling hot cigarette onto the bare skin of Sherlock's inside forearm.

A red-hot burning sensation ripples through Sherlock's arm and he lets out a heart-wrenching scream.

Moriarty grins in his own twisted triumph and twists the cigarette harder.

Sherlock lets out another cry of pain. "St-Stop! Please!"

Moriarty removes the cigarette and grins. "What? So you could smoke these, but not touch them? My, you're brave!"

Sherlock sighs in relief. "Try that yourself. You won't be that brave."

Moriarty pretends to ponder this. "Hmmmm. NOPE!"

Moriarty walks back to the table and grabs the taser. He flicks on the "On" switch and turns to face Sherlock.

"Tell me, Sherlock," Moriarty says, "have you ever been tasered before?"

Sherlock gulps. "No, and I don't plan on it."

"Well, I guess I'm going to ruin your plan. Like always."

Moriarty walks back to Sherlock and lifts up his blue collared shirt just below his chest so that Sherlock's stomach is showing. "I've heard is hurts most on the tummy. Wanna' find out?"

Before Sherlock can answer or before Moriarty can do anything more to damage Sherlock's body, the two turn their heads when they hear, "Sherlock! Can you hear us?"

It's Lestrade's voice. The trick with his phone worked. Bloody fantastic!

Sally and Lestrade enter the room and survey the strange scene around them. "What is going on?"

Moriarty drops the taser and Sherlock's shirt. "Oh, crap."

"Stay right where you are, Moriarty!" Sally says, pointing a gun at the fiend. "We've finally got you."

Moriarty hangs his head in seemingly defeat and allows himself to be handcuffed. As Sally leads him away, he looks up at Sherlock and winks, sending a shiver down Sherlock's spine.

Lestrade unstraps Sherlock. "Are you alright?"

"I'm okay. I just wish I could say the same for John," Sherlock sighs.

Lestrade nods. "He was a great man. And brave, too. Man, was he brave. You're a great man, too."

"No, I'm not," Sherlock says. "Well, not as great as John."

"Can't disagree with that," Lestrade grins.

Sherlock smirks.

"Well, I'll meet you out there, alright?"

Sherlock nods.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

Lestrade shrugs and walks out. You never knew what Sherlock was thinking.

Sherlock sighs, thinking of John. He was great man. A fantastic one at that.

Sherlock sighs again and starts to head toward the door when he hears a voice he never thought he would again.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

Sherlock turns around, his heart racing. "John?"

There stands John, groggily rubbing his head, one hand propped against the doorframe of a room Sherlock hadn't noticed.

John is alive.

Thanks you guys for reading! It means so much to me when I see reviews and it really speeds up my typing and uploading! So review, review, review! :)