Ripple

By: Raven612

Chapter 10: Decisions to Make

Summary: Sherlock makes his choice and will have to pay for it.

A/N: Cliffhangers are so mean aren't they? I'm sorry lovelies, but enjoy this chapter please. All the reviews and faves and alerts are so very welcome. Keep them coming!

*Afternoon of Day 7*

As soon as Sherlock saw the picture on the phone, his heart stopped. His eyes narrowed as he quickly scanned the background of where John was sitting. Sherlock ignored the blood staining his shirt, and most importantly he would not think about where the bullet hole was in John's shoulder. His jaw tightened and he was about to pocket the phone when another chime sounded and this time it was a picture of the twins.

Any rage Sherlock had been feeling upon seeing his John injured and restrained in a chair was made tenfold when he saw the twins with the word 'checkmate' following it. His fingers tightened so hard on the phone that the screen actually cracked. He stopped suddenly in his tracks and threw the phone against the wall. Anderson and Donovan stopped talking and looked back to see what had caused the noise. Anderson's eyebrows rose and Donovan looked shocked, then Sherlock looked up at them and they both adopted a look of fear on their faces.

"I have to go," Sherlock's tone was ice as he turned on his heel and left the phone lying dead on the floor. Soon he'd leave a consulting criminal dead on the floor too. He shoved his hands into his pockets where his fists clenched tightly. His nails bit into his palms. He knew where he was going.

Anderson and Donovan couldn't seem to react quickly enough. They had been leading Sherlock to Lestrade's office, much to Sherlock's and their disdain, and then they heard something breaking and skittering on the floor. When they looked back they saw the pink phone in pieces. When Sherlock looked up they saw the complete rage in the consulting detective's face. Despite believing that Sherlock would one day join the side of criminals and psychopaths, Sally and Anderson had never seen that look on Sherlock's face before. Anderson grabbed the phone in hopes he could figure out what it was that had upset Sherlock so much, but both he and Sally knew what the answer was, they just didn't know how bad it was this time.

John came to consciousness painfully and slowly. It started with a throb in his shoulder. He made to rotate the joint when a sharp pain tore through him and his breath came out hitched. He shifted his body a bit in the uncomfortable wooden chair, and he could feel the metal scraping against bone in his shoulder. He groaned and his head lolled back. His entire body still felt heavy, way too heavy, and cold, very cold. He groaned and his head tipped to the side. He used every ounce of strength he could find in himself to open his eyes. He looked down at his shoulder. Same wound he'd gotten in Afghanistan. He closed his eyes as gunfire started to sound in his ears. He wouldn't fall into a nightmare now, not when his life was slowly leaving him.

John opened his eyes again and this time he managed to straighten his neck to look around the room. It was actually a nice room. Cream colored carpet cushioned the floor and white wallpaper with thick gold stripes ran up a third of the wall from the floor where it was interrupted by thick wooden trim painted white. The wallpaper above the trim was a dark, blood red. John was in the middle of the room. His chair was sitting on a large square of plastic. In front of John was a large mahogany desk with ornately carved drawer handles. On the desk sat a black phone, one very similar to any office building in the world. A laptop was on top of the desk. John saw dual screens on the laptop. He saw himself sitting on the chair and the other screen was black.

Blood dripped down his left hand and into the puddle on the floor. John knew that if he was left here for another two hours, he'd be unconscious and toeing the line of life and death. He sighed and shut his eyes. He counted to ten before opening them again. Obviously this was something Moriarty had designed. John knew this was a game for Sherlock. John was trying to bring forward the memories of what happened before he ended up here from the visages of his fogged mind when the door to the room opened, and Sebastian Moran walked in with a large grin on his face.

"Afternoon doctor," the man greeted and strode over to where John was bound. The boots he wore made an awful crinkling noise against the plastic as he sat himself on the desk and looked at John.

"Sebastian? What the fuck are you doing here?"

Sebastian grinned, "I'm here to kill you…well…when I get the call to do so," he replied and pulled a handgun from his waistband and set it on the desk.

"You're working for Moriarty?" John asked as his brow furrowed in confusion when he studied the man sitting before him.

Moran nodded slowly, "He needed help and I needed work, not to mention he's fucking sexy in Westwood," Sebastian drawled in a slow voice.

John cringed in disgust, "I can't believe you were ever a soldier, you are pitiful," John spat.

Sebastian chuckled and leaned forward, "How's the shoulder doctor, does it hurt as much now as it did then?"

John glared and opened his mouth to respond when he was cut off.

"Because it felt just as exciting this time around as it had back in Afghanistan," Moran leaned back and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he wanted the information sink in.

John frowned and blinked, he wasn't sure he heard the man right, "What? You mean you…did this to me?"

Moran nodded slowly, "I did, and it was almost obscene the amount of money the terrorists paid me to shoot on little army doctor."

"Why?"

Sebastian grinned and shrugged, "You were too good at what you did. You fixed up broken soldiers quickly and efficiently, you were undermining the rise of the terrorist cell that surrounded your camp. Take out the doctor, and the soldiers die," he answered in a nonchalant tone.

John's eyes flashed pure hatred and anger, "You are vile; I will kill you," John hissed harshly and pulled at the rope restraining him only to cry out in pain.

Moran chuckled and clicked his tongue, "Just like then Johnny, you're trapped in enemy territory, no one is going to come and save you now," the sniper whispered.

"You seriously underestimate Sherlock Holmes then," John said with a flash of a smug smile and fixed Moran with a look of superiority.

Moran was waiting for this moment. He grinned and shook his head, "Oh, I don't think he will save you this time doctor, not when there's another variable," Moran replied and hit a key on the laptop.

It took a moment for the view in the other screen to come into view and when it did John's heart leapt to his throat. On screen where Annabelle and James in a room similar to John's, and with the twins was the woman from his office and a guy he didn't recognize. An inhuman noise escaped John's throat, and he looked to Sebastian desperately.

"They're just kids, just a pair of fucking kids, let them go. I don't care what happens to me, just let them go. They have no part in this sick fucking game. Kill me and let them go," as John continued to plead his voice grew in volume as the rage and agony rose up in him.

Moran shivered, he loved this, "They're fine doctor, just look at them," he said and pointed to the screen again.

John didn't want to look, but he did. The twins were not bound or gagged; they hardly looked like they were fazed with being in the room. The woman seemed to be interacting with them the most. She had a warm smile on her face and Anna had giggled at something she said. James looked a bit worried, but the cookies seemed to be easing his worry. John sighed. He was glad at least that Moriarty hadn't done anything too severe to them…yet.

John turned his icy gaze to Sebastian, "What's his game this time?" he asked and clenched his jaw. He saw black moving in from the sides of his vision, and fought against passing out again. He would not, not when he knew his niece and nephew were in serious trouble.

Sherlock pushed the door to the mansion open as soon as he arrived. He looked around the foyer. The home belonged to a Swiss diplomat who had no use for it at this time of year. Sherlock had been here twice before in his life, once when he was young and attending a function with his family, and another time a few years ago when he was investigating a case of food poisoning under Mycroft's orders. He had recognized the wallpaper immediately. His fists clenched in his pockets and he looked up when he heard someone coming for him.

The man was tall and had broad shoulders. Thick muscles corded his arms and thighs. He looked more like a wrestler than minion. Sherlock regarded him with an icy glare. The man nodded for Sherlock to follow and he did so. He knew they were headed to the office towards the back of the house. They walked through the foyer and down a short hall past the kitchen and a dining hall. The henchman held the door open and Sherlock walked past him.

Moriarty looked up from his laptop when he heard the door click close. His smile was slow and calculated. He motioned to the chair in front of his desk, "Please sit down Sherlock, I do hate when you tower over me," the man's Irish accent added an eerie tone to his words.

Sherlock moved to do as invited to. He stared across to Moriarty.

Moriarty pouted and folded his arms on the desk in front of him, "Sherlock, it's rude not to greet me, I did invite you here after all, a guest should be kind to his host."

Sherlock snarled, "You're not even fit for the bottom of my shoe," his fists tightened in his pockets.

Moriarty's frown worsened, "Sherlock dear, that's not very nice to say. I should punish Johnny for your misbehavior. The master's actions reflect poorly on his pet. Bad dogs aren't born, they're made," he drawled with a slight eye roll.

Sherlock glared, "What do you want me to solve now, what case have you set up for me?"

Moriarty shivered, "Oh, no foreplay, right to the point, I like that…Sebby could use some lessons," he said with an air of excitement.

Sherlock merely stared at him. He was not here to play games; he was here to get the twins and John away and to safety. His jaw clicked.

Moriarty swiveled in his chair so that he could look out the window. He steeped his fingers under his chin and bobbed his head a few times. His shoulders hunched forward giving him an almost hunchback look. "Children are meant to be seen Sherlock; not heard."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "Then let them go and you won't have to listen to them."

Moriarty laughed and turned himself back to face Sherlock, "I can't do that Sherlock, they're my insurance as is the lovely Johnny boy."

Sherlock's spine tingled with rage when Moriarty spoke about John, "Don't you talk about him like that," the detective spat and sat a bit more forward in his chair. He was positively vibrating with rage right now, and the only reason he hadn't flown across the desk and torn Moriarty's head off is the fact that he controls the fates of his John and the twins.

"Ohhhhh, touchy touchy," Moriarty taunted with a click of his tongue. He looked down at his computer and clicked a button and turned it to face Sherlock. He sat back in his chair to study Sherlock's reaction.

Sherlock looked at the screen. He'd known what he was going to see there, but it still caused him to flinch. He raised hard eyes and settled them on Moriarty, "What do you want me to do?" the question came out strained and tinted with red.

Moriarty grinned wide. His left hand went to the drawer of the desk and he opened it. He felt inside for two envelops. He pulled them both out. One was marked with the number 1 and the other with the number 2. Sherlock looked down at them. Each envelop held a key. He looked back up at Moriarty.

"It's really simple Sherlock, honestly," the consulting criminal soothed as he pushed the envelopes forward to the edge of the desk.

"Obviously they unlock the doors leading to John or the twins, the trick is that I have to guess correctly?" Sherlock raised a brown and allowed a smug look to cross his features.

Moriarty shook his head, "Oh no, I fear it's even simpler than that. I've grown tired of toying with you Sherlock, so I felt like ending this rather quickly. I wanted to break you, destroy everything that you are, and in order to do that I had to rip apart your heart. Until a few years ago you didn't have a heart and so I could never truly tear you down, but now…oh now you've got such a delicious heart and I want it."

Sherlock's lips drew tight against his teeth as a look of fury washed over his face.

"You may not love the twins as John does, but if you choose to save John over them…who do you think the doctor will come to resent for their deaths?" Moriarty's smile was slow and calculating, he looked down at the envelops.

Sherlock looked at them too, "One key is for John and the other is for the twins. All I have to do is choose one and the other dies," Sherlock slowly lifted his gaze and settled it on Moriarty.

Moriarty clapped his hands, "Oh, exactly. It is so very simple, pick one and once you do; Leo will take you to whomever you choose while I give the order for the others to kill whomever you don't pick. Envelope number one leads you to your doctor while envelope number two leads you to the little elves."

Sherlock nodded sharply and looked at the computer screen. There was a blond man with John. He wasn't too big, but with John injured and restrained in a chair, John couldn't fight him. The twins were being watched over by some female and male duo. Sherlock smirked, he could rescue them both. He looked up at Moriarty.

"Have I told you the story about Hannah?" Moriarty asked with a fond look in his eyes.

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Do you think I would employ someone if I feared they couldn't follow through with the orders I give them? Really Sherlock, just because she's a woman doesn't mean she'll hesitate to kill the kids. She killed her own kids, claims she saw the devil in them. All she and Joe have to do is give the kids the sippy cups of juice and its goodbye Anna and James," Moriarty chuckled and leaned back in his chair looking rather pleased with himself.

Sherlock paled. He looked at the screen again. The woman was running her index finger against the cap to one of the cups. She had a reverent look on her face, almost like she was looking forward to killing. Sherlock swore a blue streak in his mind. "No, I suppose you'd take the utmost care to make sure the kids are killed, even if it is a woman," Sherlock's voice is low as his mind runs through all the possible scenarios.

John is too weak to fight his attacker. He is tired down and there is no way he can escape the bonds with his shoulder so badly injured. Sherlock checks the screen again and it looks like John is fighting staying awake. He's lost a considerable amount of blood. Sherlock figures he's got only a half hour before his body starts to shut down.

Anna and James don't look to be in immediate danger, but Sherlock knows that's a lie. The man and the woman both have far away looks on their faces; they almost look wistful. Sherlock knows they will not feel any guilt over what they have to do should they be given the order to do so.

"Really Sherlock, there's no way you can save both parties, pick one and get it over with," Moriarty drawled in a bored tone.

A muscle in Sherlock's neck jumped. The palms of his hands began to sweat. How could he possibly make this decision? If he chose John over the twins, then Sherlock might as well have put a bullet straight through the doctor's heart. If Sherlock chose the twins over John then at least he would know that John wouldn't hate him, but then John would also be dead. Sherlock ripped his hands through his hair. What the hell was he supposed to do?

"Pick one Sherlock, you can't delay what is sure to come," Moriarty said with a grin and laced his fingers together under his chin.

Sherlock studied the screen again. He was hoping to pick up something he had missed before, some small clue that would allow him to know how to win, because he had to win, there was no alternative. He drummed his fingers against his skull and closed his eyes. He whirred through all the information he had in his mind. He had no clue who the man and woman team were and he had no idea who the man with John was. Not knowing these things gave Sherlock nothing to go on. The man and woman wouldn't feel too guilty about killing the twins. The poison that was likely laced with the juice would kill the twins swiftly and painlessly. The duo would likely be out of the room as the kids fell asleep and slowly died.

The man with John would likely shoot him in the temple. By the way the man was standing said he was ex-military. He held no qualms about killing people. The handgun was on the desk just waiting for the call. He'd pick the gun up as soon as he heard the order from Moriarty and he'd shoot. John would be dead just seconds after Sherlock would make a choice. His fingers curled and uncurled. He had no idea, for once in his life, what he should do.

"If you don't make a choice soon Sherlock, well, I'll make the decision for you," Moriarty told him and leaned forward in his chair, "I think we already know who you're going to pick anyways," he whispered under his breath.

Sherlock's head shot up and he fixed Moriarty with a glare. He got to his feet and placed both hands on the desk. He leaned in, "One thing is very clear Moriarty; you are a dead man," Sherlock snarled as his fingers closer over an envelope and he puts it into his pocket.

Moriarty grins and nods for the henchman to come forward to escort Sherlock to the proper room, "Good choice Sherlock," he calls as they exit the office.

Moriarty's eyes positively shine as he picks up the phone on his desk; he hits a button and waits. When the appropriate person answers he smiles.

"Kill the doctor."

A/N: So, review please? I promise to have the next chapter up by either tomorrow night or the next day, it depends on how my days go. I know I'm evil, but I couldn't resist! Please don't hate too much! Love you all so much!