Oh my goodness, it's been forever… I had so much trouble writing this chapter, it just wouldn't come out right. I'm still not 100 per cent sure it's really what I want it to be, but it's been so long that I figured I'd put it up anyways. Sorry for leaving with a cliffhanger for so long, but you're in the Sherlock fandom, you're probably used to it by now… Anyways, here's the chapter – finally!
Sherlock struggled back to consciousness. He could hear voices, distant as though they came through an old, badly tuned radio. It took him a few seconds more to be able to distinguish words.
'Should be wakin' up in about five minutes,' one voice said. 'John might take a little bit longer, he hasn't got a… history.'
'I thought they gave him a smaller dose so they'd wake up 'bout the same time,' said another man.
'Dunno, ask the boss. Everythin's all planned and calculated and whatnot.'
Sherlock felt hatred boil within him. These people, whoever they were (obviously part of some organisation) had drugged him and John. He was now conscious enough to be able to feel his restraints cutting into his wrists and ankles, and a gag, dry in his mouth. There were ropes round his chest as well; they had tied him to a chair.
He opened his eyes a fraction of an inch. They were still in the flat. This surprised him; why hadn't they been carted off to some criminal base as soon as they'd lost consciousness? Two men were leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. Two of the kitchen chairs were missing; Sherlock assumed these were the chairs that he and John were tied to. He sensed a third man behind him. John was next to him.
John. Bound, gagged, unconscious. Sherlock's mind nearly abandoned him. John was here, John needed his help, there was nothing he could do… His mind was fragmenting, floating away like a helium balloon.
No! he thought, he needed to think. Focus. John needed him. Sherlock grasped the end of the balloon's string and pulled it back to earth. Focus.
There were probably snipers in the buildings across the street in case he tried to escape. The man behind him was likely heavily armed. The other two had handguns, not much else. Nevertheless, if he made a move, at least six people would shoot. But they wouldn't aim for him.
He could hear John shift beside him. He was waking up. Sherlock began to move as well. He opened his eyes, trying to appear groggy.
'Ah! Awake at last, are we?' said one of the men in the doorway, moving to stand in front of Sherlock. 'Well, it hasn't been that long, I suppose. Just long enough to tie you two up.'
John looked up at the strange man blearily. 'What the-?'
'Oh, it's alright, Johnny boy,' said the man. 'Confused? Perhaps Sherlock can tell us what he knows!' The man turned away from John, and John saw who was sitting next to him.
Sherlock glared at the man before him. He wieghed his options. He would tell them something, but not everything. Important to let them think they had the upper hand.
'There are snipers in the buildings across the street. If we make a move to escape, 6 people will shoot, including the three of you here. The snipers have been given orders to shoot anyone in the flat if necessary, you three are expendable.'
The intruders looked momentarily stunned – expendable? A smug look passed over Sherlock's face; he thought that the last bit was likely, but had said it more to sow doubt into the minds of the strangers. Sherlock had worked with these kinds of criminals many times before. They worked for organisations, but their true priority was themselves. If they thought their lives were in danger, they would do anything to save themselves. They didn't really care about their employer, just the money.
Sherlock smirked as the criminals attempted to regain their composure. He knew he had managed to get through their thick skulls. How had they not realised that Moriarty didn't care about petty human lives, even if they were working for him?
'Well… erm, yes of course,' said the man who appeared to be the leader. 'So know that if you make a move, we will blast you to smithereens. Except for you, Sherly. Boss seems to want you alive.'
John watched a confused expression cloud Sherlock's features for a moment before his eyes cleared. 'Of course… he intends to burn my heart out,' Sherlock muttered.
John froze. He could feel Sherlock's eyes on him. Moriarty was behind this.
The criminals, upon seeing Sherlock's realisation, were convinced. Sherlock laughed inwardly - he had known that much for weeks. Moriarty intended to take John in order to 'burn his heart out.' Sherlock had to admit that he didn't know how he himself would react.
'Course he does, wouldn't be fun otherwise. Now, Sherly… this is the best part! Untie him,' said the leader, nodding to the man standing behind the chairs. 'Remember Sherl, if you move, John dies!'
Sherlock felt the big, clumsy hands of the gunman untying his bonds. Sherlock stood and faced the leader. He saw three laser sights trained on John.
The leader pulled a gun out of his belt and twirled it nonchalantly. He put the gun against John's temple and said, 'So, Sherlock. Anything to say to John?'
John looked up at Sherlock and blinked. Though the intruders may not have seen through Sherlock's calm façade, John knew him well enough to do just that. His eyes, usually so cold, were full of emotion. Fear, anger, worry… and something else. John had seen that look before from Sherlock, but he couldn't remember where. Or fathom what it was.
Sherlock looked at John, choosing his words carefully. 'I made a promise… I intend to keep it,' he said.
John saw a flash of pain in Sherlock's eyes. His voice was quiet as he said, 'You'll know when the time comes.'
John's brow furrowed at these cryptic words, but the man holding a gun to his head just laughed. 'What, he doesn't know yet? I'd have thought better of the detective's pet… Bit obvious really.'
John was quite confused now. He glanced at Sherlock, who closed his eyes for a second. He looked at John.
And John realised where he had seen that look before – that day on the tarmac.
'Pitiful, you are! Can't even say it now… Might not see John again, Sherl. You're too late. Johnny boy is coming with us, and there isn't a thing you can do about it.' The leader pressed his gun against John's head and motioned to his cronies with his other hand.
Sherlock didn't say anything. He just stood there. John stared, still confused, after him as he was carried down the stairs and out of the flat. You'll know… know what?
'Well Johnny… now we've got you, might as well make the trip easier,' he heard a voice say, and felt the needle enter his neck.