A/N: I am sooooo sorry for the late update. I have had so much crap in my life -.- but I'm back now and will be updating regularly.

Warnings: Er. Mild swearing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

The warehouse where Moriarty had Sherlock held hostage was a large grubby looking building. Forty four rooms were littered across the five floors. Most of the rooms lay empty, apart from one. This room was exactly two floors below Sherlock and contained nothing but three chairs and three people.

The three occupants inside were huddled in separate corners. None of them could see each other due to the fact that they had all been blinded. Moriarty had formulated a new chemical that could take away a persons ability to see. Childs play to him. He injected the three victims and threw them into the room together.

One of them, a silver haired man, got to his knees and held out a timid arm, 'Who-Who is it? Who's out there? I warn you I'm armed.' He fell silent, listening intently.

A scuffle from nearby made his ears prick up and he turned his head, trying to see something... Anything.

'Greg? Is that you?'

'John?'

'Yeah it's me,' The scuffle got louder and someone bumped into Greg's shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance. 'Shit. Sorry mate. Can you see?'

'No, although it's hard to tell. So God damn dark in here.'

He pulled himself in a crouching position, leaning against John, his ears picking up a third noise. A faint muffled sound in the far corner.

'Who's that?' He murmured, hoping John could hear him.

'I don't know, I can't see remember?' Shaking his head, John called out, 'Who is it? Who else is here? Speak up now!'

The noise stopped and someone shifted to Greg's right, a lighter weight this time. A frail hand reached out and grabbed his knee, making him jump and shuffle backwards.

'Detective? It's me,' The voice was faint, 'John, where's Sherlock?'

'Can you see, Mrs Hudson? Why would he do this?'

'No Gregory, I can't. And I assume this is all just a game to him.'

'Mrs Hudson? How long have you been here?' John moved towards her, crawling over Greg's feet.

'Ow! Watch it!'

John tutted. 'Greg, what part of 'I can't see' don't you understand?' He sighed and carried on, 'They grabbed me yesterday. I was walking to the bank and a black car pulled up. Thought it was Mycroft until two smelly men got out and gagged me. Mycroft's never been that kinky before.'

Greg snorted, pulling his knees close and resting his chin on top, 'He's had me for days now. I was walking to my house the other night and they jumped me. Next thing I know Im in a field with Dimmock-' He broke off, swallowing thickly. 'Apparently Sherlock had to choose which one of us to save.'

John made a small noise at Sherlock's name but didn't speak.

'They killed him. Dimmock. Just like that. Made me watch, it was horrifying. I can't even sleep anymore... but I don't understand why he hasn't killed us.'

'We're the three people closest to Sherlock,' Mrs Hudson said quietly, grasping John's hand, 'Maybe he has something special planned for us. Moriarty got me whilst I was polishing. Or rather, one of his men did. I left them with a little present though.' She gave a small giggle.

John let out a low whistle and turned, trying to locate Greg. 'Do you still think Sherlock's a fake? I still haven't forgiven you for arresting him you know.'

'You're bringing that up now?!' He shook his head, before realizing that John couldn't see, 'I never thought Sherlock was a fake. Trust me when I say, I had no choice.'

'The little Detective is a good liar.'

A door opened and Greg found himself being pulled to his feet and slammed into a chair. Ropes were tied tightly around his arms and legs, giving him no room to move. He could hear John and Mrs Hudson on either side of him and was just about to open his mouth to reply, when something stabbed him in the arm. An injection. But what for?

His head felt light and nausea flooded through him before he began to regain his vision. Slowly but surely he could make out three outlines. They were blurry at first, but the more he blinked the more they came into focus, until he could see clearly again.

He looked to his right, to where John was and felt his jaw drop. John was pale, so pale. His clothes were ripped. The jumper that he wore to the Christmas party was torn and covered in blood. He was in here for one day. What have they done to him? He scanned higher and looked into John's eyes. They were still glazed over, staring straight past Greg.

'Only one of you can see.' A smooth voice said, 'This makes things more interesting, yes?'

Turning his head to the left, Greg stared at Mrs Hudson. She was as pale as John and her whole body was shaking. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and she kept looking from side to side. Unable to watch any longer, he turned back to Moriarty.

'You bastard! Where's Sherlock? What have you done with him?!'

'Why don't you see for yourself?' Moriarty said, smiling. He nodded to someone outside the door and suddenly a large TV was being pushed into the room.

Moriarty grabbed a remote off the man and flicked the TV on. Greg watched in horror as a small room slowly came into view. Inside the room was a familiar - very familiar - man. Sherlock was curled up in the fetal position and only had a shirt on. He was dangerously thin and Greg had never seen him so bad. Even in his drug days he wasn't like that. He was nothing more than a skeleton right now and it made Greg sick. He clenched his teeth and turned his eyes to Moriarty.

'What have you done to him you sick fucker?!'

'What's going on? Is Sherlock here?' John was tugging at the ropes, swinging his head from side to side wildly. 'Greg? What's happening?'

Greg didn't reply. What could he say? He could hear John getting more and more frustrated and instantly understood why Moriarty only returned his sight. He mentally slapped himself for falling for the bait and turned to John, trying to keep his voice even.

'He's fine. Just a little dirty, that's all.'

'The little Detective is a really good liar. Oops!' Moriarty laughed, leaning against the door. He flicked the TV off and walked out of the room, throwing a small smirk in Greg's direction. The door slammed shut, leaving an awkward silence behind.

'Why did you lie?' John's voice was cold.

'Because you would flip if you saw the truth. It's not a pretty picture.'

Silence. And then -

'Is he alive?'

Gritting his teeth, Greg replied.

'Barely.'