It was two days ago. Sherlock was racing through a vast abandoned warehouse, perusing a serial killer, with a flashlight in one hand and a Sig Sauer in the other as Lestrade and his men were sweeping the most recent crime scene the killer has provided . It happened just half an hour ago, causing a death of a young woman. Sherlock and John had the head start. John was searching another warehouse on the south of the one Sherlock was in. In either one of the warehouses, the killer was hiding. They had chased him from a street a few blocks away from here. Sherlock was confident that he had the killer cornered. It was only a matter of time before he was caught. There was nowhere to run. Sherlock had locked the only entrance to the warehouse from the inside with a padlock, and the only key to open it, was inside his coat pocket.
Sherlock roughly knocked over some card board boxes filled with dusty rubbish. He scanned the floor. No fresh foot prints where there. Just cement covered in dust. He switched his gaze upward and pointed his flash light toward his left.
"You're trapped in here. You might as well give up and save some energy." He called out. There was no reply. He edged closer to the center of the warehouse. His strained his ears. Just then, there was a large bang from behind him. Sherlock ducked. Someone had shot at him. The bullet barely missed Sherlock and skidded into one of the luggage abandoned in the warehouse. Head bowed down, Sherlock thrust his gun in front of him and ran to somewhere with better cover. Crouching behind a large shelf, Sherlock turned off his flashlight and strained his ears again. The only source of light was the faint moonlight leaking in from the slim windows high above.
Careful not to make any noise, he stood up slowly and peeked over the edge of the shelf. Nothing. He stood there for a while for what felt like minutes when he heard a clunk toward his right. He jerked his head to the direction of the noise when suddenly something grabbed Sherlock's neck from behind. The detective gawked and dropped his gun and flashlight. His hand flew to his neck, trying to pry the unknown hands away. He bent his back to ease the strain. He and the unknown figure bumped into the wall and the two fell down with a small "oof!" Sherlock scrambled across the dark, damp, icy cement floor, toward the Sig Sauer on the floor. Before he could reach it, a hand grabbed Sherlock's ankle and pulled him back. Another hand grabbed the back of Sherlock's coat collar and flipped him on his back. Light flashed into his face as the figure mounted on top of Sherlock. Sherlock covered his eyes from the light with his free hand. As his eyes grew accustomed to the bright light, Sherlock saw the face of the man who had attacked him and froze. Jim Moriarty was beaming down as him with blazing eyes.
For a moment there, Sherlock's face was frozen in surprise. Then, it gradually transformed into genuine hatred. His silver-blue eyes shined against the flash light and gazed straight towards Moriarty. The consulting criminal merely chimed "Hi" and steadied his gun at Sherlock's face. "You got the wrong warehouse."
"So you were behind it all along…I knew those killing methods were too clever for a man like him." Sherlock muttered more to himself than to Moriarty. Jim Moriarty smiled widened as he took the comment as a compliment.
"I'm so glad you came to this warehouse Sherlock. It makes things much easier. I mean, if John Watson came in here instead, I would have had to go through all the troubles to knock him out, kidnap him, gag him, tie him, contact you, and all the other things." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
"What do you want with me, Moriarty?" Sherlock asked though he already knew what the answer will most likely be.
"Remember I said I was going to burn the heart out of you?" He paused for a second. "Well I have something exciting in mind and I'm in the middle of a big preparation at the moment. Well anyway," He stopped abruptly, licked his lips, and tilted his head slightly to his right and gazed down at Sherlock curiously.
"I had a little chat with your brother Iceman a few days ago while you were running around in Baskerville." He leaned forward a little. "Interesting business by the way, fear toxin? What was it like?" Sherlock didn't reply. His lips were drawn tight. Slightly disappointed that Sherlock wasn't going to answer his question, Moriarty decided to move on.
"Your brother told me some interesting things about you, Sherlock." Sherlock didn't change his expression. Moriarty shifted his hazel eyes down toward Sherlock's left. Careful not to lower his gun away from Sherlock's face, he placed the flashlight to his side and reached for Sherlock's left arm. Sherlock jerked his arm away. The consulting criminal raised his eyebrows and chucked his chin at the gun. Sherlock breathed in heavily as Moriarty rolled up Sherlock's sleeves. He held the flashlight between his teeth and examined the detective's pale arm. A smile curled up as he saw Sherlock's arm marked with old scars from his days of substance abuse.
"I have a little something for you." Moriarty said merrily and tucked his gun into his back pocket. At that moment, Sherlock thrust his arms up to grab Moriarty but the criminal hit the side of Sherlock's head with his flashlight. There was a dull thud and Sherlock's eyes watered. His ear, where the flashlight had struck, pounded and burned.
"Whoa, whoa… jeez." Moriarty shook his head and placed a hand in his inner pocket. He pulled out a small black rectangular box about the size of a television remote controller. Sherlock blinked the tears out of his eyes and stared at the box as Moriarty flipped it open. There was an injection needle inside it. Sherlock froze. Moriarty placed the flashlight between his teeth again as his flicked the injection needle to get rid of the bubbles in the contents. Sherlock squirmed to escape from Moriarty's hold but the consulting criminal squeezed Sherlock's torsos between his knees to the point that Sherlock grimaced in pain. Moriarty squirted some of the colorless liquid to adjust the dosage. When he was ready he showed it triumphantly to Sherlock.
"Say hi to your old friend." Sherlock stared at the liquid swiveling inside the container. He blinked away from it uninterestedly. I am strong…he told himself. I'm strong enough to ignore it.
"I'm clean." He said blankly. "I don't even smoke."
"But you did when Irene Adler died…Funny how Mycroft keeps a lookout for you in case of danger nights. Do clean people have danger nights?" Moriarty sniffed. Sherlock had to admit that he had a point. Once you get addicted, you are never truly free from its grip. Any moment you could plunge back to the life of dope. "It's morphine in case you're curious." Moriarty explained.
"I don't care." Sherlock said flatly. "It's behind me."
"Oh come on, let's see about that now, shall we?"
"No." Sherlock squirmed again. Moriarty grabbed Sherlock's unrolled armed but he shook it away from Moriarty's grasp.
"I made this especially for you. It's the same brand that you used to take…from the same dealers that you used to get it from. I even researched the right amount of dosage so you wouldn't be under or over dosed. I know you're body system's pretty much immune to slight dosages so I made it strong enough for you." He explained all this through his clenched teeth as he fought Sherlock's flailing limbs. Madness danced in his eyes. "Isn't that …sweet?" He exclaimed as he finally managed to pin Sherlock down.
"You think you can get to me? By feeding me drugs?" Sherlock laughed "You know that my urge only takes place when there's no case. As soon as I have something to work on, all of this will be unnecessary."
"Yes but you see, right now, as we speak, Johnny boy's probably caught the killer. Then, case closed, Sherlock. What are you going to do tomorrow? Any plans? I'm sure Lestrade will be pretty busy questioning and writing reports for a while. And clients only come to your place at an average of one or two a week. Can you handle the spare time without these for a whole day tomorrow?" He flicked his eyes toward the injection in his hand.
"I'll keep myself busy." He said sternly.
"Oh I don't know…this is a pretty impressive dosage, Sherlock, have ever thought about the withdrawals? I calculated the dosage so it will be quite painful for you." He smirked. Sherlock's eyes wavered for a fraction of a second. He gave another wriggle in hopes of escaping Moriarty's grip for the umpteenth time, but Moriarty's had enough chatting. He grabbed the top of Sherlock's hair roughly and pushed his head down. There was another dull thud as the back of Sherlock's head violently contacted the cement floor. For the second time tonight, Sherlock saw sparks swim in his eyes along with tears. The bridge of his nose stung as the pain traveled from the back of his head to his brain. For a moment, Sherlock thought he was going to black out, but he managed to hang on. Moriarty twisted Sherlock's head to the side and pulled down the blue scarf to reveal his neck. Realizing what he was trying to do, Sherlock grabbed for Moriarty's wrists but it was too late. The needle punctured Sherlock's pale neck and entered his vein. Moriarty pushed the toxin in.
Sherlock froze at the spot, his hands still in the air, his eyes wide with disbelief. This wasn't happening to him. He clenched his teeth. There was a moment of silence. Moriarty slowly pulled the needle and placed it back in the box, and the box back into his pocket. He let go of Sherlock's head. Sherlock turned straight back to Moriarty with hate in his eyes. For a moment, Moriarty wondered if he injected the right substance because Sherlock showed no sign of change. His breathing was normal, his eyes were clear.
Then, suddenly, Sherlock winced and inhaled sharply. His hands dropped to his side and he shuddered. The drug had kicked in. The detective tried to fight off the drug by shaking his head and breathing deeply through his nose but Moriarty can already see his long fingers starting to tremble. Despite his efforts to keep his breathing steady, it started to become shallower and shallower. A sense of dizziness swept over him and he had to turn sideways and press his cheek against the cool cement to calm down. The weird sensation made him nostalgic. The cement felt as if it was melting around him. Moriarty smiled smugly as he took Sherlock's pulse. It was pumping like a rabbit's heart. Sherlock opened his eyes wide and tried to lift himself up. No, he couldn't succumb to this.
But Moriarty gently eased Sherlock down and rummaged through the detective's coat pocket. He pulled out what he wanted; the keys to open the padlock.
"Bye" he said with a charming smile and walked towards the door, singing merrily, "Sherlock Holmes is falling down, falling down, Sherlock Holmes is falling down, my fair Watson." And as he chuckled to himself, Moriarty opened the door, and left.