A/N: Well, it is me Jcaslcgaiwd. I have to apologise because this chapter is extremely short. Why? Because this is just a bit of time before Rainy gets all the fun going. Now I shall shut up.
Sherlock instantly tensed, all the fear returning. All the torture, beatings, teasing, humiliation, all of it ran through his head. He couldn't go through that all. Not again. He especially couldn't let that all happen to John. His dear John. His best friend. His caretaker. His best mate. His savior. The detective couldn't possibly imagine anything bad happening to his friend. He couldn't imagine John being tortured. To hear his screams. To feel his salty tears on his face. To taste the army doctor's blood in his mouth as he slowly died in his arms.
"Sherly you still there?" Moriarty's voice yells out and Sherlock looks up at the bastard. Even if his mouth wasn't covered with a gag, the consulting detective couldn't scream. He was too terrified to make a sound. He was literally frozen with fear. Moriarty laughs at his fear. "Don't worry, I won't hurt Johnny boy. As long as you behave." He grabs Sherlock by the front of his shirt. They were only inches apart.
The frightened man nods and swallows.
"Good." The consulting criminal purrs. He snaps his pale fingers and some guards come. They untie Sherlock, but keep a firm grip on him. They force him to his knees and he is forced to stare into Satan's eyes. Moriarty brings his fist back, hitting Sherlock and blacking the detective's world.
Sherlock wakes up, sweating and dried blood on his head. He was in a cell, alone. The tall man gets up, looking for John. The ex-soldier was no where to be heard from. He begins to panic, fearing for the worst. If there was no John, then he had no point in living. Sherlock digs through his pockets, finding it. A small piece of a razor. It was enough to do what needs to be done. He rolls up his sleeve, prepared to do what needs to be done.
Death was now the only way to see John again. To be with his best friend. The cell door swings open and he shoves it into his pocket. He feels the blade cut his finger, but he acts as if nothing is wrong.
"Hello, my dear." Sherlock just looks at him, knowing that speaking would just cause him hurt. That was one of the "rules'. Do not speak, unless specified or asked a question. If he remembered this, he would live another day. Through another beating. "Don't worry I haven't touched your precious John. Well, not yet." He swallows, afraid of this threat. No, it was more like a promise.
"When can I see him?" He asks in a small voice. Moriarty looks at him.
"What did you say?"
"When can I see John again?"
The villain smirks.
"Soon enough." He replies with a maniacal life. Then he exits. Sherlock knew deep down that statement meant something bad was going to happen and that it was going to be very soon.
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