"One week."
No response.
"I've been here for a week already, and nobody has told me anything about what you brought me here for."
Sherlock looks around the room at the men standing guard.
"Who are you working for? But of course you won't tell me, will you?" He sighs. He leans against the wall and looks around, talking to himself quietly.
"Concrete walls. Concrete floor. No windows. A single door, locking from the outside. Seems like a basement. But a basement where?" He is frustrated by the lack of possible clues to where he is.
"This would have been a lot easier if I'd been conscious during the trip here." He sits down, covering his head. Think. This room must contain some sort of clue. He has plenty of theories, but he's disadvantaged; he can't confirm any of them with facts. He can't really get any facts at all: he's chained to the wall and the room is dark. Regardless of this, he's not worried. Not exactly. He's always up for a challenge, and this certainly seems like it's going to be challenging.
A few silent minutes pass. Suddenly, Sherlock hears a key turn in the lock of the door, and the door swings open. A man walks in and whispers something to one of the guards. That guard walks up to Sherlock.
"He's asked to see you now," the man states in a gruff voice. He pulls out a key and unlocks the chain, putting a pair of handcuffs on Sherlock's wrists. Sherlock doesn't resist. He's far too curious as to why this man, whoever he is, wants to see him.
"Come on," says the man, and he roughly shoves Sherlock out of the room. He enters long hallway. It is dimly lit and has no windows at all. Sherlock looks around the hallway as he walks. Concrete walls, floor, and ceiling, just like the room he was being held in. Plenty of doors lining the hallway. Dirty and dark. Not much to go off of. Sherlock wants to look around a little, but obviously this is impossible. The man leading Sherlock suddenly stops.
"In here," he commands, pointing to a door that is slightly ajar. "The boss will see you now. "
Sherlock puts his hand on the doorknob, but then pauses. "You're not coming in?" he asks the guard. The man doesn't answer his question.
"Hurry up," he demands. "The boss doesn't like to be kept waiting. Sherlock breathes in deeply and pushes open the door. He walks into a large room, ornate and comfortable. It feels very different from the cold, concrete room that he's been in for the past week.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," greets a smooth, calm voice. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person after hearing so much about you." The source of the voice is a man sitting in an oversized, plush chair in the middle of the room. The man gestures toward him.
"Please, Mr. Holmes, close the door behind you and take a seat." Sherlock obliges, although cautiously. He sits down in a chair directly opposite to the man.
"So, Mr. Holmes, I suppose it's time for introductions," he begins, in a teasing tone. "I already know you relatively well, as I'm sure you have deduced by this point. I'm sure you are curious as to who I am, though."
"Actually," interjects Sherlock, "I believe I have a good idea as to who you are. Professor James Moriarty, correct?"
The man looks impressed, maybe even surprised, for a brief moment. He quickly regains his cool demeanor.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes, I'm impressed. I have clearly underestimated your powers of deduction. What gave me away?" he asks with a forced smile.
Sherlock smiles. "Your work is rather intriguing to me, I must admit. By work, I am referring both to your professorial studies and your… current occupation. You are undoubtedly one of the most talented criminals whom I have ever encountered." Moriarty seems surprised by how much Sherlock knows.
Sherlock continues, "I've noticed a pattern in some of my recent cases. I've never been able to directly trace any of them back to you, but it's been obvious to me that something was going on behind the scenes. And knowing your history and skills, it seemed likely to me that you played a part in these crimes. Not directly, of course. But in the planning of them all. When I met your associate, James Wilson, I immediately suspected something. When he attacked me, my suspicions were confirmed."
Moriarty smiles coldly at Sherlock. "You're very good, Mr. Holmes. But now, since you seem to know so much, tell me, what do you plan to do now? You must admit you're at a disadvantage."
Sherlock doesn't answer his question. "Professor Moriarty, I must ask you. What do you plan to do now? I can't really see any advantage that you would find in keeping me as a prisoner. Yet, you have still kept me here for a week. What's the point? Why don't you just kill me?"
Moriarty chuckles at Sherlock's audacity. "Mr. Holmes, I'm not the only one who has something against you and your colleague Dr. Watson. You've put an abundance of dangerous criminals in prison and have gotten many of them hung. I have several passionate… clients…. that are willing to pay tremendous sums of money in order to assure your demise. Amongst London's criminals, you're a hated man, Mr. Holmes." He pauses for a moment, staring intently at Sherlock.
"Well, it's a shame. You would have made a wonderful colleague. Just think of all you would accomplish if you were on the right side. Think of the power you would possess." Sherlock is quiet for a moment. He's silent because he knows that what Moriarty is saying is true. Of course, he's not interested in being a criminal. But he's annoyed by how advantageous corruption can be for those who are skilled at it.
He speaks again, impatient. "You never answered my question. Why don't you just kill me?"
A sly smile forms on Moriarty's face. "Now, Mr. Holmes. Why would you think that I would kill you? No, that would be too boring. I want a little bit of fun, and I've certainly been having my share of it. Although, I suppose you wouldn't know much about what's been going on since you've been here."
Intrigued, Sherlock inquires, "What do you mean, you've been having 'fun'? What don't I know about?" He hates being here, not knowing what's going on back in London. That's one of the things that he usually relies on: being about to predict what's going to happen. Now he's at a total disadvantage.
Moriarty senses Sherlock's frustration, and he actually seems to enjoy it. "Why are you so concerned?" he jokes. "I suppose you might as well know what's going on, though. I'll tell you. The day that Wilson brought you here, I had a group of people stage a crime scene in your flat. I…"
"What do you mean "a crime scene"? What did you do?"
Moriarty chuckles. "I've been pioneering a new medical field, facial reconstruction. I found a man about your height, with a similar hair color. I hired a few skilled people to attempt to make that man look like you. It actually turned out quite nicely, I must say. The resemblance was almost exact. After that, the rest was easy. We took his body and staged a suicide scene in your flat."
Sherlock is quiet for a moment. "You really are quite good," he finally says. "So they think I'm dead?"
Moriarty shakes his head, a smug look on his face. "Not exactly. A few days later, we put another replica body in an alleyway and called the police."
Shaking his head, Sherlock smiles coldly. "You are certainly clever, I'll admit that much. But…" A sudden knock on the door interrupts him mid-sentence.
Moriarty looks impatient. "I'm busy. I thought I told you not to interrupt me," he complains.
Despite this, the door opens, revealing a man who looks vaguely familiar to Sherlock, although he is not sure why.
"Sir, I apologize, but it's urgent." Moriarty sighs, obviously annoyed by the sudden interruption.
"Fine. What's the problem?" The man looks nervous and somewhat distracted. He steps into the room.
"I… was watching the area you told me to, when… I heard a gunshot. I knew that it was about the time that you had sent Wilson to deliver your message, so I went to see what was wrong."
Moriarty looks concerned. "He couldn't have possibly… I told him specifically to keep the Doctor alive…" he whispers to himself.
"No, no, sir, he didn't shoot him. Doctor Watson's alive… but, sir, Wilson's dead."
Sherlock raises an eyebrow. He realizes that the reason he recognizes the man is because he'd seen him on Baker Street before; this is one of Moriarty's spies who's been watching him and Watson.
"Watson shot him?" he suddenly asks.
The man looks nervously at Moriarty, who shrugs.
"Did Dr. Watson shoot Wilson? Or was it Inspector Lestrade?" Moriarty inquires.
The man shakes his head slowly."No. They couldn't. Wilson had… For some reason, he slit Dr. Watson's wrists. Dr. Watson survived, but he was bleeding too much at the time to shoot anyone. And Inspector Lestrade didn't have a gun at the time. I know this sounds strange, but I think the Doctor's fiancée did it." Moriarty doesn't have much of a response. He seems deep in thought. After a while he speaks again, although he doesn't look up.
"Well, there's always going to be some collateral damage, I suppose. Thank you, you may leave." The man walks back of out the room and shuts the door.
Sherlock is surprised. He hadn't thought of Mary as the kind of person who would have the courage or ability to shoot anyone. But now he knows that John and Mary are fighting back.
Even through all of this confusion, however, one thing is clear to both Sherlock and Moriarty.
The game is afoot.
Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this chapter. I'd love any reviews, questions, or suggestions ;)
Thank you so much Lightening Sparks and Nimara Portmac for your reviews!