John stepped through the door feeling the press of the man's pistol vanish for a moment only to reappear between his shoulder blades. "Move quickly, Dr. Watson. Your friends await you."
"I'm not entirely sure they're my friends," John said before he could stop himself.
The man behind him grunted in surprised amusement and John felt a little heartened by the sound. His abductor couldn't be all bad if he could find something in this situation humorous. But the instant passed quickly when John saw the scene laid out before him in the ship's small lounge. Two men sat on opposite sides of the room in wooden armchairs. The ship's furniture tended toward the utilitarian rather than the opulent, and both men were lashed tightly to their respective chairs. Moriarty, it seemed, warranted a garrote-style collar tying this neck to the back of the chair to limit movement as well as cause no small amount of uncomfortableness. John wasn't sure the man would be able to draw a proper breath in that position and in fact, and when John looked a bit closer, he noticed with a doctor's alarm that Moriarty's lips had a blue tinge around them. He'd already suffered some asphyxiation. His eyes had a glassy stare to them as he drew in tight, constricted breaths.
John noted with some relief that Sherlock had escaped a similar fate and only seemed to have his feet, arms, and wrists tied firmly to the chair. Both chairs had been affixed to stout pillars on opposite sides of the room. John was surprised to see Sherlock still tied up as he was very skilled at getting out of his bounds. But, then he saw the complex and expertly tied knots and decided his captor not only knew how to handle a prisoner but know how to keep one captive as well.
"I've been waiting all day for you, Doctor," said the man. "Your partner, of course, didn't tell me you'd be on your way. But I sussed it out of him." The man waved his pistol at the bound form of Moriarty.
John had stumbled into the middle of something intense, and he wasn't sure exactly what to expect from the man holding the gun. "You know my name, but you have me at a disadvantage,"
"I'm Wells," he said shortly. "Stand there," he ordered pointing to another column placed evenly between the two geniuses. He tossed the doctor a pair of handcuffs and said, "Hug the pillar and put the cuffs on."
John sighed, and did as he was told. He couldn't see any way out at the moment and didn't want to set Wells off in any way. Once the cuffs were in place, Wells stepped forward, keeping the gun pointed evenly and made sure the cuffs fit snugly against his wrists. Once he felt John was secure, he stepped back.
"Now that we're all here, what do you intend to do with us?" John asked evenly. From his peripheral vision, he saw Sherlock huff out a snort and roll his eyes.
"I only wanted him," he said pointing at the nearly unconscious Moriarty "But, I ended up with Sherlock bloody Holmes and now you as well. He sounded petulant and surly. "And, I don't know how you've managed it all these years," the man said keeping his pistol pointed firmly at the center of John's chest. "I've been trying to hunt this… filth down for the past two years," nodding his head in the Moriarty's direction. He'd nearly spit out the word "filth" and John knew from the emotion he held barely in check the man wanted to kill Moriarty very badly. "I finally found out about this little getaway boat, and I've been watching it for six months now hoping he'd need it to escape someday. My waiting game finally paid off, it seems. But, I got more than I bargained for with you two."
How did you know I was coming. John was sure Sherlock would have rather put out his own eyes than give him away. So, it must have been Jim trying to bargain his way out of a tight spot.
"Never mind the details, Doctor. He tried to threaten me with you two. Told me you'd bring the whole British government down on my head. Pah, I'm sure they're already on your tail. But, I've got a trick or two I know to get away from them."
"Let us go," John said trying to keep his voice light, neutral. "You obviously have some revenge plans for him. Let us go."
"Revenge! He killed my partner and the only person I've ever loved. My husband, Tyler got in his way. This was his yacht, and that slime wanted it. Tyler told him the boat wasn't for sale, and we thought that would be the end of if, but a few weeks later, I went to Monaco on business and found my Tyler had been in an accident. He'd fallen overboard, and his boat had been stolen. I tracked the boat back to this marina and found out it had been stocked and prepped as a getaway vehicle. I still knew all the codes; he hadn't bothered changing them, and I've been lying in wait for the man who murdered my… I'm no murderer. I have no desire to take lives unnecessarily, but I will not let this fetid, little monster leave this boat alive. That, I promise you."
To John's amazement, Moriarty tried lifting his head and opened his eyes. He tried forming words but just managed to spit out few choking noises.
"He doesn't have long, in that position. He'll asphyxiate…"
"We've got time, doctor. You're not the only one here with medical expertise," Wells said and grimaced in obvious pain.
John took a moment and looked him over with a critical eye. Wells, John didn't know if that were his first or last name, had pronounced, dark circles under his eyes. During the short time they'd been talking the man's breathing seemed labored and uneven and he swallowed thickly. John guessed he might have advanced stage cancer going by the hollowed cheeks under his grizzly beard and overall gauntness that haunted those afflicted with a terminal disease. Wells was certainly dying. John made no mistake about the fact, however, that the man still had sufficient strength to pull a trigger. He reminded John of a cornered tiger ready to spring. This could go very badly.
"We're leaving," Wells announced suddenly. "I'm taking us out of harbor. Just waiting for you to join us, Doctor. I didn't want anyone following me and keeping me from doing what I've set out to do. Sit tight gents while I get us underway." Wells turned around and exited through a door on the opposite side. "I'm locking you in for good measure." John turned his head just in time to see Wells stepping through the other door and heard the electronic beeps of another key code. He thought frantically back to the numbers he'd punched in earlier but for the life of him couldn't recall them. He looked at Sherlock who stared back serenely at him. The door whooshed open, and Wells left them alone.
After their captor's departure, John's gaze fell on the figure of Moriarty struggling for breath in his chair. He hadn't noticed before because Moriarty's suit jacket hid most of it, but he had substantial scarring running up both sides of his neck from the explosive collar. The damage had to have been extensive as John remembered lacerations from the small explosive collar he'd thrown at him. He had no idea how he'd avoided bleeding out the last time he'd seen him. The fact that he'd been saved was a credit not only to modern medicine but to Moriarty's vicious will to live.
The criminal mastermind had closed his eyes again and seemed to concentrate on pulling in each ragged breath. The garroted rope around his neck dug into his neck. The bright red welt that had already begun forming and the skin beneath the cruel collar looked chaffed and raw. The sight sickened him. No human deserved this, well maybe this human did. Wells had just as much reason to hate Moriarty as John did, it seemed. It repulsed and satisfied John to see Moriarty in such a state. He tore his eyes away from the labored rise and fall of Jim's chest and found Sherlock's eyes again. "Well?" he asked.
"Well," Sherlock responded and John's relief at hearing the strength in that voice nearly unnerved him. Thank God he seemed okay.
"Sherlock," John said warningly. "It wasn't the time to be cryptic. Are you injured?"
"No, John. I'm confined to this chair, but I'm otherwise unhurt," he replied. He looked at John with a touch of his old insufferable attitude of "What? Can't you see?" and it sent a trilling jolt through him. Confident Sherlock meant he knew something or had solved something, and that gave John cause to hope they might make it out of this alive.
The yacht gave a shudder and John felt the thrum of an engine come to life. Wells was moving the boat out onto the open sea.
"Sherlock," John said. "What are we going to do? We can't let him take us out on the ocean."
"Not much we can do, John," Sherlock said keeping his eyes locked on John's. "You came for me."
"Of course, I came for you, Sherlock. You were in trouble and he," John tossed his head at the struggling Moriarty, "had escaped yet again! I wasn't going to leave you again. I'm done leaving you…"
Moriarty made a gasping sound, and both Sherlock and John turned their gaze on the struggling figure. If John didn't know how much effort it would have taken to simply stay alive, he would have thought Jim was laughing at them. "Mmm- Maudlin bull bull…ssshit," John heard him gasp out, and he fell silent.
"Ignore him. He's about to die," Sherlock stated.
"Really?" John asked. "What makes you so sure this time?" John's curiosity winning out over the ridiculous situation he and Sherlock had found themselves in yet again.
"The man who captured you, Wells, is going to kill him," Sherlock stated decisively.
Moriarty's eyes widened a little at Sherlock's statement, and he squirmed in his seat as he tried to find a more comfortable position for his neck. John felt a pang of sympathy at Jim's situation. Torture had never been his thing. Even if he'd been so furious as to want someone dead, he'd rather just shoot them and end it quickly rather than draw it out. He saw no point in drawing out death to satisfy his own sense of retribution. This sickened him.
"And you know this because?" John prompted.
Wells is ex-military, special forces and highly trained. As you've probably surmised, he is dying of stage three cancer of the throat. He's got a month or so left. Moriarty killed his husband two years ago and stole this yacht, that's true, but he also tried to kill Wells as well. But, killing an ex-solider as highly trained as he was proved to be difficult. It also will prove to be James Moriarty's undoing. Wells has been modifying his boat in a number of ways. I doubt even Mycroft could track it once he's out on the open ocean. Once he's got us far enough out, he plans on killing Dear Jim and tossing his body overboard. I simply got in his way, so I had to be trussed up. He doesn't want to kill us, John."
"Why did he wait for me?"
"James convinced him you had a way of tracking me. He told Wells I'd told you to come on your own, and so he decided to wait to see if you would. You did, John. And now, we're all going on a sea voyage together."
"That is just about what I expected," John said shaking his head. He had to admit his own stupidity in following Sherlock's orders to come alone. Well, if Mycroft had been tracking him, they might have a chance right now. If not, well, he hoped they do something to resolve this situation and get themselves home. He might as well sit down. He knelt down and managed to work his hips so he could sit on his ass and still see both Moriarty and Sherlock. His shoulder already ached in this uncomfortable position, so he relaxed it as much as possible.
"How long have you been in that chair?" John asked giving him another appraising look.
"Almost twenty hours," Sherlock responded flexing his hands. The ropes were very tight, John noticed, and he worried about Sherlock's circulation.
"Numb hands? Tingling?" John asked.
"Some, I've been trying to keep the blood flowing as much as possible, but I'd like to be free. He's got masterful knot tying skills," Sherlock said, and John thought he sounded impressed. I've been trying all day to work them loose but the more I wiggle, the tighter they get. I got them so tight; he had to redo them a few hours ago. I've learned my lesson and kept my movements to a minimum. I'm all right, John. You okay, is your shoulder…"
"It's fine," John said cutting him off. No sense in complaining about a situation they could do nothing about.
"John, I think I've got something …" but Sherlock's words was cut short by the sound of the door opening again.
Wells reentered and said, "We're underway. We're on a course that will take us out to deep sea. I've rigged up a kind of autopilot. There's another large storm coming in, and I'm sailing right into the middle of it. It'll help with keeping us off the radar."
"Is that wise?" Sherlock asked. Wells shook his head and smiled a nasty looking smile at him.
"No, Mr. Holmes, it's not. I've just heard over the wire there are severe storm warnings and high winds. This one should be one nasty blow. But, it suits me just fine. You see, I don't plan on coming back from this trip anyway."
John looked from Sherlock's pale, placid face to Wells red-cheeked one. Their captor's hand went to his chest again and his eyes closed as another wave of pain swept through him.
"Time for my meds, Doctor. The pain gets pretty bad after a few hours. I'm going to dose up and get us as far out as possible. Then, I'll come for him. If you do anything to stop me, I'll kill you both."
He turned then and exited back through the door.