Sherlock
11 hours 58 minutes
Oh God. John's going to die. And it's all my fault. I stand up and open the envelope, at least have some faith Sherlock. Moriarty may be cruel, evil, and heartless, but he is fair. It's not a phone this time, instead the envelope wasn't even addressed. This time it's a picture. A drawing of the Thames. If he thought this was a clue, he's insane. This isn't a clue, it's a picture of the Thames and the Waterloo bridge. Where the tide comes in. There's nothing over there, I've been fifty times or more in the past week for Lestrade. Lestrade. He can help. I mentally kick myself, no. I have to do it on my own. I study the picture closer as Mrs. Hudson comes up the stairs,
"Sherlock dear, what is it?" I say nothing. Don't want to alarm her now do I? "Sherlock. Where's John?"
"Not coming home tonight." She smiles,
"He and Sarah get on well."
"Yes."
"What is that?" I don't look up, looking looking, what am I looking for?
"A drawing."
"Of what Sherlock."
"The Thames and Waterloo bridge." She chuckles,
"There's nothing over there."
"I know."
"So what's in the picture?"
"Where the tide comes in."
"What are you looking for." Anger. My head snaps up and I glare at her,
"I don't know!" Her smile falters and she backs down the steps, letting me examine the only clue I'm going to get to finding John. Something about Waterloo. I'll have to go down there. I sigh. This is what caring for people does, it makes you worry. Puts them in the line of fire, makes them and yourself vulnerable. I knead my eyes, a migraine starting behind them. Perfect. Just what I need now. I'll have to go down to Waterloo. There might be another clue there. Time for a decision. "Mrs. Hudson!"
"What dear?"
"I'm going out."
John
What the Hell? Where am I? How come I can't- I don't know what happened. Oh Hell. My head aches something horrible. I don't remember anything after breakfast with Sherlock. Oh God. There is only way this is possible. One name that twists itself over and over in my mind. Moriarty. Of everyone I've met, James is the one that I fear the most. Oh God. He's going to kill me. I can't see. I can't feel. My arms hurt and my mouth is gagged. No calling out then. What's that sound? Water is it? Oh God. He's put me on the Thames, near the Thames, around the Thames. I'm going to drown. At least it's better then getting stabbed. Or blown up. John, relax. You aren't going to die, Sherlock's going to find you. Is that my phone? How stupid is Moriarty? He didn't take my phone away! My hands are bound, I can't get it. I reach around myself, trying anyway. You never got anywhere without trying. I can just feel it, just there. It's still buzzing, right. Don't hang up Sherlock. Please. Wait. You can't answer the damn thing. You can barley move your arms. Where's your pocket knife you sod? In the desk back at the flat. Perfect. You're going to make Sherlock proud you are, where are you? What do you know about the place? It's cold. Damp. Hard, concrete. Am I in a bloody box? Oh God. I'm going to die in a box. Oh heaven help me. I run my fingers along the floor, trying to find something to untie my hands with. Nothing. Of course. I can't stand, the box is a bit too small. I'm in a bloody box! I'm not going to make it I don't think. Oh God. I don't want to die right now. Not right now. Not like this.
Sherlock
10 hours
Oh God. If John dies I'm going to never forgive myself.
"Do you think you could hurry up? I'm in a bit of a hurry." The cab driver barely looks back at me, making the face of an annoyed cabbie. Typical.
"Might cost you more."
"Gladly." He frowns.
"Do you mind me asking why you need to get to Waterloo bridge so fast?"
"Yes. But I will say this, if my friend dies before we get there, I hold you entirely responsible." The cabbie pales and puts his foot down.
7 hours 30 minutes
I'm never going to find him in time. Oh this is a nightmare. I comb the tide line and the whole bit of the shore. Nothing. Nothing for miles. Water splashes on my feet and angrily, I kick at a small rock. I swear under my breath as I pace back and forth again. Why does Moriarty play these games. He wants me to lose. He wants me to win. I can't figure him out. What's wrong with him. I'm a sociopath, but Jim? He's a psychopath. An interesting one. Shut up Sherlock. John's in trouble. You have to find John. Right. John. Clue. There has to be one here. I take the picture out again, studying the hand drawn lines, looking for something, anything. I look up, there. The one thing out of place in the hand drawn image, a small box. Here on the shore, not prominent in the picture. Cautiously I pick my way across the shore, hoping beyond hope that it holds what I want it too. It's a small box, metal, like a lunch box, only the ones used for construction workers. Unlocked, obviously. Another envelope. Another clue? I slide it open, praying. A folded note. Typed, card-stock. Interesting. I unfold it and nearly drop.
How long have you wasted scanning the shore? Two? Three? How much time do you have left? Six or Seven hours. And you still don't know where to look. Tsk Tsk. Thought you were smarter then that Sherlock. How about you try Sussex bridge next, my dear.
Tick
Tick
Tick
That bastard. He's egging me on. And I'm sure as Hell going to fall for it. Seven hours, and counting.
Moriarty here. Just kidding guys. Okay. I know what I want to do, I just need to figure out of I want FIVE parts or only FOUR parts. I also want input on how I'm doing so far. For those of you who have read my multi part fics, you understand that I rely on you. I have it all planned out, but I need help to know what you as the readers want. For those that are new, help is good. I second opinion is good in my line of work.
Until Gallifrey is free,
Time Lord Victorious