IMPORTANT ARTHUR'S NOTE THING AT THE BOTTOM!
WOW. Sherlock's POV is finished! I must say I enjoyed writing this however felt bad for hurting him so much, but then again, I only re-wrote a scene, not the movie :) PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT IN THE FOLLOWING CHAPTERS! Oh and this is a bit longer than the first chappie!
The small room was dark, the only light illuminating it shone throne a fair-sized glass window to the opposite of Holmes. He sat, hands folded, chin up, head straight, and eyes oh-so-very alert. He watched as Moriarty moved and stood by the pane, his fingers laced together before placing both his hands by his sides.
The aura grew more dangerous by the second as Sherlock did nothing but shift slightly in the uncomfortable hard chair he was seated in. Carefully, his eyes trailed the Professor's movements, until he took a light breath and finally spoke.
"A trout is... perhaps my favourite..." Almost immediately Holmes knew this was going to be a challenge. He forced himself to focus and waited for the older man to continue, "A fishermen grows weary of trying to catch a loose fish..." he paused once more, and Holmes had only a moment to collect his thoughts,
A loose fish? He noticed how Moriarty kept his stance, his pupils never wandering on the scene outside, Watson! No, I mustn't concern myself; I must find a way out...
"So he muddies the water" he spoke, "confuses the fish" and Sherlock knew very well what was to happen, even before the unmistakable ring of a shot firing, no matter how light it might sound through the distance. More shots were fire, until they came to a sudden halt. Sherlock took a deep breath, his palms, as he noted, we beginning to sweat only slightly.
So he's missed the first few times. Good job Watson. He could easily tell the ammunition had missed their intended target, thankfully, because he was sure that that target had to be none-other than Dr. John Watson himself. Sherlock felt an unusual ting of guilt for putting his friend in such danger, completely dismissing the fact that not only had he thrown Watson's new wife into the water meters and meters below not too long ago, or the fact that he had utterly destroyed John's plans for a romantic Honeymoon with Mary, or even the fact that he most came on board to solve this case almost out of his will.
All Holmes could do at the given time was drift his eye sight to the right, noting that there lay nothing but entirely empty space, then to his left, discovering the same fact repeated. His squinted his gaze and realized that this was of course the first floor and it was most likely an abandoned storage compartment where Moriarty had planned for him to be at this exact moment, whilst John on the other side, having barely any chances of survival due to his not so fortunate luck. But by any chance, if they did make it out alive, Holmes had noted that he would apologize to Watson.
Well not directly of course. I'm sure old Watson boy will figure it out eventually...
His ears perked as he heard a very light and almost inaudible sigh calming from the other man, Sherlock braced himself as he was sure Moriarty would continue with his riddles and tales.
"He doesn't realise until too late that it has swam into a trap." It didn't take Holmes a moment to know for a definite fact that the lecturer was not just speaking of Watson, whom Sherlock was sure was still attempting to find a way to outrun his attacker without very high chances, but himself also.
He turned his head to the side where a small noise had erupted, but just as he did so, he felt something prod against his shoulder for a split second, before completely impaling him.
His eyes widened reasonably and his pupils dilated just as much. He felt his jaw drop and released an uncontrolled gasp as he realised only too late what was taking place. An excruciating pain thwarted his body as the blade was pushed further into his flesh, whilst his world had begun to spin considerably thanks to the new found unbearable pain. Holmes hands immediately flew to grasp the blade only to find out it was not a blade, but rather something more of a hook. His sweated palm clutched the metal as if it were his only life source and before he noticed his; he was being pulled out of his chair. He flew into the air, and as he was being hulled further and further up, the sharp end of the hook kept tunnelling its way through his soft tissue.
A scream of utter and complete torture could be heard throughout the small room... it took him only a moment to realise that that very suffering-filled cry had exploded through his own throat. More screams burst through his lips until the hook and rope became slow and steady, barely moving.
His fingers held on tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white at the simultaneous time as his breaths began to emit as loud, short and fast pained gasps. He continued to concentrate on his breathing rather than the agonizing pain flaring through his system, attempting to calm himself down.
Oh dear god... calm down Holmes! Just breathe!
His breaths were now lower and much shallower and slower. He silently thanked his inner conscience for helping him, though now he figured; I'm hanging, literally hanging, from a hook to hold onto dear life whilst everything is placed in the hands of someone most likely madder and more insane than myself as my only hope of survival, being Watson, is outside getting shot at with almost certainly about as much chance to escape death as I...
His uneven yet better than before breaths were the only sound echoing of the walls of the dreaded room, until-
He heard the undeniable screech of some sort of amplifier being put in place. His eyes finally moved from the distressingly white ceiling above him and over to where his torturer stood, playing the instantly recognised classic tune of 'Die Forelle' extremely loudly.
He's playing this through the entire area... he is DEFINITLY madder than myself...
Holmes was unsure though of how he was in so much torment, and pure pain yet was still able to keep up with his own thoughts. Especially at this moment. He became aware of the pathetic dying sound for breathing he was making but was also aware that he had not such control over it. Nor did he have any certain control over the immense light trembling rocking his body- but yet- for once- he did not care, neither did he care for the fact that he had begun to move once again, as if through a circular circuit...
But all he could think about his the tremendous damage taking place. All he was able to notice was his breathing, the loud thump of his heart, the undying pain, and the fast blood rushing through his veins. His eyes begun to flutter until he heard a voice- over the music- singing along.
Moriarty's undeniable voice rung through his ears as Holme's shut his eyes for a moment, trying to block every single thing out...
He glanced down and noticed that the psychotic Professor had stopped singing and stepped over to him, where he pushed his body back, then walked over to him once more as he swung, and repeated the process with double the force. This time Sherlock could not clench his teeth, nor could he swallow his screams. He let out an enormously disturbed scream followed by more, as his body his rocked further than closer than further again.
His eyes were unquestionably wider, as was his mouth. He tasted the far too familiar taste of copper in his mouth as he felt a shiver run down his spine. He could not contain the next screeched cry as his entire form was pulled down, driving the hook deeper into his skin. He was released again but only for a moment-
Moriarty grabbed both his legs up to the knee and twisted him around as if he were some old broken rag doll. He could feel his back arch in torture as more yells of desperation and wholesome hurt fired through his lips. He couldn't feel it ending. It was as if he was stuck in hell, a place where only pain and agony existed, a place run by a tormentor too sick in the head not to fear.
He was turned and twisted more, and glanced down through his sheer devastation and saw large contempt eyes meeting his with an even larger ill, wrong smile to match. It looked like the ghastly Professor was dances away happily, as if it were the best day of his entire life. The thought made Holmes shiver- only if he could.
Right at this very moment he was not in control of his actions or emotions. Right at this very moment he was stranded in a world which contained nothing but pain and death as a better alternative- but he knew that would be too easy.
He was able to distinguish the fact that his screams were also echoed through not only the little dark room, but the whole surrounding space outside too.
He was aware that he was placing Watson under pain too, acknowledging the fact that Watson would hate himself if he never made it in time to save Holmes and for that Sherlock apologised in his mind and through his unbearably hurt yells.
Holmes was swung to the back of the circuit, leaving the sharp edge to dice him, making the slash wound even bigger. After one final scream from him he was pushed, prodded, pulled, twisted or turned further. Sherlock held on as tightly as if could through his sweated not to mention awfully bloodied palms and fingers. His breathing was more jagged and laboured as he lightly swayed from side to side, both his mind and body ready to give up at any given moment.
He rocked until the rope the hook clung to was released, and another helpless cry left his throat. His back met the ground exceedingly hard, sending another wave of fresh torment through his whole being. His lids were shut, his arms by his side to the level of his head, and his chest bleeding heavily and leaving a fresh pool of precious crimson blood beneath him.
He could not focus on anything other than being alive and living, rather than so easily succumbing to the unbearable pain and leaving this world, but he couldn't do that to Watson.
I... can't... leave him... or this case... just yet...
He took note, even through his torture that the music had stopped. He knew what the next part was, and he figured it was about to come.
He eyes fluttered open to be welcomed by Moriarty's own pair.
"Let's try this again shall we?"
No... More...
"To whom did you send" he paused for a moment, "the telegram?" he asked calmly.
Holmes couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't bear that again. Not that, not again.
"To whom?" Sherlock just breathed and didn't answer him. He saw Moriarty's eyes flicker, and before he knew it, he was on top of him.
His hand grip the hook still embedded within Sherlock and pushed it further, earning an unwilling gasp from Holmes. His other hand flew to his bloodied wrist and grabbed it tightly, bending down further so that his ear was near Sherlock's own.
Holmes turned his head as much as he could, attempting to control his breathing, before whispering ever so lightly,
"To my brother... Mycroft"
He could see, or more feel a smile etching itself on the evil older man's face. He felt Moriarty lift himself up, as Sherlock himself turned his head to face him again, hating the elder man's voice by the second,
"I've just got one more question for you"
There IS only one question left in his sick twisted game...
"Which one of us is the fishermen- and which the trout?"
He suddenly heard a loud bang, and unmistakable sound of crashing concrete, and Moriarty's face scrunching up in confusion. Even in his state, Holmes managed to figure out what was going on before the other, and rolled to the side hoping his luck would help him, for that was all he could us at this very second.
It was dark. It was dark, until Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes to the best possible sight- concrete and debris were fallen all around, the smell of dust and dirt lingered in the air and then it all came rushing back to him.
Well I do believe he got what he merited. Well done Watson.
He felt a smirk rise to his lips, shutting his eyes before he would've met utter oblivion, yet was shaken by a voice- a voice belonging to John Watson. A hand was placed on his chest and a wince escaped him as the hook he came to despise so much in such a short time was freed from his flesh.
"It's always good to see you Watson"
"How did you know I would find you?"
"You didn't find me. You collapsed a building on me."
HELLO! I uploaded this less than 24 hours after the first chapter! I was thinking of doing a missing scene for the next chapter( that should've totally been in the movie) about Watson taking care of Holmes! What do you guys think? I WILL write a multi-chapter fic but whether it will be a new case or following the movie with added scenes is what you get to decided in either a review or a message! Thanks so much for those who continued :D tell me what you think so I can get on to writing the next chapter and uploading it within 1-3 days?
Thanks,
Rose!