John

She was laughing at Lestrade and the little streams of his blood that were running down her wrist from where she'd opened his face with her fingernails. I was worried for Lestrade but I was more worried that once she'd finished whatever she was doing to him she'd do it to me and Sherlock. I didn't want to die like Harry had; I didn't want to die at all. I could see myself, Sherlock, Harry and Lestrade lying side by side in shallow graves, turning purple and gas bloated and shrivelled. The image was so vivid that I jumped and would've fallen over if it weren't for the 'minions' holding me up. Lestrade's terrified, laboured breathing filled my ears, the stench of alcohol drifted up my nostrils from one of the people who were holding me. I was panicking. That was bad but I could do nothing to stop it now. I was going to hit with a wooden cudgel or stretched and hung up until I was dead. My mouth was full of sawdust, the room was spinning, my arm was on fire with pain. I saw Lestrade be turned around and taken out of the room to be murdered and the world faded away until all there was was my terror and my heartbeat and my pain.

Sherlock

I was formulating a plan to rescue Lestrade when "I think there's something wrong with this one, ma'am." Said one of the minions who had tree trunk of an arm against John's chest.

"What?" Said the woman, coming back into the room from containing Lestrade in a cell.

"Yeah," The minion sniffed, "I don't think he can breathe properly."

"Oh," The woman sounded disappointed, "I thought this one was in the army? A big brave soldier?"

I bit into a convenient section of one of my assailants' wrists until I felt my teeth crunch through the carpal tunnel.

"Shit!" The owner of the wrist yelled, immediately letting me go. His fellow minion also relinquished his hold on me, probably alarm by the copious amounts of dark blood squirting from his colleague's wrist and oozing off my canines.

I turned around and swiftly walked over to John, who was kneeling on the floor surrounded by his minions, who each kept a loose hold on one of his arms, and the woman; he was hyperventilating quietly. I recognised this John from the weeks after I had first met him; his eyes were unfocused, staring straight ahead of him and he was holding a fistful of his jumper over his heart, fingers curling around an uneven slab of concrete floor as if attempting not to fall off the face of the Earth. I instinctively sat opposite John and seized the hand he had been using to hold onto his shirt to both provide comfort and to check his pulse, which was accelerated; his hand was cold and clammy, his pupils were dilated.

"John?" I ventured.

John didn't say anything but he grabbed onto my hand and wrist so tightly I was seriously worried about the blood supply to my fingers and his lip began to tremble.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" A curious minion wondered aloud from behind me.

"Panic attack." The woman sighed, sounding bored.

"Oh…right…" said the minion.

"Yes," I found myself saying, "And why do you think that is? Maybe because of you treating him like you're about to murder him."

I was very proud of John, who was evidently unaware of what was happening around him, for choosing that very moment to illustrate my point by gasping, "I'm gonna die…like Harry…" Deep breath, "I don't want to… I don't want to die…" here he burst into quiet tears and leant his head on my chest. I patted his back and whispered, "It's okay, John." It felt good to be providing comfort, then I glared at the woman and her minions who were in my line of vision, hoping this was suitable expression to blast unbearable guilt into their very souls. I avoided looking at John because his eyes were devoid of anything but terror and tears which made me feel frightened too.

I took the opportunity of having free movement to obtain some more information on the woman. She had a cat, no, two cats. She lived with her husband on a council estate, in a terraced house but she didn't go home when she could help it. She had slept in the warehouse for the past two nights, she was staring at me for staring at her, she was speaking to me but I'd tuned out all my senses but my eyes so didn't know what she was saying. I allowed myself to hear her; she asked me if this had ever happened to John before.

"Yes. Yes. You seem to know he's a soldier. I'm impressed." I replied.

"Well… doesn't take a genius to work it out does it? The way he stands, the way he speaks, his hair…" She sighed.

"I suppose not. No. It does not take a genius to work out. Obviously." I was a bit disgruntled that she had pointed this out. I was hoping I could dazzle her with my deductions, but she was obviously almost as competent as me on that score.

She raised her eyebrows and smiled at me patronizingly.

I cleared my throat, "Yes, well, anyway, he was discharged from the army with a shoulder wound and PTSD which seems to have got much better lately but evidently not so good that he can hold himself together upon meeting those people who murdered his sister… understandably really, he's had a bit of a relapse."

"Are you seriously suggesting that I'm responsible for people's deaths?"

"Yes." I replied.

The woman gave me a withering look and I felt the need to have to try and prove myself to her.

"We have evidence!" I told her, "And we're well on the way to getting more… of course, if you just gave yourself up now I wouldn't have to go that far but then it wouldn't be nearly as much fun would it?"

"No." The woman smiled and gracefully sat herself next to me, "That wouldn't be fun at all. You and I both know you're in this for the game, we know how much you crave the thrill of it… I'm almost tempted to admit to this ludicrous accusation just to cut you off… but I won't because I'm in this for the money," She leaned in a breathed the last part into my ear, "and if you do destroy me, which you will; that's what you do, then there will be no money left for you. I intend to go out with a bang." She raised her voice to a normal level again, "Besides, I don't intend on giving up just yet. You guys have all seen what happens to people who annoy me. I'll get your friend back then you three can go. Do your worst, I look forward to seeing you again."

True to her word, the woman, whose name I was aggravated to admit, I had not yet ascertained, had Lestrade returned to us so within ten minutes John was breathing easily and was a lot calmer. That was that; the three of us walked out of the headquarters of The Moonblood Cult having gained a little information and lost quite a lot of blood between us. I didn't doubt that our freedom was temporary and almost certainly part of the woman's plan to stop us from revealing her secrets but I was beyond caring. My mind was working extremely fast I was dismissing theories almost as quickly as I formulated them; I was enjoying the game, I was immersed in it after this experience. I wanted to close down the Moonblood Cult and prevent anyone else from being killed but I realised that before I could collect more evidence I had other things to attend to.