Hamish felt a sudden paralysis-like feeling as if he couldn't move due to the big shock. "Moriarty," he snarled. One look was enough to tell that this wasn't the kind of person you would gladly meet in an alley at night-time, or any place at any time, really. Nevertheless Hamish felt even more confident now than he had done in a very long time.
"You aren't clever enough to take down the famous Sherlock Holmes, so you go after a weak teenager?" he said sarcastically. Moriarty just shook his head, pretending to be offended. "Didn't your father teach you to respect the villains?" He walked slowly towards Hamish. "Ah, you see; I got the place surrounded so don't play hero and get yourself killed. I wouldn't want blood on my suit and besides; I need you alive for now." Thousands of thoughts came to Hamish at once. Should he listen to him?
His first and most obvious guess was that he was going to use him to kill his father. If Sherlock got killed by Moriarty, it would be his fault. Before Hamish even got to think another thought, he felt a sudden dizziness and a massive headache. He tried to focus at Moriarty, but his vision began to fail. His legs were unable to hold up the weight of him and the next thing he noticed was how his head suddenly hit the hard pavement, but surprisingly he didn't feel any pain. Everything felt uncomfortable and unrealistic, almost like a dream. The last thing he heard before blacking out completely, was Moriarty's cold, snarling voice reaching out to him:
"If you were half of what your dear father is, you would be able to avoid all of this."
A sudden pain in the head struck him and filled with panic, Hamish reached for his head, but noticed he wasn't able to move a muscle. What had happened earlier was still unclear to him. "Father," He called out, but it ended up as a weak whisper; impossible for anyone but him to hear. He fought against the massive darkness that had its advantage of him and he forced his eyes to open. He still couldn't see clear, but the pain became more and more intense so he was sure that he was getting more and more conscious, or so he hoped; not knowing exactly the many reasons why he shouldn't hope for that just yet and why there was a rather unpleasant and painful reason why he was as drugged as he was.
Little by little, his eyesight slowly returned, but an indescribable pain kept him from being able to move and to think straight. From what he could see, he was in a rather dark and empty room. Hamish struggled with remembering what had happened last night and to his disappointment he could only remember parts of it. "Moriarty," he whispered. It was Moriarty who did this to him. The sound of a door opening broke the unbearable silence. "Ahhh, Hamish. You look horrible if I may say so myself. They really did their job," Moriarty said. Hamish could tell that everything was going according to his plan due to the satisfaction in his voice.
"My father," Hamish said with a slightly hoarse voice. "He won't come looking for me."