The evil man led them down dark twisting tunnels that would be impossible to remember. He halted in front of two large steel doors, bolted shut. "Good bye for now". Sherlock and John were left in a dark, putrid smelling, underground vastness. Until their eyes adjusted to the light (or lack thereof) they thought they were alone. "Oh my god" John muttered, seeing the men, women and children huddled together in every corner of the room, afraid. Sherlock reached for his army doctor's hand, only to find it stock-still and cold. "John" the honey coloured could-be-heaven eyes that met his gaze showed nothing but fear, concern and determination, "I am so sorry". For the first time in his life, the apparently cold hearted, unforgiving man meant every word of his apology. Nothing more was said that day. No more tears were shed. The two men lay in each other's arms, awaiting their fate. They knew Moriarty had something more planned, or he would have killed them by now. Waiting was agonizing, no pass times (especially none suitable for the eyes of the children crying for their mothers) no help on the way, nothing to keep pessimistic minds from dwelling on the inevitable.
Rosy-fingered dawn came around and the steel masses shifted open. A bulky man, wearing sunglasses (for some bizarre reason) and a Westwood suit charged through the doors, gesturing to John and Sherlock to follow him. Out of the tunnels, but a different route. They were no longer at Lorristan gardens, but a laboratory. "Why are we here" the strong voice boomed and echoed off of the white tiles and into nothingness. "Patience is a virtue" a singsong Irish accent danced through the air. Moriarty was here, but not in sight.