When Sherlock woke up, he was vaguely aware of the pounding in the back of his head, but even more aware of the fact that he had no idea where he was. It was dark and smelled harshly of char and ash and something else. Something Sherlock couldn't quite place. A small glow started, what seemed like, several miles away, and grew and grew, until Sherlock could just make out the shape of a torch. "Oh goody. Look who's up." It was Moriarty's face that came leering out of the darkness. "Now we can begin."

Sherlock stood up, realizing that he hadn't been bound to anything. He reached behind him and pulled his wand out of his back pocket. "Where's John?" He thrust the stick, glowing red at the end now, into his captor's face.

"So impatient, Sherlock." The villain cooed. "But, I guess if my pet were to go missing, I'd want him back, too." Moriarty tossed the torch, and it went sailing to the left, before catching the floor on fire. It was lighter fluid Sherlock had smelled, and now the fire was spreading into a tight circle around a metal folding chair. A chair that John was tied to. Sherlock reacted quickly, casting a spell that put the flames out as fast as they had sprung up. Moriarty tutted disappointingly in the darkness. "You think an extinguishing spell can save him? I told you I'd burn the heart out of you." Suddenly, the room was cast in a bright orange glow. Heat and light emanated from the spot where Moriarty once stood, and an enormous orange and red dragon illuminated the very large metal warehouse. "And I always deliver on my promises." The deep, husky voice rolled out past tendrils of smoke, and Sherlock just barely dived out of the way of a coil of fire.

James Moriarty was an animagus. A dragon animagus! Sherlock had to think quick, and he had to keep moving. Rolling this way and that, he dodged rope after rope of the hot inferno. "Either you will die, or your friend will, Sherlock." The menacing voice came again. "There is no in between!"

Sherlock got an idea. He placed his wand between his teeth and used his own animagus form. The sleek black panther was faster and harder to to catch, and it gave Sherlock the advantage he needed. He ran full on at the dragon, and turning human again, he slid right between his legs and into John's. One slice from a panther claw later, the Healer was free from his bindings and drawing his wand. "You OK?" Sherlock managed to get in, as they watched the dragon turn himself around and find his prey once more.

"Never better." John said, and they dove in opposite directions from the blast. John knew they needed to get the dragon confused and angry enough to distract him. "Got a plan, genius?" He yelled across the warehouse.

"I thought we'd just wing it!" Sherlock called back.

"Just like school?"

"Just like school!"

Moriarty was furious now. They were enjoying the game too much! He was the only one supposed to be having fun! The dragon swung his tail at John, who flattened himself on the floor and avoided the swipe, then scrambled up and disappeared into the darkness again. One behind him and one in front. He'd just have to take them out individually.

Sherlock moved to cast a spell, when his wand was knocked from his hand. The searing pain from the burn forced him to the warehouse floor. Before he could think, Moriarty was looming over him, and Sherlock could see the fire starting to form behind the villain's monstrous jaws.

Sherlock closed his eyes and waited for the heat. But instead, he heard a shout. John had scaled a wall, run across the beams, and was now swinging down on a piece of rigging. He sailed right down to hang in front of the fiery teeth, and sent a blast of blue light into the beast. Moriarty emitted a howl, reeling backwards and falling onto his scaly spine, shrinking slowly back into a man, lying still at last. John dropped from the chain, landing harshly on the ground and rolling into Sherlock. "What did you...?" Sherlock looked from John to their kidnapper and back.

"I'm a Healer, remember? I just used a simple spell for cooling burns and sometimes, freshening breath." John smiled his typical, crinkly eyed smile, and Sherlock mirrored him.

"His breath was rather horrible, wasn't it." And the two men burst into spirals of laughter.

"Sherlock," John gasped through his giggles. "We can't laugh! It's technically a crime scene!" That only set them into further glee. The two friends laughed on the dark floor of the warehouse until Lestrade and his team showed up. And even then, they still look back on the incident with a smile or a chuckle.