_*_*_John_*_*_
His head was pounding, his chest ached, and his bad shoulder was throbbing. John groaned his voice echoing around him. Opening his eyes he found that he couldn't see something was covering them. Silence is all he could hear his breathing sounded too loud in the quiet. Not even the sounds of traffic could be heard it was eerie.
"Where am I?" he shouted hoarsely.
Shuffling feet to his right could be heard coming in his direction. They grew louder and came to a stop not five feet from him. John couldn't tell if it was another person or something else.
"Where the fuck am I?" he yelled turning his head in the direction of the presence but got nothing.
Suddenly water flooded John crashing over his face filling his mouth and nose. The flow went on for several minutes making it almost impossible to breath. When it ended John coughed and sputtered out water gasping for air.
"There we are my dear doctor feeling better?" a smooth male voice spoke, "Don't want you to be too uncomfortable while we wait for your lovely Mr. Holmes."
John could barely concentrate still trying to rid his lungs of water "Where am I?" he tried again once he has his breath back.
"Tisk, tisk Dr. Watson can't give away that before the birthday boy arrives," the man said in a singsong way that was disgustingly familiar.
"Bastard!" John rasped.
The man laughed "You are always so polite," he spoke sounding closer.
"Who the fuck are you?" John yelled.
A few silent moments passed before the water came back. John found himself drowning, he tried to remain calm but as time went by and the water kept coming he abandoned that struggling against his bonds. Just when he was on the edge of unconsciousness the water stopped.
John was limp he had no strength to rid himself of the water in his lungs. A rough hand dragged John's head forward and slammed him on the back. Torrents of water came out of him, John coughed feebly finally able to draw breath.
"Now, now doctor can't have you clocking out on us just yet," the man spoke very near John's head, "If you can keep your language clean we won't have to keep giving you a bath but by all means keep it up, I do so love to play," the man added squeezing John's bad shoulder.
John yelped as the pain shot through him. The man released him stepping back "Who are you?" John managed his question ringing in the room. A quiet hum stretched between them before a slow rumbling laugh came from in front of John.
Minutes went by before the laugh subsided "My dear Watson I imagine even your tiny ant brain can figure that one out," John felt a shiver go through him as he realized he did indeed know who his capture was.
"Moriarty," he whispered listening as the man began laughing again.
_*_*_Lestrade_*_*_
"Wood?" Sherlock questioned again looking through the autopsy report on the third woman.
"Yes Sherlock, wood." Lestrade repeated rubbing his head in frustration.
They had been up all night going through reports and evidence then going back through the reports and evidence but things still didn't add up. Greg had a splitting headache and every time Sherlock opened his mouth the D.I. was almost tempted to punch him in the face. He somehow refrained his thoughts were mostly on John.
The sweet and just all around good guy Doctor John Watson, how on earth did he get mixed up in Sherlock's insane life? Lestrade had always wondered why the doctor put up with half the shit Sherlock put him through. Then again Greg did the same thing and even had a bit of a fondness for the sociopath, even considered them as friends. John was his friend as well and even if it meant losing his job, Greg wouldn't let him die without trying to rescue him.
"But in her system," Sherlock spoke again sounding just as confused as Lestrade, "How is that possible?" the man asked throwing the stack of papers he had on to the table.
Greg looked Sherlock over thinking again that he needed a break even though he refused. "I don't know Sherlock, splinters?" the D.I. suggested exasperated looking back to his own papers the words blurring together feeling Sherlock's glare expecting an insult was coming.
"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock snapped surprisingly without an insult included. Sherlock grabbed up his papers shuffling through them.
Lestrade let out a heavy sigh feeling drained and hopeless. Setting down his papers he rubbed his eyes before picking up another paper "Phosphorous, sulfur, and wood," he listed shaking his head. How were these things related? How did they fit together? The answer seemed to get staring him in the face but his brain was sleep deprived and didn't want to think too clearly.
"Matches," Sherlock said suddenly looking as if someone had just slapped him in the face.
Greg looked at him even more confused. Matches? How was that supposed to help? "Excuse me?' he asked but Sherlock was ignoring him, typical.
"Matches damn it's been there the whole time," he muttered flipping through us papers.
Lestrade was still bewildered. What was going on? Had Sherlock finally snapped? "Lestrade," Sherlock snapped, "Get on the computer, search for match factories that Miss Martin or anyone else from the list might have been associated with,"
Greg was still trying to figure out what the younger man was asking him to do when Sherlock growled and moved around the table to grab up the laptop near the D.I.
"Why don't I just do it?!" Sherlock grumbled opening up the computer. Greg watched as the man started to type away bringing up a site he had never seen and he wasn't sure was even legal.
It took Sherlock only minutes to find what he had been searching for and he let out a triumphant cry. Lestrade leaned in closer scanning through the information. "Dekin Match Company, Port of London. Bankrupt in the early 90's, Miss Martin worked there for three months and everyone else on the list either worked for the company or had close relatives that did," he read scrolling through the site.
"The Company's warehouse lies abandoned on the wharf." Sherlock finished suddenly sprinting from the room leaving a dazed Detective Inspector.