CHAPTER 4: THE PROBATION (Part 4)
Sherlock couldn't conjure up anything to do other than to agree helping Moriarty with his shady so-called "chemical impasse" -whatever that meant-. clearly it had not gone according to what the sleuth believed it would. Being trapped with nothing, not a single miserable thing to do which didn't include staring helplessly and in a forlornly fashion at the small plastic bag the criminal had left to taunt him, proved to be more difficult than he had firstly anticipated, and this is the man who anticipates and foresees everything.
He had to decide fast; because if the staring contest with the token of Moriarty's cleverness dragged on for much longer, the detective was more than convinced he would cave. On one hand he had an accepted opportunity to occupy his mind away from the substance, and on the other, a chance to stand for everything he ever believed. If he was stronger, the dilemma would not even rise consideration, but his addicted brain had to take a decision, had to make a choice, and it selected the one which didn't involve as much self-destructive behavior as the latter. If he was expected to get out of there someday -he would, no matter what it took- he'd rather do it clean, John would be angry if he didn't. Hence the resolution of enduring a tad less horrible fate at James' orders.
So, begrudgingly the detective waited for one of the criminal's brutes to come and check on him -since he accomplished to get the sole camera working in the room to mysteriously stop transmitting- to communicate his decision under one condition: he would agree, only after knowing what was the purpose of what he was doing and not a second later.
The psychopath must have been jumping up and down his chair from delight since he managed to clear his ever-so-busy schedule to be present at the moment Sherlock would be allowed to know the problem and would, if only for the pleasure of the criminal, accept to help him with something. Anything. Moriarty didn't really care what he had to do; in fact, he wasn't even convinced that the consulting detective's assistance was required, he just reveled on the notion of knowing that he had made the boffin agree with him in something, albeit it was something as insignificant as crucible.
Once every little detail had been explained, and the detective deemed the situation safe enough to continue, he agreed. And after he did, he couldn't believe that he had actually accepted to help the bastard in any way. If you would have told him two years ago that the day would come in which he would find himself in a situation as this, he most likely would have had you committed within the hour.
As a being already accustomed to always being right, and always having the upper hand. Never having to answer to anyone, forever going two steps ahead of everyone else. He was discombobulated, to say the least, when he found himself at the other side of the fence; and it unnerved him to no end knowing that he, for once, was at a position where mildly laying down his resolve was the only thing he could do. Before everything: before the come-back, before the fall, before John; he would have never even dreamed of preferring the weak action over belligerence. But he had a home to which he must come back now, and people he would be leaving behind if he accepted his fate head-on. He insisted, this damned sentiment will one day be the death of him. Of course, the elementary factor of the potential torture he could endure if he didn't comply had a tad of say in the matter too. He wasn't willing to repeat the incident with the water-board.
Hence, here he was, concurring with the monster he swore to destroy. Because it was safer; it was better to aid him in an almost-innocent scheme, and be in some sort of limited probation as a result of it; than to be strapped in a death-trap with nothing but poison to ease his troubled mind.
And troubled it was.
Author's note: I hope you all liked it.