CHAPTER 6: THE CHASTISEMENT. (Part 1)
-"Run to the rock, 'Rock won't you hide me?' All on that day?"-
The celtic song was playing. Was still playing. Was still playing after two consecutive hours. Moriarty had left after the music had begun, and had decided it would be alright if he let it running to fill the consuming "void" of his absence. But of course, not before he managed to get the detective riled up and shaking with rage. The criminal always seemed to know the exact combination of words to get under Sherlock's skin.
"You see, this treatment is really inventive," He had explained while waving his taser at the crouching boffin. He had been shocked in the forearm for insulting Jim's idiotic ways for punishment, there's an eighty three percent chance he may have spoken too hastily. "And I think you might find the effort of designing it specially for you, flattering." The flirty smile quickly getting old. "I know it doesn't makes sense for you as of right now. But don't worry though, at the end of the day you're the man of all the answers," One could wrap up the taunting tone and play with it like a bouncing balloon, if only the consulting detective had access to a needle. "I'm sure you'll get there eventually. After all, I do believe in Sherlock Holmes." If it wasn't for the fact that he had no leverage nor any desire to die in there whatsoever, the detective would have liked to weld that mouth shut so it never had the ability to spill such poison ever again.
Teasing about his intellect he could manage; and he was prepared to hear any aspersion or faux-intentioned praise the psychopath had to offer. But for him to use those words was blasphemy; mocking that single phrase which had assembled all the tiny pieces of his memory and reputation back carefully and glued them together with hope and devotion after the criminal had shattered down his world, and his life, and his mind as if they were made of weak and breakable glass, was the lowest insult anyone could ever have given him. That campaign was unexpected, and honestly the best thing that could have happened to the lonely undercover consulting detective while he was on the run, once he caught wind of it. It had given him purpose when he was overwhelmed, and direction while he thought himself lost. A loaf of bread to a man dying of hunger. And by using that group of words, James was not only diminishing all of its meaning, but was also ridiculing John's loyalty, and if there was something which the boffin could not stand, was someone trying to take value out of anything his "only" friend has ever done in his favour.
And then the criminal departed, disappearing into the darkness. Almost like a mirage that's one second hare and the next is just smoke and magic, a great big cloud of deceit which leaves you wondering whether it was even real in the first place. He abandoned the detective, leaving him strained, stretched taut like a violin string waiting to snap at any moment. He fisted both of his hands, tight and dug his nails on his palms. The wire was over-tensed and fury ran hot throughout his entire being. Outrageous mockery of one of the single good things that has ever happened to him was simply unacceptable. Retaliation was not possible, nor was it really wise to try and take the rightful revenge he desired. Of course "wise" was starting to lose its meaning inside that restraining cage in which they were holding him. His captor was quickly proving savagery was a much better road to take than submission, but he refused to give up. Couldn't try to even touch a hair in Moriarty's head as it would instantly result in his own demise and he had promised once that he wouldn't leave his doctor behind ever again; not if he could help it.
He couldn't even consider to fail at his word, to break that vow, he knew he probably -by the world's common standards- did not deserve any of the people and freedom he had as a part of his life. He recognised his actions were often nothing but despicable for the society in which he lived, and he refused to set drifting to one who grounded him so many times before. All of them, actually. And he knew he was prepared to endure the inferno his enemy had prepared for him, if only to keep the nigh-celestial beings; for he was nothing but a shell before them, a hollowed out man not knowing how to love; ignoring how to even breathe. Stumbling around with a heavy blindfold tied before his eyes, and wandering with just a poor stick as guidance. With a massive intellect, and vast abilities, but without anyone to share them, no one who truly cared. Until that obtrusive piece of cloth was removed from his eyes rather forcefully, and he was never the same again. Moriarty could take away his ability to fly. He could even rip his wings apart, but he would never rid him of the one who sewed them to his back.
-"But the rock cried out, 'I can't hide you!'"-
The echo the song made on his ears and around the room was both, numbing and piercing, simultaneously. Threatening paradox to drive him to insanity with its continuous droning which just wouldn't stop. The camera above him made a slight twitch, adjusting its angle of sight towards the boffin and blinked its tiny green light once, almost as in daring defiance.
The scientist never assumed; nor he believed in coincidences. But this time he was just going to pretend it wasn't deliberate, just this once.
Author's note: A new chapter has begun, I shall warn you all that this entire chapter (that means All of its parts) are focused on torture on some degree. So If you have a problem with that, or there's some specific trigger about which you are worried PM me and I shall tell you what to look out for. A million thanks to my readers and reviewers.