Disclaimer: I own nothing; Sherlock Holmes and Company belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Note: I know I hate it when people use really exotic names for their characters that are never actually seen in life, but I broke my own rule. My character is named Sian, and I've been calling her that far too long to change it now. "Sian" is pronounced "Shawn," and it is the Welsh version of "Jane."
"Is the machine ready, Professor?"
The question was barely audible over the clanging of metal. Professor James Moriarty dropped his arms to his side, letting his tool fall to the floor. Neither Moriarty nor his assistant seemed to notice the clang as it hit the ground; both were too enraptured with the glorious device that lay on the table.
"Professor?" the assistant persisted.
"It is done," Moriarty whispered. He smiled to himself, an evilly wicked, teeth-baring smile. At last! It had nearly been a year since he had first concocted the very notion of the device, and now, here it was, ready to be tested. "It is done!" Moriarty shouted triumphantly, his voice echoing in the vastness of his laboratory.
"So it may be used?" the assistant asked. "May I use it?"
"No," Moriarty said. "No. This is just a prototype; it may not work properly the first time, if at all. And, if it does work, then it could quite plausibly be very dangerous."
"Then how will we know it works if we're not allowed to test it?" the assistant wanted to know.
"Oh, we won't test it out, but rest assured, it will be tested."
"What shall we test it on? Should I catch a rat? A cat, maybe?"
"No," Moriarty said wickedly. "This particular experiment calls for a test-subject far more important."
"I think that Moriarty is up to something."
Watson glanced up, startled, from his scone and the London Times. He was surprised, but more so from the fact that Holmes was up this early and less so from his statement. Holmes joined Watson at the breakfast table.
"Could I get a cup of tea, Mrs. Hudson?" Holmes asked as he snatched the paper from Watson's hands. Watson, knowing that he'd never win, surrendered the papers without a fight. Instead, he returned to his own tea.
"What makes you say that?" Watson asked. "We haven't heard from him in ages."
"Which is precisely what makes me say that," Holmes countered just as Mrs. Hudson bustled out of the kitchen, kettle and tea cup in hand. "Listen, my good doctor; my Baker Street Irregulars feel that there's something afoot. Upon my request, they been keeping an especial eye on Moriarty's neck of town, and they seem to think that he's been acting suspiciously."
"And what are you going to do?"
Holmes smirked. "Why, go over there tonight, of course."
Holmes had intended to go up to Moriarty's solely for the purposes of investigation. He stealthily crept up to the side of Moriarty's flat, with Watson close behind. No lights peeked out of Moriarty's window.
"He must be out," Watson noted.
"Yes, he must be," Holmes agreed, just as an eerie blue flash came from inside.
"What was that?" Watson asked, alarmed.
"I'm not sure. That light is like nothing I've ever seen before," Holmes mused. "I'm going to investigate." Holmes slunk through the side alleyway and to the back door of the flat. He tried the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked.
"This is going remarkably easy," Holmes muttered to himself.
"It was meant to be, sir," a voice responded cryptically, before hitting Holmes in the head, making the world go black for the detective.
Watson peered through a side window of the flat. He had expected to see Holmes creeping about the house by now. Watson was just about to follow after him when he suddenly noticed the overhead light turn on. He ducked, but kept his gaze at the figures moving in the room.
Two men were dragging an unconscious man across the room. When they moved under the light, Watson had to keep back a cry from surprise.
The unconscious man was Holmes. And one of the other men was none other than his nemesis, Professor Moriarty.
Watson was hesitant; his first instinct was to run into the house to save Holmes, but his common sense kicked in. How would he ever be able beat out two men, revive Holmes, and escape intact? Watson decided that it was wiser to stay put and keep an eye on Holmes's whereabouts. That way, he'd know exactly what to say to Scotland Yard.
Moriarty and the man who Watson assumed was his assistant seemed to be debating something. Moriarty went over to a desk, pulled out some sort of object, and strapped it to Holmes's arm. He then dashed across the room to a large control panel, furiously punched on the buttons. And, with a large blue flash of light and a gasp from Watson's mouth, Sherlock Holmes disappeared into thin air.