A/N My first Sherlock Holmes fic. I know Moriarty may seem OOC to some, but I have written him as a combination of Moriarty from the films and also the portrayal of Moriarty in the BBC series Sherlock where he is generally more upfront about his insanity. Enjoy.
Holmes was standing in a dark warehouse, his back pressed against a cold metal pillar. His hands were tied uncomfortably tightly behind his back and in front of him stood Moriarty, his face hidden in shadows. He was pacing up and down in front of Holmes, a gleeful bounce in his step as he surveyed the immobilised detective. This was the second time in six months that Holmes had been standing at the mercy of Moriarty. It was becoming something of an unfortunate habit. At least this time he didn't have a huge metal hook protruding from his shoulder. Not yet, anyway.
Several months ago he had leapt from a balcony in Switzerland, pulling Moriarty with him. He had hoped that that would have been the death of his nemesis, but his dear Irene had been right, Moriarty was just as brilliant as he was, and infinitely more devious. Unfortunately, Moriarty had also survived the hundred foot drop in to the icy Swiss water. So here they were again, face to face each desperately trying to plot the death of the other, and it appeared that Moriarty was winning at this moment.
Moriarty gave a long, theatrical laugh.
"You really are fantastically conceited, aren't you?" he sneered, as if he had read Holmes' mind. "Believe it or not, my dear fellow, killing you is not my sole purpose in life."
Holmes wasn't really listening. His eyes were flicking around the dim warehouse while his hands worked deftly at the knot binding them together behind his back. His mind was racing with possibilities for escape, but Moriarty was an intelligent man. Every escape route Holmes could think of was made impossible by the lines of armed guards surrounding the building.
"No..." he heard Moriarty saying thoughtfully. "Killing you would be far too kind. And where would the fun be for me? I want to see you suffer Holmes, really suffer. Perhaps then you will get a taste of the anger and disappointment that I feel every time you and your ridiculous lap dog get in the way of my plans!" By the end of his sentence he had emerged from the shadows and was practically screaming in Holmes' face. The detective did his best to keep his face neutral, however. If all else were to fail, he would at least try to be as irritating as possible.
"Right. So will we do dinner first then torture, or torture then dinner?" he asked nonchalantly, still desperately fiddling with the ropes binding his wrists.
"I think we should get started right away, don't you?" Moriarty said. He stared at Holmes for a long moment, with a manic glint in his eye, as if he could already visualise the things he was going to do to Holmes, and they delighted him.
He raised his hand dramatically and clicked his fingers. Holmes craned his neck to see what was happening as he heard shuffling footsteps behind him.
He felt a little sick at the thought of what might be about to happen to him. Images of rusty surgical instruments sprang to mind, but he tried not to think of such things. He steeled himself for the ordeal that was about to occur, determined to face it as coolly as possible. He wasn't going to give Moriarty the satisfaction of watching him scream.
But as the dark shapes behind him came in to clearer view, he saw the method of torture that Moriarty had in store for him and it was worse than anything he could possibly have imagined.
It was Watson.