"Fun little trick, isn't it?" Moriarty questioned, keeping his hands behind his back formally.

"What did you do to me…?" he asked firmly but his voice only comes out in a hoarse whisper. Jim didn't answer, he just smiled, sitting in a metal chair not to far away.

"Figure it out Holmes," He challenged, his palms facing the ceiling. Sherlock searched his mind, it didn't take very long, and the answer was obvious. He should have figured it out sooner but he can blame the slowness of his quick witted brain on the something that Moriarty must have slipped him at some point during the day.

"Drugs," He said simply, his voice stronger than before. Moriarty's laugh was shrill and rang in Sherlock's ears. It was annoying and manic, making his blood run cold as he got up off the floor to stand steady. He couldn't handle him staring down at him another second.

"Correct! It was quite entertaining to dance around like my little puppet," He drawled, folding his hands in his lap and leaned back in his chair. Anger built up in the consulting detective, he hated being out smarted and used. He refused to let it happen again. He kept his eyes on every movement the man made, always thinking two steps around. His eyes darted around, surveying his surroundings, looking for an exit or a distraction. It felt like his head was going to implode from overdrive and not fully recovered to the drugs. Anxiety filled Sherlock as he came up with nothing, nothing safe at least.

"What do you want from me?" Sherlock growled, his voice dangerously deep and infuriated. The sudden change in tone, Moriarty looked taken aback but mostly amused. This game got more and more entertaining when Sherlock would surprise him. Pity how he gave in to juvenal frustration.

"Whatever do you mean Sherlock? I think I have won! Once and for all, the Mighty Sherlock is stuck with no way of escaping. You can't think your way out of this one," Moriarty leaned forward with an evil smirk planted on his pale lips. Sherlock said nothing but wasn't about to give in, wasn't about to give up. Holmes forced himself to relax, taking a small breathe to calm himself. Obviously he wasn't thinking hard enough. What was wrong with him?

"Sherlock?" A familiar voice called from the shadows, breaking the stare down that had commenced between the two rival men.

"John?!" Sherlock called back, his head whipping quickly to face the direction the voice came from. Only seeing a slight glimpse in the darkness but he was sure he'd be able to recognize John's silhouette in a room of shadows. He was sure.

"Don't move Sherly," Jim giggled as a big bulky man who held John in place walked out of the shadows. The man held John's hands painfully behind his back and a gun to his head. Sherlock's companion looked a little worse for wear, spotting a scratch or a bruise here or there on his body.

"What are you going to do Sherlock?" The maniac called with a laugh to match.

"Better think fast," He added as an afterthought when the thug grabbed one of John's hands, taking a finger in his grasp and starting to bend it backwards in an unnatural angle

"No! Leave him alone! What do you want!" Sherlock demanded, frantic.

"I want you to guess," Jim told him and leaned back contently as if this was like no other Sunday morning.

"I can't! Tell me and I'll do it!" Sherlock yelled, his mind spinning panicky for answers. If it was anyone else, he'd be able to think. He would let the thug break a few fingers. But this was John.

John let out a scream as the thug broke his index finger as easily as a flimsy twig.

"Oopsie! Better hurry Sherlock, poor John only has ten fingers," Moriarty cackled. Sherlock began to panic, not coming up with anything quick enough.

"I-I'll give you money! Anything."

"Wrooonngg!" Moriarty sang, highly entertained as the thug snapped another one of John's fingers. John yelped in pain but was clearly trying to keep quiet. What a stubborn man, Sherlock thought at the back of his panicked mind.

"I-I'll-I'll be with you!" Sherlock tried.

"Tempting, but no," Jim frowned. Snap. Another one of John's fingers. Before he could realize, Sherlock's eyes started to tear up against his will. What happened when he ran out of fingers

"I'll stop solving!" he rushed forward as he spoke but he knew the man before him was untouchable

"Nope, no fun."

Snap.

"I um, I'll… Commit a crime!"

"Hm, no."

Snap.

"Oh no, looks like we have to go to the next hand!" Moriarty laughed. John whimpered in pain.

"I'll die!"

"We tried that," Moriarty frowned, getting bored.

Snap.

"I'll work with you!"

"Hm, sounds nice," Moriarty smiled finally, the suggestion peaking his interest.

"I'll do it! Just let him free!" Sherlock pleaded, his face stony and unreadable.

"I can't see why not," Jim shrugged and motioned for the thug to let John go. He ran quickly over to Sherlock, catching him in a tight embrace, being careful of his broken fingers. They had already started to discolour.

"But wait, how will I know you'll stay true to me?" Jim asked, and points a gun at John's skull.

"I will! I swear!" Sherlock said definitely, putting John behind him protectively.

"That isn't enough. How about a deal?" He proposed.

"Anything."

"Have I said that I enjoy seeing you desperate? I didn't even know you had feeling, dear Holmes," Moriarty marveld and stood, walking over to the pair.

"Just tell me the deal!" Sherlock said, calm and collected, but very, very angry.

"If you betray me, I kill both of you," He grinned, satisfied with his solution, looking back and forth between the men.

"Fine," Sherlock spat, wanting to remove John from the premises as soon as possible.

"Sherlock! No!" John spoke up, stepping out from behind Sherlock.

"Be quiet John." he reprimanded him

"Yes, Mr. Watson, do shut up," Moriarty frowns like he was scolding a child before returning his gaze back to the man of the hour, "It's a deal, you may go." Moriarty smiled and the thug opened the door, revealing the cool English night outside. Sherlock held John up as they stumble to the door as fast as they could move, a slight limp returning to John. Sherlock felt nothing but empty. He didn't think, he didn't think what he would have to do. All he could think was John, getting him safe and far away from all this madness. He knew he couldn't see John anymore, and then, the pain started to seep in. He never felt pain before, but no, that was a lie. Redbeard. Just like that.

He kept his face straight and unreadable. Emotionless. Like always.

Suddenly, John busted out of his grip and swung around with a gun in his hand. Where the hell did he get that from? Sherlock thought, reaching out to grab it from his hands but it was too late. The metal exploded in the doctor's hand but he didn't flinch as a bullet splattered Moriarty's brain against the wall behind him. Another shot and another angry blank look from John, the thug fell to the floor with a heavy thud, the blood pooling around his body like a grotesque pond. Silence overtook the abandoned warehouse and Sherlock looked at his companion with complete shock and worry before a loud click resonated throughout the room.

"What did you do!" Sherlock yelled, recovering from his previous surprise and grabbed John's wrist, ignoring the pain in his fingers, John followed without question, and runs as fast as they could away from the building and down the street. Their feet pounded against the sidewalk, curious glances and horrified stares followed them along the way. A huge bang shook the floor of Bakers Street as the building they were just in not moments ago, blew sky high, debris scattering the street, smashing windows in it's path. They eventually stop running, never looking back and Sherlock turned to John, halting their footfalls.

"Are you Mental!" He demanded at John. His John that he could have lost that day.

"I saved us didn't I?" he shrugged, out of breath. Freigning aloofness to what just transpired but Sherlock could see the terror in his eyes.

"God you're an idiot…" he sighed and hugging John tightly against him.