The Knife

A large manic smile slowly grew on Jims face as he licked the last drops of crimson blood off of his favourite knife. The knife that he had just used to carve patterns into John Watson, and the same pocket knife he had used to etc into his apple.

Moriarty grinned as Watson cowered beneath his amused gaze. Torturing Sherlock's Pet was so much fun. He didn't really need to hurt John, he had already gotten all the information he needed about the Holmes's plans from Detective Inspector Lestrade, torturing Watson was, well, just for fun.

Jim twirled the blood spattered knife between his fingers before using it to draw words and pictures into John, smiling at Watsons screams of pain. The word Pet was now carved onto Johnny's chest, surrounded by other words and pictures, like a man falling from a building and I O U.

Even if John Watson managed to find his way home and escape from here he would forever be covered in scars reminding him that his supposed best friend had left him, and that he had been tortured by his arch enemy and no one had come to save him.

Jim smiled and licked the knife again, a drop of blood making its way down Moriarty's chin as he plunged the small penknife into the solider tied to the chair in front of him. Grinning as the knife drove its way into Johnny's arm and the man let out a scream blood spurting from his arm. The mad genius smiling still pulled out his favourite knife from Johnny boy's arm and ran his tongue along the blade staining his lips blood red. Moriarty turned away from his toy, hands in his pockets and left, he could always come back tomorrow…