All in one go, then, Equation Chapter 2
This ones got some warnings guys, violence and maybe even offensive, though I don't mean to offend anyone
Chapter 2
He didn't sleep all night. He paced and growled at Mrs. Hudson who gave him a gesture saying, "I wash my hands of both of you." without a word.
The dark, sickening guilt kept creeping up on him and his constant denials only made it worse, made him angrier.
He was at fever pitch when 9 a.m. finally came and something besides the empty, hollow silence sounded out in 221b.
John phone beeped, signaling its charge was almost gone.
Sherlock leaped off of the couch and snatched it off of the desk.
Bloody hell, the fool hadn't even bothered to take his phone with him but took the laptop?
Sherlock's quicksilver mind made a jump. *Laptop but not the phone. Distracted but not distracted enough to leave everything. Spent the night somewhere, no clothes for the next day but thought he would need an expensive and easily damaged item like a computer.*
He went over it again. Didn't make sense.
John's phone beeped again, a different one. Sherlock looked at the screen, the time the message was sent and blasted off a string of impressive expletives.
Message sent: 5:50 p.m.
Number: Unknown
JH
Your *ahem* willing assistance is needed John
MH
P.S. check your laptop for further instructions.
Sherlock was going to murder Mycroft slowly. And today was the day.
He punched in Mycroft's number on John's phone.
His brother answered impressively fast.
"Really, John? Personal phone calls so early? Please save the sentiment for my dear bro-"
"You inconceivable ass!!"
Sherlock actually heard the jump of surprise behind the phone. Something clicked in the back of his mind but he was too angry to regard it right now.
"Sherlock! Dear god, what do you mean bellowing at me like that? And why are you calling from John's phone?"
"Because _John_ left it here in his hurry to do your bidding." Sherlock didn't allow himself to think of the true, more painful reason John had left in such a hurry.
"What on earth are you talking about? Has it finally happened, has your mind finally snapped?"
Something cold and hard slid into Sherlock's stomach. Mycroft wasn't faking his confusion.
Yet Sherlock plowed on. "Which girl did you use? I know you have a string of them at your disposal, though not for what others may think. What did you try to do now? Bribe? Spy? You really don't gi-"
"Your blathering is wasting my time Sherlock. I have surveillance on the both of you, you know I do and when I have no reason to contact your dear doctor, I don't."
That cold and hard something sharpened and jabbed. "What about his laptop?" His voice had gotten more unsteady.
Mycroft picked up on it. "What about it?" The anger was still there, but the snideness was gone.
"He isn't here Sherlock. I don't know anything about his wretched laptop."
Sherlock still clung on, desperately. "If you're lying to prove how despicable you really are…."
"I'm not lying Sherlock."
Sherlock's breathe quickened. He didn't understand, he understood perfectly. How, where, where, WHERE?
"Sherlock, what has happened?"
Sherlock Holmes hung up.
He sat there for ten minutes and eight seconds. Exactly.
John's phone, battery nearly gone, rang.
Number; unknown
He pushed to answer.
There was the sound of an obvious recording.
Hello Dr. Watson's phone. You have reached John Watson's message center. Since he and his phone were recently separated, we provide top quality service to make sure any missed messages come straight to him.
He would love to answer them and get back to you as soon as possible. Unfortunately he's indisposed at the moment and probably will be for some time…
Sherlock closed his eyes.
He's an internet sensation, you see and about to star in his own breakout role. You have been lucky enough to be invited to a grand screening being played at Scotland Yard. I guarantee, you won't want to miss it.
The recording hissed on for several more seconds.
An hour, Sherlock Holmes.
Jim Moriarty's cold voice fell silent.
Sherlock's mind was working at an almost agonizing speed.
He burst through Scotland Yard's doors and thought it seemed strangely subdued. He ran, sprinted towards DI Lestrade's office and burst in without invitation or even knocking.
Anderson, Sally Donovan and Lestrade were standing around Lestrade's desk. They seemed so stiff and didn't welcome or greet Sherlock in any way. They weren't surprised he was there.
"The message, came with the package, said we all had to be here." Lestrade's voice was quiet, like he was soothing a wild animal.
"John's laptop."
"How did you…?"
Lestrade held up a hand. "There's a Wi-Fi link and….no, Sherlock, NO!!"
He swung the screen around to look at it and immediately understood Lestrade's warning.
"You don't want to see it." Anderson sounded surprisingly sympathetic. No one at Scotland Yard had anything against John.
Sherlock looked for a very long time, his eyes frightening with rage.
"How long, Lestrade?"
"The package came about a half-hour ago. No one got a good look at the deliverer. Came with a message, saying you would be here and we all had to be too. Came with a website address. We're trying to track its location but it's…."
"Scrambled. Of course it is."
"Also, here…." Lestrade handed Sherlock a note.
2 - Y = ?????????????????? It's the unknown factor in an equation that makes it difficult to solve.
Lestrade's voice had been choppy, to the point, as it usually was when he was reciting the facts to Sherlock on a case. Just another case….
John Watson, gagged, had his arms pulled excruciatingly tight above his head. His wrists were handcuffed.
He couldn't really get a purchase on the floor beneath him. *Cement, pipes, moisture on the floor. A factory, a warehouse.*
He was pulled up so high that his shoes scuffled and he constantly lost his balance, held up by his bound wrists.
They were bloody from taking his weight.
Sometimes he did get the slightest hold with his feet, easing the torture from his hands but even with the grainy footage, everyone in the room could see that his legs trembled with exhaustion.
John gasped for air, it sounded dreadful. Then the whole dance began again.
Who knew how long he'd been like that? He was so pale, face lined with fatigue….and pain.
He was in terrible pain.
His wounded shoulder.
Sherlock heard words as though he was underwater, they were muffled and didn't make sense. Moriarty….Moriarty's cruelty and sheer inhumanity.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade grabbed his shoulder, then backed away at what was on Sherlock's face.
"It's him." Donovan whispered.
Moriarty waltzed into view, impeccably dressed as always. John's expression showed his anger.
"Hi there lucky viewers! You made it to the show! Promise it will be a good one, lots of planning went into this one."
He stepped up to John. Sherlock's fists clenched. "Meet our star, Dr. John Watson. He doesn't really have any lines. " Moriarty stepped up and tightened John's gag, giggling when John yanked his head away. "Stage fright you know."
"Now for audience participation."
Moriarty pulled out a phone and Lestrade's rang on his desk.
"Speaker, if you please dear audience."
Moriarty's voice echoed around the room, in stereo with the computer. Even more terrible was the clarity that they could now hear from John, his painful gasping.
"I will kill you Jim." Sherlock's voice was monotone. "Slowly. I will make it last for days."
Moriarty laughed. "Now _that's_ the Sherlock I wanted to play with. So much more fun."
"Do you want to hear the story about your 'ace' Sherlock? Came right from the dear boy's mouth, didn't it? And your sweet little puppy ran right into the dogcatcher's net."
He draped an arm around John's neck, reaching up to pat his cheek.
"DON'T TOUCH HIM!!" Sherlock roared.
Sherlock would never forgive Mycroft as long as he lived. John wouldn't have suspected, maybe hadn't tried as hard to escape, being toyed with by Mycroft for so long.
"Your brother cried 'wolf' just one too many times, and now the lamb's been led to slaughter. I've been feeling a bit, biblical, lately in case you can't tell. Oh but Sherlock's figured it out, hasn't he? Always does?"
"Biblical?" Anderson asked.
Sherlock was shaking, badly.
"He's just the right height for all of this. Bet you don't hear that too often, eh Johnny boy?"
John's expressive eyes were enraged.
"He's been doing rather well, all things considered. The shoulder added to the breathing fun, didn't anticipate that, oh, yes I did.
Just can't quite reach the floor, except on, tippy-toe!!"
Moriarty twirled like a grotesque ballerina.
"It's the legs that are giving out first, the stretch. Maybe it wasn't so psychosomatic after all, huh Doc? The spasms are getting worse, but a guy's gotta breathe!"
Moriarty got right into John's face. "Of course, you're the one with the medical knowledge, you tell me."
He slapped John, hard. "TELL ME!" He screamed.
"Stop it!" Lestrade barked. He had paled considerably.
"My god, oh my god…" the DI began muttering.
Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of John, struggling to keep his toes on the ground and ease the pressure in his arms, in his chest.
"Others figuring it out, Sherlock? Slow though they might be?"
"He's, he's actually crucifying him." Lestrade's horror could not even begin to match Sherlock's.
"Medical studies have proven that crucified victims didn't necessarily suffocate, it was other factors." Sherlock's voice was robotic, his mind in machine mode to cope for what was happening to his best friend.
"Really?" Moriarty looked amazed. "Wow, that's great news for dear Johnny here."
He patted John on the head. Every time that monster touched John Sherlock felt something break inside.
"So, nothing to worry about, stop this acting." Moriarty held the phone right up to John's face. His gasping and rough breathing echoed throughout Lestrade's office.
"You sick fu-!!" Donovan screamed at the screen before Sherlock silenced her with a look.
"Oh, ho! The good Sergeant doesn't approve, eh? You're such a popular little pet." Moriarty made a kissy face at John, pinching his cheeks.
"He's an innocent man and just because _he_ is…."
"Shut. Up. Now." Sherlock's lips barely moved.
"Best take the advice, _Sally_." Moriarty smirked. "This performance didn't invite critics."
He backhanded John viciously.
Donovan backed into a corner, her face twisting. "Sorry, I'm sorry…..Sherlock."
He didn't give her a spare glance, though it was probably the first time he'd ever heard her use his actual name.
"Oh, and there's more fun to be had. Something added to this, equation, that you'll probably want to figure out."
"I already told you I'll play."
"Yes, but _how_ will you play? And how will your mates at Scotland Yard let you proceed?"
Moriarty sneered. "Take me off speaker phone and give the phone to Lestrade."
Lestrade listened, his face stony. "I'm not going to guarantee you anything." He snapped.
He looked to the others, his face actually draining of even more color. "He says to tell you all that if you try to bend or break the rules, he will return the favor. When in Rome….."
Lestrade put the phone back and turned on the speaker.
"So, Sherlock, lovely, you'll be awaiting my next instructions. Don't worry, I'll take good care of your puppy, before he has to be put down that is. Lestrade, you and your forces will be kept informed and do everything in your power to, ahem, enforce the law."
Moriarty suddenly just looked at the camera filming all of this, his face completely expressionless.
"I said I would burn the heart out of you, yes? I can, and I am. But I'm going to take your soul with it. You said that our minds are one and the same."
Sherlock wished he couldn't see John vehemently shaking his head. "I'm going to go a step beyond that, I've always wanted a twin."
John began struggling in earnest now, lunging at Moriarty and trying to dislodge the gag. His shaking arms let him down and more blood trickled down his elbows.
"Let's keep the show rolling, hmm? You can watch, all access, until his lungs shrivel. Chat with you soon, sexy!"
Moriarty moved off screen but fired one last comment through the room before hanging up.
"Lestrade, tell them what I told you."
Lestrade stared at Sherlock for a long time, this man who was cold as ice, said rude, no, terrible things. Sociopath.
"We'll find him, Sherlock. You'll find John, you don't have to play this game."
"He was standing on something."
The other three blinked. "What?"
"The floor, it didn't match up."
"_That's_ what you were focusing on? Damn, I know you can be a cold bastard Sherlock but…"
"Shut up." Donovan barked at Anderson.
"John was a soldier, he knows about hostage situations. He has strong arms and could probably have saved his wrists and breathed easier just hoisting himself up and holding on. He was standing on something, he has to stand on it for some reason, maintain some kind of pressure."
"It's to guarantee that he'll smother but John…" Sherlock's voice actually broke here, to everyone's shock. "John would opt for a quick death then a slow, torturous one. So the threat under his feet isn't directly aimed at just him."
"I have to play the game, Lestrade. Just for a little while, just until we find him and we have to find him soon. You heard his breathing, his strength will give out soon then…" Sherlock himself took a deep breath, it shook roughly.
"To help whoever else Moriarty is targeting, for John's sake if nothing else, for what he's putting himself through right now."
Sherlock pulled out his phone and waited.
"Tell me what he said to you, Lestrade."
Lestrade shook his head slowly. "He said, that if I don't use all of my resources to stop you or take resources away to find John Watson, he'll do…."
"As in Rome." Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut.
"Break legs. But just one."
AN; Holy crap!! Did I really just write this? It was a gut-kicker I'll admit. I didn't really focus on Sherlock's reactions since I wanted to keep him more in character but everyone and anyone whose seen "The Great Game" knows that Sherlock, when dealing with John, does show a great deal of emotion.
Poor John! I adore him, he's my favorite, why am I torturing him like this? Oh Angst, writing too much angst.
I hope I didn't offend anyone with this, just wanted to show what a sick SOB Moriarty really is. Gods, Scott's performance as him is beyond chilling.
Next chapter; I'll play……
Chapter 2
He didn't sleep all night. He paced and growled at Mrs. Hudson who gave him a gesture saying, "I wash my hands of both of you." without a word.
The dark, sickening guilt kept creeping up on him and his constant denials only made it worse, made him angrier.
He was at fever pitch when 9 a.m. finally came and something besides the empty, hollow silence sounded out in 221b.
John phone beeped, signaling its charge was almost gone.
Sherlock leaped off of the couch and snatched it off of the desk.
Bloody hell, the fool hadn't even bothered to take his phone with him but took the laptop?
Sherlock's quicksilver mind made a jump. *Laptop but not the phone. Distracted but not distracted enough to leave everything. Spent the night somewhere, no clothes for the next day but thought he would need an expensive and easily damaged item like a computer.*
He went over it again. Didn't make sense.
John's phone beeped again, a different one. Sherlock looked at the screen, the time the message was sent and blasted off a string of impressive expletives.
Message sent: 5:50 p.m.
Number: Unknown
JH
Your *ahem* willing assistance is needed John
MH
P.S. check your laptop for further instructions.
Sherlock was going to murder Mycroft slowly. And today was the day.
He punched in Mycroft's number on John's phone.
His brother answered impressively fast.
"Really, John? Personal phone calls so early? Please save the sentiment for my dear bro-"
"You inconceivable ass!!"
Sherlock actually heard the jump of surprise behind the phone. Something clicked in the back of his mind but he was too angry to regard it right now.
"Sherlock! Dear god, what do you mean bellowing at me like that? And why are you calling from John's phone?"
"Because _John_ left it here in his hurry to do your bidding." Sherlock didn't allow himself to think of the true, more painful reason John had left in such a hurry.
"What on earth are you talking about? Has it finally happened, has your mind finally snapped?"
Something cold and hard slid into Sherlock's stomach. Mycroft wasn't faking his confusion.
Yet Sherlock plowed on. "Which girl did you use? I know you have a string of them at your disposal, though not for what others may think. What did you try to do now? Bribe? Spy? You really don't gi-"
"Your blathering is wasting my time Sherlock. I have surveillance on the both of you, you know I do and when I have no reason to contact your dear doctor, I don't."
That cold and hard something sharpened and jabbed. "What about his laptop?" His voice had gotten more unsteady.
Mycroft picked up on it. "What about it?" The anger was still there, but the snideness was gone.
"He isn't here Sherlock. I don't know anything about his wretched laptop."
Sherlock still clung on, desperately. "If you're lying to prove how despicable you really are…."
"I'm not lying Sherlock."
Sherlock's breathe quickened. He didn't understand, he understood perfectly. How, where, where, WHERE?
"Sherlock, what has happened?"
Sherlock Holmes hung up.
He sat there for ten minutes and eight seconds. Exactly.
John's phone, battery nearly gone, rang.
Number; unknown
He pushed to answer.
There was the sound of an obvious recording.
Hello Dr. Watson's phone. You have reached John Watson's message center. Since he and his phone were recently separated, we provide top quality service to make sure any missed messages come straight to him.
He would love to answer them and get back to you as soon as possible. Unfortunately he's indisposed at the moment and probably will be for some time…
Sherlock closed his eyes.
He's an internet sensation, you see and about to star in his own breakout role. You have been lucky enough to be invited to a grand screening being played at Scotland Yard. I guarantee, you won't want to miss it.
The recording hissed on for several more seconds.
An hour, Sherlock Holmes.
Jim Moriarty's cold voice fell silent.
Sherlock's mind was working at an almost agonizing speed.
He burst through Scotland Yard's doors and thought it seemed strangely subdued. He ran, sprinted towards DI Lestrade's office and burst in without invitation or even knocking.
Anderson, Sally Donovan and Lestrade were standing around Lestrade's desk. They seemed so stiff and didn't welcome or greet Sherlock in any way. They weren't surprised he was there.
"The message, came with the package, said we all had to be here." Lestrade's voice was quiet, like he was soothing a wild animal.
"John's laptop."
"How did you…?"
Lestrade held up a hand. "There's a Wi-Fi link and….no, Sherlock, NO!!"
He swung the screen around to look at it and immediately understood Lestrade's warning.
"You don't want to see it." Anderson sounded surprisingly sympathetic. No one at Scotland Yard had anything against John.
Sherlock looked for a very long time, his eyes frightening with rage.
"How long, Lestrade?"
"The package came about a half-hour ago. No one got a good look at the deliverer. Came with a message, saying you would be here and we all had to be too. Came with a website address. We're trying to track its location but it's…."
"Scrambled. Of course it is."
"Also, here…." Lestrade handed Sherlock a note.
2 - Y = ?????????????????? It's the unknown factor in an equation that makes it difficult to solve.
Lestrade's voice had been choppy, to the point, as it usually was when he was reciting the facts to Sherlock on a case. Just another case….
John Watson, gagged, had his arms pulled excruciatingly tight above his head. His wrists were handcuffed.
He couldn't really get a purchase on the floor beneath him. *Cement, pipes, moisture on the floor. A factory, a warehouse.*
He was pulled up so high that his shoes scuffled and he constantly lost his balance, held up by his bound wrists.
They were bloody from taking his weight.
Sometimes he did get the slightest hold with his feet, easing the torture from his hands but even with the grainy footage, everyone in the room could see that his legs trembled with exhaustion.
John gasped for air, it sounded dreadful. Then the whole dance began again.
Who knew how long he'd been like that? He was so pale, face lined with fatigue….and pain.
He was in terrible pain.
His wounded shoulder.
Sherlock heard words as though he was underwater, they were muffled and didn't make sense. Moriarty….Moriarty's cruelty and sheer inhumanity.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade grabbed his shoulder, then backed away at what was on Sherlock's face.
"It's him." Donovan whispered.
Moriarty waltzed into view, impeccably dressed as always. John's expression showed his anger.
"Hi there lucky viewers! You made it to the show! Promise it will be a good one, lots of planning went into this one."
He stepped up to John. Sherlock's fists clenched. "Meet our star, Dr. John Watson. He doesn't really have any lines. " Moriarty stepped up and tightened John's gag, giggling when John yanked his head away. "Stage fright you know."
"Now for audience participation."
Moriarty pulled out a phone and Lestrade's rang on his desk.
"Speaker, if you please dear audience."
Moriarty's voice echoed around the room, in stereo with the computer. Even more terrible was the clarity that they could now hear from John, his painful gasping.
"I will kill you Jim." Sherlock's voice was monotone. "Slowly. I will make it last for days."
Moriarty laughed. "Now _that's_ the Sherlock I wanted to play with. So much more fun."
"Do you want to hear the story about your 'ace' Sherlock? Came right from the dear boy's mouth, didn't it? And your sweet little puppy ran right into the dogcatcher's net."
He draped an arm around John's neck, reaching up to pat his cheek.
"DON'T TOUCH HIM!!" Sherlock roared.
Sherlock would never forgive Mycroft as long as he lived. John wouldn't have suspected, maybe hadn't tried as hard to escape, being toyed with by Mycroft for so long.
"Your brother cried 'wolf' just one too many times, and now the lamb's been led to slaughter. I've been feeling a bit, biblical, lately in case you can't tell. Oh but Sherlock's figured it out, hasn't he? Always does?"
"Biblical?" Anderson asked.
Sherlock was shaking, badly.
"He's just the right height for all of this. Bet you don't hear that too often, eh Johnny boy?"
John's expressive eyes were enraged.
"He's been doing rather well, all things considered. The shoulder added to the breathing fun, didn't anticipate that, oh, yes I did.
Just can't quite reach the floor, except on, tippy-toe!!"
Moriarty twirled like a grotesque ballerina.
"It's the legs that are giving out first, the stretch. Maybe it wasn't so psychosomatic after all, huh Doc? The spasms are getting worse, but a guy's gotta breathe!"
Moriarty got right into John's face. "Of course, you're the one with the medical knowledge, you tell me."
He slapped John, hard. "TELL ME!" He screamed.
"Stop it!" Lestrade barked. He had paled considerably.
"My god, oh my god…" the DI began muttering.
Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of John, struggling to keep his toes on the ground and ease the pressure in his arms, in his chest.
"Others figuring it out, Sherlock? Slow though they might be?"
"He's, he's actually crucifying him." Lestrade's horror could not even begin to match Sherlock's.
"Medical studies have proven that crucified victims didn't necessarily suffocate, it was other factors." Sherlock's voice was robotic, his mind in machine mode to cope for what was happening to his best friend.
"Really?" Moriarty looked amazed. "Wow, that's great news for dear Johnny here."
He patted John on the head. Every time that monster touched John Sherlock felt something break inside.
"So, nothing to worry about, stop this acting." Moriarty held the phone right up to John's face. His gasping and rough breathing echoed throughout Lestrade's office.
"You sick fu-!!" Donovan screamed at the screen before Sherlock silenced her with a look.
"Oh, ho! The good Sergeant doesn't approve, eh? You're such a popular little pet." Moriarty made a kissy face at John, pinching his cheeks.
"He's an innocent man and just because _he_ is…."
"Shut. Up. Now." Sherlock's lips barely moved.
"Best take the advice, _Sally_." Moriarty smirked. "This performance didn't invite critics."
He backhanded John viciously.
Donovan backed into a corner, her face twisting. "Sorry, I'm sorry…..Sherlock."
He didn't give her a spare glance, though it was probably the first time he'd ever heard her use his actual name.
"Oh, and there's more fun to be had. Something added to this, equation, that you'll probably want to figure out."
"I already told you I'll play."
"Yes, but _how_ will you play? And how will your mates at Scotland Yard let you proceed?"
Moriarty sneered. "Take me off speaker phone and give the phone to Lestrade."
Lestrade listened, his face stony. "I'm not going to guarantee you anything." He snapped.
He looked to the others, his face actually draining of even more color. "He says to tell you all that if you try to bend or break the rules, he will return the favor. When in Rome….."
Lestrade put the phone back and turned on the speaker.
"So, Sherlock, lovely, you'll be awaiting my next instructions. Don't worry, I'll take good care of your puppy, before he has to be put down that is. Lestrade, you and your forces will be kept informed and do everything in your power to, ahem, enforce the law."
Moriarty suddenly just looked at the camera filming all of this, his face completely expressionless.
"I said I would burn the heart out of you, yes? I can, and I am. But I'm going to take your soul with it. You said that our minds are one and the same."
Sherlock wished he couldn't see John vehemently shaking his head. "I'm going to go a step beyond that, I've always wanted a twin."
John began struggling in earnest now, lunging at Moriarty and trying to dislodge the gag. His shaking arms let him down and more blood trickled down his elbows.
"Let's keep the show rolling, hmm? You can watch, all access, until his lungs shrivel. Chat with you soon, sexy!"
Moriarty moved off screen but fired one last comment through the room before hanging up.
"Lestrade, tell them what I told you."
Lestrade stared at Sherlock for a long time, this man who was cold as ice, said rude, no, terrible things. Sociopath.
"We'll find him, Sherlock. You'll find John, you don't have to play this game."
"He was standing on something."
The other three blinked. "What?"
"The floor, it didn't match up."
"_That's_ what you were focusing on? Damn, I know you can be a cold bastard Sherlock but…"
"Shut up." Donovan barked at Anderson.
"John was a soldier, he knows about hostage situations. He has strong arms and could probably have saved his wrists and breathed easier just hoisting himself up and holding on. He was standing on something, he has to stand on it for some reason, maintain some kind of pressure."
"It's to guarantee that he'll smother but John…" Sherlock's voice actually broke here, to everyone's shock. "John would opt for a quick death then a slow, torturous one. So the threat under his feet isn't directly aimed at just him."
"I have to play the game, Lestrade. Just for a little while, just until we find him and we have to find him soon. You heard his breathing, his strength will give out soon then…" Sherlock himself took a deep breath, it shook roughly.
"To help whoever else Moriarty is targeting, for John's sake if nothing else, for what he's putting himself through right now."
Sherlock pulled out his phone and waited.
"Tell me what he said to you, Lestrade."
Lestrade shook his head slowly. "He said, that if I don't use all of my resources to stop you or take resources away to find John Watson, he'll do…."
"As in Rome." Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut.
"Break legs. But just one."
AN; Holy crap!! Did I really just write this? It was a gut-kicker I'll admit. I didn't really focus on Sherlock's reactions since I wanted to keep him more in character but everyone and anyone whose seen "The Great Game" knows that Sherlock, when dealing with John, does show a great deal of emotion.
Poor John! I adore him, he's my favorite, why am I torturing him like this? Oh Angst, writing too much angst.
I hope I didn't offend anyone with this, just wanted to show what a sick SOB Moriarty really is. Gods, Scott's performance as him is beyond chilling.
Next chapter; I'll play……