Oh. My. Gosh. You guys, I feel terrible. That is the last time I tell you I'm going to update soon, because I never do! -_- Does it make up for it (a bit) if I promise that I will at least finish this story? I know it's short. I do have my excuses -several shows, revision, being away with no internet, etc, etc.- but I still should've updated. I'm so sorry! I know I don't deserve it, but a review would be nice...?

The door swung open, revealing Moriarty, clad in an immaculate Westwood suit, and Sebastian, still in his oversized jumper and skinny jeans. Sherlock had to resist the urge to laugh. It was the most bizarre thing he'd ever seen in his life.

Instead, he settled for a slight, very Sherlock, smirk. "Come to finish me off?"

"Not yet." Jim replied. "Seb?"

Sebastian moved forward to give Sherlock the next dose of liquid, but Sherlock had other ideas. He closed his arm around the sniper's, not totally preventing the injection of the poison, but certainly asking for his attention.

"Yes?" Seb asked, secretly glad to put off the job.

"I don't think I want to take this poison." Sherlock told him. "Actually, I don't want to stay here at all."

The world's only consulting detective forced himself up off the bed and made his way to the door.

"Nice little trick, soundproofing the room. Too bad you didn't think to add an extra lock."

"You bastard!" Sally shouted after him. She was still too tired to move. How on Earth he'd managed to sit up, let alone leave the room, was a mystery. But one thing was for certain; she wasn't going anywhere, like it or not.

Moriarty smiled down at her. "Oh, I wouldn't worry, he'll be back. He can't go far with the mix of chloroform and- well, you don't need to know, do you?"

"Yes, I bloody well do! What the hell have you given me?!"

The consulting criminal turned his attention back to Seb.

"Sebastian, go fetch him back, would you?" he asked, examining his fingernails in a way which showed exactly how bored he was, and how he might shoot something soon if he didn't find a distraction. Or maybe bomb upper London.

Whichever.

Sherlock made it halfway downstairs before collapsing. Sebastian hauled him up, stopping to give an apologetic smile to a couple of bemused-looking students.

"He's had a bit much to drink." he told them. "Don't worry, I've got him. He'll be fine in the morning."

Sherlock tried to wriggle free, but only ended up collapsing again, which did nothing except back up Moran's story. Said story was repeated twice more before they made it back to the room -on the top floor, Sherlock noticed, no chance of escaping through the window, then- and the detective was unceremoniously set down on the bed.

The still-bound up sergeant opened her mouth to deliver the first in a long string of insults, then thought the better of it. The attention was currently focused on Sherlock; she didn't want to remind the Consulting Criminal that she was there, too.

"You've been misbehaving, Sherlock," Moriarty was saying in his sing-song way. "Trying to escape? Tut tut, that won't do. So, just to be certain,"

This was punctuated by the stabbing of a poison needle into the detective's arm.

"I thought I'd give you another dose."

Another stab.

"Except this one's a little stronger."

Final injection.

"So you'll soon be feeling some pain. But don't worry. I'm only just getting started."

Another needle.

"And that's just some extra sedative. Just in case you decide to run off again." He turned to leave. "Oh, and, Sergeant? I'm sure it's perfectly clear what happens to him if you try anything."

Sherlock glowered from behind the tangle of sheets. Sally didn't say or do anything, but she was sure her disgust for the two men must be showing on her face.

"I'll be seeing you, Sherlock." Moriarty said, slowly turning away, towards the door.

The door closed, loud and disruptive in the otherwise-silent room. Neither occupant said anything, but Sally was giving Sherlock her most poisonous look from across the room. After a good twenty seconds of this, it began to grate on his nerves a little.

"Sergeant Donovan, as stressful as I appreciate the situation may be for your tiny brain to comprehend, would you stop staring at me? I'm trying to concentrate."

"On what?" she snapped. All he was doing was staring into space, or that's what it looked like to her, anyway.

He ignored her.

The words, You bloody left me, you bastard, died on her tongue. Well, sod him. He may be content to sit and play games, but she'd be damned if she was going to hang around waiting for him.

Sally Donovan was finding her own way out.

~Gallifreyen-loves-you-all x