"Let me go!"

John struggled against his bonds, desperate to break free. He had no idea who his captors were. They had made sure to be careful when they had abducted him from his flat. The last thing he remembered before any of this happened was sleeping peacefully with Mary; their child in the other room. He hoped that no harm had befallen any of them. This thought caused him to start worming in panic again.

"Let me go this instance! Don't you realize who I am?"

John realized that that sentence might be met with deaf ears. He knew that these people knew who he was. His status in society nor his name would be enough to save him.

He twisted his wrists back and forth, hoping that he would be able to break his bonds slightly, but he soon found out that that was a vain effort. All it managed to do was make his wrists rawer than they already were.

"Let me go now!" yelled John one final time in as loud as a voice as he could muster.

He heard a metal door squeak open then, immediately followed by the presence of cigarette smoke in the air. It was such a heavy odor that it assaulted his nose, causing him to cough.

"Shut him up, won't ya?" barked a slurred voice.

"Drunk," thought John. "Your captors are either drunk or high."

John gasped in pain as he was swiftly yanked to his feet by the roots of his hair. Though the blindfold around his eyes made it so that he couldn't see, he immediately realized that wherever he was being housed, that it was wet. The seat of his pants were soaked through with water.

"Shut up now!" barked the voice in his face, offending him with the twisted odor of alcohol and cigars.

John knew that it was a risk to speak up against his captors, especially if his wife and child were being held here somewhere. However, John realized that it was a risk that he might be willing to take simply because if the captors merely wanted him to shut up instead of shooting him right on the spot, they must need him for something. That or they just wanted to toy with him until he broke.

Either way, John cleared his throat and spoke up.

"I'll shut up once you take this blindfold off my eyes, and tell me what is going on!"

That caused a few chuckles to be produced from around him. John could feel tears fill his eyes, and he quickly swallowed them. He used to be a soldier. He couldn't let some idiotic people in front of him break him apart when all the bloodshed on the battle lines hadn't. (Well, not too badly anyway. He did have PTSD, and he did realize that, but that was a thing of the past, and not something that he felt he had to factor in now).

"We have a feisty one on our hands, boys," said a voice with a chuckle. The voice had a thick accent which made it hard for John to pick up his muttered words no matter how hard he strain to hear them. "I can see why our boss has a game in mind for him."

A game? What sick, twisted person kidnapped someone in the dead of night, blindfolded them in a wet room, all for the purpose of a game?

"We just have to make him quiet down," said another man, his accent much easier for John to understand. "Though I think he's a scaredy cat. I mean..." John could tell that the man had leaned closer because his rancid breath was right near his nose. "...look at him! He's a shrimp, and he's already wet his pants!"

John knew that his pants were soaked through from being set down on such a wet floor, but he didn't feel the need to correct these numbskulls. If they wanted to make it out to be that he wet his pants, so be it.

The man's comments caused a cacophony of laughter to encase the room, causing John to become even tenser.

"Boys, boys, is that any way to treat our guest?"

John's blood ran cold at the sound of that voice. No. There was no possible way that he was behind this.

"How's Johnny boy doing? Are the accommodations here to your liking?"

No. It wasn't him. It couldn't be.

"Are you going to answer me? Or does someone have your tongue?"

The voice was getting closer, pounding within his head, causing his hands to tremble slightly. He hid the tremble by clenching his hands into fists, taking deep breaths in and out through his nose.

"Here. Allow me to shed some light on the subject for you."

John felt fingers reach up on either side of his face to tug down the blindfold. He was momentarily startled by the bright light that was being produced by the bright florescent lights overhead. It only took him a minute or two to get adjusted to the lighting and shiver at the face of a man he never thought in a million years he would see here.

He was dead.

He couldn't be alive.

Yet he was.

"Hello, John. Fancy meeting you here," said Jim Moriarty, a smirk worming its way onto his face, sarcasm evident in his voice.

"Let me go," whispered John, glaring at him in what he hoped was an intimidating fashion.

Apparently his glare wasn't intimidating enough because it caused Moriarty to laugh wickedly.

"Ah, John. I'm afraid your stay here isn't over yet." Jim reached out to place a hand on John's shoulder. "I have plans for you."

"What plans?" asked John, still trying to remain stone faced, hiding his fear.

"Come now? Where's the fun in that if I told you? It's a surprising, my dear doctor."

Jim moved to sling his arm around John. The more Jim touched him, the more John felt the scream of desperation build up inside him.

"Lets go have some fun."

"No," said John, standing firm in his spot despite Jim's attempt to move him.

"No? No?!" A fiery angry was immediately sparked with Jim and he yanked his arm off him, moving to stand in front of him again.

John looked into Jim's eyes and saw the fire burning there, but he remained firm.

"You heard me. I'm not going to play whatever sick, twisted game you have concocted in that brain of yours."

That caused a laugh to emit from Jim. His face lit up with a smile that was menacing, yet still looked slightly carefree.

"Oh, my dear, dear, John. That's not how the game is played at all. Don't you see that I'm the one with all the moves, and you are the poor little pawn?"

When Jim saw that John didn't speak, but decided to remain silent, he laughed again, casting his dark eyes to look up at the ceiling above them.

"You're not very bright, are you? You see, you have to play by my rules, and do what I say, if you want to leave with your life intact."

Jim slipped a hand into his pocket, withdrawing it to make a mobile appear. He twirled it in his hands carelessly for a moment before lying it flat on his palm. He began to slide his fingers across the screen, evidently looking for something.

"If your own life isn't enough incentive for you, how about the lives of those you love?"

With that said, Jim turned the mobile screen to face John. A look of pure horror appeared on John's face as he saw his wife and his newborn child on the screen. They were both at home, blissfully unaware of his absence for the time being. On one hand, John was happy to see this to know that Jim and his men hadn't touched his family yet, but he was also greatly grieved knowing that they were being monitored, knowing that meant they could be hurt whenever Jim wanted them to be.

Staring at his captured family, he immediately became enraged. Where was Sherlock when he needed him desperately? Sherlock should be there to help him out of this. Sherlock should be the one to find him, and save him from Jim's grasp. In a roundabout way, it was Sherlock's fault that he was in the position he was in now, but all Sherlock cared about nowadays was himself and his never ending boredom. John clenched his fists and forced himself to calm down. He didn't need Sherlock to get out of this.

"I told you I had all the moves. I wouldn't lie to you, John," remarked Jim as he shut the mobile back off and slipped it back into his pocket. "Now, are you ready to play?"

The blindfold had been replaced over his eyes as he was jostled in a vehicle of some sort. It was driving at a rapid speed and John wished his hands weren't tied behind his back. He had no cushion as the vehicle took sharp turns, which made it so he banged his head against the metal once in a while. He was pretty sure, judging by the throbbing of his head, that by the end of this ride, he would have some sort of bruises on his forehead.

When they finally came to a stop, John was gruffly led out of the back of the vehicle and hurried along. Since John was blindfolded, he used his other senses to try to make an educated guess as to where he was. As he was hurried along, he could hear his footsteps echo underfoot which meant that he was being led somewhere where the path was made of cement. His ears picked up the sound of crickets as they started their mini orchestra once more. So, not only was John somewhere where there were cement paths, but he was also somewhere where grass was a big factor. That assumption was soon cemented when he was led off the cement and through a dewy field of grass.

"Take the blindfold off him," commanded Jim, a hint of pleasure already appearing again in his voice.

The blindfold was immediately yanked off his eyes, and John took a moment to get use to the dark lighting of his surroundings. John quickly looked around him to see if he could guess what kind of "game", Jim had set up for him. Far away to his left lay a caving in warehouse; its roof currently forming a crocked triangle in the sky. All of the rest of his surroundings were made up by fields of grass and by trees.

"Welcome to part one of my game, John," said Jim in an all too friendly manner. "This round will be known as the hide and seek round."

"Hide and seek?" asked John.

"Yes. Clearly you can see that I have more of my men with me..." said Jim, his eyes wandering around the area which caused John to look around again and notice all the muscular men, clad in black, guns in their hands. "These men will be known as the seekers, and you are the target. You have to hide from them and hope that you don't get shot. If you manage to survive by the end of ten minutes time, you win this part of the game."

If he managed to survive. John coached himself to hide the shiver that his body wanted to produce from the sheer terror of that statement.

"Don't I get a weapon of any sort?" asked John.

Jim somehow found John's request humorous, chuckling slightly before replying.

"All you'll get is a flashlight," stated Jim. "Be smart with how you use it. Untie his wrists."

Jim watched as John was untied. He evidently saw John's muscles tense as if he were about to run because he immediately started to tsk.

"I would hope you realize, John, that any attempt to escape or call for help will end with your immediate execution. No one likes a cheater."

John's hands became sweaty as he gripped the cold, metal flashlight that he was handed. He experimented with the flashlight, turning it on to see how strong its beam was. It was brighter than John thought it would be.

Jim rolled up the sleeve of the jacket he had on, looking into the face of his watch, lighting its screen up by pressing a button on its side.

"Ready...set...go!"

John immediately took off running, knowing Jim would immediately set his own men after him. He forced his feet to run faster than he ever had in his entire life.

"Act like you're back in Afghanistan, John," he whispered out loud to himself to coach himself. "These men are the enemy that wish to kill you."

John threw his body behind a cluster of trees off to the left, crouching down low and pressing his back against the coarse bark. He held the flashlight up against his chest, trying to slow his breathing. He listened intently for any sign of his pursuers.

Not hearing anything immediately, he forced himself to think of some plan of action. He just had to survive for ten minutes and then this would be over. However, knowing Jim, John realized that his version of ten minutes could end up stretching to any time length he wanted if he so choosed.

The warehouse was only twenty feet or so away from John now. If he went sprinting toward that when no one was looking in this direction, John might be able to hide in there. They would never be able to find him there.

John's legs flamed up as he stayed crouched there. He listened closely, but when he only heard the sound of the crickets and the wind, he decided to take a risk and make a run for it. He gathered every ounce of courage he could muster and bolted for the warehouse as fast as he could.

Just as he got in the home stretch, one of Jim's men seemed to pop out of nowhere, gun aimed right at John. John came to a screeching halt, trying to deliberate what move he should make. He held the metal flashlight tighter in his hands and immediately proceeded to drive it as hard and as fast as he could at the man's face.

The man screamed out in pain, both hands immediately flying up to cover his nose which had become dark red with blood. The gun in the man's hands fell to the ground and John immediately bent to pick it up. He quickly tucked the flashlight in his waistband, holding the gun steady in his hands. By the time the man was actually aware of the fact that the gun was no longer in his possession, John had the gun pointed right at him.

"Stay right where you are or I will shoot you."

John started to pivot his way around the man, edging closer to the warehouse.

"One false move, and I'll shoot you."

John tightened his finger around the trigger to show the man that he meant business. When he saw that the man wasn't about to move from his position, John took off for the warehouse again. He knew that as soon as he was out of sight that the man would call his friends over, but John didn't care. At least he had a gun now. Besides, the ten minute time period had to almost be up, right?

Just as he thought that, he heard a faint strain of Jim's voice outside.

"Only two minutes to go, Johnny boy. You're in the home stretch now."

John entered the warehouse, and soon faltered, realizing it was ten times darker in here than it was outside. He dug out the flashlight, placing it on the ground at his feet for a brief moment. He had to find some way to dim the light or he'd be found before the two minutes were up.

John ripped a part of his shirt and tied it around the top of the flashlight. After the piece of cloth was secured, he stooped down to reclaim the gun and turned the flashlight on. He took off for a rusty metal ladder he saw nearby. If he could climb up to this shelf, he might be able to make it.

John reached the ladder and jumped up and down on the bottom rung to test its strength. It creaked and shuddered under his weight slightly, but he determined that it would do good enough. He climbed as fast as he could up the ladder, soon arriving at the top of the shelf and sliding on top of it to hide from the view of the men.

He tucked his knees up under his chin, and listened closely. Suddenly, John could see many different scattered beams shift across the cracked cement of the warehouse.

"John! You can come out now! The ten minutes are up!" called Jim's voice, it echoing off the walls of the warehouse.

John didn't move from his position. He didn't trust him. Besides, he was at the advantage right now. He was at a higher altitude than Jim and his men, and would therefore be able to shoot them all down one by one relatively easy.

It was if Jim was reading his mind once more because he soon called out again.

"I know you acquired a gun from one of my men, John. Very smart move with the flashlight, but don't try any funny business. Remember, I have the fate of your whole family within my hands."

John remembered. He couldn't forget. He took a deep breath. He had to reveal himself and do whatever Jim had planned for him next if he had any hope of getting through this alive, and keeping his family alive as well.

John stood up, making his way toward the edge of the shelf. As soon as he placed his foot on one of the rungs, a flashlight beam from below caught sight of him.

"Ah, there you are, John. Come on down, and we can do part two of this game, and make it come to its conclusion."

John slowly climbed down the ladder, the gun and flashlight tucked into his waistband. Once his feet were on the ground again, Jim's men swarmed him. Jim parted the circle, and stood in front of him.

"Congratulations on surviving part one, John. Now time for the final part."

John allowed himself to scoff, trying not to appear weak.

"What do you have planned for me next, Jim?"

"Oh, you'll see. Follow me."

Jim led John back outside the warehouse where a man laid kneeling on the ground, a black sack over his head. His hands were tied behind his back, and he wore the same outfit of the man he had taken the gun from.

"I want you to use the gun you recently acquired and shoot him," said Jim in a measured tone of voice. "That's the conclusion of the game."

John's hands became sweaty again at what Jim had commanded him to do.

"Sho-shoot him? Are you insane?"

"John, you either shoot this man right now, or I will shoot your wife and newborn. Your choice."

John's hand slowly moved toward the gun at his waist.

"No! No! It's wrong! You're about to murder someone in cold blood! No!" thought John, his thoughts shouting at him.

"It's the only choice I have..." whispered John out loud to himself as he slowly moved the gun into position and pulled back slightly on the trigger.

A slow smile crept onto Jim's face as John pulled back onto the trigger even further.

"Shoot him somewhere where he'll suffer a little bit before he dies," remarked Jim.

John moved the focus of the gun in his hands to the man's stomach. Shooting the stomach caused pain for a few minutes before they died. It was cruel, but Jim was the one in control at the moment, and John was trapped.

John pulled back on the trigger, sending the bullet flying into the man's stomach. The man immediately crumpled even further onto the ground in a ball, letting out groans of pain.

"Well done, John. You are done. You are free to go, but..." said Jim, a smile spreading onto his face. "There is one last thing you must see."

Jim motioned for one of his men to go toward the man writhing in pain on the ground and yank the sack off his head.

John immediately closed his eyes, feeling nauseous and lightheaded. He proceeded to drop to his knees in the dirt, his chest aching immensely as if he were the one who had just gotten shot.

"Congratulations, John. You have done me, and the rest of the world, a favor."

No. This wasn't happening. This was all a nightmare that he would soon wake up from.

But no.

As soon as John opened his eyes, he was confronted with the horrible truth once more.

Lying on the ground, slowly bleeding to death, pain etched over every part of his face, was Sherlock Holmes.

Numb with grief, tears running down his face in rapid streams, John made his way closer to Sherlock, pulling him into his lap.

"I'm sorry..." said John, his voice going weak. "I'm sorry, Sherlock...I didn't know."

Sherlock's eyes shifted up to look into John's teary eyes. A small, pained smile made its way onto Sherlock's face.

"Don't be...I tried to be a hero...I told you I'm not a hero, John...I couldn't save you..." said Sherlock, a weak chuckle coming from him.

"Why are you here? Why did you come here?" asked John, his voice thick with tears.

"To save you like I said..." gasped Sherlock, arching slightly at the pain that captured his body. "But Mary and your child are safe at least...I made sure of it..."

"Sherlock, just hold on. Alright? You'll get through this. I'll call for help. You'll make it through this," said John, tightening his grip around him.

Sherlock reached up a trembling hand to wipe away some of John's tears.

"I won't, John...you're a doctor, you k-know that..." Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them to focus on John once more. "I don't want you to grieve...go on with your life, John...Be happy...Please..."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. You are, and always will be, my best friend..." whimpered John as he saw Sherlock fight to keep his eyes open. "I never deserved a friend like you."

"J-John..." Sherlock fought to keep his eyes open as his breathing was becoming more spaced apart. "I was the one wh-who never deserved a friend li-like you..." Sherlock gasped, not being able to fill his lungs with much air. "You are, and always wi-will be, the on-only friend I'll ever need..."

Sherlock's voice died out then as his body proceeded to go slack in John's arm. Blood stained the stomach of the uniform that Sherlock was dressed in; Sherlock's vibrant blue eyes now vacant of life and glassy, reflecting the stars glimmering overhead.

"Sher-Sherlock..." stuttered John out of grief, crying harder as he looked at his now dead friend.

A mixture of emotions rushed through him. He was angry at himself for having unknowingly murdered his best friend and he was grieved by Sherlock's passing. Over his sobs, he could hear Jim chuckle slightly and that made the anger take a stronger hold of John.

"Thank you, John, for playing the game."

Shaking with rage, John gently laid Sherlock's body down in the dirt and stood up, picking up the gun he had dropped earlier. He pointed it straight at Jim before he had a chance to react.

"You should have stayed dead," replied John in a cold voice as he sent a trigger right into Jim's stomach; right where he was told to shoot Sherlock.

Jim collapsed into the dirt, curled into a ball in pain. John immediately tucked the gun into his waistband, and shot all of Jim's men a warning.

"Leave me alone, unless you all care to join your boss."

All of the men slowly backed off as Jim lay dying at their feet. John turned back to Sherlock, and scooped up his body. Tears lay frozen on John's face as he picked Sherlock up, and held his limp body in his arms.

"It's time to go home," said John softly out loud.

He started to walk forward, leaving the warehouse and Jim behind him. John allowed his eyes to wander down to the body in his hands once more, a few more tears escaping his eyes.

"It's time to head back home from the battle, my friend," whispered John, the warehouse and everything he had left behind, fading away.