Hey I'm so so so sorry for posting this so late but here it is, the next chapter! Not many to go now… Anyway please review (thanks to everyone who does, it really makes my day!) to let me know what you think, any ideas you have etc… I've been so busy recently but I will try to get next week's chapter up in time I promise. Hope you enjoy the chapter! xxx

"Y-you killed her!" John choked. His throat was dry as he gazed upon Isabelle's fallen body slumped lifelessly on the ground. Moriarty didn't even glance down; he kept his burning eyes solely on John and was breathing deeply and heavily with anger, similarly to how a bull acts before it charges.

"Yes I did. And I only wish I could do the same to you right now." Moriarty growled.

"Sherlock won't be coming to get me after that message Moriarty; you might as well kill me too." John insisted, finally turning his attention to him and avoiding Isabelle in shame and guilt.

"You really think that'll stop him?" Moriarty giggled, "Trust me John, he's on his way…"

"Why are you doing all this? If you're so clever why is Sherlock still alive?" John asked, now debating how he'd become such a key figure in the plan Moriarty was carrying out- why did he need him so much?

"Because you're the one and only thing that matters deeply to him John." Moriarty whispered, leaning in closer to where John was tied- his breath smelt sour against his face but he couldn't wriggle away. No words could describe just how much John hated this man.

"I warned him John," Moriarty continued, "I warned him… I said if he didn't leave me alone, I would burn the heart out of him. And you John, you are the key to that. He disobeyed the one principle he stuck to for so long, he began to care for you and that now is his biggest weakness- that is my solution to the final problem."

"But it's like you said," John said, "He cares for me- we're best friends and we have absolute trust in each other. Now he's going to see that video of me telling him not to come, and do you really think he's going to go against my wishes?"

"Honestly?" Moriarty said looking thoughtful, "I don't know. But I wouldn't risk it- that video never got sent so I suppose it doesn't matter either way."

John's eyes widened slightly with fear. "You mean Isabelle never sent it? Then why have her-"

"Oh no John, she sent the message alright." Moriarty interrupted. "But any message sent through to Sherlock relayed directly to me for approval in case the bitch did something foolish."

John couldn't help but feel really guilty at the death of Isabelle Culpa. It was after all, his fault she helped him to contact Sherlock and send the video and now after promising her a better life- hers was over. Shame burst through John every time he laid his eyes on her fallen corpse lying on the floor that resembled a toy a child had lost interested in and cast aside with disinterest. There was still one thing that confused him.

"If that message was never sent to Sherlock, why have Isabelle killed? It did no harm to your plan did it?"

"No," Moriarty confessed, "But she pissed me off."

"You bastard." muttered John angrily.

"Indeed." Moriarty sighed happily. "But anyway, since she decided to betray me what good was she to anyone?"

"You didn't have to kill her."

"Nor did I have to keep her alive." Moriarty pointed out. He had begun to pace the room forwards and back grinning to the ground walking with his hands joined together behind his back with his chest leading the stroll. Once he reached Isabelle's body he kicked her stomach hard with his pristine black shoes and pulled a blatant face of disgust before stepping over her, dismissing the fact she was there because of him. Although Moriarty was not much taller than John at all, the way he stood and held himself was somehow bigger- more intimidating perhaps. It was his smile that shook John the most. That cruel simile that emitted a feeling of glee in the most horrific circumstances, that cruel smile that appeared when he took ungodly pleasure in the misfortune of others.

"Can someone get rid of this body?" Moriarty shouted. John saw that two of his men, dressed in black suits with black ties, were standing in the shadows towards the door with black shades covering their eyes. They nodded their heads respectively and walked over to Isabelle and carried her away and out the door slowly and carefully. After they'd left Moriarty sat in a chair in the centre of the room facing John and leaned forward onto his legs.

"The problem is John," he began to speak, "is that you haven't fulfilled your end of the bargain. You got the morphine but never sent the video so I'm going to be generous and give you one last chance to record it."

"Never." John growled in anger. Moriarty just smiled.

"I hoped you'd say that…" He grinned. Swiftly, he pulled a small knife out from an inside pocket in his jacket, John tried to hide his face of immediate fear but the wide eyes and the twitching gave it away. Moriarty whistled gently and began to pace up to John until he was within arm distance. His chest was already bare with the shredded remains of shirt hanging loose off his shoulders stained with dry blood from his previous torture. The wounds weren't healed and still made John sob in pain frequently if it wasn't for his recent dose of morphine, but its effects were beginning to wear off as it wasn't a large amount John received and the stinging was starting to come back gradually. However John had a feeling it wasn't about to numb the pain about to come.

Moriarty extended out his right hand, knife at the ready. John twitched and shook as hard as he could but the chains on his wrists restricted them greatly and were beginning to dig into his skin and pierce his flesh. The knife was millimetres from John's chest full of half healed wounds when Moriarty paused momentarily.

"I think it'd be very cruel of me to add to your collection of scars here John, I think I'll start somewhere else." He smiled. Then he bent his knees and crouched down to the ground, tilted his head up and stared into John's eyes.

"You don't need your toes right?" Moriarty asked innocently. John's eyes widened with horror. Surely not even Moriarty could be so harsh?

"Please don't!" John gasped.

"Oh? Fine, I'll give you a choice, toes or fingers?"

"Please-"

"Then send the video!" Moriarty roared fiercely.

"I can't!"

John's pleas were answered with a swift stab right the way through his foot. He cried in agonising pain and looked down in disbelief at the knife sticking out the impacted area. Moriarty yanked it back out and blood began to spill, oozing slowly at first then spurting uncontrollably like a fountain of red.

"DO IT!" Moriarty screamed, standing up again right in John's scrunched up face. Unable to talk, John shook his head gently from side to side.

"I can't have you bleeding to death John." Moriarty continued, clearly extremely agitated. He threw the blood smeared knife to the ground with a clang which was barely heard over John's sobs and re-placed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small rectangular object.

A lighter.

John didn't realise at first what it was as his eyes were clenched tightly every few seconds in pain. When he did, he rattled his arms and body desperately in a feeble attempt to escape the coming nightmare. Moriarty just smiled with his eyes wide open.

He flicked the lighter on but it didn't light straight away. After a few attempts the flame finally appeared and was bright against the darkness in the room. Moriarty pointed it at John and drew it closer to the side of his abdomen, a patch clear of previously cut flesh. Suddenly he pressed the flame against the skin and the room was filled with screams and pleas and sounds of pain.

Moriarty suddenly pulled the flame away from John as he jumped at a small sound behind him. It was just one of Moriarty's men returning and resuming his position in the black of the room concealed in the shadows. Once Moriarty had established where the sound had come from he continued with the lighter to scald John's tender skin.

John felt like every nerve in his body was being ripped from his body and thrown into a bomb fire and sizzling away one by one. There were no words to describe the feeling of being on the brink of death, but it being just out of reach when you are longing for it so badly- it was like John was reaching desperately for it but being pulled back by Moriarty. He just needed it to stop, he needed to die.

"I'll do it!" John choked.

…

"It's bloody useless." Lestrade sighed burying his face in his hands. He and Mycroft had been working for hours but a successful plan just wasn't coming together. They both found it wasn't easy to put together a rescue mission as delicate as this without putting their men's lives and John's ata serious risk- they couldn't bear the thought of letting Sherlock down.

"Patience Greg, we'll get there." Mycroft reassured although he sounded a bit uncertain himself.

"We don't have time to be patient!" Lestrade shouted whilst slamming a fist firmly on the table, his anger was a mixture of sleep deprivation and desperate panic at the prospect of un-solving the perilous situation. "We need John out there now or there'll be nothing left of him to save."

"I'm trying my best; this isn't usually what I do remember?" Mycroft snapped irritably.

"Then why not get someone else in?"

"Because I want as few people involved as possible- besides whom would we call?"

Lestrade paused for a moment before speaking once again. "Sherlock."

"He isn't well-"

"He should be feeling better now, why don't we go and talk to him at least. He wants to help so let's let him!" Lestrade insisted.

"Fine." Mycroft surrendered, obviously not in the mood for an argument he knew he'd lose. "Let's go talk to him."

Both men got out of their chairs slowly and gathered various files and papers scattered around the table, then shut their laptops and picked them up too. Lestrade led the way out the door and was swiftly followed by Mycroft continuing down the corridor until they reached Sherlock's room.

Lestrade knocked gently on the door three times and waited for a reply that never came, so he just cautiously opened the door a crack and whispered a small 'Sherlock?' before completely opening the door.

The room was empty.

"Where is he?" Mycroft asked stepping past Lestrade and wondering around the room clearly confused at his younger brother's absence and peering round every nook and cranny to completely make sure his assumption was correct.

"I dunno." Lestrade said whilst scratching his head, also bewildered. "There's no-where else he could be right?"

"What about Miss Hooper?" Mycroft asked. "Wasn't she meant to be looking after them?"

"You check the rest of the house, I'll find Molly." Lestrade said decisively beginning to turn around to pace out the open door. He decided to try the kitchen as Molly could be fixing something up for herself or Sherlock.

When he arrived, he opened the door to find a seemingly empty room, but when Lestrade turned his head round the corner of the small country cottage kitchen he noticed the back of Molly's head-she was perched facing away on a small black stall.

"Molly?"

Her head whipped around and Lestrade saw her eyes were wide in fear which immediately gave away that she knew exactly what was going on- he was a Detective Inspector, he knew how to read people.

"Molly," Lestrade began slowly, "Where is Sherlock?"

…

"I'm sooooooo glad you've agreed to this John." Moriarty giggled.

"Will you promise to kill me if I do?" asked John weakly.

"Nope." Moriarty grinned, "As long as Sherlock's still alive you're of use to me Johnny boy…"

Moriarty's face was centimetres from John's. As a man who found personal space very important, John was beginning to get fed up with the intimacy.

"You're in for a real treat John," he whispered, "When I finally catch him, and I will, I am going to make you watch him die. I'm gonna make him stand right where I am now and he'll see just how much pain you're in. I'll tell him once he dies, I'll set you free."

"But you won't." John muttered.

"Course not." Sniggered Moriarty, "Then I'm going to cut him up, limb by limb by limb and he'll scream in agony so loud you'll beg me to just kill him. His blood will stain these floors, and will run to your ankles and drench your feet in deep red sticky liquid- and you'll be forced to watch. When Sherlock finally begins to lose consciousness, I'll stab you through the heart for him to see, so he can see it was all for nothing…"

John had been trying to work a hand free for days, and the adrenaline rush from those hideous words drove him right over the edge until he finally managed to get a hand free. It was a spilt-second too late Moriarty spotted this and was suddenly punched hard and fast in his jaw with as much force as John could muster.

Moriarty's face went red with pure rage.

"JUST KILL HIM!" he screamed like he'd lost all sanity and completely forgotten the plan he'd just explained in detail to John. He turned to his man in the shadows clutching his red throbbing jaw and pointed a shaking finger at John. "JUST KILL HIM, NOW!"

The man suddenly animated, put his hand towards his belt whilst walking over, replacing Moriarty's original position and extending a gun to John's forehead. John had closed his eyes and was smiling to himself in pure relief- it was finally going to be over.

"John?" a small voice said gently. John opened his eyes and tilted his head upwards again at the man. The light was highlighting his face, something the shadows he was originally standing in prohibited. Those green eyes, curly hair, sharp cheekbones.

The man was Sherlock.