"Tell me, Sherlock. We've been here before. How does this usually end?"

I open my eyes to the harsh brightness of the ceiling light; thankfully, my vision is still blurred so it softens the pain. The skin around my nose and mouth is burning from whatever I've been drugged with, and I am still in the process of regaining consciousness when I am struck across the face.

"Well? I asked you a question."

I squint at the other person in the room; he's still holding the object that he used to hit me. It sounds like a he, anyway. And from the silhouette it definitely looks like a man. As my eyes focus, the more clearly I can see his facial features, and the smug look upon his face.

"About time. I was a bit worried that I'd overdosed you." Moriarty croons.

He is leaning on that object; he's now holding it behind his back. "Though I didn't lose much sleep over it, Sherlock. So…how does this usually end?"

I shuffle a little in my seat, to no avail. My restraints are tightly bound; metal handcuffs around the back of the chair, with a tight wire cord around my shoulders. I bow my head, determined not to look him in the eye.

"That depends. What is this?" I mutter.

He clears his throat. I can tell by the way he speaks that he's enjoying himself. A lot.

"I have you completely under my power, Sherlock. I can do anything I want with you."

He almost toys with the words, savouring each one and the impact they have on me. Even though I can't see his face, I can almost feel his intense satisfaction at my pain.

"Fine. Do whatever you want. You can't get to me." I remain glaring at the floor.

"Ooh. Defiant. I like it!" He murmurs, gleefully. "But I have a certain feeling that you will agree to my terms."

"And why is that?"

He answers my question in a single action, a swift movement. But it is enough to get me to look at him. He brings his arm around, swinging the object that he used to hit me with. John's crutch. I almost choke out John's name until I see Moriarty's expression. I won't give him that satisfaction.

"You won't believe how easy it was to get this, Sherlock. And if that was easy, imagine how easy it will be to sneak one of my…employees…into your flat while darling John is asleep?" He rocks back and forth on his feet. "One bullet, that's all it'll take. You know how it works. Agree or he'll die."

I feel strangely nauseous, my blood runs cold; a kind of dread that only Moriarty can make me feel. He was right, we've been here before.

"What do you want?" I manage to ask him.

He smiles, and different type of smile than his narcissistic smirk. This was more of a…indulgent grin. It unnerves me.

"I told you. I like your ways. Occasionally, you even remind me of, well… me. And I mean that in a complimentary way." He strolls over to my chair, playing with the cords that are binding me. With a loud snap, he severs the cords. I hear a key click against a lock, and then my hands are free from the handcuffs. He reappears in front of me, holding the small but dangerous knife that cut the wires, and slides it into his pocket. I rub the bright red lines that the wire has made on my shoulders; blood is already welling in the indentations.

I bring my gaze back to Moriarty, he is watching almost curiously as I examine the damage he has inflicted. I glare at him with disgust- he winks back at me.

"Give me what I want, and John will sleep safely and soundly tonight." He whispers.

I finally understand. I slowly stand up, and begin unbuttoning my shirt.

Later that night

There are no words for how sickened I feel. All I want to do is…hide. To keep away from people and be alone with my own self-loathing. But I can't. There's someone I have to see. My fingers shake as I open the door. And they're not shaking because of the cold. I climb the stairs slowly, and as I finally enter the flat, I am greeted by that person.

"Sherlock!" John cries. "Where the hellhave you been?"

I almost smile. That is a typical response from John in this situation. But he continues…

"I…we, actually; Mrs Hudson, Greg, and Mycroft…well; we've been looking for you all day, Sherlock. We checked the morgue, we searched the Yard, we even went around to every homeless person we could find to ask if they'd seen you. And of course you never thought to bring your phone."

"I've been missing before, John, and you've never worried like this."

He raises his eyebrows, incredulous.

"Yeah, when you've been missing for a few hours, I'm fine with that, but do you have any idea how long you've been gone? You've been out since last evening, Sherlock. You've been gone for twenty four hours."

So that's why Moriarty was so impatient. He drugged me late last night; he must have been waiting about twelve hours for me to regain consciousness. That also explains why he thought he'd overdosed me.

"I guess I lost track of time." I explain half-heartedly.

There is a moment of silence until John cracks a smile, which soon turns into laughter. He throws his arms around me, sending waves of pain through the still open wounds.

"I'm just glad I don't have to file a missing persons report, Sherlock. Do you have any idea how much paperwork is involved in those?"

I chuckle, hugging him gently. I close my eyes, and am actually able to enjoy a few seconds of it before I remember. Before I remember what happened with Moriarty; how he bound me, beat me, reduced me to a weak, pathetic wreck. And then after I agreed to him… I remember how he touched me, how he spoke to me too. And mostly, I remember how I betrayed John in the worst way possible. I diddo it all to protect him. But it's my fault he needs protection.

I guess Moriarty is right. We really have been here before.