Missing something? (Sherlock Holmes, Bluebox, James Moriarty)

James Moriarty had plans, great plans.
Something bigger then he had ever done before.

It had took him months of plotting, preparation and putting all the pieces together, but his masterpiece was finally coming together. Everyone was well informed and in position, waiting for Jim to start the mission.

Jim leaned back in his office chair, grinning to himself. He could almost taste victory without having anything achieved just yet. "Get the party started." He smiled to himself as he signed his men to start by one simple tap on his phone.

The first thing to do? Kidnapping Sherlock's beloved pet Doctor John Watson.

Jim had full surveillance on both Sherlock and John, so he knew exactly where to find them at this time of day. Sherlock was at home, while John could leave for work any minute now. He always took a taxi.

And that was exactly how he would get him...

"Ok Sherlock, I'm leaving for work. Please try not to burn the flat down while I'm gone. Text me if there's an emergency. No, being bored does not count. If it's a case...use your judgement, but keep in mind I've already missed 5 shifts this month, I do need to be careful. I should be home by 18:00, there's a casserole in the fridge I was going to bake for dinner, if you remember, please turn the oven on at a quarter-'til for me," John called all of this over his shoulder as he walked to the door of the flat, pulling his jacket on at the same time.

He stops for a moment at the door, looking back and smiling fondly at the sight of Sherlock laying on the couch in his "thinking pose." John walks over and drops a kiss to Sherlock's hair before leaving, the tall man too lost in his mind palace to make any response. John wasn't worried- Sherlock's brain seemed to have a answering machine of sorts that recorded things Sherlock missed while thinking, so he would eventually remember John's words.

John walks out of the flat and takes a moment to pop up the collar of his jacket to try and block the lightly drizzling rain. He walks to the curb and hails a cab, giving the address of the clinic. It takes him 20 minutes to realize that the grey view outside the window is not what it should be.

"What's going on?!" John asks sharply, unlocking the cab door, "This isn't where I asked to go!"

"'Fraid you're going somewhere else mate, now cooperate and stay calm, or else I'll have to make things a bit unpleasant for you."

John opens the door to the cab and jumps out, but doesn't even manage to run more than a few meters when another car pulls up, blocking his path, he turns around again, only to realize that he is in a small back alley and there is nowhere else to run. A team of three men get out of the car in front of John.

A clear sense of calm brought on by the adrenaline flooding his system hits John, and he slips a hand into his pocket. John hits the speed-dial on his phone in his pocket, hearing the ring- the call would go through either to Sherlock, Lestrade, or Mycroft. That done, John makes one last effort to run, but is easily caught by a large man with a crooked nose. He puts up a fight when caught, manages to break a few fingers, and give one of his assailants a black eye, but he is rather quickly subdued. A damp rag is pressed over his face- chloroform.

The ground got fuzzy and started to spin a bit, John heard the men speaking, but it sounded like the words were coming down a long tunnel, "Tie him up, then put him back in the cab, quick. Boss wanted him by the hour, and I don't want to know what would happen if we come late."

Then, everything went black.

Sherlock was about two minutes away from solving an important case. One of the witnesses had given a description of a man seen running away from the scene of a murder. It rang a bell, and Sherlock was convinced he'd dealt with this man before. The details would be somewhere in his Mind Palace. He just had to find them.

He'd been wandering the vast corridors and passageways of his mind for just over an hour now. In reality he probably could have found the information he needed much quicker, but he was having too much fun allowing things in his mind to distract him. The case wasn't that pressing after all.

Suddenly it came to him in a flash and he snapped open his eyes with a satisfied smile on his face. "John," he called out. "I've got it. Pass me my phone." And he held out his hand to receive it, waiting patiently.

After ten minutes no phone appeared. "Left inner pocket of my coat," he added, just in case John was having trouble finding it.

Still nothing. "The coat's on the back of the chair."

Nothing. Sherlock sighed a little impatiently and sat up. "John I - " The room was empty."Oh. You're not here." He stretched his arms then wandered over to the mantlepiece, addressing the skull idly, "Where did he go?" He looked at his watch. A little after nine. What day was it? Saturday? No, that was yesterday. Or was it? He dug his hand into the inner left hand pocket of his coat and brought out his phone to check the date. Oh. It was Tuesday. How the hell did that happen? Well. Tuesday at quarter past nine. John would be in work.

Sherlock was just about to hit the speed dial for Lestrade when the phone in his hand started ringing, flashing up with John's number. Odd. Any normal circumstances he and John would always text each other. He only ever rang if it was something important, something urgent, an emergency.

"John?" he answered. All he could hear was muffles, bangs on the other end of the line. "John? John are you there?" Sounded like the phone was still in his pocket. He tried to make out the voices but there was too much background noise and they were too distant. John must have rang him by mistake, he reasoned. Left the phone in his pocket, unlocked, accidentally pressed call. It was a perfectly logical explanation yet somehow didn't seem quite right. In all the time they'd lived together this had never happened before. He frowned slightly and hung up, his teeth toying with his bottom lip thoughtfully. Give him ten minutes to hang up the phone, realise it's on...and then Sherlock would ring back, just to check everything was OK. That was the plan. In the meantime he made a quick call to Lestrade, giving him the information he needed.

Jim looked at his watch. 20 minutes had passed since he'd ordered his men to go and get Doctor John Watson. What seemed the most easiest thing in his eyes, clearly wasn't as easy for his employees. Jim's eyes rolled back in despite as another 20 minutes passed. "amateurs" He hissed. Only a minute late the tones of Staying Alive echoed through his office.

Incoming call
Blocked number

"Hello?" Jim answered, he could never be sure who was ringing while he was in the middle of an operation. "Sir, we've got him, unconscious now." A heave voice informed Jim from the other side of the line. "Finally." Jim exclaimed. "You morons are lucky I'm busy or I'd have decorated the basement wall with your insides." He said dangerously. "You know what to do next. Don't disappoint me." Jim's finger pressed the red button on his phone, ending the phone call with a satisfied smile lingering on his lips.

With a nice and perfectly formed new Westwood suit on, Jim made his way over to the abandoned warehouse John would be brought at. It only took him 15 minutes to get there, straightening his suit one final time before stepping inside. John was tied up to a chair, both feed and hands attached to the wooden framework. Jim's lips stretched in a smile at the sight.

John's stayed out for a good time, giving Moriarty the chance to take away all his personal belongings, especially his phone. Jim flicked through messages he and Sherlock had been sending, chuckling rather amused at some of them. As he went to see the last called numbers, he narrowed his eyes. John had phoned Sherlock, however it seemed like no respond had been given, Sherlock would have called back otherwise. Or at least spammed John was numerous messages, as he seemed to do a lot.

Evil as he was, Sherlock tapped a message to Sherlock.
Phoned you by accident earlier. My bad.
-JW

When he noticed John stirred he moved into a darker spot in the room.
"Goodmorning, sunshine." He said after letting John believe he was alone for a few minutes.

John groaned as he slowly came back into consciousness. He felt like a nail had been driven through his skull, and his stomach was clenching with nausea. John tried to lift his arm, but found it was tied down to a chair, as was his other arm and both feet. John looked around to try and see where he was, but it did him little good- the room was large, poorly lit, and had nothing in it that would serve as a good indicator of location. John's best guess would be an empty warehouse, though it could just as easily be an indoor garage or any other type of industrial-style building that required large open spaces.

As John looked around, he tested the bonds on his arms, tight and well tied, no chance of him pulling out of them without long-term work.

A sickeningly sweet voice sang out from the shadows, the familiar lilt sending cold shivers down John's spine. He turned to see Moriarty step into the light and began wrapping his head around the scope of his situation.

“Moriarty, I should have guessed. What's you're game this time? What do you want with me?”

John knew that Moriarty wouldn't just tell him straight out, he would need some goading, a few pokes to his pride in order to get even a hint of what was in store for him.

“You've already used me as bait once, I would have thought you a better criminal than this, repeating yourself- how dull. Strapping another bomb on me will do nothing, Sherlock probably won't even bother coming to get me himself, he knows by now that's something even Scotland Yard could handle.”

John allows a bored look to slip over his face.

“Can I have a drink? My throat's a bit dry from the chloroform. A bite to eat would be great as well, if it's not too much to ask.”

After solving the morning's case, Sherlock was keen to look for another one immediately. As soon as he got off the phone to Lestrade he opened up his laptop and logged on to see if he'd had any messages come through off the website.

He had all but forgotten about the earlier phone call from John. Until the phone bleeped. A text message. That'll be John, he thought instantly, reaching for the phone without taking his eyes away from the screen where he was reading an email someone had sent him about a missing horse.

Sherlock opened up the text and quickly scanned through it, a frown beginning to form on his forehead. Something wasn't right. This wasn't...John didn't speak like this. He thought back to the muffled voices and strange noises he'd heard on the line in the phone call earlier, and his heart began to beat a little quicker. He hurriedly dialed the number for the surgery and Sarah confirmed his fears - John didn't turn up at work.

Sherlock hung up and threw down the phone, standing up and running his hands through his hair. Thinking. Then he grabbed the phone again and quickly fired off a text message:

Sarah called. Apparently you didn't turn up at work? You OK? - SH

Jim smirked and slowly stepped closer to John, revealing himself from the darker place he had just been standing. With his hands buried deep inside his pockets he walked closer, standing only just an arm length away from John.

"No 'good to see you again?'" Jim said and he pretended to be hurt. "Ouwch." He said playfully. John's comments were rather putting him off though. How dare he say he those things. When Jim came to think about it, he had killed people for a lot less. Too bad he had other plans with this one.

"Who gave you the idea of being bait?" He grinned, evil flickering in his dark brown eyes. "I might just want to keep you, as far as I've seem you make such a lovely, loyal pet." He shrugged a bit. "You'll get a drink when I think you need one. And maybe, just maaaayyyybbbeee I'll bring you something to eat."

Jim was just about to say something when he felt John's phone buzz inside of his pocket. "Oh." He exclaimed, pulling his hand out and taking the phone with him. Jim laughed at Sherlock's concerned message. "Looks like you're already being missed." He smiled. "Your precious Sherlock is asking you whether you're okay or not. Now... What shall we reply?" Moriarty's voice was insanely filled with pleasure, he loved being in control like this.

Jim's fingers were already busy typing up a reply to his favourite detective.

Yes, Sherlock. I'm fine. Will explain later, busy now.
-JW

Pet. John's face instantly heated up, he hated when people called him Sherlock's pet. Normally it was Anderson or Donovan, when they worked out one of the few taunts that would get the better of John's vast store of patience. Coming from a sick man like Moriarty, the insult was even worse.

Not only that, but the idea of Moriarty keeping him around as...what? Some sick form of entertainment? The images that come to mind were terrifying and did nothing to help John's stomach calm down.

It will be fine, John tried to convince himself, Sherlock will realize what's happened...eventually. He'll get you out of this.

But then, that horrible little spoke up from the back of John's head- the one that represented all of his darkest thoughts. So Sherlock gets you out, what then? Will he still want you? After you've been used and humiliated as some toy of his arch enemy? He probably won't even want to look at you. It's not like you're anything special, just a slightly upgraded version of his skull, someone to talk to and provide a bit of companionship. He can easily replace you, and he will after all this.

John told the ugly voice to shut up. He focused on what Moriarty was doing with his phone. Sherlock had texted, he was worried. John felt a pang in his chest.

He looked over at the screen of his phone while Moriarty texted. He read the message and snorted as it sent.

"You're kidding, I thought you were a genius? That's not at all how I text. I mean, why would I write in Sherlock's name, far too formal. Sherlock will see through that in a minute, he'll probably have me out of here and back home in time for dinner."

"There's no point in bluffing Moriarty, I know you didn't just kidnap me for the pleasure of my company. You don't like people enough to want someone around all the time, and even if you did, I'm not your type. You would only take me because you think it will bother Sherlock. What's the plan? Show off to him that you have me? Hold me above his head and make him jump for me, like a playground bully with a ball? He's a sociopath, he may try to get me back just to prove a point, but he won't really care, you should have stolen his violin instead if you wanted to really get to him."

John hoped that his bluff was actually a lie.

Sherlock was sat back in his armchair in his favourite thinking position, contemplating this little John problem. His phone bleeped for a text message and he opened his eyes, picked up the phone and read through it a couple of times, his suspicions increasing.

It was just so unlike John to go missing and not tell Sherlock where he was. If something remotely interesting, exciting or dangerous was going on, he would have informed Sherlock immediately. Otherwise he'd be at work. John was reliable. He rarely missed a day at work, except on important cases, and even then Sarah was normally very understanding and swapped his shifts around. He had never once called in sick, or took the day off just for the hell of it. That wasn't John. And Sherlock was entirely sure it wasn't John sending these messages either.

Sherlock scanned through his phone book until he came across the name Jim Moriarty. Even if Moriarty had nothing to do with what was going on, there was a good chance he at least had some knowledge of it, although it wouldn't surprise Sherlock for a minute if he was behind it entirely. He opened up a text message and typed one out, hitting the send button:

John didn't turn up at work today. Anything to do with you? - SH

Jim scoffed playfully at John's words. "Come come dear, no need to put on this facade." He said, stepping closer and letting his cold finger run along John's jawline. "You always hide yourself behind that detective you held up so high. What for, John?" Jim lowered himself, crouching in front of John letting his elbow rest on the man's thighs. "Does he even care half as much about you?" Jim whispered, shaking his head. "You could be a great man, John, if you weren't kept inside that shadow all of the time."

Jim's plan was rather simple. Playing a bit with John's mind. Just the tiiiiiiinnnniiiest bit of doubt was enough. At the same time he'd try and get to Sherlock. Oh the joy he was getting from the games he played.

Inside his trousers something buzzed, his own phone, and Jim knew exactly who to expect. His eyes flickered with joy as he stood back up, lazily sticking his hand inside of his left pocket and grabbing his phone. His eyes rolled back, as if he was bored and annoyed with the received message.

Perhaps you should keep your pet on his leash. They do tend to run away.
JM. Xx

"What do you think, Johnny boy?" Jim asked as he pocketed his phone again. "What would it take to convince Sherlock you're not on his side anymore?"

John flinched away from Moriarty's touch, doing his best to ignore the burning feeling that formed where the criminal's skin touched his, and keep the man's poison words out of his head. He didn't want to hear them, he knew that Moriarty was going to try to mess with his head- slip into his mind and destroy him from the inside out- and he didn't want to give him any opening to sneak into his thoughts.

“Convince Sherlock you're not on his side anymore?" So that was the plan.

How though? John needed more information if he wanted to get out of this, information is power, and power was something he was lacking in this position. How to get it though? Keep trying his method of bravado and opposition, or try something different? Perhaps fake going along with it? Would that be too obvious though? A combination of opposition and curiosity? Could possibly work, if played off carefully.

“Oh, and how do you plan to do that? Do you really think I would go along with this idea? Test to see if I can hurt Sherlock, my best friend, the man I'm bloody involved with? Why the hell would I ever go along with that plan? There's no way you could make it convincing without Sherlock seeing me actually 'betraying' him, he'd never fall for something as hollow as some text messages and an extended absence from the flat. What else did you have planned? Posed pictures? Incriminating sound bites or videos? How were you planning on getting me to cooperate for this- torture, blackmail, threats?”

John couldn't tell if his questions were getting through to Moriarty or not. Think, John, think!

Moriarty was a genius, and all geniuses get bored. They like to be surprised, that's half of why Sherlock bothered with you, you managed to surprise him. So, surprise Moriarty, be unpredictable, push some of his buttons, grab his attention.

John looks straight at Moriarty, and adjusts his tone of voice. He loses the challenging, antagonistic bark, and instead softens it, “Come on, Jim, tell me. Tell me what you've dreamed up for me, what you want to do to me. Are you going to hurt me, Jim? Are you going to make me bleed and scream? Are you going to break me? Do you want to drive me to the point where I can't even remember Sherlock's name?”

((Wow John...this is a new side of you. You've never done this type of thing with me before...not exactly sure what you're doing, but I'll go with it.))

Sherlock nodded slowly to himself as he read the message back from Jim, the situation becoming a little clearer in his mind.

John had been snatched by Moriarty's men on the way to work. He'd hit the call button in his pocket to try and warn Sherlock, the text messages had been sent later by Jim to try and cover the tracks. He presumed John would still be alive. Killing him was far too easy and boring for Moriarty. He would want to have some fun first.

The next question was where was John being held? Sherlock knew Jim had easy access to several abandoned warehouses and store rooms all over the city and had used them in the past. It wasn't a stretch to suspect one of those. But that didn't exactly narrow it down and he had absolutely nothing to go on. He sighed and picked up his phone, typing another message to Jim:

Where are you and what do you want? - SH

Jim found John's words rather amusing. The way he changed, so suddenly, this wasn't the John he had been observing all this time. "I see, John." Jim purred. "I now see why Sherlock's so keen on you." Jim's dark, almost black eyes were fixing on John's as an insane grin stretched his lips.

"You don't really think I expected you to be my loyal pet just yet, no no no." Jim places his hands on both John's knees and leaned forward. "Pets need training." He whispered joyfully. "I don't need to have Sherlock's approval at all. In fact? Why would I need Sherlock if I have got you to play with now?" He grinned, slowly stroking one of his hand over John's kneed. As if it were supposed to be reassuring. "You wouldn't want innocent people to get hurt, just because you refuse doing some simple tasks for me, right?" Jim raised his eyebrow arrogantly. "Sherlock might or might not be along those innocent people."

At the same moment his phone went off again. His eyes rolled back, annoyed at being interrupted. Quickly he had replied to Sherlock, not being bothered with putting much effort in it, he was busy at the moment after all. "Sorry about that." He said sincere to John. "Someone's a bit jealous because he's not getting all of the attention. Ah, weeelllll." Jim shrugged, sending another text before pocketing his phone once more.

I don't want anything. You on the other hand, might want to go and have a look at the empty factory, South West London. -JM. XX

The factory was empty and miles away from where he was keeping John. But it would silence Sherlock for a while, giving him something do to, making him feel special and needed while in fact he was chasing nothing at all. Jim had send another text to one of his employees, setting up a little surprise for Sherlock once he's get there. Not much, just a simple envelope addressed to him. In side a few photographs of what seemed to be John. Exact same clothes, hair and body proportions. Face and chest covered in blood, making it impossible to recognize this wasn't John at all.

Jim focused on John again, making his neck roll from side to side. John was just trying to get information, something Moriarty wasn't willing to give him just yet. He enjoyed these little mind games way to much to give up on them just yet. "Shame you're not Sherlock, though. He would have figured things out. I didn't need to explain, there's no fun in explaining anyway. Don't you like surprised, Johnny dear?" He asked insanely dangerous.

John's throat felt even more dry as Moriarty leaned in and spoke in his ear. The voice passed over John, soft and dangerous, the Irish lilt almost haunting. John swallowed and leaned back a bit in the chair, trying not to get caught in the spell. Moriarty's eyes trapped him though, dark and manic, pinning him down- John suddenly felt a strong sympathy for a mouse when cornered by a snake.

What was he thinking, trying to play games with this man? He was guaranteed to lose. Did he just want one last bit of excitement before Moriarty got bored and killed him? Oh well. The games Moriarty would want to play were power games, something John was used to from the army. Moriarty would play them a little differently, but the basic concept was the same, John could handle it.

Oh, damn. Moriarty would use John's sense of honor as his weakness, there was no way he could beat that play, his conscience would never allow it.

Apparently Sherlock was aware of his absence and taking action. John wished there was some way he could figure out what Moriarty was texting Sherlock. The man was right, it was a shame he didn't have Sherlock's skills. Even being half as smart as Sherlock, and he could deal with this so much better.

John mentally shook himself, that was no way to think. Sherlock might be smart, but John had his own skills and talents he could use to make it through this, and that was nothing to discredit.

John smiles at Moriarty, an honest smile, to try and calm himself down- he wasn't going to be killed yet, so there was no point in panicking. He even gives a bit of a friendly laugh, "It honestly depends on the type of surprise. You're right, obviously, I'm not as clever as Sherlock, but I have other talents. There are a lot of areas where I'm quite an expert and Sherlock's hopeless. I may not be a genius, but I'm not useless. Who knows? I may even be the one to surprise you."

John looks at Moriarty, honestly curious, "You'd like that, wouldn't you? I know how bored Sherlock gets with life, he craves any sort of spark of excitement he can get. Is it the same for you? Is that why you do what you do? You create the chaos just so you can make life a bit more interesting?"

Sherlock received Jim's text and leapt up out of his seat, full of energy. He grabbed his coat and scarf, then jogged upstairs to John's room and picked up his gun, before racing off out of the flat, down the stairs and into a taxi within minutes. He knew exactly where the warehouse was and he'd be there within no time, traffic allowing.

He arrived at the warehouse in 20 minutes and darted inside removing the gun from his pocket. The place was completely empty, deserted. The only thing in there was a chair, and on the chair was an envelope, his name scrawled across it. He tore open the letter and removed the contents. Photographs. Photographs of John. Head down, tied up, bloodied, beaten. Sherlock felt anger flaring up inside him. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip and he took a deep breath to stay calm.

He narrowed his eyes and studied the background of the photographs. They were taken in a different location. Not there in that warehouse. A different warehouse. Where...where was it? Sherlock was sure he knew it from somewhere. He stared at the photographs again and again, thinking, recalling, searching deep within his mind palace until...Oh!...Oh of course....Sherlock ran out of the warehouse and ran all the way back to the main road, hailing another cab to go to the next location.

Jim grinned wide as he heard John's reply. "I sure know you both have a great dancing talent." He joked. "Dancing, for me, whenever I want." The satisfaction he got from this undeniable. His hand slowly moved, stroking through John's hair a few times as he kept his face close.

"Of course I'd like that." Jim whispered straight into John's ear. "I'd you to surprise me." He purred, making his lips brush against John's earlobe. " I don't create chaos just for my own purposes though." His head shook slightly. "Sherlock, he enjoys them, you see? He would slowly turn insane from being painfully bored." Jim explained before placing a few kisses down John's jawline, stopping when he reached the corner of his lips.

As for Sherlock, Jim knew he would take off to the location he recognized. Once more it wasn't the one he was hiding in. At the empty store Sherlock was heading to, another envelope was addressed to him. Inside a small paper heart along with a lighter. On a note a few words elegantly written.

"I'll burn the heart out of you."

John slowly finished the last knot on the rope that had been around his wrists. He'd been subtly working them loose the whole time, and had just gotten them untied. He brings his hands out for Moriarty to see. He them loops the rope back around his lightly bleeding wrists into a slightly more comfortable version of handcuffs- tied in a way that would not be as abrasive on him, but still left his hands useless. He then looped his tied arms over Moriarty's head in a twisted imitation of a lover's embrace.

"So, how about you and I get out of here?" he asks in a tone that mocks the flirty sound of the words, "I'm sure you have nicer places than this. Seems like this game might take awhile, and if I'm going to be broken in it, I'd rather it was done by you than by a cold caught from being tied to a chair in a drafty warehouse."

John looks Moriarty seriously in the eye, making sure the insane man understood the honesty of what he was saying.

"I won't run, I'm not so stupid as to think I could get away, or that it would do me any good to even attempt it. I doubt you will, but you could leave me alone in a room without a lock and trust to still find me there the next morning. I know I'm a hostage, and my instinct is to try and escape, but I'm not going to make things worse for myself testing losing odds. However, it seems like this game will be a long one, and I'm already starting to get a crick in my back- I'm not quite as young as I used to be."

Then John forced a devilish grin on his face and whispered against Moriarty's lips, "Besides, how am I supposed to surprise you if I can't move?"

He then nipped at Moriarty's lips and lapped up the tiny bead of blood that formed, trying to ignore the sick feeling that was turning his stomach inside out- playing along was the only way to survive. If Moriarty wanted a dance, John couldn't afford to stumble over his feet.

Sherlock arrived at the second warehouse location and leapt out of the taxi, gun already out and in his hand. If Moriarty had hurt John he was going to blast his head off right then and there. Struggling to control his anger again he burst through the doors to discover....nothing. Absolutley nothing. Another empty warehouse.

"Damn it!" Sherlock cursed and lashed out at an empty crate sending it clattering across the floor. Moriarty was playing games with him, continually sending him to the wrong place whilst all the while John was being kept somewhere completely different.

He noticed a chair in the middle of the room, just like the last place and ran over to receive the next clue in this never ending riddle. A white envelope and inside a paper heart, a lighter and a note. Sherlock read the note frowning. It didn't give any hints as to the real location. It was just some kind of veiled threat. He took the lighter and turned on the flame, burning the paper heart in his hands. "No Jim..." he muttered. "I'm going to burn the heart out of you." Then he took out his phone and sent another text.

Found all your little notes. How delightful. SH

He sighed and sat down in the chair, head in his hands, realising he was no further along in finding his friend. He could ask Lestrade to search every single empty warehouse in London but bloody hell that would take time.

Jim was, at the least; surprised by John working his way out of those knots. An amusing smile stretched his lips. "Goood." He purred playfully, making his body rub more against John's. He was enjoying this part of John and ready to explore his boundaries.

Just as he was about to answer his phone beeped again. His eyes rolled back, still annoyed by the constant interruption. He had to put an end to it. "I'm sorry, John." He said, as if he actually meant it. "There's something I need to take care off first." Jim moved, releasing himself from John's grip. "I do trust you in staying right where you are, I won't be long. We'll continue right after and maybe, if you're a good boy, I'll bring you something to eat." Of course Moriarty wasn't stupid, he had people all over and around the building to make sure John wasn't going anywhere.

"See you soon." He whispered against John's lips teasingly before quickly skipping out of the room. Once outside Jim took along the blood stained jumper, just the same John had been wearing. His fingers tapped a new message to Sherlock and thrilled as he was, Jim took off.

I'm waiting, your place.
JM.

Jim easily found a way to break in to Sherlock's poorly protected flat at Baker Street. Impressed by the clean state of his place, Jim played himself down in Sherlock's chair. His hand reached to pick up his violin and he couldn't resist plucking the strings as he waited for the detective to arrive.

John is positive he's not actually alone at the warehouse. He walks to the nearest door, opens it, and promptly finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Oh, good, I'm not alone. I was worried Jim had left me without any company. I didn't want to be bored," John scans the man, catching sight of the deck of cards in his coat pocket, "God, I would give anything to play a game of gin rummy, best way to pass time. You play?"

After only a small bit of persuasion, John gets the man to play cards with him. As there playing, he asks the man for a favor.

"You see, I just get the impression that Jim is overworking himself. I know how busy he's kept Sherlock, we haven't had a day off in ages, and I doubt Jim's taking proper care of himself. That of course means that he's overtired and shorter tempered, which makes things harder for you guys. All I want to do is treat him a bit, force him to relax, even for an hour, surprise him. I'd take him out, but as I'm technically his hostage that wouldn't really be appropriate, so this is the next best thing I could think of doing."

The guard looked at John nervously.

"I'll have to check with the boss first."

"That's fine, send him a text."

Boss, Hostage wants to order in dinner from a nice restaurant to treat you to a date of sorts. Is that acceptable?

Sherlock got Jim's message and rolled his eyes. He wasn't expecting Jim to bring John with him, but at least he might be able to get some more information as to his whereabouts, once Jim had finished playing his little games.

He got up off the chair and ran towards the door, running all the way to the main road where he hailed a cab to take him back to Baker Street, making a mental note to tighten up security on the flat. It always seemed so easy for people to just...walk in...One day something was bound to go wrong.

Sherlock closed the door behind him and walked slowly up the stairs, careful to miss out the creaky 5th step. He could hear Jim plucking at his violin and it infuriated him. Nobody touched his violin. Not even John. He swung open the door to the flat. "Put it down Jim."

As the door swung open a evil grin stretched over his lips. "A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy?" Jim asked, provokingly plucking at the violin one last time before putting it next to his chair.

At the same time his phone buzzed. Really, now? Annoyed he got it out, ignoring Sherlock until he finished writing his message. Lazily he pocketed his phone again.

No, moron. Of course that's not acceptable. I forbid you to speak to him any further.

"I'd offer you tea. But I find myself in the inconvenient position of not being allowed to." He smirked.

((Awww, you ruined my date! Sorry this is so long, but it covers the whole time Moriarty is out.))

John watched as a frightened look overtook the guard's face.

"I'm guessing he said no?" John asked. He received a confirming nod in reply.

The guard pocketed his phone, and turned to walk away. John (feeling slightly guilty) put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Hey, I just wanted to thank you. I had fun playing cards with you, and I know this was a risky thing to do," John smiles and hands him the Jack of Hearts, which had been left on the floor, "Never leave evidence."

The guard nods his thanks, then walks away. John waits until the guard has closed the warehouse door to take his hand away from his side. He looks down at the phone he had picked off the guard. He takes a moment to recall Sherlock's number, then types it in.

"You have reached Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. Leave a message with the details of your case, I will check it at a convenient time, and inform you if I wish to take the case. If you wish to contact me in the future, text. If this is Mycroft, don't bother leaving a message, I will just delete it."

John chuckles and waits for the beep.

"Sherlock, this is John. I stole a phone off one of Moriarty's guards. Look, I just wanted to tell you that I'm ok. I'm in a warehouse somewhere, I unfortunately can't really give you many details, there are no windows. I got near the door once, heard a motorway fairly close by, and planes. There were also gull cries, and the air smelled like the Thames. Anyways, it seems like Moriarty's plan is to mess with our heads. He wants to see if he can convince you I've turned against you. I figure my best bet to keep myself safe is to play along. You need to trust me Sherlock. Shit, there's a guard coming in, I have to go."

John quickly pulls off his jumper and puts it on the chair before the guard comes over.

"Bit stuffy in here," he comments. The guard pats him down for the phone, John stands through it, then picks up the jumper (holding the phone as he lifts it) to show there was nothing hiding under it. The guard walks away, confused.

John sends a text to Sherlock's number.

Complain about LPD's incompetence when you read this. Check your voicemail after M leaves. Stew in fridge, eat regularly. Sleep as well. I will come home. -JW

An hour later John gets a text from Sherlock telling him that his message was received and reminding him to delete the traces of it from the phone. John deletes the two texts, and the call entry.

He then sends a teasing text to Moriarty, now that he's sure the man has left Baker Street. It's been long enough he shouldn't suspect that John made the early contact with Sherlock.

Just letting you know, I'm an old-fashioned guy, you'll need to buy me dinner and some wine if you plan on getting anywhere with me. Chivalry goes a long way. ;) -JW

Also, I don't appreciate having you ruin my date attempts. No fair for you to play and not let me have any fun. Thought you were enjoying my company. You haven't changed your mind, have you? -JW

(( I'm sorry to ruin your plans. BUT I honestly don't see Moriarty approving. If he knew the guard played card with him, he'd probably burn his fingers off one by one. Not to mention the man's already dead now he knows John had his phone. Don't mess with this man, he's not nice, not even to John. Of course he knows John will contact Sherlock if he can get near a phone. You're warned. ;-) ))

Sherlock glared at Jim as he entered the room and grabbed his violin off the chair, checking it carefully for any damage before setting it down again well out of Jim's way.

"You're in my seat," he muttered before heading towards the kitchen and putting the kettle on. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Moriarty received a text message then began to reply to it. Sherlock poured out the hot water into two tea cups and placed them on a tray with the sugar and milk carrying it over to the table.

Just then, Sherlock's own phone began to ring. He removed it from his pocket but didn't recognise the number. It would have to wait. He pressed the button to send it straight through to voicemail and returned it to his pocket before sitting down in John's chair opposite the consulting criminal. He added a couple of sugars to his tea and stirred it slowly, taking a small sip. His phone beeped in his pocket to signal he had a voicemail.

"What's the news on John?" he asked finally.