A Study in Boredom: A Johnlock Fanfiction

A Race Against Time

Sherlock stared at the phone in his hand. A silent tear fell from his right eye. He furiously wiped it away. He would /not/ cry.

He opened the message again and typed back.

What the hell have you done to him James?! SH

The minutes that followed were the most agonising in any stretch of time. Sherlock paced the flat, trying as hard as he could to push images of John being tortured, or worse.

His phone buzzed.

1 new video message.

He hastily clicked 'open' and what he saw almost made him sick and he fell onto the couch as his knees failed him.

First, the screen was dark and Sherlock could see nothing. Then a light bulb flickered on and he wished for the darkness again.

There was John, still wearing his black and white striped jumper, strapped to a chair. Even on the video Sherlock could see the leather straps were digging into his wrists and ankles every time he moved. Blood stained the arms of his jumper and neck, and there was a shallow gash where a knife had been pressed to his jugular.

Sherlock was resisting the urge to crush the phone in his hand when John began to speak. It was not John's voice. Not /his/ John's voice.

"Sherlock...Holmes. You have...thirty...minutes to f...f-find me."

A gun came into view behind him and hit him in the head. John was knocked out; his head lolled to the side and he stopped struggling. Sherlock's breathing was short and shallow, and he was trying to keep calm.

Then James Moriarty strode into view. He blocked John from the detective's line of sight.

"Enjoy my little show, Sherlock Holmes?" He began in his Irish accent.

"As your little pet said here, you have thirty minutes to come and save him," he laughed mockingly. "Isn't sentiment /adorable?/"

"I'll give you a /clue/, detective," he continued, rolling his eyes. "A place which is important to John, and soon will be to you, as well." He smiled and moved closer to the camera.

"See you /soon./"

And the camera went dark.

The consulting detective knew immediately that it was a trap. Moriarty would never give him a clue, much less one that obvious.

Sherlock knew immediately where to go. He leaped off the sofa and ran to his bedroom, where he shoved on a black suit with a white collared shirt and his coat and scarf. He was out the door in three and a half minutes.

He hailed a cab and flung the door open.

"St. Bart's Hospital."

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I'm sorry!!

I've been a lazy git, and I'm really, sincerely sorry. I've just had some stuff to deal with that involves you know who.

Uh, yeah. I hope you like this chapter. Please comment and vote, post about I on tumblr :D

Laterz!

~Red xo