Falling For You

Gone, Gone, Gone

"Hello, Sherlock," Moriarty said, his voice like a knife cutting into the silence that Sherlock had come to value so much. Sherlock turned to the window and saw Moriarty, his biggest adversary, staring at him from outside of the window.

"Go away," Sherlock said, trying to ignore him. Moriarty rolled his eyes and allowed himself into the room by lifting up the window. He didn't bother shutting it behind him. Rain came in through the window and stained the floor with the sky's tears.

"You really should lock your window," he suggested with a sickening grin.

Sherlock managed to sit himself up. He was wearing his pyjamas that he hadn't bothered changing out of. Moriarty was wearing a grey suit as he always did, but this time with a purple tie. The color matched the color of Sherlock's favorite purple collared shirt, and he thought that it couldn't have been a coincidence because the universe was rarely so lazy.

"What do you want? Haven't you already beaten me?" Sherlock wondered, his voice a harsh whisper.

"Oh, Sherlock. You think I bought that whole "I can't love" skit? I'm a lot smarter than you'd like to think," he said as he shook his head. If Sherlock had eaten in the past week or if he hadn't been feeling so weak, he would have gotten up and taken Moriarty down, right there in the bedroom of 221B Baker Street.

"Of course," Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes. He should have known that Moriarty had the upper hand. He would never be able to beat him, would he?

"Come with me," he demanded.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and propped himself up on his elbows. "Why would I do that?" he asked.

Moriarty smiled. He liked it when Sherlock was so clueless. "Because otherwise I will kill John Watson."

Sherlock's eyes opened wide. His heart dropped and he felt like he was going to throw up. It was all too familiar to him. The threats. The trade. The bargaining. Only this time, Sherlock knew that Moriarty had torture lined up for the poor detective. Sherlock knew he was too weak to walk, much less take a beating. If he went with Moriarty he would be walking to his doom, but if he didn't John would be the one lying dead. Sherlock had to make a decision, and it wasn't one he had a hard time making.

"Take me, then," Sherlock conceded.

Then Moriarty dragged Sherlock out the window after delivering a swift blow to Sherlock's head to knock him out. Moriarty left the window open to give John just a clue of what had happened. For good measure, he also let the blood from Sherlocks' bleeding gash remain on the floor, untouched. He figured that even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that.

"Sherlock?" John asked after a few seconds of silence had passed. There was no noise from within. John tried the door but it was locked. He mustered all of his strength and quickly broke the door down to get to his love, but Sherlock wasn't there. John frantically searched the room.

He found the open window and the blood. And Sherlock's sheet on the ground in a lump. A cry escaped from the back of his throat and he knew that Sherlock had been taken, and it didn't take him long to come to a reasonable conclusion.

Moriarty.