To the Ends of this Earth

Chapter Eight

Warning- this chapter contains some violence so if you're not ok with that then you have been warned.

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     Sherlock had to keep going, he had to, for John. Even with the high, Sherlock felt like someone had dropped ten thousand pounds onto his chest and shot him with a canon ball. The violin was still broken and John was still lost and no one could fix that but Sherlock. He needed to find John before the high faded or he might not be able to do anything at all.
Getting up from the ground was like trying to walk up the side of a building, but somehow he managed. His face was wet, his sides aching from crying and some of the tears were drying on his cheeks, leaving itchy salty streaks. He was a mess, a complete mess and he couldn't understand it, he was supposed to be a sociopath, he was supposed to be cold and calculating, looking in on peoples suffering, not taking part in it. Suddenly not knowing who he was felt him feeling alien, and somewhat disturbed, like he didn't know himself. Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to shake it off, he focused on the way John looked when he laughed. It was like his heart was warming just a little bit, he felt more like he knew him slept, the pain lessened and Sherlock managed a small smile as he reached for John's laptop. He had it unlocked within seconds and he briskly typed the website Moriarty had sent him, trying to act like he normally did, hoping that doing this would make him feel like he normally did, before he met John, how black and white everything was.
www.savejohnsherlock.uk
He hit enter.

The website was plain, but it's purpose was obvious. The layout had a comment box on one side, and home page with one video on it, posted 12 seconds ago. Regretfully, Sherlock clicked on it.
"Hello Sherlock," it was Moriarty, and Sherlock instinctively stiffened. How he hated this man. Moriarty was sitting in a plain black office chair that was inside of some kind of place made of concrete, like a parking garage.
"You are probably a little bit lost as to where I would take your precious John," he said, standing up. "So I will give you some clues, but first you'd probably like to see him!"
The camera switched to a view of John tied to a chair, his eyelids were dropping and his head was lolling to one side. Sherlock immediately knew that he had been drugged. Then Moriarty came out from behind the camera,
"Take a good look Sherl, this is how he looks before I've hurt him. Well I haven't hurt him that much... Yet." Moriarty walked up and went behind him, he yanked his head up by pulling on his hair. From John's expression it was clear that he hadn't felt a thing due to the drugs.
Sherlock was completely frozen in front of the computer, his expression was filled with hatred but it was in the subtle way that he always showed his emotions but somehow it showed just as much anger. He looked like he was holding back millions of words, because he knew that none of them would do any good.
"Are you ready? Make sure you are paying attention Sherlock." Moriarty nodded, and a masked henchman came up with a short stick in his hand, Sherlock sucked in a breath involuntarily. The man started to beat John with the stick, each blow delivered hit John with a sickening 'twack' and even the drugs couldn't protect him from the pain now. He started to scream, it wasn't that loud because he could barely talk but he groaned constantly and with new vigour with every hit. When the man had to stop for a minute, he would gasp for air and call out, he would call Sherlock's name.
Sherlock felt extremely ill, he felt his eyes stinging and the hatred and anger boiling in his stomach. He felt hot with rage but also cold with fear for John's life. Each shot hit him in the arms the legs and the chest. Moriarty started to yell at the thug, "Hit him harder! HARDER," he would scream. Sherlock couldn't take anymore of this, he was helpless, he couldn't stop him because all of this had already happened. Finally, in one cumulative blow the henchman lifted up the stick and swung it straight into John's face, it hit with a sharp crack that made Sherlock jump. John screamed. This was too much for Sherlock, he pushed himself out of his chair and onto the floor, he propped himself up on his elbows and dry-heaved into the carpet, there was nothing for him to throw up. His stomach heaved until he was so tired he could barely move.
Moriarty's laugh echoed up from the computer, and Sherlock looked up from the ground exhaustedly towards it. "Well well, that was fun wasn't it? Now for your clue. Since I am sure this video has reduced you to a sobbing wreck, you probably won't be able to deduce anything very well, so you would have far to much trouble finding me. And where's the fun in that? So yes, onto your clue."
Sherlock hauled himself up back into his chair, he watched Moriarty. He was a smug as ever, and John was bleeding in the background, apparently passed out.
"Our first encounter was a case, I gave you time, it was a race." Moriarty was reading off of a notecard, which when he finished he put it into the inside pocket of his suit-jacket. "There's your hint, better go quickly, who knows when I'll get bored again and have to find something else to beat up your doctor with." The video cut out, and Baker Street was deathly silent except for the loud beating of Sherlock Holmes's heart.

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Our first encounter was a case, I gave you time, it was a race. You would have to be a child to not figure that out and even in Sherlock's harried mind, the location was clear. When he had first met Moriarty they were at a swimming pool, but he said encounter and that suggested not their first face to face meeting, but the first time that he had ever had anything to do with him. That, was easy, it was when the first person he had strapped a bomb to called Sherlock, reading what Moriarty wanted her to say to him over the phone. But was the woman the clue? Or was the location the clue? Sherlock thought for a moment, the woman would be harder to find considering Sherlock already knew where the car park was that she had been found in. Grabbing his coat, Sherlock quickly swept out of their flat, he had to find John before anything else happened to him or he would never be able to forgive himself.
He could never forgive himself if John's clear blue eyes turned dull, he could never forgive himself if he never again saw the look on John's face when Sherlock went a bit crazy, he could never forgive himself if John died without knowing how Sherlock felt. He felt sick when he thought about it, John meant everything to him. John was the only one who saw through the cold exterior, who really understood his motives, who actually wanted him around and not just to solve crimes. John was the only thing in the world that kept Sherlock sane and without him Sherlock doubted very much that he would be able to function. John filled the void, he made Sherlock whole. They were like two gears in a clock and if you removed the connection from each of them, the clock wouldn't tick and the machine would never be the same again. Sherlock Holmes and John Waston, two halves of a whole.

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Hey! Well there's another chapter, sorry it took me so long. Thank you guys so much for reading, but I'd love to know what you are thinking about the story. Is is good/bad, is the writing crap, is it johnlock enough? Anyways thanks again faithful readers!

xx
-Johnlox