Deerstalkers and Love Letters - Teenlock

8. The Disappearance

It's six in the evening, a week before Christmas Eve. Sherlock sits curled up in his usual armchair in the living room, clutching a book in his hands. His parents are out last minute Christmas shopping and Mycroft is somewhere upstairs (probably in his bedroom) talking to Greg. Sherlock stifles and yawn and turns on his phone. To his dismay, there are no new messages from John. He puts his phone back on the table and turns the page of his book. But a few seconds later there is a knock on the door, and and Mycroft enters.
"Not now," Sherlock mutters, not taking his eyes of off his book.
"It's a letter Sherlock. More specifically a letter for you," Mycroft states, raising an eyebrow and handing him the envelope. Sherlock snatches it away from him almost immediately.
"Although who on earth would write to you," Mycroft continues with a slight smile.
"I don't know? Maybe John."
"Right," Sherlock snaps, glaring up at Mycroft.
"If you could kindly leave me alone now that would be great."
He stands up and pursues Mycroft towards the door.
"Look there's the door, time for you to exit through it."
Sherlock gives a sarcastic smile and slams the door in his older brother's face.

••••

I open my eyes slightly, completely disorientated. The first thing I notice is the extreme pain coming from the back of my head, and I gasp suddenly in agony. The room is dark, and as far as I'm aware, empty. My first reaction is to reach for the wound but something's stopping me. I squint and just about see that my hands and feet are tied to the chair I'm sat on. My stomach churns. I lean back against the chair, the pain becoming more and more prominent.
"Evening John."
A sleepy Irish accent. The lights are switched on and I grimace from the sudden brightness. I just about manage to twist my head, and glance up at Jim Moriarty stood before me.

••••

Sherlock admires the envelope in his hand. It was meant for him, that was for certain. Curiously, he begins to tear it and pulls out a hand-written letter. Sherlock's face falls. It's covered in blood.

Dear Sherlock,

Remember our little encounter a few months ago? I'm sure it hasn't slipped your mind.

Well I've got a surprise for you, and I'm sure you'd like to see it. Come find me at Turner and Co. Warehouses and you'll find out.

With love,
Jim x

But Sherlock's hands were shaking now. He knew exactly who had sent this letter, and it wasn't good. John was in danger. He immediately stands up, crumpling the letter in his hand.
"Mycroft!" He yells, trying to conceal his panic.
"I'm just going out for a bit!"
Sherlock grabs his coat from the rack and swings the door open, closing it quickly behind him. The block of warehouses were about an hour's walk from here. But he didn't have that much time.
"Taxi!" Sherlock yells, waving desperately towards the approaching black cab.

•••••

I stare up at Moriarty, a look of horror and confusion on my face. He stands casually watching me, his hands in his pockets and wrapped in a scarf. My scarf.
"Sleep well?" He asks with a smile.
"I have to admit it was easier than I thought it would be. I thought there would of been a struggle."
He chuckles at this and the blonde boy from earlier appears by his side, also smiling.
"Did you send the letter Sebby?" Jim cooes, turning to the boy.
"Of course," he answers calmly.
"He should be on his way."

"Sorry," I mumble, trying to ignore the sudden dizziness.
"But what's going on?"
I can feel the hot blood sticking against my head, the thought of it makes me want to be sick.
The two of them glance over to me and Jim raises an eyebrow.
"Sebastian would you mind," he says with a dull expression.
I feel an arm around my neck, my heart hammering in my chest. But just then the doors open and light floods the room.
"John!" I hear a familiar voice yell, accompanied by fast footsteps.
But my vision has become clouded and I slump back against the chair, drops of blood splashing to the floor.

••••••
A/N: Thank you so much for 200 reads it means a lot! Next part out on Wednesday.