Keeping the Strength to Fight

Chapter 16- John

John awoke, groggy, in a dark room.

Not. Again.

He sighed irritably and tried to rub his eyes, but found that his arms resisted his command and remained motionless.

Looking down, he saw that they were surprisingly free of binding; so his inability to lift them confused him.

It was also at this moment that he noticed that he was seated on a desk chair.

Wait, what?

He was surprised at first; wondering how he didn't notice the pressure of the chair beneath him. But when he focused, he realised that he just couldn't feel it at all.

His entire body from the shoulder down was completely numb.

Paralysis.

"Fantastic..." He murmured sarcastically, "Bloody fantastic..."

A door opened from somewhere behind him; he didn't bother trying to move.

"Heeeey johnny boy! Nice to finally meet ya!"

John's attention was first brought to the strange accent. It wasn't quite French or English, and sounded slightly Irish too. But what was most worrying was that it sounded almost familiar.

And when the man stepped into his line of sight, it wasn't only his voice John recognized.

"Oh god..." His own voice wavered and he tried to twist away from the hellish being before him, but to no avail; his muscles still wouldn't comply.

"Ahh, I see you notice the family resemblance!" He spoke pleasantly and with purpose; quite unlike his deranged counterpart. He didn't have the same childish sing-song lilt to his voice, and he sounded unusually professional. There was no happy-go-lucky attitude or changeability to his tone or manner. He wasn't even warring a suit, and opted for jeans and loose red t-shirt beneath an expensive leather jacket. Sunglasses covered his eyes. The only thing that gave away their relation was the distinct similarities in appearance.

"Aand now I'm guessing things are starting to make sence, Hm?"

Swallowing hard, John replied "No, not really."

The abomination before him just laughed.

"Oh, you're killing me... there's no need to keep lying John! We know your secret."

John frowned and shook his head.

"I haven't got any secrets!"

The man laughed again

"Right, sure!" He chuckled. "How about I tell you a secret of mine? Then we'll be even, yes?"

All John could do was shake his head, dumbfounded.

"Hmm, well..." he continued, speaking as though the next words to leave his mouth would be one of his deepest darkest secrets- which John knew they wouldn't be, "My name is Andrew pittersburg; but that's not my real name. See..." He leaned in close to John, lifting his sunglasses and revealing his unusual eyes, "My REAL name, is Charles Moriarty. And if you keep up this act, I can promise you that I will make your life a whole lot more painful that you'd care to imagine." The menacing growl he spoke with enhanced the Irish in his voice.

John blanched

Charles continued again, lowering the glasses once more.

"We know... About Sherlock."

John became exceptionally alert upon hearing Sherlock's name spoken so casually.

"What? What about him?"

Charles frowned, his face slowly growing into a picture of fury; fists clenched and eyes burning in their sockets. It felt to John like he was tearing a hole through his head.

But a sudden look of resolution fell over his face, washing the anger off, and leaving a placid look of complete patience in its wake.

He shrugged nonchalantly; trying to look unperturbed. "Well, it matters little whether you admit it or not. We know you know. But now," He grinned, "We have a surprise for you."

"I hate surprises."

"Hahaa!! I'm sure you do! Gah, you're a real joker y'know?"

John glared.

"Oooh... ok, tough guy." He tried to look serious but failed miserably; the corners of his mouth twitching.

Why are all bad guys so irritating?

John ground his teeth together to stop him from reacting as the other Moriarty deliberately dragged out the silence between them. His expression becoming more and more humourous as the seconds ticked by.

John's patience snapped.

"OK WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?"

Great, the shouting's back.

Charles didn't try to hold back the hysterical, mocking laughter that filled the small room, echoing off the walls and amplifying in volume.

"Oh jeez, that was funny..." he wheezed, mock-wiping his eyes of dry tears. "But let's get back to business, shall we?"

He reached out and grabbed the back of the chair, throwing it round and only stopping John from spinning when he was facing the other way.

There was a window; through which, John could see two men stood either side of a man who was sat by a table. A man who bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain diseased detective.

John gaped. His mind raced. He couldn't understand.

The man sat with a knowing expression; uncaring and above everything. Like being there was all part of a grand plan that only he knows. He stared straight ahead into the window- which John had realized was a one way mirror- and just smirked.

John felt dizzy. It was just like him...

But the HAIR.

"What- what is this?" John asked, frustrated with the uncertainty of the whole situation.

"We found him. The idiot was stupid enough to walk into a trap. He isn't as smart as my brother seemed to suggest." He turned and put a finger to his ear, "Begin" he spoke into the ear piece.

"He's also dead." John stated as the two men, whom he noticed were the same who had kidnapped him, leaned the chair back and took out their weapons of choice.

Charles turned to look at him like he had grown another head.

"That" He pointed, "Is Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson."

"No. No, that's not real. You've tried to trick me once before, and i'm really not that stupid. He's dead. He's dead..." he finished in a silent whisper to himself, looking away from the mirror as the poor man in the chair was struck, hard, across the jaw.

"Really?" He sounded genuinely surprised, "How about you take another look?"

The light was then turned on in their room, allowing for both sides of the mirror to be seen.

Realising that it wasn't a question and seeing no point in doing otherwise, John turned back to the man, locking eyes with him immediately, and seeing the recognition, shock and guilt swirling in their stormy depths.

The man's eyes widened, and his bruised jaw fell slowly open; eyebrows raising as he tried to formulate words, but it seemed as though he was speechless.

Finally, it dawned on both men what they were looking at. John could feel his throat tighten as the world spun in slow motion. Their faces mimicked one another through the mirror, like a distorted image of themselves- a reflection of everything they had hoped; and feared.

Sherlock.

The impossible man finally found his voice and mouthed;

"John."