Partners In Crime: Watch Them Fall Apart [COMPLETED]

Chapter 5: Just A Few Questions

"This is the third time I've been kidnapped this WEEK. It's getting old."

****************

It had happened when they went to the store.

Beth and James had been holding hands, Moran not far behind them, watching from a distance, a little annoyed.

And then when they walked in, no one was there. Only the cashier, who ushered them inside, before locking the doors.

Within moments, men were coming at them from all angles. Moran instantly leaped in front of Beth, trying to protect her. James did as well. But it was no use. There were too many of them. Moran tried to fight them off, yet two of them grabbed both his arms, and one of them grabbed his legs. Others did the same to Beth and James. A hypodermic needle was pressed against Moran's neck, and he struggled against it. Yet a few moments later, his heart did all the work, pumping the unknown fluid through his blood stream. In seconds, he was drifting off to unconsciousness.

Beth's eyes widened, and she struggled harder, attempting to kick and claw at the men holding her against a wall. James met her gaze. He looked furious. How dare someone do this to her?! He was able to get his right arm out of their grasp, but they caught it again.

James nearly screamed as he saw the needle approach Beth. She actually looked terrified. Of course, she had been knocked unconscious before. But not like this. Not while being held down while a needle was forced into her neck.

The men pushed her to the floor, keeping her as still as they could, while another person found a vein on the side of her throat. She screamed as the needle pierced the tender flesh of her neck, and James shivered at the shrill noise.

"Let go of her!" he cried. But it was too late. Her struggling stilled.

At that moment, James gave up. He stopped struggling, and let the men inject him. Whatever was going to happen, he was going to go with Beth.

His last thought before the darkness took him was a prayer that Beth would be okay.

******************

James woke up in a concrete cell. His head was swimming, and his vision faded in and out of being blurry and semi-clear. His mouth felt dry, and for a second it felt too dry to even swallow. The concrete floor beneath his almost limp body was cold and hard. Seemingly unforgiving.

He took a few harsh gasps when he remembered how he had come to be here. People holding him down. Holding Beth down. Oh god, where was he? The room around him was also concrete, and there was a mirror on the wall to his right. To his left was a cot that had certainly seen better days. The floor actually looked preferable to it. It looked like a rats nest, with holes and frayed edges. It had used to be bright colors - blue, green, a bit of red - but the colors had faded, making the whole thing look a mix of dishwater grey and brown. There was a toilet and sink near the wall behind him.

He struggled to move. Whatever they had drugged him with was still in his system. He was finally able to get enough power to inch his way towards the mattress. It was almost painful to move. His joints felt so sore. His muscles ached. At first, he had thought that maybe they had injected him with chloroform. But soon he realized that it was probably a mixture of chloroform and something else. Diazepam, perhaps? Alcohol, maybe? He didn't even really care. His brain felt... sluggish. Tired. He felt every beat of his heart far too intensely. It was as if he was awake, but couldn't get his heart and lungs to wake up. It was jarring. Scary.

He coughed, feeling bile rise up in his throat. He felt weak. His eyes were wild, scanning everything around him, trying to find something familiar and comforting. Yet there was nothing to even suggest the thought. What had he been expecting anyway? Beth, standing in front of him with a plate of baked goods? No. He would have been delusional to see that.

He struggled to kneel, forcing himself onto the mattress. It was barely better than the floor, yet that little bit seemed to make all the difference. He collapsed into it, sighing. Oh god, it felt so soft.... He felt himself sinking into it, and only then noticed the plate of questionable looking food about a foot from his head. It consisted of a Styrofoam tray filled with what looked like oatmeal, but could have easily been just a bowl of extremely moldy fruit. There also was a glass of what looked like juice.

He didn't care how bad it looked, only that there was food in front of him. He was so hungry. He devoured it, ignoring the oatmeal's bland, almost rancid taste.

After he ate, he slowly waited until the drug faded away. When it finally did, he started banging on the wall next to his bed. As a reply, he heard a muffled groan coming from where there must have been another room. He recognized the sound immediately.

"'Basher?"

Moran must have been in the room beside his.

**********************

Unlike James, Sebastian Moran had woken up on a cot. His meal had been knocked down while he was sleeping. He probably had turned while unconscious, causing it to fall and splatter across the floor.

He felt nauseous. Maybe it was for the best that he wasn't going to get to eat whatever the hell his meal had been. Instantly his instincts kicked in, and he checked for any wounds on his body. There were bruises on his wrists and ankles, probably from the men's hands as they held him down. A small needle mark on his neck with a small drop of dried blood. A bruise and small cut on his cheek.

Within a few minutes he heard a thump. Followed by another one. And another. Someone in the room next to him was banging on the wall. It made his head throb, and he let out a moan of pain.

"'Basher?"

Oh god. It was James.

*************

"Boss?" Moran's voice was groggy.

"Seb?"

"Yeah. Where are we?"

"I..." James surveyed his surroundings once more, "I don't know."

The conversation when the door to Jim's cell opened.

"Mr. James Moriarty." the person said knowingly, his accent posh and upper class. James knew exactly who he was.

"Mycroft Holmes."

James could have thought of a billion different questions to ask at that moment. Where was he? Why was he here? But only one came to mind.

"Where is my wife?"

Holmes smiled. "Close enough."

"Is she alive?"

"Of course. What do you take me for? She's still sleeping."

"You mean drugged."  James hissed.

Mycroft nodded. "Let's not go to such hard language."

"How dare you?!" Moriarty was furious now, "You kidnap my wife and my employee, drug them, and drag them here?! You need to explain a few things to me, or else." He stood, as if about to pummel Mycroft to the floor, yet someone grabbed him from behind and forced him into his chair again. He took a deep breath, and his voice suddenly got a little weaker.

"Please don't hurt her."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Not now, at least. Now, let's get to business. I have a few questions to ask you..."