"What the hell am I doing here?" Claire mutters to herself, laying on the old, rickety bed in the dark, cramped cell. Where's Sherlock? What is he doing to him?
She rolled onto her back, for once she was scared. Not for her, for Sherlock. She knew what he was capable of, and what he could do, but could he get away this time? She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what it was like. Remembering it, every detail she could gather. She smiled at the small thought, the only thing that kept her alive. She heard the door open, and sat up, her eyes opening, and knew who stood there. She could still feel the vibe coming from him.
Moriarty smiles, but not freindly, or humorly, "It's time." and snaps his fingers, turning the other way, walking. His two hitman walked in, grabbing her by the arms harshly. But she still didn't let that memory go, no matter what Moriarty did.