All is Fair in Love and War

Trouble in Paradise

SHERLOCK HOLMES

When I opened my eyes, everything was dark. I mean, obviously the blindfold made everything appear dark, but rolling my eyes as far up as I was able and as far down, I could make out a deep grayness past the edges of the fabric that suggested a time of day either just after sunset or just before sunrise. There was a fierce pounding in my head, a by-product of electrocution, although the continuing pins-and-needles sensation in my arms appeared to be a result of the position in which my hands were chained: tightly behind me, and just beneath my shoulders.

With the edge of my thumb, I could feel an iron chain running from the handcuffs upwards, presumably tethering me to the metal pole against which I was leaning. In the air, there was a faint smell of rust and gunpowder; coupled with the floorboards, the give of which told me there was empty air and not concrete beneath, everything indicated that I was being imprisoned in the top of the tower.

I had been stripped of my coat and scarf, my gun, and as I also lacked the slight weight in my pocket, I concluded that my phone had been taken as well.

Listening carefully, I detected two distinct breathing patterns besides my own. There was no other noise discernible from the room's occupants - ergo, they must both have been seated, else the floor would have creaked when they shifted their weight. Moreover, they were awake - their breathing was too fast for sleeping people. What that meant for me depended on who they were, something I could not determine yet, given the limited data.

"Good morning, sunshine." Moriarty's sing-song voice came from my left. That was half the equation solved, then. "Or should I say 'good evening'?" The madman mimicked a Draculian accent on that last, and allowed himself a brief chuckle before continuing. "It's almost 9:00. I was getting afraid that you were going to sleep all night. That would have been very boring. And you know I don't like boring."

"Well, I'm awake now," I said calmly. "Although if you hadn't increased the voltage of the fence I wouldn't have passed out at all."

"Sorry, Sherlock, my dear," said Moriarty with false contrition. "But I couldn't take any chances with you."

"So now you've got me," I said, my voice conveying how deeply unimpressed I was. "Congratulations. What happens next? You stand there and gloat for a while?"

My equal and opposite stepped forward by a couple of paces; I knew when he crouched down in front of me, though with the blindfold, I couldn't see him.

"I could," he said quietly. "But everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. "It didn't work out for you the last time you said that."

I could hear the smirk mirrored on Moriarty's face when he replied, "Last time, you had Johnny-boy's gun."

"I had John's gun today, too," I pointed out. "Call it a good luck charm."

"You mean this gun?"

And then there it was, a cold metal cylinder pressed to my forehead.

"I saw that you had one, of course," Moriarty continued dismissively, "but it only looked like John's. Your pet was good enough to let me borrow his."

It was not a lie. I had long since memorized that gun's every detail, after innumerable cases where it had saved both our lives, and my recent purchase, though in other ways identical, lacked the faint-scratches-along-the-barrel that came with time and unconventional forms of use. I could feel the difference; it could only be my friend's weapon in Moriarty's hand.

"And how," I began conversationally, though my mouth was dry, "did you happen to come across John's gun?"

"Well, it's very simple, really," Moriarty said. "Like this."