A slight warning for this one because it's relatively descriptive of violence but it's not too bad. This one is also sad, very sad and not even remotely happy. I mean death, and upsetting death, just thought I'd give all you awesome people a heads up. Enjoy!

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Searing pain thundered in the side of his head, the steady flow of crimson painting his face. His vision was blurred by the tears he couldn't stop, his body shaking from the effort of breathing. The weight of his own body was too much for him to hold up and he collapsed onto the cold ground of the cell, the world fading into black.

His heavy eyes forced themselves open, the white glare of light meeting them, his vision hazy, body aching, wrists burning. "So nice of you to finally come around Sherlock Holmes." A muffled voice spat somewhere off to his right. He tried to raise his head but the sudden rush of pain stopped him, causing him to cry out. Sherlock could feel the sticky, dried blood decorating his face and dying his hair. "We couldn't have you missing all the fun now, could we?" The voice sounded clearer and he was able to make out his surroundings. A plain concrete room with nothing but himself and another man, dressed head to toe in military uniform. Sherlock raked his eyes over the man, attempting to deduce something, anything, about him. "What are you looking at Sherlock Holmes?"

"You." He replied bluntly through gritted teeth. a grin crept the man's face before Sherlock felt the sting of his fist.

"I don't think I gave you permission to speak." Sherlock had to bite his lip to prevent him retaliating with a comment that would certainly end with more pain for him. "Do you know where you are?" He shook his head. "Do you know why you're here?" Another shake of his head. "Would you like to know?" He nodded. "This is why you're here." The man snapped his fingers and the iron door of the cell was thrown open, crashing against the wall. Two men, dressed in similar attire to his captor, entered. They dragged a small body in, a bag covering the body's head, throwing the person to the floor and leaving. "Do you know who this is?"

"How can I? I can't see his face." A fist collided with Sherlock's jaw, throwing him backwards, the restraints biting into his wrists.

"Why don't we play deductions? Male or female?" The man asked, letting out a sadistic laugh when Sherlock didn't reply. "You can answer the questions I'm about to ask you. Male or female?"

"Male."

"Correct. Height?"

"5 foot 9 inches."

"Very good. Any idea who it could be?"

"No." Sherlock growled after racking his brain for ideas.

"Well, that's a shame. How about we reveal the identity of this mystery man?" The grin spread further on the man's face as he slowly pulled the cloth sack off the body. "Ta-daa." Sherlock gasped, his eyes widening from shock.

"N-no."

"Y-yes." The man mimicked.

"It can't be."

"Oh but it can. Presenting for you, the one and only James Moriarty."

"What have you done to him?" Sherlock yelled, trying to tackle the man but his restraints held him in place. "What have you don't to him?" He asked again, his voice cracking slightly as he looked over Jim's motionless body.

"The more accurate question is what did he do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see Sherlock, James Moriarty is a very dangerous man and in order for a safer world to exist, he must be disposed of."

"He hasn't done anything."

"It's okay Sherlock." The strained voice of Jim reached his ears. "We both know that's not quite true." Jim smirked at him sadly.

"What did they do to you Jim?" Sherlock asked. Jim's hair was matted with blood, his nose clearly broken, one of his eyes was purple and swollen, crimson was shining through his tattered clothing from numerous cuts and gashes decorating his body.

"Nothing too bad Sherly." Jim grimaced. "After self-diagnosing I have discovered I have a broken nose, fractured eye socket, a nasty cut on my head. more cuts on my body and th-" he broke out into a coughing fit. Sherlock looked at him with a sympathetic smile. "And three, possibly four, broken ribs."

"You'll be fine Jim, I promise."

"Sherlock dear, don't make promises you can't keep." He watched Jim fall into another coughing fit, blood splattering the ground.

"This really is a heart warming scene but... I'm bored so why don't we have some fun?" Sherlock ignored he man, keeping eye contact with Jim. "Don't you want to play?"

"No." They replied together.

"Shame, I do." The man once again connected his fist with Sherlock's head, a small whimper escaping his lips. "You two are boring me. I expected more from the world's only consulting detective and consulting criminal."

"We are very sorry to disappoint you, your majesty." Jim smirked through cracked lips. Sherlock watched helplessly as their captor kicked Jim's side. A sickening crack echoed around the cell. "Make that five broken ribs, definitely five."

"You bastard!" Sherlock yelled, pulling against his restraints desperately. The man laughed at his pain.

"Do you want to hear a joke? How long does it take to kill a consulting criminal?"

"A lifetime." Jim groaned through the immense pain Sherlock could see painted on his face.

"Aww, you've heard it before. How about we re-write it? Just shorten the time a little." The man pulled out a gun and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into Jim's chest. Sherlock cried out, desperation and despair clouding his mind as he watched the life drain from Jim's eyes.

"I love you Jim." He croaked out.

"I love you to Sher-" Jim didn't finish, his eyes cold and lifeless as they looked back at him.

"No, Jim. It's a trick. All of this is a trick. Please." Sherlock sobbed, trying to escape his restraints and reach Jim, to hold him in his arms once more.

"Not going to happen Sherlock. But I've got an idea for another game." The man made his way over to the door. "It's called how long does it take for a broken consulting detective to die?" The man laughed maniacally, slamming the door shut. Sherlock laid on the ground as close to Jim as he could, tears mixing with his blood, the adrenaline wearing off, and his pain returning. The threat of darkness looked all too appealing to him and he let unconsciousness pull him under the sea of nothingness.

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Hope you enjoyed this dark and depressing one shot. Please feel free to request any ideas you want. If anyone would like one written about them and either Sherlock or Moriarty then please just say and I'll see what I can do. ♥️♥️♥️