John dutifully checked all the edges of the wall for weak points in the seams. There were none. As expected. He checked the two doors built into either end of the large room, which rather brought to mind a small gymnasium. The first door was made for humans but only opened one way. Even John's small, neat surgeon's hands couldn't jimmy any give to the door.
The second door was a bit of a conundrum; it seemed to open vertically, rather than swinging in or out. John could hear a faint scraping on the other side of this door and a sudden spike of anxiety flooded him.
Christ, this does not bode well. Sherlock, bloody hell, get me out of here!
“Hello, Johnny booo-ooo-ooy! So good of you to wake up in time for your guest.”
John flinched reflexively. Moriarty's voice was projected into the room.
John remained silent, swallowing the lump in his throat and squinting up at one of the security cameras.
“Wrong way, babe,” chuckled Moriarty's voice.
John spun around in time to see the mirror wall slowly illuminate from within, revealing a slender observation chamber in which the world's most notorious consulting criminal sat in an overstuffed red armchair. He was swirling a brandy snifter filled with what John strongly suspected was a fizzy drink, and not actually brandy.
John's gaze darkened with hate. He inhaled sharply to give Moriarty a piece of his mind, but was interrupted.
“Ah, ah, ah. No words, little doggy. You're in my world, now, so shut up and listen to the rules of the game.” Moriarty's voice had started off saccharine and rapidly devolved into a hoarse shout that had every hair on John's body prickling in fear.
“Here's how it's going to go, baby. Hell, if you play by the rules, you could make it out of this alive! You see, today you're going to have a guest.”
The second door, the one which didn't seem to have been made with humans in mind, slid open. Shiny iron bars slatted horizontally across the opening kept what was inside, out. A large shape shifted in the darkness.
Two luminous green discs abruptly caught the light like coins at the bottom of a fountain. They hovered about three and a half feet above the ground, keen on John.
Oh god, it's an animal. What is it? Is he serious? Is this actually happening to me, I can't-
“You like that, Johnny bo-oo-ooy?” came the sing-song voice. “Mister Stripes here has been on the same diet as you these past few days. Y'know, to keep it...fair.”
...Stripes?! It's a tiger. It's a goddamn tiger. Bloody hell.
Re: Due to some absurd game of Moriarty's, John has to kill a tiger with his bare hands.
The second door was a bit of a conundrum; it seemed to open vertically, rather than swinging in or out. John could hear a faint scraping on the other side of this door and a sudden spike of anxiety flooded him.
Christ, this does not bode well. Sherlock, bloody hell, get me out of here!
“Hello, Johnny booo-ooo-ooy! So good of you to wake up in time for your guest.”
John flinched reflexively. Moriarty's voice was projected into the room.
John remained silent, swallowing the lump in his throat and squinting up at one of the security cameras.
“Wrong way, babe,” chuckled Moriarty's voice.
John spun around in time to see the mirror wall slowly illuminate from within, revealing a slender observation chamber in which the world's most notorious consulting criminal sat in an overstuffed red armchair. He was swirling a brandy snifter filled with what John strongly suspected was a fizzy drink, and not actually brandy.
John's gaze darkened with hate. He inhaled sharply to give Moriarty a piece of his mind, but was interrupted.
“Ah, ah, ah. No words, little doggy. You're in my world, now, so shut up and listen to the rules of the game.” Moriarty's voice had started off saccharine and rapidly devolved into a hoarse shout that had every hair on John's body prickling in fear.
“Here's how it's going to go, baby. Hell, if you play by the rules, you could make it out of this alive! You see, today you're going to have a guest.”
The second door, the one which didn't seem to have been made with humans in mind, slid open. Shiny iron bars slatted horizontally across the opening kept what was inside, out. A large shape shifted in the darkness.
Two luminous green discs abruptly caught the light like coins at the bottom of a fountain. They hovered about three and a half feet above the ground, keen on John.
Oh god, it's an animal. What is it? Is he serious? Is this actually happening to me, I can't-
“You like that, Johnny bo-oo-ooy?” came the sing-song voice. “Mister Stripes here has been on the same diet as you these past few days. Y'know, to keep it...fair.”
...Stripes?! It's a tiger. It's a goddamn tiger. Bloody hell.