John had always kind of wondered what being tased would feel like, but at the moment he was pretty sure he could have lived without ever finding out. He woke up groggy, not sure of how much time had passed since he was used as incentive for Sherlock. His body was aching from all of the shocks he recieved and his mind was currently racing as the gravity of their situation settled in. At least now Sherlock knew he was alive and, he thought to himself, Moriarty may have just given Sherlock too much incentive. Now he was a man working against the clock. Racing to save his best friend. Sherlock's back was against the wall, and John knew that that made him dangerous. A small smile came to his lips as he glanced up and saw Moriarty nervously pacing in front of him, suddenly hopeful for the first time in a while, until his thoughts came to Greg. He kept telling himself not to believe Moriarty, but the thoughts of Greg being dead kept creeping into his mind.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I just hope we all get out of here alive.

A sudden scream startled John as he looked at the demented man in front of him. "What is taking Sherlock so long!"

John ignored him as his mind drifted away again. A sharp pain in his nose pulled him away as he realized that Moriarty's rage was finally boiling over, and it looked like John was going to be his way to vent. Moriarty loomed over him with a crazed look in his eyes. John set his jaw and locked eye contact with Moriarty, determined not to waver. Moriarty sent punch after punch at John, not even bothering to aim, just wildly swinging at whatever part of John he could come in contact with. John took the beating with as much dignity as he possibly could, trying his best to remain silent, but it was impossible. He groaned with each hit until finally the frenzy ended. He managed to raise his head and look up at Moriarty through one eye and stared until Moriarty finally left the room, closing the door and leaving John mostly shrouded in darkness except for the single lightbulb gently swaying overhead, determined to keep the darkness from swallowing John completely.

He took assessment of his injuries, first taking notice of his previously injured shoulder which was now bleeding again. Even though he couldn't see it, he could definitely tell his face was in pretty rough shape. His right eye was swollen shut and he surmised that he had several gashes and bruises. Amazingly, he didn't think anything was broken in his face, other than a dislocated nose. His ribs were another story however; he couldn't tell for sure, but he knew that quite a few were either broken or fractured and he also thought his left wrist was probably dislocated from being jerked around.

Well, John thought to wryly to himself, I guess I now also know what it's like to be treated like a punching bag.

He chuckled bitterly as his one open eyelid started feeling very heavy and he slowly drifted in unconsciousness.

Sherlock trudged through the forest, equipped with nothing but intelligence and wit. He hoped that would be enough to bring down Moriarty once and for all and save his friends.

He really had no clue where Moriarty was, but his gut told him he would be found at the center of the island, so he did his best to head in that direction. He walked for what felt like forever until he saw something or, rather, someone standing quite aways ahead of him in the trees. From the type of clothing they wore, he figured that they were some kind of guard. He also assumed that there were more of them, probably around the perimeter of Moriarty's little hidaway. He was sure that Moriarty was watching his every move, so he was too concerned about being seen. But still, if he could maybe overtake the guard, he might be able to obtain a weapon and that would be a very big asset.

So he set off toward the guard moving closer and closer dodging behind trees trying to remain unseen until he was about 15 feet away. He picked up a large rock from the ground and peeked from around the tree, checking that the guard was still clueless of Sherlock's presence.

The guard was on alert, looking in all directions, but Sherlock didn't think that he had seen him. He gripped the rock and, just as the guard looked to Sherlock's right, he threw the rock with all of his might to the left, behind the guard, hoping that he would turn around. As if on cue, the guard spun around, pulling a gun from his belt in that direction. Sherlock took his chance and sprinted from behind the tree, rushing to the guard and expertly breaking his neck before he knew what hit him. Sherlock grabbed the guard and gently laid him on the ground. He grabbed his gun, holding it tightly in his hand as he glanced around him, his ears straining for any noises. Afraid that more guards would come rushing to overtake him. Once he was confident that he was, at the moment, safe, he cautiously continued forward, sure that the worst was yet to come.