A/N: This is a very short WIP, but shouldn't take too long to finish. Reviews and requests welcomed!

It's dark. It's been dark since he got here. Sherlock thinks he can hear someone. He can't be sure. There's something blocking his sight.

His head is fuzzy and his body cold. It feels like someone has been hitting it with a hammer. Someone probably has.

He blinks against the cloth covering his eyes, nothing. He can't move his eye lids, it's tied to tight.

How long has it been? He has lost track. When did he get here? He can't remember. Where is John? He doesn't know. Where exactly is here?

Soon a soft teasing voice breaks through the pounding in his skull. "Hello love, I would shake your hand, but at the moment you are a bit tied up." A soft chuckle comes out of the man who has him here.

Where is here?

Sherlock grunts in response, brain not forming words, to fuzzy. Is he drugged? Can't tell.

The man tisks at him, "Manners, Sherlock, surely your mother thought you some."

Sherlock grunts again, "Oh well, I guess I'll have to teach you." The man walks forward, slapping Sherlock hard against his face.

That voice, he has heard it before. The soft Irish lilt, the song like quality. Moriarty. Sherlock rolls his head to the side in weak attempt to fight.

"There, there love. No rush."

A soft hand is placed on his left shoulder. He can feel the heat, the moister from sweat, only for a moment before the hand and it's owner leave.

Sherlock's head starts to spin faster, skull feels like it's bursting, stomach lurching. Drugged, definitely.