Sheriarty, the Psychopaths prize

Welcome to Purgatory

It was so dark, and cold. The state of Sherlock's mind was still a mess of sound and blurred together shapes. Only the dark was there, that and the absence of scent, heat, and light.

"Wake up you rotting corpse, or I'll have you cremated alive and send your ashes to your family in used sandwich bags." Moriarty's voice filled the void that was once silence.

At least now Sherlock had something he could focus on. Forget the fact that it was a death threat, Sherlock knew his mind was a dangerous thing. He also knew being left alone with it for too long is a fate worse than any death Moriarty can come up with. At first he tried to move his limbs to set himself up right, but the way his muscles screamed in a form rebellion meant that was not gonna happen. Sherlock felt a grimace form on his face, but even that took so much out of him that he had to resort to sending all his energy to using his weak, but slowly regenerating, lungs.

"Come on, the heart monitor I have connected to your finger just blipped and I had to black mail a really good doctor for that thing. If your dumb corpse broke it I'll throw you in the trash with it." Another death threat to add to the already growing pile from Moriarty.

Sherlock was about to release a sign that he was awake, but all life was knocked out of him when he felt what could only be described as a bowling ball covered in steel plates swung it's self into his rib cage. The wind that Sherlock worked so hard on containing in his already weak lungs was knocked out of him in the few seconds it took for that unknown object to bash into him. He could've sworn that at least two of his ribs were broken, and the effort he put into fixing his body was lost. All he could do was suck the air in as fast as he lost it as an attempt to get back what was effort was taken from him.

"Hey! Don't go breaking my toys just cause yours don't last long! Besides he was just waking up, I'm probably gonna have to wait a whole other day just for him to wake up again." Moriarty whined, to who was unknown.

"We both know this one is more than a simple toy to you, for your sake I'm pretty sure he was knighted by the queen herself. All of Britain will be out looking for him." Responded the unknown voice, he sounded tired. His voice was something out of an old war movie, it screamed 'I've seen things you can't even imagine.'

"For your sake you will shut your mouth, or I'll stitch you up the same way I found you ." This was Moriarty's voice again, but it had the same amount insanity in it that same night Sherlock met him, well the real him. At the pool while he threatened Johns life while ranting about how Sherlock was a minor flaw in his epic scheme he had planned for Britain. The other voice was quiet now, in fact the whole room was dead silent.

Sherlock realized that everything was silent right now, he was back in the black void that was his mind. The pain in his stomach was gone, but so was the sensation of feeling throughout his body. Instead of feeling hopeless like last time, he took this as a chance to rebuild his clouded mind. Bringing back memories, and building a visual of the state of the room he was in when everything went black. The second time at least, knowing if he went over the first time he would most likely fall into a fit of fury seeing the mistakes he might've made in the heat of life or death.

The feeling his body briefly had while being conscious was cold, not like ice or dirt but firm like the floor of a cellar. He didn't get the chance to open his eyes, so building a 100 percent correct floor plan was out of the picture. He did however notice that when Moriarty and the unknown voice spoke, despite being in a cellar their was no echo. Meaning two things, there was either furniture surrounding them that helped muffled the echo seeing them be soft surfaces and disrupters of sound waves. Or he was in a padded cell, but a padded cell would have some semblance of a matching padded floor, if it was up to date at least.