Her breath was shallow. She headed up the spiral staircase, almost tripping over her own feet as she went. He followed behind, not an ounce of emotion on his deadpan face. In his right hand, he held a gun, a revolver to be exact. She wasn't sure as to why he had such an old gun, though. But that wasn't something to worry about.

What she was worried about was the fact that in his left hand, he held a small bottle of an unidentifiable liquid. He pushed the gun into her back as they entered an empty room. She winced, panic taking over her senses. She let out a sob. "Quiet now, miss. This is the fun part."

He put the bottle in a pocket and shut the door behind them, locking it as well. He walked over to a door on the opposite wall. A closet, she noticed, as he opened it wide and brought out a chair for her and one for himself. "Why? Why me?" she asked, trying to ignore the fact that her voice was broken and her tone fearful. He shushed her and gestured for her to sit down with his gun. She obliged.

He held the small bottle out to her. "There you go, miss," he said almost kindly as she grasped it in her shaking hand. He set the gun down on the floor and brought another identical bottle out of his pocket. She looked confused. He chuckled at her expression and held the second bottle in his own hand.

"Now, miss. You see that there bottle you have, and this here bottle that I have?" She nodded anxiously. "The stuff in one of them is completely harmless," he said, animatedly gesturing. "The stuff in the other? It's not." She gulped. "You get to choose which one you drink, and I'll drink the other. Either you die or I die. Simple game. Like it?" She didn't respond.

"Anyway, I'll give you a moment to think there." He picked up the gun again. "And if you don't choose, I shoot. Nobody's chosen that option yet." She examined the bottle in her hands. There were no signs of it being different from the other, but she had to check. She silently held out her hand to him and he placed the other little bottle into her hand.

She checked it over too, but to no avail. It was the exact same. "Well?" he prompted her. She had to decide quick. "I'll drink this one." He smiled wide. She gave him back the bottle she had discarded and undid the dull metal cap. She inhaled deeply. "Bottoms up," he told her.

She downed the liquid and so did he; there was no turning back now. The substance burned her throat as it went down, and she let out a choked sob. Had she made the wrong choice? She watched his every move. He seemed unaffected. "Who are you?" she asked him, tears stinging her eyes as she cried. "Who sent you?"

"Well, my dear," he began with a smile, standing up to leave her. "It was a little fella who went by James Moriarty."