John could barely feel anything. He was numb. Cold. Tired. Hungry. 

Cold. Extremely cold. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. Moriarty wouldn't stop. 

"Stop, Moriarty..." John lolled. "Please... please stop... Can't... feel. Can't feel... anything."

The hose stopped, and John breathed a sigh of relief. "You're right, John. We have to nurse you back to health, and then continue torturing you. Sorry. Forgot about that. Just... one more time. Okay?"

John tried to shake his head, but it didn't work. The water felt like a hammer against his face, and it went up his nose and into his mouth, making him cough. His throat felt like it'd been put in a microwave then frozen in a fridge for a week. 

"Alright, Edgar, get him a blanket and some warm water or something. We need him healthy for tomorrow!"

John could barely hear anything else. Everything... it just felt cold. He wondered how Molly was feeling, since she was going through the same thing. "Molly," he whispered, his throat raw and raspy. 

"Y-yes, J-John?" She was shivering so badly, she could barely speak. 

"Are you ok-kay?" John could barely ask the words.

"Y-yes. I-I'm f-fine." 

John felt something cover him, guessing that it was a blanket, but not caring enough to find out. Then he felt something warm slide down his throat. Hot water. Heat. He downed it as fast as he could. It was so nice... so incredibly nice and toasty. He felt like he'd lost something important to him when he finished. Suddenly, everything felt better. Everything would be fine.

He closed his eyes and let himself drift like a feather in the breeze.

                                                                     ...

Molly could barely process what was happening. She just couldn't believe that Jim was such a creep! Why would he do this to her? Why did he kill Toby? 

She held back a sob. She'd never really liked cats until Toby. Memories came flooding back to her. Molly lying in her bed, Toby curled in a ball on her chest, purring as they watched Glee. Toby meowing pleadingly for Molly to feed him, just sitting by the refrigerator. Spilling her darkest secret while the cat licked its paw and eyed her coolly, as if it were saying, "It's okay. I'm here for you. Do I look worried to you? No. You'll be okay."

And John... Moriarty had made her watch all of the footage of his torture, laughing occasionally as if it were comedy. John looked horrible, and every time he winced or bit his lip in pain, she would cringe. If she was freezing from the water, John must be dying. But he still asked if she was alright.

She felt a blanket being draped on her, and warm water refreshing her. But she was too deep in thought to pay much notice. How could anyone be so... selfless? It didn't seem possible. Yet John was anyways. 

She barely even knew John, but already he had earned her respect. In full. 

Then another thought came into her head. Something that wasn't quite so cheerful. What was going to happen tomorrow?

We need him healthy for tomorrow. 

The phrase didn't leave her mind the whole night.