It was quiet.
The halls, the rooms, the forum.
Silence.
He crept slowly along the wall, sweat trickling down his face. One extra move and he's out. His muscles tensed as he crouched there, body still.
He waited.
Then, he heard footsteps followed by voices. First, hushed whispered voices like little bugs, buzzing around. Then louder, and louder, until the voices rose to an argument. Fists slammed, chairs pushed, swear words bounced off the metal walls, echoing through the hallway. A single gunshot was fired. People quieted down.
Now, only one person was speaking. It was a soft voice, so soft and quiet, yet full of authority. He pushed his ear closer to the walls, straining to hear. Even the mic in his ear was silent. Nobody dared to breathe. Suddenly, static cracked through his mic, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Get out of Sherlock! They know you're here!" The voice boomed through his mic, rushed and panicky. They knew. They knew he was there all the long. A trap. And he fell in it. Oh, stupid him.
Sherlock tensed and whipped around to run. Instead, a large blunt object came rushing towards him and with a loud crack, the world began to slowly dim to black.
—
It was a typical peaceful day, probably the most normal day he ever had in years.
14 year old Alex Rider sat in the musty classroom, dust floating aimlessly around and the sign of laziness filled the air. Everything seemed to be stuck in slow motion, the teacher droning on and on about World War 1 and the students below taking sluggish notes, heads bent in boredom, resting on their hands.
Alex leaned back and rocked his chair slowly back and forth. So this is what its like, normal school, normal life.
"Now the League of Nations was created to prevent war by using negotiation…" the teacher droned as she wrote a few dates on the board. Sunlight flitted through the dusty glass with just the slightest sound of birds chirping in the summer afternoon.
"Hey, Alex, how are you hanging back there?" Tom whispered from his right.
Alex smiled, "Better than I expected."
The school bell rang, signaling the end of school.
Everybody shuffled out of the room, bags dragging and chairs squeaking as the day ended with a heavy atmosphere.
"Come on Alex!" Tom motioned Alex to his bike near a tree. Alex smiled and swung on his bike, feet resting on the old plastic pedals. Maybe ordinary life isn't so boring after all.
—
Sherlock woke up in a blank room, smoky colored walls, a single bulb hanging from the ceiling; men in suits stood beside him, people in the conference he was just spying on.
He tried to move his hands but they were tied. No, not tied, but chained. They were taking precautions. Interesting…
"Do you have any idea why you're here Mr. Harrison, or should I say, Mr. Holmes?" someone spoke in front of him, voice dripping with malice.
Sherlock raised his head in defiance and glared into the dark pits of the man in front of him. His voice sounded smooth and soft, yet with a hint of pleasure, pleasure in torture. Sherlock felt the corners of his lips tip into a smirk. Idiots.
"Yes," he simply replied. It was a yes no question, after all.
The man in front grinned too, as if they were sharing a secret little joke.
"Funny to have you here, thought they would send someone else," he drawled on, "of course, it's Mycroft. Who else?" he smiled showing perfect white teeth.
"Sorry to interrupt in that little plan of your's, Jim." Sherlock snarled. "It's Jim, right? Or do you prefer to be called James?"
Jim threw back his head and laughed, "Oooooh, I like you Sherlock. We should've worked together from the beginning on the day we meet. Of course there was your brother, stopping you from everything you wanted to do. But me, there's no one to stop me, is there?" Jim grinned from ear to ear.
A woman entered from behind, carrying a dark box rested on both of her hands. She opened the box revealing six small injectors, both filled with clear liquid.
"I'm sure you know what this is, don't you Sherlock?" Jim said, picking up an injector. "This is what you came for, didn't you? The cure?"
Sherlock glanced at the injector then scoffed, "That's the virus. You think I can't tell between the cure and the virus?"
Jim smiled, "Very well." He then picked up another injector. This time, the injector had a small blue sticker on its side. "We have sent a message to your brother and your MI6 buddies to pay 2 million pounds for the return of their agent. They have to send the money to our account within…"he checked his watch, "24 hours. Or else…" Jim smiled and looked at Sherlock straight in the eye, "Or else you're mine."
Jim advanced to Sherlock, a smirk clearly visible on his lips. "24 hours Sherlock," he injected the liquid into Sherlock, earning a gasp of pain, "24 hours Sherlock, and you're mine."
Sherlock felt the burning liquid enter his body and he clenched his teeth as it began to spread. It felt like as if his whole shoulder was on fire, every vein in his neck about to burst.
"Sorry Sherlock," Jim sang in his sing-a-song voice, "but you were sooooo wrong about the cure."
And with that, Sherlock felt the world began to fall away from him as he sank deeper and deeper into the drug Moriarty gave him, the light slowly dimming from his sight as he fell into the dark abyss beneath him.
sorry Sherlock, but you were soooo wrong about the cure
wrong
the great Sherlock Holmes
wrong
then what
what is it
what did I miss
something
something very important
but…
it's just….
I-
…
Hey guys, Izzy here. Please review, I love reviews. And if you review, I might update faster. Or maybe…give you a sneak peek of what will happen in the next chapter.
Muhahahahahaha.
Shh, spoilers.