In response to a prompt by Anonymous /collections/10U_a_Hit
Prompt:
Why didn't John think Mycroft was frightening. I know he was in the army but he was kidnapped by a sinister guy who knows everything about him...
John's eyes trailed over the attractive woman curiously, so far he'd made several attempts at beginning a chat all having been unsuccessful, well that was hardly the first time. He straightened up as she briefly looked up from her blackberry only to look down just a moment later. "So...is that what you do? Kidnap men and take them somewhere secret ?" The minute the words left his lips he blushed brightly, smooth Watson. Very smooth. On this occasion he was thankful that the woman chose not to answer.
He coughed awkwardly and sat upright. "What is it about Mary Poppins back there? Was he trying to scare me? You can tell him he failed by the way." he mumbled, accepting that he was now talking to himself. It was noticeable though, whoever that man had been had most definitely expected John to be fearful of him. He'd seemed a little put out that the ex-soldier had been completely at ease. Heck it was hardly the first time he'd been kidnapped.
John glanced out to the window, the sound of the pouding rain beginning to sound like the fall of shells to his distracted brain. As with many of his comrades he had entered the army wide eyed and full of excitement. Ready to fight with his brothers in arms to fulfil the goals set out by the commanders above them. For a time everything had been rosy, it had been fun, exhilarating. That was until one night six months into his tour. An ambush to one of his units patrols had left their small base in chaos. That night he had seen eleven men die in his care, several of them very close friends, many of whom who had bled to death in his own arms.
After that night the fire had burnt from John's veins. He simply began to focus on doing what was required of him. A gloom hung over the base, those lost seemingly haunting the halls that had once been filled with fraternal laughter. But worse was still to come. A slip in security had allowed an enemy to slip inside their base. Before anyone could locate the bomb it had blown the southern wall sky high taking four more lives along with it. John had been close by when it had happened, the explosion sending him crashing him into a wall, rendering him unconscious. When he'd come to he found himself in hell. Not literally of course, though he very well might as well have been because his eyes opened to the single most terrifying thing he'd ever seen. His brothers lay around him in an underground prison, their skin torn and bloody, horrifying obscenities marring their bodies. All of them dead.
John had been spared...for now. As the leader of the troop he had been kept separate from the others. Held back for information, not that he'd ever willingly give it up. He'd sooner die than cost the lives of more. The pain began to blur the passing days, night slipping into day without recognition as they tried to beat and cut the words from his very skin. But not one word left John's mouth, not a single sob. He would not let them see him break, that was the one thing he could control. He would die with dignity.
And then finally on the fifth day everything changed. Hours passed without a single enemy traipsing down the stairs to take their frustrations out on his already battered body. For the first time in nearly a week he heard a familiar voice rush through the seemingly now derelict building. They must have deserted in a hurry he deduced, there was no other way that he could've been left alive. It had taken every bit of his remaining strength to call out to his comrades for aid, a relieved smile forming on his lips when he saw a patrol rush through the door. His last sight was of the blood soaked basement and his decimated friends– A sight that would to this very day haunt his nightmares –before he blacked out.
The doctor trembled a little as his mind returned to the present day, the darkened London streets flying past in a blur. God he was glad to be home. Afghanistan haunted him more than he'd ever admit to anyone, in many ways getting shot had been a blessing, and right now he was content to start this new adventure with the mysterious Sherlock Holmes. And one thing was certain, he wouldn't let this strange man cause any harm to either himself or his new flatmate.