(John's POV)
I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath of the cool night air. I looked up the at sky. No stars were visible. I hadn't really expected to see them, London being such a bright city.
Sighing, I kept walking, letting my mind roll over the past few days. Sherlock had just solved a murder which led him to find out of a ring of gem smugglers. Though I was skeptic at first, I had learned not to doubt Sherlock Holmes.
Unfortunately, the leader of the ring and some of his minions, how many I don't know, escaped the trap Sherlock and the police had set of him. Sherlock, his moody self, had run off to sulk somewhere, so, I was alone. At least I think he ran off to sulk. You never know with him.
The sound of footsteps brought me back from my thoughts. Sounded like they were coming from behind- Darn! Stop! I scolded myself silently. Just because it was nighttime, didn't mean I was the only one out. And just because someone was walking behind me, didn't mean they had evil intentions.
Then I felt something smash against my head and everything went black.
OoOoOoO
I woke up as they were dragging me into a…something. It was some kind of building. "Ugh." A groan escaped my lips and I heard one of the men pulling me snicker. Gosh, what did they hit me with? I couldn't keep my head up.
The next thing I knew, I was being tossed into a room. The room had no light, no windows, no furniture that I could see. The only light source was coming from the crack under the door. I heaved myself up to my knees and then leaned against the wall behind me. My eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness.
The first thing I became distinctly aware of was an uneven dripping sound. What was that? I stumbled to my feet. "Oh." Placing a hand on the cold concrete next to me, I took in a deep breath through my nose. It smelled musty. Something else too; a kind of metallic smell. Why had I smelling that before? I couldn't remember. The dripping continued. My head was beginning to clear. Good. More dripping.
What is that? I looked around again. Wait. I squinted. Though it was obscured by shadow, I could see that there was something pressed up to the far wall. Legs - four of them. Something white. A mattress? It was a cot. But there was something off. Something wrong. Oh, gosh. That metal-like smell. Blood.
I stood there for a moment, stunned by the sudden realization. Why was there blood? Whose blood was it?
I didn't think - just moved. Crossing the room, I knelt by the short little cot. I didn't flinch when I felt a puddle of liquid start to seep into my trousers. I was accustomed to the feeling. I felt my way to the person laying there. No shoes, pants yes, shirtless…The chest was rough and wet. Torn and bloody.
It was like someone has hit it over and over with the two-pronged nail end of it. Was this person ever alive?
My hands moved upwards to the neck. I felt a weak pulse, not preferable to strong, but there. Up to the face. As my hand passed over the nose and mouth I felt the slight intake and exhale of breath. I turned abruptly as the door behind me opened. A man stepped in.
"Got some questions for ya', Dr. Watson." he eyes moved up and down and side to side, as if he was scanning me. His hand raised and pointed then flopped back down to his side. "See you've found your friend. Put up quite a fight. Wouldn't tell us nothin'."
My brows drew together. "My friend…?" Oh, no. I turned back to the figure on the cot. The light coming from the open door shone over him. "Sherlock!"
OoOoOoO
When I felt the whip hit my back I screamed. "I don't know anything, darn it!" How many times had they hit me? I couldn't remember. Oh, gosh, please let this end. I have to get back to Sherlock. Please.
"I'll asked you once more, Doctor." the harsh voice said to me again. "What else do you know? The location of our hideout? How many operatives we have?" I sensed the whip raise. "I won't stop until you tell me. I've got all night."
But Sherlock doesn't! I thought helplessly. "Alright! I-I know a name!" my voice was filled with pain. I tried to keep it level.
I heard the whip brush against the floor and the man came into view next to me. "Who?" he asked.
"Ben Holt."
"Good. Wanna' take a little break? My arm's getting sore." he snorted, looking to the side. "Take him." Another someone came and cut me down from where I was hanging by my hands. I stumbled along while he pushed me from behind back to the windowless room. Every time he shoved me, sharp pain ran up my back and into my neck. He pushed me through the steel door. I stumbled and fell onto the floor, gasping for air.
No, no time. Come on, John. I pulled myself up, over to where Sherlock was. "Sherlock. Can you hear me?" I checked his heart again; still beating. He didn't respond to me, but I hadn't expected it. "Oh, Sherlock." I took his limp hand in mine. "I'll get you out of here. I promise." His fingers curled slightly. He had heard me. Then I passed out.
Well, here's the first chapter. I'm not sure if I really like it though. *purses lips* Got stuck on how to end it. Tell me if I should redo and I will. Or tell me you like it and I'll smile. (:
