Title: The Interrogation
Author: Proclaim Thy Warrior Soul
Rating: M. Slash - don't like? Then sod off!
Disclaimer: I own Benedict Cumberbatch...on DVD. Hey, it's a start, okay? Sherlock belongs to people much smarter/richer/better-looking than I. I make no profit, other than to my ego, and my ego needs feeding. It's favourite sustenance is reviews. *shameless hint* Feed that ego! :D
Summary: 60 seconds. That's how long it takes the average man to succumb to chloroform. Sherlock was far from average, yet even he couldn't overcome the sickening dizziness that scrambled his brain.
Chapter One: The Intruder
Sherlock swiped a gloved hand through his tangled curls as he gracefully exited the taxi, an agitated sigh erupting in a cloud of fine mist as he stepped out onto the cold, damp pavement of Baker Street.
It was late, close to midnight in fact, but he knew John wouldn't be home. The doctor was away on a compulsory CPD course for the week, which, for once, was good news. It gave Sherlock a few hours peace to think, deduce, ponder without the intrusion of another person's un-intelligent thoughts. He'd had just about enough of the idiots he had to surround himself with on a daily basis.
Not that John was un-intelligent, nor an idiot for that matter; no, not in the slightest. The army vet was, in his own way, a magnificently smart man. He just had the uncanny knack for being...well, stupid; slow; just... John.
Sherlock snorted inelegantly as he wrapped his coat tightly around his lean body and in three long strides was outside the front door of 221B, pausing momentarily to shove the key into the lock before storming his way up the stairs, heavy boots thundering on the wooden flooring.
Vaguely wondering if Mrs. Hudson would be awake at this hour and willing to resume the role of (not-so) loyal housekeeper (tea sounded marvellous right about now), the consulting detective gave no pause as he glided into the flat, flicking on the light switch and shirking off his coat without breaking his stride. His thoughts darted between the conspicuously missing skull on his mantelpiece (Mrs. Hudson had obviously been snooping again - he'd have to put a stop to that.) and the results of his latest experiment that was currently festering on top of the fridge, the sickly, sweet smell of decomposition permeating the flat. He was glad John hadn't discovered that one before he'd left.
Chuckling lightly to himself, it wasn't until he'd carelessly thrown the coat across the back of the chair and paused, cold, numb fingers starting to remove the scarf at his neck, that Sherlock sensed an unusual presence and stifling tension from within the flat.
Intruder.
The thought had barely registered in his brain before Sherlock was running through the possibilities.
Lestrade with a new case? Highly unlikely - he was still on the DI's shit list after that incident with Anderson last week, and anyway, he would have phoned first and he certainly would have left the light on.
Unhappy client? No, too dull.
Criminal out for revenge? Possible. Actually, the most likely solution, but annoyingly obvious and therefore boring. Criminals weren't overly creative these days, he thought with an unhappy scowl. So that just left the simple question of who he'd pissed off the most this week? Hmm, this could take a while...
A slight rustle of cloth signalled movement from behind. Sherlock strained his well-trained ears, painting a clear picture of the stranger without having to turn to face them, slowly pulling the scarf away from his neck as if distracted by a spontaneous thought so as not to warn that he was aware of the presence.
He was male, that much was apparent without the need for any kind of deduction; around 5'7 if the harsh shadow painted on the wall before him was anything to go by, and in his late thirties. Well built, muscular, but not stocky. The man's booted feet whispered gently across the carpeted floor, not quite silent enough to be classed as stealthy but pretty close. He had a military background then, or some sort of special training.
This knowledge instantaneously removed eighty percent of London's criminal network from the equation. Petty crooks couldn't afford the sort of money a guy like this would expect for his services, which meant it was either a personal vendetta or he'd trodden on some unknown person's self-important toes.
The detective's cogent mind prepared to draw up a list of viable suspects, however a gentle breeze from the open window wafted a fresh wave of the sickly sweet aroma he'd noted previously in his direction. Not just decomposition, then. Chloroform?
In any ordinary person this discovery would have sired a surge of panic yet Sherlock took this new information in his stride, deciding it was time to find out once and for all who was encroaching upon his personal space.
Throwing the scarf atop his discarded coat, Sherlock adjusted the collar of his shirt and watched the shadow on the wall expand as the intruder crept closer. Biding his time, waiting... Patience was everything. He just had to wait until-
The unexpected shrill ring of the Blackberry in his jacket pocket distracted Sherlock from his train of thought, the detective instinctively looking towards the source.
It was an opportunity the intruder could only have wished for. Moving faster than even Sherlock could anticipate, the man snaked one hand through the detective's silky curls and tugged the taller man off-balance, his other hand clamping a damp, sweet-smelling cloth over the startled man's nose and mouth.
Anticipating a struggle, the stranger delivered a sharp kick to the back of Sherlock's legs and followed the detective to the floor, pinning a slim frame beneath his own much bulkier weight.
Sixty seconds.
That's how long it would take the average man to succumb to the noxious fumes of chloroform. Sherlock was far from average, and yet even he couldn't overcome the sickening dizziness that scrambled his brain. The ungraceful tumble to the floor had knocked the breath from him and no matter his best intentions, his treacherous brain forced him to draw air back into his protesting lungs.
Everything went black.
TBC...
Author's Note: Hi! Well, that's the first chapter out of the way. The direction this takes is completely down to you as my lovely readers. Do you want Sherlock/John sexy times or Sherlock/intruder torture yuckiness? I'm happy writing it either way. Drop me a review and let me know! Until next time... :) PTWS
