Author's Note:
Another Tumblr Fanfic Challenge. The prompts were John and Sherlock in an alternate universe with handcuffs as a prop. This is what I came up with. Hope you all enjoy! One shot.
Sherlock Holmes was annoyed. Going through this application process and finding the perfect personal assistant was tedious. So far he had rejected twelve interviewees today alone. He still had one left. He wasn't optimistic about it at all. Why should he? In a month, he had conducted almost a hundred interviews without as much even a potential prospect. His older brother told him it was because he had ridiculously high standards. Why should he lower his standards? The point of having the assistant was to have someone he could trust to serve his needs.
John Watson wasn't sure what had possessed him to apply for this job. He was a former army doctor for God's sake. However, the pay he was getting from the military was barely enough to get by and all the jobs he had applied for in the medical field, he'd been told he was 'over qualified.' He supposed part of the allure for this position he was looking to have, was that a flat to live in would be provided. He was tired of living in a hotel. An unfamiliar voice calling his name brought him out of his thoughts.
"John Watson? You're interview starts now and I hate waiting." Sherlock had stepped out his office to the waiting room. He had observed the man in silence for awhile before speaking. Not nervous. Rather calm and collected. Probably due to his military training. Focused. What would make a retired Captain of the military apply for this job? He supposed he would find out.
John looked up the man who was speaking. This was the person who could be his potential employer? It wasn't what he expected. Although, he supposed he wasn't sure what to expect. He stood up and offered his hand. "Mr. Holmes? A pleasure to meet you Sir."
Sherlock took the hand and gave a firm but short handshake. "Whether I am pleased to meet you has yet to remain to be seen. This way." He turned and walked back into his office and sat down at his large mahogany desk.
John's lips twisted in thought but he decided it was best not to reply to that. He followed after the taller man and took in the office with raised eyebrows. The walls were dark grey and lined with book shelves, but the books on the shelves were scattered helter-skelter. There was also a lack of photos and other personal effects. The desk was a mess. It had papers and various writing utensils strewn about. There was also a skull on the left corner, with a knife sticking out of it. How…charming… He sat down in the only other chair in the room quietly.
With his elbows propped up on the desk and fingers steepled under his chin, Sherlock peered at the man sitting in front of him. After a thoughtful silence he finally spoke. "I have read your file Captain. What makes you think you are qualified for this position?"
Honestly? John didn't think he was qualified at all. In fact, he hadn't expected to get an interview for this job period. "The truth is, I've been putting in a lot of applications everywhere. I was actually surprised I got a call for an interview here. The reason I applied? Well, it said in the job description a place of residence would be provided." Great. Real smooth. He was certain this was going to be the shortest interview ever.
A smirk twitched on Sherlock's lips. "That's the first honest answer I've heard all day. You're hired."
John couldn't help the surprised expression that etched his face. Huh? Hired? Well, it had definitely been a short interview but it'd gone the other direction. "Oh. Well, brilliant. When would you like to me start?"
"Well, there is one test you have to pass but I'm sure you will do fine. Be at 221B Baker street tomorrow morning. Let's say nine o'clock. Don't be late."
"Test? What sort of test?"
Sherlock smiled. "You'll just have to wait and find out."
The smile made John nervous; there was something devious about it. "Right then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Mrs. Holmes, thank you for this opportunity."
"One: Don't call me that. Sherlock is fine. And two: Don't thank me just yet." The smile returned to Sherlock's face.
John merely nodded, not sure how to reply to this strange man. He got up, shook hands with his new boss, and left the office. He walked outside and hailed a cabbie. He waited patiently but things quickly turned chaotic. It all happened so quickly, there was little to no time to react. A bag was put over his head at the same time his arms were pulled behind his back. He struggled but it didn't last long as he felt something, probably a needle, being shoved into his neck. His body went limp and his world went black.
The bag was still over his head when John regained consciousness. Despite being down one sense, he began to feel his way around to discover as much as he could about his surroundings. Handcuffs bit against his wrists when he tried to move forward. He was cuffed to a wall? It seemed likely; the surface against his hands was cold, hard and stony. The place smelled of blood and urine. A dungeon of some sort, maybe?
"Captain Watson. What makes you so special? Why you?" A voice asked and then punched the helpless man in the stomach.
A slight groan escaped his lips, but John refused to shout in pain. What was this person talking about? He wondered if this person realized that the reason he was home from the war was because he used to be prisoner of war. He hadn't talked then and all be damned if he was going to now.
"Silence. I see. How unfortunate for you. Don't you want to know why you are here?" Instead of another blow to the body, fingers traced along the former army doctor's hand.
That wasn't what he expected. Of course he wanted to know why he was here, but John was too stubborn to ask. Perhaps he could learn something, if this person kept on insisting on talking.
"More silence. If you don't start talking, I will make your time as prisoner in Afghanistan seem like a vacation. I am quite adept in the world of torture and not just the physical variety."
If this person was trying to impress or intimidate John, it wasn't working.
"Let's try this. Why did Sherlock Holmes hire you?"
What? That was what this was all about? Because he had just been hired for a job? John wasn't entirely sure why himself, but even if he did know he would never tell this bloke.
The person sighed, clearly annoyed. "So, be it." A door opened and then closed.
Apparently he was alone now. The only thing John could hear was his slightly labored breathing and the scuffing of metal against the wall.
Routine was all John knew after that point. He wasn't sure how many days had gone by, but enough he began to notice the pang of hunger and thirst for water. They wouldn't let him sleep either. Anytime he would pass out, he would be brought back to consciousness. Usually by inflicting some form of pain on his body. He was certain the only suit he owned was completely ruined by now and barely clung to his slowly thinning form. Was this how he was going to die? Chained to wall? All because he refused to talk? Not one word was ever uttered by him. Although the occasional noise of pain would be made, although that could hardly be helped.
A new question finally came, after days of torture. "You are willing to die for a man, you just only met? What kind of fool are you?"
John was barely lucid at this point and it took a moment for the words to process. He couldn't help but laugh, although it wasn't entirely sane sounding. He didn't know why he had been hired and saying as such would have been pointless at this point. It wasn't he was willing to die for Sherlock, more stubborn will. Regardless, he managed to choke out a single word. "Yes."
"Congratulation John, you passed the test."
That voice. He knew that voice. Sherlock? Test? Test? John found a renewed sense of strength and struggled against the chains with a scream of rage.
"I do believe you have upset him my dear brother. That isn't my problem, it is yours." The voice that had interrogated John spoke and then left the room.
Brother? What in the hell was going on here? John continued to struggle wildly but it didn't take long for him to exhaust himself in his current weak state.
"What was the point of using up what little strength you have?" Sherlock questioned, with a clear tone of annoyance. "Now I will have to help you out of here." He unlocked the handcuffs and easily supported the man that slumped into him.
John didn't have the energy to fight or yell anymore and found bliss in world of slumber.
When John woke up, his mind was foggy and it took a moment for his eyes to focus once they opened. Where was he now? He was laying on a bed, in a room cluttered with boxes and items discarded on the floor. This definitely wasn't a hospital. An I-V was hooked up to his arm, it probably continued saline solution. How long had he been out? It was impossible to know, he supposed. He sat up, ignoring the dizziness and nausea as best he could. After both passed, he yanked the I-V from his vein with a grimace. He bent his arm, to help stop the blood flow and stumbled out of the bed. Walking wasn't as easy as it usually was.
"I see you are up. You shouldn't be walking around yet though," Sherlock commented as he entered the room.
"You! You did this to me!" John had meant to yell the words but it only came out as a croaked whisper. "Wh-where am I?" He stumbled again and he used the edge of a nearby dresser to support himself.
"Home. You work for me, and as promised you get place to live. Of course you will be living with me. What's the point of having a personal assistant if they live somewhere else?"
John tried to speak but all that came out was a violent cough. He needed to get out of here, away from this mad man. He could barely stand, let alone walk though.
"You should lay back down. How about some tea?"
"You…you are insane!" John managed to sputter out. The taller man was right though, he needed to lay back down. With effort he made it back to the bed and collapsed in an unceremonious heap.
Sherlock smirked. "You may very well be correct. However, I have been taking care of you since you were released from captivity. A week has gone by since your interview." He left the bedroom and went to the kitchen to start some tea.
A week? Christ. John was uncertain when he would be able to escape this place. He needed to get his strength back before he could attempt fleeing, calling the Yard and having this man arrested.
After the tea was brewed, Sherlock returned to the room with a tray and two cups filled with the steaming liquid. "Here, perhaps this will help calm you down. I'm sure you have a lot questions. Usually I wouldn't entertain such a boring conversation but I want to make sure you still want the job."
John eyed the cup of tea suspiciously and then looked up to Sherlock. Still want the job? Fuck no; he didn't want to work for a crazy person.
"Oh for God's sake, it isn't poisoned. If I wanted to kill you John, I would have done it. Now drink already."
John supposed that was a valid point and he took a tentative sip. It didn't have a funny taste so he took another drink. The liquid felt good on his dry, sore throat. "Why would I want to work for a man who had me kidnapped and tortured?"
The smirk returned to Sherlock's lip. "I needed to make sure I could trust you. I figured you could handle the torture, since were a POW. I realize you were probably just being stubborn when you answered 'yes' but, you never begged or pleaded for your life. For anything. I need a man like you John."
John's eyes narrowed at the words spoken. A test. It had all been a bloody test. "I'm glad you feel like you can trust me, but how am I supposed to trust you?"
"The job doesn't require that you trust me, only that I trust you." Sherlock gave a slight shrug and finally began drinking his cup of tea.
"And what does working for you entail?" John couldn't believe he was asking this question. The tea was actually quite good and he continued to drink it.
So, he was interested in working for him after everything. Why ask such a question, otherwise? Sherlock smirked, pleased. "A lot of different things. My brother and I work for the British government. I need someone I can count on. You would be helping to save lives, if that matters to you."
"Of course it does, it is one of the reasons I joined the military. Doesn't it matter to you?" This other man was infuriatingly complex to John.
"Not really. The position I hold can't really allow to me care. It isn't advantage." Sherlock shrugged again.
Insane or not, John had made up his mind. "Fine, I'll work for you." What did that say about his own sanity? By agreeing to work with Sherlock?
"Really? Why?" This had been easier than Sherlock thought it would be, and he smirked into his cup of tea as he took another drink.
"To show you that caring isn't a bad thing." John had finished his tea and he placed the empty cup on the tray.
"Don't bother. You would just be wasting our time," Sherlock commented with a shake of his head.
"People can change," John insisted.
"Only if they want to," Sherlock countered.
"Has anyone ever told you, you are impossible?" John asked, his face crinkled in mixture of frustration and amusement.
"Almost everyone I meet, yes." Sherlock smirked yet again.
"Why am I not surprised?" John muttered as his eyes closed, sleep over taking him once more.
The smirk on his lips got bigger. "Should have trusted you're instincts John. I did drug your tea, only to make you sleep because you were being stubborn about it. Yes, I think you will work out just fine." Sherlock left the bedroom and went to check on the results of an experiment.