John
I have no idea where I am. I have no idea what the time is or how long ago it was. I need to escape, but I can't.
It was a misty morning in London. As I woke and drew back the curtains, I could barley see 100 meters in any direction. This irritated me. My hearing isn't great, thanks to all the gunshots in Afghanistan, so I rely deeply on my eyesight. Without it, I feel vulnerable. Anyway, I didn't have time for worrying about mist, so I got washed and dressed and grabbed a biscuit out of the cupboard; I've never liked breakfast.
I'm always late for work, however hard I try, I'm always late. I work at the local surgery, and its dull, deathly boring
. Sherlock was sat over his laptop when I appeared from my room, hands clasped together and eyes shut, deeply in thought.
"I'm off, Sherlock. It's my late shift so I won't be back till 8." I said.
I knew Sherlock wasn't listening, so I wrote the information on a note and slipped it into Mrs Hudson, along with one asking her to force him to eat at some point... Sherlock had been stuck on this case for days, and had barely stopped to eat or sleep the whole time. I thought back to what he'd told me the night before.
"You've been sat like that for hours, Sherlock, what's the case?" I'm always interested in his work, and Sherlock's often more than happy to tell me about it. Anyway, he says he prefers to think aloud.
"Its code. Mycroft's been following this gang for months. They used to write in plain English, but one of the agents joined their ranks and told them what was happening, so they switched to code. All we know is that they're planning something, and its going to be big." As usual, all this information was delivered at the speed of light.
"So, you've no idea about the code?" I asked, knowing he would have something at least by now.
"Well, several of the gang members are Italian, so we're thinking Mafia code. Mycroft's checked all the documented codes of the Mafia but there's no luck so far."
"Right, well" I cleared my throat "sounds great, hope you crack it so I can find out what it is." I said almost jokingly.
"I'll do my best." He replied.
Anyway, work was the usual, old people coming in with their "Ooh no, I've got flu, help me, I might die!" And over-worried parents with their kids that seemed far healthier than me. The clock ticked, 7:01, 59 minutes left, 17 minutes left, 2 minutes left. And then I was free. I grabbed my jacket and scarf and padded past the receptionist quickly before she could spot me and attempt at conversation.
It was November, so it was dark by 8pm when I left the surgery. Of course, it wasn't really dark because I was in the middle of the capital city, with lights all around me. If only I could be so sure of where I am now... Annoyingly, the mist was still hanging over the lampposts, threatening to choke out their light, just as it had been in the morning.
I set out for the tube station as I normally do, enjoying watching as people rush past me, going about their daily lives. It was a main road with lots of vehicles and people, but several dark alleyways led off the side of the street. I glanced down one of these alleyways as I walked along, after a second take, I noticed a light flashing. Immediately, I recognised the flashes as Morse code and began to translate it in my head. It read:
John Watson. This way. You are needed.
I was confused, how did someone know I would look down the alleyway. Why did I need to go there? Who or what needed me? These questions swirled round and round in my head within an instant. I could sense some kind of trap, but my feet were already guiding me down the narrow path towards the light. "Hello. I see I'm needed. Who are you?" I said into nothing. The light was gone and I had to feel my way down the alley, cursing myself for forgetting my torch this morning. As my eyes began to adjust to the light, I could make out the shadows of two men. They were holding something between them, but it was too dim to make out what it was. There was no noise, apart from the steady sound of my own feet and the racing beat of my heart as adrenaline pumped through my veins.
Stupidly, I turned around to check my exit was still clear, which it wasn't. Without warning, there was a huge crash and foot steps came flying at me. Someone screeched something in a language that was, at a guess, Italian. Just after, I felt a net being thrust over me, and I was pulled to the ground. I fought back with all my strength, but there was a man on each of my arms and legs, another crushing my torso and two standing by. One of these men lent down next to my ear and whispered in a strongly accented English
"Thank you for volunteering, John. You're going to be very useful, very useful indeed."
Before I had time to muster a reply with the little air and energy I had left from the struggle, I felt a needle being plunged into the side of my neck. The pain was sharp and cold. I could feel the vile liquid flowing into me.
I knew this was my last chance, and also that I had little hope, but I flung myself as hard as I could and tried to break free. It was no use, before I knew it, men were onto me from every angle, pressing my body into the cold, hard ground mercilessly. The man spoke again once calm was restored.
"You're a bit of a fighter aren't you? Well, I guess that's predictable seeing as you were a soldier. Strong, too. You'll start to feel weak soon, if you don't already, and then we can get into business."
"Who. Are. You?" Was all I had the energy to muster, but it was wasted breath, I got no reply.
"Hurry!" Someone shouted "He's not going down, give him another dose!"
Again, a sharp cold pain in my neck, more fluid flowing into me. This time, I couldn't even try to fight back. Whatever drug they had given me was strong. I knew this was a bigger dose than the last, because the pain was stronger, so the needle must have been larger. Slowly, my breaths became steadier, my muscles began to relax, and against my will, my eyes began to shut. I knew I was losing consciousness, and whatever I was to awaken to would be far worse than this, but my mind was fuzzing, so I hardly cared. Paralysed, the last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was this:
"Gone?"
"Yes. He's out, will be now for at least 10 hours. He got a double dose."
"Good. Time to get moving then. Now!"