Title: What Nobody Sees
Rating: T
Summary: Hostage situation. Boring right? Not when your flat mate is the hostage.
Warnings: I know very little about the British Society and wording, so you'll forgive me if I'm just another ignorant American too poor to visit the actual place this story is going on in and can only Google places, buildings and procedures.
Author Note: wow, you guys are amazing! I wasn't sure what to expect by posting in this fandom… I've branched out before and never have had such a good outcome. Your guys keep a writer going and I hope to provide you all with a worthwhile story to read. Shout out to Sarah for giving me a heads up on Pints vs Gallons and terminology. Thanks for reading!
Chapter two
"How long has he been in there?" Sherlock snaps at Lestrade as he bends fluidly under the caution tape. Lestrade rolls his eyes and glances down at the clip board.
"Silent alarm was tripped about an hour ago. Can't get a clear view inside, the shades were pulled down from the afternoon sun." Lestrade informs the detective as the tall man stops beside him. Sherlock's eyes are locked on the front of the building, narrowed and calculating.
"Do you know anything about the gun man? I need data Lestrade!" He insists, annoyance coloring his pale cheeks as he stares at the building, a bundle of nervous energy as he begins to pace between two cruisers. Lestrade watches the detective, aware that he's becoming more and more frustrated.
"Hey freak! You might want to come here." Anderson calls from where she's bent over the trunk of a cruiser, several of the tech guys standing close by. Sherlock quickly maneuvers himself through the throng, Lestrade not far behind. The small laptop is perched on the trunk, a live feed from inside the bank showing the scene hidden from the outside. Sharp and focused black and white gives the scene a look of an ancient war film, grainy and colorless but the images are real time and the people very much alive.
"Just got the feed up, I have control of the camera's now so I can pan anywhere in the main foyer of the building." One of the tech guys states, moving the camera slightly, the lens taking in the faces of the hostages.
"Stop!" Sherlock commands his finger reaching out to touch the screen. Anderson rolls her eyes and stops the panning camera.
"Move up slightly." The detective orders and with a glare the woman does, her eyes widening a fraction at the scene. John is kneeling beside a faceless woman, his fingers pressed to her wrist. His mouth his moving but because there is no sound those watching can only guess what he's saying. The gun man looms over head, the gun waving wildly.
"He's threatening him…" Sherlock concludes but not going into detail as he watches the small screen. John turns to stare at the gunman, his mouth moving. Sherlock snorts to himself and readjusts the angle of the screen before leaning in close, watching intently. Anderson winces as the gun man slams his foot into the smaller man's shoulder, knowing of the still aching war injury while several of the other men give small grumbles of anger at the mistreatment. Sherlock cringes and quickly pulls out his phone, hitting two buttons and pressing it to his ear.
"what in the hell are you doing?" Lestrade demands and Sherlock cocks and eyebrow in his general direction, tone laced with boredom.
"Standing around watching a video feed isn't going to give me the information I need… so I'm calling him." Sherlock gives as an explanation. Lestrade is about to speak up when Sherlock places his index finger over his lips.
"Shhh… it's ringing." He dictates, leaving Lestrade to gape and Anderson to shake her head with a snort and shoot Lestrade a pleading look. Lestrade only shrugs his shoulder and gestures for the pen in the woman's hand, intent on making any information Sherlock and garner off the subject to good use.
The mobile's ring echo's off the inside of the bank, seemingly louder than it really is. To John it's slightly muffled due to the rush of blood in his ears, the thump of his heart in the former injury to his shoulder and his own ragged breathing. The gun man cocks his head to the side a bit, akin to that of a curious dog before the gun repositions itself at John's head.
"Go ahead pretty boy… answer it." He snarls menacingly, words rough with aggression. Slowly John reaches into his jacket pocket, fumbling around for the phone before pulling it out and activating the call.
"John?" Sherlock's voice comes through the line and for a moment John feels his stomach drop. He's seen the effects of unstable minds with weapons before and knows all too well what the outcome might be if Sherlock starts to analyze the gun man.
"Put it on speaker… I think your boyfriend is worried." The mad man growls, his finger on the trigger of the weapon. John complies, setting the speaker on so that Sherlock's voice is plainly heard.
"How many hostages John?" Sherlock asks, his words clipped.
"Now just hold on a minute, who exactly is this?" The gun man questions and for a moment the line is silent until finally Sherlock responds.
"This is Sherlock Holmes, who might I be speaking to?" John wants to cringe, Sherlock displaying manners is a bad thing. Oh he has them, John's seen that the Detective was raised with some kind of moral decency, but him being pleasant to a target?
Oh no, this doesn't bode well at all.
"Well Mr. Holmes, I am Seth Lively, Captain in her Majesty's Military." He informs the faceless voice and John's eyes widen slightly and he snorts.
Of course, he'd have to be military.
Sherlock's end is silent for a minute or two.
Two minutes that felt like eternity.
"A Captain in defense of Queen and Country? Perhaps at one time, but you are no longer in possession of that title are you? No, you were discharged, but not dishonorably why else would you still introduce yourself as a Captain with pride? No, you were discharged for another reason, medical perhaps?" Seth's eyes widen behind the lenses of his glasses as he stares down at the phone in John's hand, a look of utter shock and dismay crossing his features.
"H-how…?" he gasps and John analyzes the man before him, noticing the stance and tension. One of the many things he'd brought back with him from his time in Afghanistan was how to evaluate a person just by sight. Sometimes a doctor couldn't always reach his patient during a fire fight, and on numerous occasions he'd have to wait and watch a wounded soldier from afar and shout orders over to another soldier.
"I believe it's because of this medical issue you are here today, holding people at gunpoint is it not? You've run out of money, money being the root of all evils in this world." Sherlock states, sounding smug and sure of himself from somewhere outside. John watches the gun man's face, noting the way his jaw squares and the hand holding the gun trembles a little.
"Sherlock…" he starts but is cut off when the gun man waves the gun once more with a shriek.
"ENOUGH! You know nothing about me, nothing at all! You all live perfect little lives, in your perfect little world, thanking us for a job well done but not really caring what happens to us when we return!" Seth snarls into the phone, spinning around with the gun, causing the people in the room to scream and shrink away in fear.
"None of you understand!" he screams, his emotions running wild as he points the weapon upward, firing off a shot into the ceiling. Plaster and dust fall, almost like a snow over the gunman and John and for a moment the former military doctor is deafened from the report of the gun but he quickly recovers as Seth turns back to him, his eyes filled with tears but narrowed with anger.
"John! Is anyone hurt?" Sherlock yells from the phone as the gun is leveled once more at John's chest. Eyes narrowed the doctor waits, keeping himself between the mad man and the elderly couple behind him, having labeled the man completely unstable and a danger.
"Hang. Up. The. Phone." He growls menacingly.
The phone closes with a loud snap.
"Now go sit down like a good little hostage and behave…" he snarls and waits till John places himself against the marble counter, hands clasped on his stomach before turning away. John glares at the back of the man's head before turning his attention back to the elderly couple across from him. He tries to smile at the elderly man, his face pressed into his wife's white hair but it doesn't come easily.
The sinking feeling in his stomach gets worse.
Author Note: I apologize for the mix up with the "complete" and "on Going" status of this story. It has been changed. Hope I didn't keep you folks too long, trying to get ready to head home for Thanksgiving. More to come and thanks for reading!