A few minutes later, Alex and Tom departed, both going their own ways back home. It was Friday and Jackie was cooking Japanese food today, again. She cooks Japanese food almost each Friday so it's quite normal except one day where the store ran out of salmon.
Jackie made Korean food after that. Fridays were also known as the Asian cuisine day. Jackie makes the best kimchi in the world.
Alex biked home, backpack weighed down with the math and history books he was given. High school was hard work as college came up and he had to catch up after all the work he missed. Of course, it wouldn't be a surprise if he ended up working for MI6 for his entire life.
Setting his bike down, he hitched his backpack and climbed the porch stairs. And lying the porch, was a clean white envelope. Alex cocked his head and picked the envelope slowly up. It wasn't a trap, no, it was a message. But from whom?
He tore the envelope open and unfolded it. Inside, there was a thin scrawl of words.
Alex, we need your help. You know where to find us. This is urgent.
Alex felt rebellion boil in him as he looked at the paper in disgust, the thin cursive writing and the rich white grain paper. He moved to the trash can, ready to throw the letter away, to end this all.
No, he wasn't going back. Not ever. Until something, caught his attention. There was more, a single word at the back of the letter.
Please.
MI6 never says sorry or please, don't even mention Blunt.
Please.
5 minutes later, Alex was on his bike again, riding to the place, that called for help.
—
He felt pain, a dull throbbing in his head and he tried to get comfortable. No, the pain was unbearable, like drums thumping, an iron rod banging on his head continuously. Sherlock shifted in agony, sweat beading his forehead.
Chained again.
No chance of escaping.
Don't even try.
He opened his eyes in weariness, his vision blurry and the surroundings all muffled as if someone placed a film in front of him. He blinked several times and tried to sit up. Just a bit of action sent sharp stabs of pain through his head, making him want to clutch his head in torment.
The pain slowly subsided and he brought his knees up and crouched there, hoping that there was someway, anyway, to get out of this situation. He was, after all, only 19 years old.
