Chapter 2; Dark to Light
Uncomfortable bed. Squeaky. John got up and walked to the bathroom. With a quick turn of the knob, he turned the shower on. Cold floors. Tiles, white. Fluorescent lights. Dark.
He knew that being in a motel wasn't the best circumstances but nothing in the paper provided him of interest relating to a decent job. There was an ad about selling his kidney that was offering over ten thousand. He almost called, almost. Somehow he couldn't get the thought of him in a bathtub full of ice and a huge stitch on the side out of his mind.
Lukewarm. John stepped into the shower after peeling off his shirt and boxers. The warmish water was actually comforting as it washed away the sweat from his night. Nightmares. He sighed and pressed his head on the cool tile. Unwanted nightmares every other night. His only solace was when his dreams were filled with long limbs, curly hair and grey eyes. He shook his head in the water as he began to massage the cheap motel shampoo in his short blond hair. It was one time! The only good part of the dream was when he was able to punch the sod in the mouth. He could almost smell the blood dripping from his mouth. Blood, on those lips. Full lips kissing his body that was dripped in-
Soap! He grabbed the soap and quickly lathered his body and rinsed. Not dallying on any body parts in case they got ideas, they had a mind of their own these days; he jumped out of the quick 10-minute shower and wrapped a towel around his neck before picking up the robe left hanging on the doorway. It was nice for a motel brand robe. He was, honestly, surprised he even received one but who was complaining? Not him, surely. The material was soft and supple yet strong and sturdy. The only tacky thing on it was the motel's logo: The Sunshine Motel.
John put his new robe on and walked into his small room and sat on his bed. 'squeak' He pulled out his laptop and began searching online for a job that might entice him. John opened his email and sifted through junk and potential jobs from job websites he had signed up for. It had been a week since his visit to Harriett and he still hadn't had luck. He sighed and massaged his forehead. Cup of tea sounded wonderful, the lack of available space in his room was giving him a headache. Claustrophobic.
-Ping! New Email.
'Bodyguard' was all it said, the email was simple yet abundant in information.
'We are looking for someone with military expertise, minimum 3 years. Must have a clean driving record and be willing to work 24hrs. Will provide living expenses within the house and a car. Must be comfortable with guns and will be responsible in providing maximum security. Please attach resume. Government issued privacy, pay determined by experience.'
Excitement. This was…perfect. He knew bodyguards received large amounts of money and it was government sponsored, whoever this person was had to be important. John opened his resume and read it over. It looked all right, he had recently fixed it and though it may not be the strongest resume, it was definitely what the person was looking for. He began to compose an email and attached his resume before sending it over. He got up and began to dry his hair with the towel when
-Ping!
Surprise. Hesitance. He leaned over and checked his email and held his breath. His "employer" had sent an email in return with an address.
'Bring your own gun and ammunition. Paperwork regarding military history is also requested. Join us at this address at 11:00, today."
11:00… John looked at the clock and his heart stammered a bit. That was in 30 minutes. He quickly typed in the address into his phone and put away his laptop. He reached under his bed and pulled out his bag from under his bed and unzipped it. His SIG-Sauer L105A2 lay on top of his clothes. He picked it up and relished the feel of cold metal against his hand. Familiar. No time to reminisce as the clock made an impatient 'tik'. Quickly grabbing his stripped dress shirt, he shrugged off his robe and buttoned excitedly. He tucked the gun into the back of his pants and put on a heavy but baggy jacket to cover the dangerous bump. He was tripping over his feet as he tried to put on his socks and shoes while walking towards the door. With a quick look around, he made sure everything looked ok before closing the door after him.
'Tok'
It was a blur how he got to the house. Large house. Mansion. He held his breath as he pushed the buzzer to the gate. Even the buzzer was shiny; he could almost see his finger print on the gleam of it. The gate had been personally crafted; a large H in italicized font was proudly placed in the middle. Each bar was hand polished and though black, gleamed in the afternoon sun. What he would do to live in just the yard of this house.
'Name and Business?'
John cleared his throat, which had suddenly become dry, and looked at the camera that swiveled his way.
"John Watson, I'm here for a job interview."
The camera made a 'zzzz' sound; his face was being zoomed into.
'Follow these specific directions, John Watson. You are to enter the gate and step into the vehicle as soon as the doors open. Do not ask questions and do as you are ordered.'
John nodded. Simple enough, it was just like the military; following orders. The gate swung open after what felt like ten minutes, he checked his watch, it had only been two, and a sleek black car pulled up to him. The door opened and John climbed in.
"You are 3 minutes late Mr. Watson."
Even though it was daylight, the car was dark. Strangely dark and it took a bit of time for his eyes to adjust to the lighting. But his ears perked when he heard that voice. It was familiar. It was the man at the coffee shop, he was sure of it. What was his name?
"Mycroft." John murmured in thought. The figure in front of him shifted slightly, could feel the smile on the man's face.
"Good memory. You are the gentleman from the coffee shop."
"Good memory." John offered back. Something was bothering him. He felt like he needed to exit the car. It was a game; predator and prey. And assumable, he was the prey.
"You may consider this a coincidence but let me correct that thought for you. I've asked for you personally John, may I call you John?"
John nodded.
"My younger brother-"
"Sherlock." John's mouth closed so fast his teeth clicked together. He didn't mean to say his name aloud, it was like water rushing from his mouth and his teeth couldn't stop it.
Mycroft smiled. "Yes, Sherlock. Has become the attention of a rather interesting character. I've noticed the pattern and Sherlock has become rather infatuated with this person as well."
Dressed in his black, hand stitched suit, he leaned forward toward John and his eyes hardened, smile depleted.
"I want them separated. Your mission would be to keep Sherlock away from this miscreant. And vice versa. You will have assistance as more of my men will keep the two apart however your main goal is to keep Sherlock within eyesight at all times. To make sure he does not have any foolish ideas to mingle with the wrong crowd."
John was taken back, why keep the two lovers apart?
"Why?"
Mycroft straightened out the imaginary wrinkles in his suit pants and spoke in a low voice.
"My younger brother has decided to indulge in recreational drugs; heroin to be exact. I know for a fact that my brother was not involved until he met this person. And now I want this person gone and my brother back."
Protective. Just like how he was with Harriett.
"Why me?"
"You are patient, I could see it in your face when Sherlock attacked you, my apologize once again. And, well Sherlock has taken an interest in you. I could tell from the way he acted in the car."
John sputtered. "Interest?"
Mycroft was having too much fun; even John could sense the glee in his voice.
"Interest." Affirmation.
John didn't know what to think. Interest like love interest? Interest like friend interest? What interest?
"You are different."
John looked at Mycroft and began to weigh the pros and cons. He was in desperate need of money. His bank account would not hold for very long.
"How much?"
"Your family will be moved into an apartment complex owned by the Holmes family in the… better neighborhood of London. They do not have to pay rent. They will receive 5 grand per month to do whatever they wish. Your sister will be placed in a rehabilitation clinic for her addiction and you, John, will receive another 5 grand a month. You would live with Sherlock in a new place of course and all food, clothes, and anything else you need, will be taken care of. "
John was taken back; this man had so much information about his family. He tried to be angry with this man for prying into his life but the pros were blaring in his brain as he processed. He would receive 10 grand a month, and neither he nor his parents would have to pay rent. His parents wouldn't have to work and they could finally be able to afford rehab for his sister. What choice did he have?
"Alright. When do I start?"
The car's engine turned over and began to drive deeper into the property.
"Now."
Mycroft uncrossed his legs and opened the door as the car halted. John walked back out from the darkness and into the sunlight. He squinted his eyes from the bright sun.