A/N = This took a while to upload, I hope people like where this is going please let me know what you think! As always any advice or help is greatly appriacted 3 thank you all very much for reading if you do!
He struggled with carrying the dead weight into the small, farmhouse in the middle of a secluded field. But his fondness for the man, coupled with urgency to get him into the room before the drug faded away fuelled his extra strength. It had only been a couple of days since he tirelessly prepared the garage into suitable habitat for John, the only entrance was via the door that connected to the kitchen. The front main garage door had been bricked up from behind, the entire room insulated and sound proofed.
Before the room had been used for certain… 'guests', and he hadn't be overly bothered about making it comfortable for them. Obviously he had some help from Mycroft in the initial set up of the house, but he had kept the knowledge of John's capture away from him. Mycroft had not been happy that he had been mostly kept out the loop but this was probably over exaggerated as the "British Government" often knew a lot more than he let on.
The tall, dark haired man could feel his limbs trembling as he managed to get through the door, it was tempting to leave him on the floor but he was nothing but determined. John would wake up on the bed that he had gone to the effort to make earlier. However he buckled just shy of the bed, letting out a small gasp as they both went crashing down. Holding his breath he quickly pulled himself onto his elbows and kept completely motionless as John let out a small moan in his drugged stupor. He waited a couple of seconds to make sure John wasn't going to wake (even though he was sure the dosage he had given him would not wear off for another fourteen minutes) before standing up. With a frown and a small mutter of annoyance he grabbed the pillows off the bed and carefully tucked them under John's head.
Crouched over the unconscious man he reached out a hand and gently touched his shoulder, his eyes narrowing in controlled emotion. He had longed and feared the moment he would be so close to the ex-army doctor once more it felt almost unreal to him, and his chest clenched in what he could only conclude was sentiment. He studied the man's face like had had done so many times before but it had been such a long time and there was so many changes.
Stiffly he stood and pulled his gaze away from the blogger, perhaps for the first time wishing he could just tone down the deductions weaving through his mind palace. Finally he pulled his gaze away and turned towards the door, fists clenched. There were essentially two doors, the first he locked behind him was more a gate with enough of a gap underneath for him to pass food under but not enough for anyone to escape through (even himself, and he was far more lean than John). The second, far more solid had a small rectangular window he could look through, but also a blind he could pull down if he needed to.
"If I had known you wanted a pet so badly I would had bought you a puppy." He was stilled by an amused voice. Taking a moment to recover from what he would deny was surprise he turned round after pulling down the blind to face his intruder. Well, hardly an intruder… this man technically owned the house.
"I've never had time for your pointless remarks, this is no exception." Came his curt reply as he pushed passed Mycroft.
"This isn't exactly what the room was prepared for, Sherlock." Despite his younger brother's reprimand he continued walked towards the door he lifted the blind and glanced in on John before closing it again.
John woke in a haze, his vision clearing to reveal a dimly lit room, his head cushioned he assumed he was in a bed. That was until he tried to stand, his bones protesting at the effort made it obvious he had been asleep on the floor. "What the-" He used the back of his hand to wiped his brow as he took a moment to take in the surrounding. Had he fallen asleep? No… That wasn't it, he had chasing some asshole who stole his wallet, then? Some people jumped him? It all came rushing back and his hand shot to his neck where he remembered the needle had been jabbed into. Quickly he jumped to his feet, faltering slightly as he experienced head rush. He frowned starring at first at the bed behind him, then at the bookcase lined with books. His main light source at the moment came from vintage-looking lamp on the bedside cabinet but looking up he spotted an unlit bulb hanging from the ceiling. The thick green rug looked very out of place on the cold concrete floor, but not as much as the chair. "Oh God is that my chair?"
Gingerly he approached the old worn armchair, his eyes widening as if he expected it to spout legs and run around the room. It was even complete with union jack cushion. He reached out a hand and touched the familiar fabric, testing it. "Right! Ok. What is going on?" John's confusion was now replaced with anger and panic, what the hell was going on here? Spotting the door he left the chair to try his luck, knowing it would be locked before his hand even touched the handle.
The metal bars in front of the solid wooden door should had been enough of a deterrent. There were no other doors, no windows -this- was the only exit. Grabbing the bars he violently shook them, releasing an animalistic yell. "Let me out!" He demanded, his voice rolling like thunder. The situation wasn't just dangerous, but creepy. Someone obviously knew who he was, had taken the trouble to brag his bloody chair from Baker's street. In such blind panic John hadn't even considered taking a tactful approach, his instincts took over.
So consumed he did not hear the click of the lock, and it wasn't until the handle turned and the force of his pounding fist pushed the door open that he stopped his assault it's wooden surface. Despite the other side being in almost pitch blackness he reached through the bars blindly grabbing for the person who opened the door. "Who are you? Let me out!" He demanded as his hand failed to grab purchase. From the safety of behind the door John could make out a tall, dark frame but the features were lost in the darkness behind.
"You mustn't waste your energy, the door is too solid." Came a stern voice, frowning John thought he recognised it, certainly he recognised there was a slight Scottish accent. Knowing what the man said to be truth he lowered his hand, trying to strain his eyes to see his captor.
"Why am I here?" He replied, his own voice strong and steady and prepared for the worse. Just seeing (albeit not much) and hearing another person seemed to have a calming affect on the doctor. At least there was a chance to get some answers, even if something such as torture followed after.
Torture. John's steeled his mind against the threat that whoever this was wanted information, and was prepared to hurt him for it. Surly it was no coincidence he was abducted the very night he decided to search for Moriarty's crime syndicate.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Dr. Watson. This is for your own good." The voice sounded strained, and for a split second he thought he heard that accent falter slightly.
"What do you know about what's good for me?" John spat waving at the room behind him. "What is all this? And my bloody chair?"
"I want you to be comfortable. No doubt you're going to be here for a while. Now get some rest, it's only six am."
"No!" Panic wormed its way back into his throat as the man began to close the door once more. Not wanting to be left alone for God knows how long he forced his hands out towards the door. But the awkward position of the bars plus the fact he was caught slightly unawares meant that he didn't have enough time to put up enough resistance and the door was quickly locked. "Damn it! No!" He smacked his fist against the wood, his body trembling. What the hell was going on here? Almost unwillingly he found himself turning round his eyes falling once more upon that armchair.
"That went well." Mycroft commented as Sherlock entered the front room. The older Holmes had refused to sit, but with little better than garden furniture to accommodate him it was no surprise. "Scottish?" His eyebrow raised ever so slightly.
"Oh shut up Mycroft." Came his pouty response. "What do you have on Moran?" He wanted to change the subject away from John as quickly as possible. Besides after he had dealt with Moran, all of -this- will finally be over.