William…William….
Who is that touching my fingers?
William, please wake up.
Now someone's stroking my cheek…
When he opened his eyes, his body reacted immediately to the glaring lights. His limbs jerked and he tried to sit up. His back bolted from the bed sheets. A hand firmly pressed against his shoulder. He panicked, tried to shrug it off, and breathed hard through his clenched teeth.
"Hey, hey relax, relax, you're okay now. It's all okay." A voice cooed gently at him. He turned his head to the right toward the voice. A woman was sitting at his side. She had auburn eyes and long hair that matched her eyes. Her hair was tied up and she wore a cream colored trench coat, white shirt and jeans. She smiled gently at him. Her eyes watered. "Oh thank goodness you're awake." She breathed and cupped his face with her long fingers. She leaned forward toward him to kiss him but he shrugged away. The woman flashed a slightly hurt expression on her face. He stared back at her with slightly widened eyes.
"Will? You alright?"
Will?
She ran her hand along his short hair. Her brows furrowed into a pained expression and her eyes moistened even more. He wondered what he had done to her to make her so sad.
"Who are you?" He croaked. Her face froze.
"You…You know me." He frowned and shook his head slightly but stopped immediately and winced. His neck ached.
"I-I don't think we've met" There was a moment of silence as she stared back at him with a look of astonishment and shock.
"You don't remember me? Will, it's me remember? It's me." She begged at him. A tear rolled down her cheek and suddenly, he didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth and closed and opened it again. "Oh no, no, don't tell me…please." She squeaked and hugged him. She pressed her head into his neck which made him wince from the dull pain. "You remember me right? You know my name, right Will?" He couldn't say anything. She peeled herself away from him and looked at him straight in the eyes.
"It's me, Irene. Irene Adler." He blinked. Something nagged at the back of his head. Irene Adler? He's never heard of such name before. Or has he? He took his eyes away from her and looked at where he was sitting. It was a bed with clean white sheets. He looked at his arms and flinched. Before he even knew it, his hands flew at the electrodes attached to him. Something about it frightened him.
"No, don't!" Irene yelped and seized his hands. His hands shook and his breathing was uneven. He yanked against her grasp but she pulled his toward her and hugged him again. She stroked his broad back comfortingly. "Relax, just relax. You're okay now. It's all okay now, Will." Something about the way she stroked him made him relax. His hands reached around her hesitantly. Once he caught his breath, he pulled away and tried to clear his head but the harder he tried, the more his temple ached.
"Where am I?" He finally asked. She smiled.
"Hospital. The doctors said they almost lost you. You were lucky. If the voltage was any higher, you would have been long dead." He frowned.
"Voltage?"
"You were electrocuted. Don't you remember?" He looked down at his hands and thought hard. He had to close his eyes when a searing pain suddenly erupted in the back of his eyeballs. "You were hit by a lightening. You were out for weeks." His fingers trembled.
"I…I…What?" He couldn't make sense of it. What was happening here? What happened before that? Who was he? Who is she?
"Hold on, I'll call the doctors." She leaned forward and kissed him in the cheeks. Then, she disappeared through the door. As soon as she was gone, he lifted the sheets and examined himself. He touched his face and hair. He tried to move his joints but most of his muscles strained against him and his fingers didn't really react to his command. He pushed the heels of his hand into his eye sockets and sighed. He wanted to turn off the lights. They were too powerful and made his head ache. He tried to slide out the bed to reach the light switch but he felt something yank at his right leg. He looked down to see it cuffed to the bedpost. He frowned and examined his left ankle. They were swollen and bandaged. He didn't know what to make of it. He gave up turning off the lights and buried himself back into the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what happened but all he could see where white flashes and it made his chest pang. He heard the door open so he sat back up again laboriously. A bearded doctor and several nurses entered the room followed by that woman called Irene.
"Mr. Crawford, how are you feeling?" The doctor sat at the chair where Irene had just been sitting and reached toward him.
"Crawford? Is that my name?"
"Ah…I see. Amnesia." The doctor said and examined his eyes and mouth. Then, he felt around his neck.
"Any pain?"
"Hurts when I move it." The doctor nodded.
"It'll get better in a few more days. The stiffness in the rest of your body would ebb off in a week or two." He nodded numbly. "But for the time being, we need you to be in here. At least until we run the final check-up. Then, you can go back to your house."
"Okay…um…er….where do I live again?" The doctor placed a stethoscope on his chest. His skin stung and he gasped. Something flashed in his head and his fingers increased its tremble. The doctor noticed this and he nodded to one of the nurses. The medical staff handed the doctor a syringe and a needle. "Wh-what is that?"
"Something to calm you down." He leveled the needle at his outstretched arm. He pulled it away. "Mr. Crawford it's all okay." He stretched his arm out hesitantly and looked away from the needle. Once the syringe was injected, the doctor patted his shoulder reassuringly.
"Mr. Crawford, you're suffering from temporal amnesia caused by the shock of the lightning strike. It's not permanent, but we can't really be sure when your memories would return. It could be tomorrow or it might take…years." The doctor started to explain. "The more you interact with your possessions and friends, the more likely to recover quickly. Now Miss. Adler here has promised to take care of you until then. It's going to be hard in times. At first you wouldn't recognize anything and it might frighten you, but keep trying." It took a moment for him to digest what the doctor had said to him.
"So-so my name is Crawford?"
"Yes, we could start from your name. Your name is William Crawford. You're a musician." Nothing rang any bells for him. "And this is Miss Irene Adler." Irene smiled down at him. William blinked and ran a hand down his hair. "She's been living with you for quite a while."
"She what?" William widened his eyes and gawked.
…
Sherlock opened his eyes in the dark. He looked to his side to see a vital monitor beeping away. He flexed his finger and arms. He was inside a bed. It's been a long time since he had slept on a bed. He searched the room for a clock but there was none. The curtains were shut but it looked like night time. He tried to get out of bed but his right leg was secured to the bed. He squared his jaws. He suddenly remembered that he was captured.
Where am I now?
His body was still weak and his head was slow moving. Details came slowly to him and it took time for him to be able to register all of it. Suddenly, the door opened and the bearded doctor with the spectacles walked in. He froze at the doorway when he saw Sherlock awake.
"Not sleeping well, Mr. Crawford?"
"Crawford? What are you talking about?" He asked suspiciously and tugged at the restraint under the sheets. The bearded man's eyes flashed in the semi darkness. He edged closer toward him. "What are you going to do to me now?" Sherlock asked coldly. "I've had enough of this. How long was I out?" The doctor didn't reply. Before Sherlock could utter another world, several medical staffs hurried into the room and took Sherlock's arms. "Let go." Sherlock growled dangerously and resisted but his muscles ached all over the place. "I said let go of me!" He demanded but the doctor edged closer and closer to him until he was towering over Sherlock. He pulled out a pen light and flashed it at Sherlock's eyes. Suddenly, the consulting detective's body bolted and he screamed. Unwelcomed memories flashed behind his eyes and his body tensed. The doctor took advantage over this and inserted a needle into Sherlock's arm. He slumped back into unconsciousness in less than five seconds.
"Remarkable." The doctor murmured and turned to the other staffs. "Keep a close eye on him and make sure Sherlock Holmes doesn't get any stupid ideas. If he wakes up, knock him out. And if that doesn't seem to be working, we'll need to shock him a couple more times. Remember, he's very manipulative. Keep a very, very close eye on him."
…
Will stood in front of the mirror and furrowed his brow. He had a black shortly cropped hair and sharp blue eyes. He seemed to be underfed and his cheekbones jutted out. He was extremely pale and when he looked at his chest, he saw several burn marks from the lightening. He lifted his chin up and stroked it with his right hand. He needed a shave. He touched his neck and massaged them just like the doctor had instructed to. A knock came from the bathroom door.
"You alright in there?" It was Irene.
"Fine…just…trying to remember my face." He muttered. Irene peeked inside and slipped beside him. She hugged him from behind and looked straight back at him through the mirror. She smiled and kissed his shoulder. William shirked away and gently set her aside.
"Look…I'm not really comfortable with all this…"
"Yes, of course." She coughed in her hand. "Technically you don't know me. We can take time. It's okay." She shrugged carelessly but her eyes showed a hint of pain. He sighed.
"Thanks, I really appreciate that." He tried to smile back but failed miserably.
"You need to eat."
"Hm?"
"You lost so much weight."
"Was I fatter before?" He asked curiously and examined his body through the mirror. His arms were bony and so were his face.
"No, just…you lost a lot of muscle. The doctor told me that you should gradually increase the amount of exercises." Will nodded. Then, he pinched his gown and frowned.
"What do I usually wear?" She smiled.
"The usual stuff. I'll show you your wardrobe once we get home."
"How long have we been living together?"
"A year." All William could do was blink.
"How…did we get to know each other?" She laughed dryly and sighed.
"You really don't remember?" A moment of silence hung as he racked his head but he gave up. Nothing other than a slight migraine came up. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a step away from the mirror.
"Right, I'm really sorry."
"It's okay, you don't have to apologize." She said and stroked his shoulder. Remembering that he didn't like to be touched, she bit her lower lip and let her hand slip away after a while. "Let me get you a razor or something to shave with."
…
John sat in front of his laptop and opened his blog. The page was still left blank. He hadn't written anything ever since their last case. Sherlock's disappearance was unannounced. He skimmed though the previous updates and placed his chin on his hand. He smiled sadly every now and then when he came across comments that Sherlock had written in his blog. John missed his rants and sarcasm. John noticed that over the past few months, the amount of comments and views had increased rapidly. First it was just him, Harry, Mrs. Hudson and Mike who commented on his posts but later on came Sherlock, Sally, Molly and people he didn't even know. However, John noticed that several comments left by the username "anonymous" were actually from Moriarty. John didn't notice it at first. He thought it was just another obsessed Sherlock fan and he ignored it but now that he read back, all the taunts and the gleeful comments stank of Jim Moriarty. John shivered. The way Moriarty idolized Sherlock was almost scary. Some of the other comments showed similar signs of idolization but they were all harmless supporters. Unless…
Suddenly a thought nagged in the corner of John's head. He scrolled though his earlier updates and listed up all the usernames of the commenters.
…
William closed his eyes and leaned back against the bedpost. The tune of the violin flowed gently from the portable speakers the Irene had brought from her home. It started off slow and melancholic but it gradually quickened its pace and the tune became higher than the beginning. It trilled in times and drawled in others. Will had to admit that it was a beautiful piece but he couldn't really feel anything exceptionally amazing about it. The solo violin part seemed to go on forever and ever. Once a while, a piano, viola, or a cello joined in but it soon faded away to leave the violin in solitude. When the song came to its end, Will furrowed his brow and shook his head heavily. He looked at Irene apologetically.
"I'm sorry, I don't remember anything." She nodded.
"It's okay, we'll take time." Will swallowed and sighed.
"I don't know. It doesn't feel right. I don't think it's working." Irene leaned forward and gently squeezed his hands.
"The important thing is not to give up, Will. We'll get there eventually. I promise." She smiled and picked up another CD. "Let's try a different one shall we?" Will eyed the numerous CD disks piled in front of her.
"Did I really compose all that?"
"Mmhmm. You never let go of your violin." Will gazed down at his hands. He couldn't imagine himself playing any of the songs that he had just heard. It was too eloquent for him.
"Wait," he muttered and placed a hand on Irene's hands which held the CD. "I want to listen to…something else. Something that doesn't have anything to do with me." Irene blinked at him.
"Sure…what would you like to listen to?" Will smiled.
"Something you like."
"But I like your songs." Will shrugged.
"Something new then." Irene placed the CD back with the pile and rummaged in her back.
"Well…I think I do have some songs in my Walkman…" Will sat up and waited patiently as she pulled out a Walkman and a pair of earphones. She handed the earphones over to him but he handed one side back to her. She smiled and stuffed it in her ear as Will did the same. "I have some rock, erm…a bit of pop…" Will bit his lip.
"Anything a bit more…quiet?" He asked shyly.
"How about blues jazz?" Will nodded. Once she hit the play button, Will closed his eyes and listened quietly. Only after listening for the first few seconds, Will realized that he liked it very much. In fact, he was completely engulfed in it.
"Like it?" She asked. Will just nodded.
"Irene?" He finally asked. "Did I play anything other than the violin?"
"Well, you were very good with music. So I guess you can but…I've only seen you play the violin." Will opened his eyes and frowned at her with astonishment.
"Really?"
Despite the fact that Irene had brought in so many CDs that Will had composed, he spent the next hour listening to jazz. Irene seemed to be slightly troubled by this but she let him do whatever he wanted and never pushed him hard.
"We'll take our time." She said repeatedly. After she helped him eat his lunch, Will was escorted to the physical rehabilitation center where he did some basic muscle stretches.
Will was incredibly unnerved by strangers and his surroundings so he started off in a private quarter with his personal trainer and Irene but after a few days, he agreed to go to the gymnasium where other patients were present. He gripped his hand tightly every time he saw a medical walked past him. Something about them frightened him. He looked up at the high ceiling and almost collapsed when he saw the halogen lights shining down on him.
"You alright?" Irene asked. A bead of sweat trailed down Will's temple.
"Yes…I mean…N-no." He froze at the spot. "Can I er…can I sit down for a moment please?" He stuttered. His personal trainer nodded and helped him onto a bench. He sighed and hid his face into his shaking hands.
"Will?" Irene's voice asked worryingly. "Will?"
Why are you calling me Will?
Sherlock frowned and raised his head. He wondered where he was. He was in an open space; a gymnasium. A woman was sitting to his right and a man dressed in a white medical wear was sitting to his right. He bolted to his feet and looked around him. He looked down at his hands and feet. They weren't restrained and he felt a lot better than he remembered.
"Will, are you okay?" The woman said. Sherlock immediately recognized the voice. He scowled at her. She wasn't dressed in the white lab coat anymore. She wore a casual outfit. Her auburn eyes stared at him worryingly. The expression was so gentle that for a second, Sherlock wondered if he was seeing things.
"What did you do to me?" He blurted and took a step away from the bench. Something flashed in the two people's eyes and Sherlock immediately knew that something was wrong here. The last thing he remembered was the bearded doctor. Yes, where was he? He turned around to make for the doorway but he found himself blocked by a guard who was advancing toward him from behind. He was even taller than Sherlock. He tried to dodge him but a different guard arrived and shot a Taser gun at Sherlock. The wire nailed him in the shoulder and he let out a yelp as he crumpled to his knees and fell on his stomach. The familiar pain ran down his body and he panicked. Tears burst from his eyes and he clawed at the wire desperately. A guard straddled his back and pulled his arms behind his back. Sherlock was forced into a vulnerable position and couldn't move. He tried to twist his torsos around but his muscles still ached. His hands were cuffed and someone dragged him up to his knees. A punch landed on his chin and he heard a woman gasp from a distant. Sherlock gazed up at the guard with eyes that shined with vicious anger but he couldn't do anything else. A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him toward the doorway. Sherlock planted his feet onto the floor and tried to resist but he was punched in a abdomen. His knees gave out again and he doubled over. Taking advantage over this, the guards dragged him out of the gymnasium.
Sherlock growled and thrashed around but five against one was no match for the already physically battered Sherlock. He was pushed into a room with bright lights.
"No…" He murmured as he recognized the white walls and the bright ceiling. "Please, don't do this." He widened his eyes and turned toward the guards. Several medical staffs poured into the room as well and strapped something onto Sherlock's neck. "Wh-what are you doing?" Sherlock stammered. His anger was immediately extinguished by fear. He didn't like this room. It was too familiar. The staffs tugged something onto Sherlock and one signaled something toward the doorway. Sherlock gawked as a powerful force pulled at Sherlock's neck and dragged him up to his feet. He was strapped onto a collar and his whole body was being pulled up vertically like a snare. He stretched his legs and tried to catch his balance. The collar dug into his neck and he couldn't breathe properly. His hands were still cuffed behind his back. The collar stopped pulling so that Sherlock was barely able to stand on his toes. If he tried to plant his feet to the ground or bend his knees, the collar dug into his windpipe and choked him. Sherlock breathed through his nose and glared at his captors.
Fuck you.
For the first time he wanted to swear at them but the worlds wouldn't come out. Breathing was all he could do. His eyesight blinked. He wheezed and squirmed around but stopped immediately when he realized that all it did was make his breathing even more difficult. His knees shook. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again his captors had left the room, leaving Sherlock in a vacant, bright, white space. The lights weren't as bright as before but he noticed a small white noise erupt from the corner of the room. Dread bloomed inside Sherlock and it made him sweat.
Not again.
He squeezed his eyes shut and embraced for the torture.
Dr. Gail arrived at the observation room right after she did. He nodded at her and then looked at the one way mirror where Sherlock Holmes was squirming around.
"5 days…He held longer than I thought." Gail remarked with a satisfied expression. Sherlock Holmes stopped squirming and tried to regain his composure.
"Yes, I think so too." She replied and pressed the play button. Then, she opened her PC and started updating her log. "I found something very interesting."
"What?" Gail asked, eyeing the captured man as he started to wretch.
"His taste. It changed." Gail raised his eyebrows and turned to her.
"Really? How so?"
"I made him listen to some of the music he composed. He-or William- didn't show any sign of interest. Instead, he showed great interest to jazz." Gail smiled. She glanced at Sherlock Holmes who was doubling over and bleeding freely from his nose again but he still managed to stand on his toes. Just when he was about to collapse from lack of air, she pressed the stop button. Sherlock Holmes immediately relaxed but not too much for he still had to hold himself upright. Without hesitation, she pressed the play button again.
…
John slapped the list onto Lestrade's table with excitement. Lestrade leaned forward and skimmed through it quickly. He frowned.
"What's this?"
"My blog…I think…I don't know I might be wrong but I think whoever kidnapped Sherlock reads my blog." Lestrade's eyes widened. "Moriarty found out about Sherlock through the internet. He left lots of comments on Sherlock's site and mine. But Sherlock shut down his blog a few months ago. I think the kidnapper found out about Sherlock through my blog." Lestrade leaned back on his chair and stroked his chin.
"So you're saying there's another Moriarty out there?"
"I don't know maybe. But I wouldn't be surprised if there was someone as obsessed as him out there somewhere."
"Well…I guess we could check off the usernames one by one through their IP address…" Anderson remarked. They had all reached a dead end a few days ago. They were prepared to grasp at anything they could find. John nodded.
"But who in the world would want to kidnap Sherlock? A crazy fan?" Lestrade asked more to himself than to John.
…
Sherlock couldn't hold himself upright anymore. His neck ached from the strain and he wheezed heavily. His face was red and blood ran down his nose and stained the front of his shirt. The collar crushed his throat, making it difficult for him to vomit. The white noise stopped playing but he knew that it was going to start once he caught his breath. He gritted his teeth and looked at the closed door. It was only a few meters away. He grasped at the hand cuffs but he couldn't unlock it. His knees shoot. A bead of sweat fell into his eye and stung. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to rest. Sherlock closed his eyes and let his knees give in.
She shot up straight out of the chair and bolted out of the observation room when she saw Sherlock Holmes let go. She never expected him to give up so quickly. She had gotten used to the consulting detective's persistence that she thought he would hold on until he passed out or at least for another hour or two. Dr. Gail must have been thinking the same thing for he had walked out of the observation room fifteen minutes into the experiment for a coffee break. She threw the door open and dashed toward the limp figure hanging from the noose. She stuck her hand into the pocket and rummaged for the key. She hurried behind Sherlock Holmes and reached up to insert the key into the collar to let him down but she was too short that it took a few second before she was able to find the keyhole. She yanked at the restraints and released the noose. Sherlock's limp body immediately fell to the floor. She kneeled beside him and flipped him over. She checked for his breathing and her heart skipped beat when she couldn't feel any air coming from his nose. But after a few seconds, he choked up some bile and breathed in heavily. His eyes fluttered open but immediately rolled back into his head before he could register anything. She undid the collar around his neck to reveal a raw bruise on his pale skin. She turned him to his side and rubbed his back. Sherlock Holmes coughed up some more vomit and lied limp on the matted floor. Two of her assistants dashed toward her.
"Take him to room 14 and keep him drugged for a few more days. We'll try again."
A/N
A bit of a shift in the story!
Don't really want to bore you guys with continuous scenes of solitude, darkness and drugging ;)
But don't worry, there'll be a bit more Sherlock torture moments, both physically and psychologically!
You'll also gradually start to see what the captors want to do with poor Sherlock.
Oh, and I decided to have "Irene Adler" use Walkman instead or iPod because I'm a bit of a Walkman fan myself.
