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: Thanks to all the wonderful people who have been reviewing, your words are what keep authors going and the ideas flowing!
Chapter four
"What did you find about Seth Lively?" Lestrade asks as Donovan as the woman approaches. She gives a sigh and drops the folder onto the trunk of the car. Sherlock glances over from where he's been keeping a seemingly unblinking vigil on the front of the bank. Slowly he moves closer and scans the documents while Donovan gives a sigh of annoyance when the thin man places himself directly between her and the documents. She shoots Lestrade a withering look to which the man can only respond with a shrug and the roll of his eyes.
"Do you have any clues into how we can reason with this man?" Lestrade asks as a gloved hand reaches out and quickly flips through the file, stopping at the man's military record.
"How do you reason with a man who has nothing left to lose Lestrade?" he retorts, the leather glove tapping on the paper briefly. Lestrade knows the look in the grey eyes; he's seen it before not long after he's come to some outrageous conclusion.
"I need to speak to this man.." Sherlock trails off as his phone chimes. Without saying a word the man quickly flips it open. Lestrade peers over and catches the small phrase from John.
Need medical supplies.
"That's our way in. Do you have any of those new ear pieces?" Sherlock asks, his eyes connecting with Lestrade's. For a moment the DI can only gape at the younger man, uncertain of how to respond.
"Oh come now, the security within the police department inventory database is so low a fifteen year old could hack it. I know you have them." He states eerily staring at the other man, his grey eyes freakishly pale compared to the red of his windblown face.
"He needs medical supplies, obviously someone else fell victim to this mad man. It's the only way to keep in contact with him and get a better idea of what's going on in that building." Sherlock declares, anger tinting his tone. Lestrade nods and quickly barks out orders, turning nervous eyes to where Sherlock has gone back to keeping a stern vigil on the bank. Lestrade's men scramble around him, their minds focused on the situation at hand, their bodies moving off fumes having not been able to take a proper break since this insanity began. Lestrade runs a hand through his short cropped hair and sighs before moving towards the paramedics. The least he can do is make sure the Doctor inside gets the supplies he needs and it also allows the DI to slip a few extra items into the red and black medics bag. With a nod to the medic he moves around the side of the utility vehicle and pulls out his own hand gun, tucking it down inside the medical bag. Donovan steps around the side, a small white case in her hand and gives her boss a calculating look.
"Are you sure this is going to work… this might make him more of a target." Stating her opinion as Lestrade removes the bone conduction communicator from her grip and places it in a side pocket beneath compression bandages.
"It might not be a good idea and yes it might draw more attention to him but as of right now, we have no reliable eyes or ears inside that building. One person is dead and another in need of medical attention. You once told me that the man standing over there will someday be the person placing the bodies for us to find, that he'll crack and become one of those we bring to justice, think about it Donovan… what happens if John is the next victim, what do you think will happen to that man?" Lestrade asks, drawing the woman up short. Her mouth gapes open for a moment, dark eyes darting over to where Sherlock is leaning over the unreliable camera feed, his sharp eyes narrowed and studying.
"What do you think would happen?" she breathes, words soft and tone worried. Lestrade shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, zipping up the medic's bag with a flick of his wrist.
"I don't know, but it won't be good. The Moriarty case nearly drove Sherlock to his breaking point and when we pulled the two of them out of that wreckage you weren't there to see the twitching mess that man was until we found John. I don't know what will happen if something should happen to that man inside the bank, but it's our duty both as members of the London police force and I consider John Watson a friend, as do many of those who have been around him on a case. We owe it to him to provide him with whatever aid he needs." Lestrade states and walks past Donovan, leaving the woman stunned and speechless. He wasn't lying, he did consider the former military doctor a friend and doesn't doubt that the Doctor can take care of himself and has the training and probably the experience to handle the situation but it's a situation he would rather not see the former soldier in.
"You need to text John and tell him one of the S.W.A.T guys are going to drop the medical supply bag by the side door." Lestrade states firmly and waits a moment for Sherlock to start typing before whistling for one of the men to take the bag. Members of S.W.A.T cut an imposing figure and carry themselves with an air of intimidation when suited up in their gear, but beneath that he can see the familiar mustache the boys were making fun of last night at the pub beneath the face shield. Clark nodded his head at the Detective's instructions, the mirth and enjoyment from the light teasing gone from the man's eyes as he set his shoulders and approached the line of police cars, moving slowly to the side door of the bank, red bag stark against his black armor. Every officer behind the line hold their breath, aware that all it would take is a single bullet to make the situation much, much worse. Clark places the bag down and slowly walks backward, hands still raised until he meets the gloved hands of his S.W.A.T mates.
"Now what?" Donovan asks as she slides up beside him. Sherlock gives the woman a withering glare and indicated to where a sharp shooter is stationed at the building across from the doorway.
"Should this man be stupid enough to get the bag himself, which they usually aren't—nice try Lestrade- they will shoot him down. Strange, one single shot can end all this if he's just stupid enough to step out of the building." Sherlock surmises and turns back to watching the bank. Donovan shakes her head, looking disgusted before walking away. Lestrade stands beside the tall detective, his hands in his pants pocket and eyes glued to the bag.
Is it wrong, for a police officer to wish a criminal was stupid enough to open the door?
No, it's not.
John isn't sure what to expect when he walks around the corner into the lock box room. Seth follows behind him, gun in hand and ready. He hesitates outside the shattered door his mind warping the scene to a small abode made of mud brick and mortar, sand snapping at the exposed skin on his face. He blink to try and clear the scene, remembering the image of those inside the building, their home, shot up and bleeding. The images clear slowly, leaving the doctor's rebellious hand trembling and his breath coming in short gasps.
"Get in there." Seth snarls, jabbing the barrel of the gun into the small of John's back, coaxing him to move forward. John takes a deep breath and slowly steps through the smashed in doorway, aware of the blood and glass littering the floor. During his time in Afghanistan John saw firsthand the destruction a human can produce against another and learned how to react to the situation not to the faces of the boys he tried to save.
The man lying on a growing puddle of red had no face.
He had no name.
He was just another person in need of his skill.
Absently he notices that his hand has stopped shaking as his clinical mind takes over, categorizing the injuries to the faceless man as which is the most life threatening. Dropping down John barely feels the sharp glass cutting into his knees but starts to tick off vitals to himself, noting the man's open eyes and wheezing sobs.
"I need a first aid kit." John states, falling into what the doctors under him called his 'business tone', a tone that causes the former military man in Seth to snap too, his eyes narrowing slightly. For a second both former military men stare at each other, a test of wills. John went up against some of the biggest players in the Afghanistan war rooms and wasn't about to cower to this man.
"Over there." He snaps, coming back to his roll of gun toting mad man. With a scathing look John moves over to where the gun was vaguely pointing. Flipping open the small container John nearly laughs at the pitiful collection of fabric band aids and alcohol wipes.
"I asked for a first aid kit, not a paper cut readiness box." John snarls, tossing the box to the side. Seth glares and makes a threatening move as John pulls out his cell phone, quickly typing off a text.
"Who are you sending that too?" Seth intimidates, thrusting the gun into John's face. For a moment the doctor rethinks his choice of being so bold, getting himself shot won't help any of the hostages and certainly not improve his day.
But really, what does he have to lose?
"I need medical supplies, since you went through the trouble of bringing me back here I assume you want me to help this man. I can't help him without the proper medical supplies which can only be supplied by the scores of medics sitting outside this building and the police." John snarls, his body tense and at the ready. Seth's teeth grit as he flicks his eyes back to the fallen employee, now moaning pitifully and the back at John.
"Do you think you can save him?" he asks slowly, licking his lips and adjusting his grip on the gun. John glances back at the man once more before giving a slow nod.
"But only with the correct medical supplies." He responds just in time, his phone chimes to tell him he's got an incoming text.
"It's your choice. Either I get those supplies and that man lives, or I don't and you go down for two accounts of murder, armed robbery and a handful of other charges." John informs, playing only half of his hand. Seth seems to contemplate for a moment, his eyes suddenly showing how unsure he really is and for a split second John can only wonder what type of trouble this young man got himself into for him to take a bank hostage.
"This is how it's going to work…" Seth states, his eyes growing hard once more. John's stomach twitches with relief as the man wordlessly listens to his instructions.
Author Note: I only have 1 week and a day left of school, then home for winter break. Thanks for reading and if you feel so inclined by all means drop me a review. Thanks!