CHAPTER 7. CONVERSATIONS WITH MAD MEN

"How exciting today will be, for you, especially I think." Doctor Psychopath had removed most of the tubes and John would almost certainly would have nightmares concerning catheters for the rest of his life, but he had enough time to think, and all that thinking brought him to the conclusion that; A. This was a bit more than not good. B. This was going to hurt C. Going to hurt a lot and finally D. A week had passed no sign of rescue not that anyone would know where to look he hadn't really truthfully held out too much hope.

"Here are some clothes for you Doctor, please hurry, I fear Der Metzger is not exactly being of the patient type." John looked the clothes over, just a pair of beige cargo pants, and a gray t-shirt. "I picked them out so you are as comfortable as you can be in your position. No worries Doctor Watson, they are clean, the man who donated them will not be needing them anymore." John didn't ask, and without hesitation he changed quickly, knowing they weren't going to let him change privately, in fact a big bald neckless man, most likely the Toad's replacement, held a gun on John, after uncuffing his hands and feet so he could dress.

"Nothing funny shrimp."

"Shrimp? Shrimp? Oh great originality that's brilliant of you mate." John grumbled. The big toad started forward but the Doctor halted his actions.

"Not now Gustav. We can not be late." The bald neckless man sneered, John ignored him pulling on the warm clothes. His wrists stung as did his bare ankles but it did feel good to be standing, even if his legs felt a bit rubbery. He was then led down a drafty hallway, dim lights, ok, underground he guessed, still in Switzerland most likely.

He didn't see any other guards in passing, and then the end of the corridor opened up into a bigger warehouse, several military vehicles parked near an exit, some crates and large bins, marked explosives in three different languages, the crates he recognized the Farsi words for Firearms and Ammunition, also for, handle with care. He watched as some men dressed in the black shirts and camo pants loading what looked like explosives, and he knew something of explosives, having been strapped in a SEMTEX vest in the past.

These men moved carefully, something else about the bins they were loading. The wooden crates looked like normal military shipment boxes, until one of the men wearing a black beret held a stencil in his hands, and with a can of spray paint he marked the boxes.

PROPERTY OF THE U.S GOVERNMENT. Then under those words he placed a smaller stencil that John could read as;

COMMISSARY.

One of the men who had carefully placed explosive into a crate was smiling and making a mock salute. "Hey don't forget the flag. It will look more official."

"Shut up Fredrick they don't have flags on their boxes. Go finish the explosives we are on a timetable. Make sure you use the right stencil, the one for the English."

"Hurry up Shrimp!" the toad pushed him forward, John's feet and hands cuffed together made it difficult to move more than a weary shuffle, even that seemed to be draining him.

"I was hoping to enjoy the tour of your secret terrorist base. Do you think we can rest here? I'm actually feeling a bit under the weather." Gustav grabbed John by the crook of his arm and proceeded to drag the smaller man. John tried to relieve some of the pressure in his shoulder by clutching to the meaty forearm and then attempting to pull himself up while back pedaling only to fall clumsily against the bigger mans hip his hand grabbing the big bastards waistband for balance..

John was given a hard shake and then grabbed by the collar of his shirt, not much more comfortable he was flung forward, John curled into a ball groaning. "Ok, ok, I'll walk- I'll walk faster." Mr. Toad didn't catch the smile that played across his prisoners face, or the quick movement of his prisoner's cuffed hands placing a small key into his own pocket. A trick he'd picked up from Sherlock, it came in handy when he needed to return another ID of DI Lestrade's that a certain consulting Detective liked to collect out of sheer boredom. Poor Greg, always thinking he was misplacing the damn things.

"You had your chance doctor, this will be faster." John found himself hoisted into the air slung like a sack of potatoes over Gustav's shoulder, he grunted in discomfort.

"Well this isn't at all embarrassing."

"Its best you not talk." Doctor Psychopath sighed sympathetically. John ignored him and watched the movements of the other men as they continued to load a green truck, the side of the truck he watched as someone put a large magnet that held the Union Jack before they disappeared around a corner he watched the bastards placing another magnet over that, looked like a Swiss reservist flag. Mycroft would definitely be interested in this bit of intel, if only he could figure out how to get the hell out of here.

The Toad dropped John down none to gently in the middle of a room, he rolled winded, from the jolt and not to mention being carried like a sack his wound reopened slightly tearing at the stitches, he could see blood dotting his gray shirt, cant fix it now. Someone was yelling, angrily into a mobile phone, things were getting complicated.

"Put him in the chair Gustav." Gustav nodded at the German Doctor and hauled a breathless John over to a metal chair in the middle of the room, John noted the drain in the cement floor, and his stomach twisted guessing many reasons for a drain in the middle of such a room, again just another storage area maybe. A small metal desk neatly stacked papers and a closed laptop, an odd place for an office, he could see the camera on a tripod in the corner, oh so this was to be a show, oh joy.

"That is what you're paid for IDIOT! I don't want excuses, I need those packages delivered to the dock at the time specified! I've already killed today and that was because my coffee was late, and HE WAS MY SECOND COUSIN! Now just think what I will do to you!"

John's heart pounded now, wonderful another psychopath, it was becoming an occupational hazard at this point. He studied the man on the phone, none to impressive height than again when he judged height by using Sherlock or Mycroft not many people were notably taller in the height department. Damn his side ached, stomach growled after a week of liquid diet and intravenous nutrients fed to him he could really go for a steak with chips. He wondered how much weight he'd lost, the pants he'd been given he guessed once belonging to a second cousin of said psychopath, were for a slightly taller man than he, and had John been carrying his usual weight they'd fit perfect but these pants had slid on without needing to be unbuttoned.

So in a hand to hand he was at a disadvantage, he needed to procure a weapon, and than maybe through sheer luck get a vehicle make a break for somewhere not here and contact Mycroft or Sherlock. Something was about to be blown up, and he had a feeling those weren't edible explosives packaged carefully in straw.

"Oh, Doctor Watson at last we finally meet." This maniac had a clean-shaven face and military cut black hair, he wore a black suit judging by his shiny shoes he was a bit of a posh maniac. He straightened his silk tie, moving easily to stand in front of John.

"Pleasure." John replied sarcastically. The man ignored this and continued, John held the cold cobalt eyes with his own not showing fear, he refused to show fear.

"Silly me. My name is Jan, Jan Schutze, but my reputation has given me the name Der Metzger. The Butcher." He grinned proudly, John didn't understand his recent proclivity for smart-ass comments in the face of torture, perhaps it stemmed from being underestimated and constantly finding himself in said situations. The usual "why are you doing this? Or you don't have to do this."

Had all been so played out over the past years, never working on Moriarty or any of the others that had come after or before. So John decided after Sherlock's return that he wouldn't ask the stupid questions anymore. Might as well cut to the chase. Talking to psychopaths, in Sherlock's words was predictably dull. And well John seemed to agree at this point; the little jump from the hospital roof had made him cynical so his reply;

"You're the butcher, so my guess is this is the baker and the no neck toad over there is the candlestick maker?" Jan didn't get the joke, but he nodded to Gustav who brought a heavy fist hard against John's jaw, knocking him and the chair over.

"Now Doctor, I am an impatient man, I believe in keeping to a time table, and so I've cleared some time in my diary for you."

"Great I'm flattered, I take my tea with milk no sugar." Gustav happily sent a hard kick to Johns back. Kidneys who needs two anyway, I've got another. John groaned, someone pulled him into the chair, if the movement from earlier hadn't opened the stitches, that love tap had done the job.

"The soldier type always so brave, or stupid I have yet to decide. Well the pleasantries aside," he started to remove his expensive black suit jacket, John understood this action only confirmed by the rolling of the white sleeves underneath.

"You Doctor have cost me. I am usually very thorough in my background checks. You see I left yours up to one of my underlings; he neglected to run your name correctly. We wrote you off as a just a common Doctor, average in dress and character. But he should of realized that Mycroft Holmes would not just allow any man to share a flat with his precious little brother. He would of course place a guard dog at the door, and you Doctor are a very good guard dog. You managed to shoot three of my men, one being Dr. Fischer's own brother. I hate turn over and having to replace the men I've already put money and effort into." He sighed heavily, leaning against a metal office desk, John realized the Doctor was no longer standing to his side, instead he was pushing a small metal tray, towards the middle of the room. This tray carried several familiar looking shiny instruments all used for surgery.

"So, not only do you cost me some well trained men-"

"No offense, but whatever you were paying them was far too much-" another hard fist but to his gut. "Sorry, please continue." John coughed.

"Thank you. Losing employees simply makes me unhappy, but I must say the most disconcerting thing, Doctor, is the fact you managed to steal from me. Yes, you've stolen my guest, Sherlock Holmes. I had such great plans for him and his dear bruder. Also I expected to use him as a bargaining chip for my bruder. . All this ruined by a common looking man. But we both know you are anything but. Mycroft screens all his employees impeccably, I know seeing how its taken years to get a mole into his organization and even then he found the man and let him go." John winced at the way he put it, recognizing the fact that it couldn't have been the run of the mill sacking.

"I did manage to persuade another to deliver messages to my brother on the inside but it seems he too was caught. See how I'm losing employees."

"Occupational hazard I'm sure." The Butcher sighed waving to Gustav, who on cue landed another heavy punch to the left side, this time John's face. At least he was switching it up.

"So I have no bargaining chip, my dear Gunther is still in that dreadful place and all I have is you. So needless to say you're collateral damage, Mycroft's people refuse to acknowledge you as part of their organization. Laughable, I am not a simple minded man Doctor Watson, they think they can throw me off from interrogating you maybe I can extract some information about the Iceman himself seeing how you work so closely with the family. It's all so exciting this. Now, this is how it will go, you're going to die Doctor Watson eventually, but you don't have to make it painful, it could be quick-well" he looked at the crestfallen face of Doctor Psychopath "Well quickish." Oh there was the crazy Doctor's smile again fantastic.

"This is how it begins, I will have you soften up a bit, compliments of Gustav, he'll tenderize if you will, I've found it really can make a man more receptive to cooperation. Then, after that, you will be asked a series of questions, some small others more detailed. And when your answer isn't exactly to my liking, you shall see why they call me the Butcher, of course my friend Doctor Fischer will monitor your vitals don't want you passing out or dieing on us. He will assist this time, I owe it to him, after all he did lose his brother, family and friends, Doctor Watson are vital to any mans existence, without family or friends where would we be?"

"Interesting I know another who would definitely disagree with your little theory." The Butcher's phone rang he answered it apologizing, John pretended to be uninterested but he strained to hear the conversation. He needed to observe to remember everything when he got out of here-if he got out. No, John refused to believe any other dilemma, he would figure it out; he'd been in tighter spots. He just needed to get a message to Sherlock, one that said "Hey friend I'm not dead. Get your arse over here and help me!" The Butcher barked something in quick German, hanging up on whomever was on the other line.

"I apologize for our interruption Doctor."

"Sounds like a bit of trouble in management." John replied evenly.

"You have no idea. I've been trying to recruit Gunner to run the military side of things. If he would only take the job, I wouldn't have to concern myself with what he gets up too. As well as working with simple-minded peasants that cant seem to keep the U.S. Customs out of my business. I hate to lose money."

"Ah, I see. The Americans seize your goods. Sounds expensive." The other man nodded crossing his arms over his chest.

"You have no idea, I am just a business man trying to provide a product to less fortunate countries whose people need to arm themselves."

"Yes, no doubt against their own pesky governments."

"Indeed. If only others thought as you. But your government and the Americans have seized my products. This can not be allowed an example must be made." John realized than what the mad man was talking about.

"So you're going to blow up military ships?"

"Yes. You are astute aren't you? I'd expect no less of a man who associates with Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes." He clapped his hands grinning madly.

"What did you expect to happen-" John couldn't help but ask, as insane as the question was, he wondered at the reply. He couldn't believe the turn of conversation, they could have been talking about the weather, this man was insane. He felt relief Mycroft hadn't let the bastards brother go.

" Oh where was I, yes, that's right. A man without friends, Doctor Watson is a man without family and such a man is nothing at all."

"Huh, you sir, you're a PSYCHOPATH. I see now how you're associated with Moriarty."

"No, Doctor, I was never in his circle, I told mein bruder the man was extreme-"

"Extreme? That's a bit of the pot calling the kettle black." John had to laugh now, how the hell was he getting out of this one?