Alright people, I'm SO sorry about leaving this story behind... But I had a massive writers block at this story. I hope you like this one even though I'm still not exactly sure where this is going... If you have any ideas, please just contact me via review or PM, I would love to hear from you...
Sherlock
Sherlock groaned and opened his eyes. He was lying on cold concrete, but obviously not where he had been drugged because the floor was slightly damp. From what he could see, the room had no windows and no furniture. The door wasn't visible from his position but he knew it wouldn't be easy to escape. He checked for injuries on himself next. His head was groggy from the drug he had been given, but other than that he felt okay, maybe a few bruises where the men hadn't been as careful as Sherlock would have liked.
He propped himself up on his elbows slowly and looked around. He had been right with his deductions, and more than he already knew wasn't there. But there was one thing. The detective's eyes widened when he noticed Cassie, gagged and cuffed against a pipe, watching him with fearful eyes.
"Cassie, Cassie, are you alright?" he asked frantically while he was moving towards her.
The girl shuffled and looked away, as if she had been caught, but didn't do anything else. She held still as the detective's hand moved behind her head and loosened the gag. Then he touched the cuffs, but he knew it would be impossible for him to open them without any tools.
"Cassie, please, are you alright?" he asked again.
"Sherlock!" Cassie gasped, but before he could turn around someone kicked him in the back.
Sherlock gasped and turned around, on all fours but swiftly getting to his feet. The leader of the gang was standing in front of him, another member moved to Sherlock's side and uncuffed Cassie.
"What do you want?" Sherlock growled towards the man who was slowly walking around him. The detective sat on a metal chair with his arms cuffed to the arm rests and his ankles to the legs of the chair. He couldn't help looking at Cassie who was sitting on a chair in the corner in the same fashion as him.
"To introduce myself. My name is Smith and me and my gang have been bothered by you a few months back... I believe that was when you met Cassandra Floyd here... The police had already been sure she was guilty and then you had to interfere!" The man had started to shout, but fought to calm down again.
"Anyway, we want something else. We want information and we want a deal. I know who you are, Mr Holmes, and I know who your brother is... I never had the pleasure of meeting him myself but many friends of mine didn't have that much luck. We want information about your brother, his whereabouts, and some minor other interest of ours. And we want something from your brother, but he's the iceman, so nobody ever gets to him..." He paused for a moment to smile in Sherlock's direction who couldn't help but hiss slightly.
"But - nobody ever has you. And I believe he 'worries' about you as he puts it..." Smith smiled.
Cassie
I shivered in my chair as the cold metal continued to stay so even after about two hours. At first Smith had only asked questions but I could feel that this would change soon enough. And sadly I was proven right.
"Okay, I'll ask again: How do we contact your brother?" Smith snarled, but again, Sherlock didn't answer.
I couldn't help being impressed by his resistance, if I was the subject of attention of a man like Smith, I'd probably broken down by now.
Smith took a thin, elegant, but definitely very sharp knife out of his pocket and slowly put it on Sherlock's neck. I could see him stiffening, but he still remained quiet. Smith increased his pressure and Sherlock smirked.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" He asked, careful not to push his neck against the knife.
"I'm your only connection to my brother and all the information you want..."
Smith sighed and stopped pressing the knife against Sherlock's throat. Instead he carefully moved it along the detectives sleeve and cut it open. He did it on the other sleeve as well, with enough pressure to draw blood. Sherlock shivered and Smith smiled. Without further hesistation he cut open Sherlock's shirt and ripped it away entirely. Then he continued to cut Sherlock's skin, marking him. It took me a while to realise he was indeed marking him. He made lines as to where to cut deeper. Blood started to form a puddle under Sherlock's chair, but he didn't even flinch anymore. His eyes were closed and his head wasn't high as usual but rested on his exposed chest.
"Hey, no sleeping here!" Smith barked and only then I realised that Sherlock had passed out. Or had he been in his mindpalace? I didn't know.
Suddenly another gangmember entered the room and walked up to Smith.
"Boss, we found something. We don't have any way to contact the iceman but what about the flatmate of Holmes? That Watson fellow, his email adress is on the website. He probably has contact to the iceman."
Smith nodded and looked at Sherlock for a moment.
"Bring them back to their cell," he ordered the other man.
Then I felt a pin-prick on the back of my neck and everything went black.
Soooooo... Some light has been shed... Next chapter I'll try to do better. But I am proud that I started writing again - if I leave a story I rarely go back to it. But I want to continue and finish this one!
Soooo, review, PM or whatever, love you guys!
IS ;)
