Ch. 8
John Watson's P.O.V.
As soon as Harrison left, John began to search the small caged area. Though it was pressed up against the sliding glass doors that separated the lounge from the kitchen, the entire area was impenetrable, neither the doors, nor the bars shifting even an inch. John let out a frustrated groan, sitting down on the ground. He frowned when he felt something dig into his hip, and he nearly let out a small cry when he realized that Harrison had forgotten to take away his mobile. John quickly typed out a warning text to Mycroft Holmes.
Mycroft, your brother's alive, and he's gone insane. Completely insane. He's going to kill you. Sherlock's still there, but he's not in control I don't know what to do. –JW
John shifted so he was cross-legged on the ground. The lights of the flat shone through the bars, creating oddly shaped shadows across the screen of his mobile. A text from Mycroft came through only a minute later, and John's hands shook slightly as he opened the message.
Why on earth why Sherlock choose to kill me? –Mycroft
John typed his response quickly, hoping that Mycroft would get the hell out of his house before Harrison arrived.
Mycroft, he's gone insane. It's all my fault. He's calling himself John Harrison and he's going to kill you. Your brother's not your brother anymore. –JW
John sent the message, his thumb pressing down on the button harder than necessary, as if Mycroft would be able to feel his urgency if he pressed the send button harder. The response came in almost immediately afterwards.
How exactly did my brother go insane? –Mycroft
John swallowed thickly, the question filling his stomach with heavy guilt. His reply to Mycroft took longer to send out, and he knew that little detail wouldn't get past the man. He was, after all, related to Sherlock.
It's my fault. I thought I fell out of love and I didn't think I could handle being with him anymore, so I told him I was going to leave and he didn't take it well. Now he's insane and he's killing left and right. –JW
Letting his head fall back against the bars of the prison, John let out a tiny sigh. These past few weeks had been absolute hell, but today had really taken the prize. The sound of his phone chiming his text alert drew him away from his thoughts.
You fell out of love? Further proof that love is merely a reaction of chemicals, nothing more. Shame, I had high hopes for you two. Now, why is my brother...or rather Mr. Harrison, going to kill me? –Mycroft
John grimaced at the message, reading it several times before replying. Mycroft would look at what had happened as proof that love didn't exist, even though he had clearly been interested in Detective Inspector Lestrade.
I don't know. I think he just wants to torture the part of Sherlock that's still left in him. –JW
Perhaps he should tell Mycroft about what happened to Lestrade. It would be so impersonal if Harrison told him. He may have Sherlock's body, but John was certain that he would use the event to torture Mycroft…
I suppose killing me would do that, wouldn't it. Why didn't he kill you? Not that I want you dead, of course. Simply curious. -Mycroft
Thought derailed, John typed back to Mycroft quickly. It didn't seem as if he wanted to leave his office at all, and the thought of Harrison killing him was terrible. The little bit of Sherlock still left in Harrison would be irrevocably damaged.
I don't know. He seems to like me. He locked me in the flat. Called it a cell. -JW
John tapped his fingers impatiently, waiting for Mycroft to respond. A full minute later, his mobile chimed, and John hurried to read the message.
That little bit of Sherlock is what's keeping you alive, I presume. I'll see if I can talk him out of this when he arrives. -Mycroft
John drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. He wondered if Mycroft was really a big enough idiot to have a chat with his clearly insane little brother who was hell-bent on killing him.
Don't! He's not sensible. He'll kill you without a second thought. -JW
John sent the message, his phone chiming not too long afterwards. Clearly Harrison hadn't arrived yet if Mycroft was still texting him.
Would you rather I left this Harrison? You seem to like him better than Sherlock. -Mycroft
John bit the inside of his cheek, holding back several choice swear words, even though it was wholly unnecessary.
I don't want you to die. If you do, then Sherlock will be completely broken, and the bit of him that's left will be gone. –JW
John sent the message, hoping his point got across. Even though he had never been on friendly terms with Mycroft, he didn't want the man to die either.
Why does it matter? I didn't think you cared for him anymore. –Mycroft
John sat, frozen in shock at the effect those simple words had on him. They were truly the crux of the issue. John still cared for Sherlock, and while Harrison made him feel needed, Sherlock made him feel loved.
I still care for him, Mycroft. -JW
It was the truth too. John still cared for Sherlock Holmes, loved him, wanted him. The idea of Harrison destroying Sherlock completely was abhorrent.
Then I must talk to him. –Mycroft
He shook his head, exasperated with the stubbornness of the Holmes family in general. He typed his reply quickly, hoping that his message would get through the thick skull of the British Government.
He will kill you, do you understand? -JW
John sent the message, praying that Mycroft would take his warning seriously. When his phone chimed, however, he knew that would not be the case.
I am not so easy to kill, Doctor Watson. But I thank you for your concern. –Mycroft
With a roll of his eyes, John replied. It was hardly surprising that Mycroft would be cocky about his abilities to keep himself alive. He could imagine the idiot boasting about how many assassination attempts had been made on his life.
I mean it. He won't listen to you, and you can't risk your life. If you die, so does Sherlock. –JW
Perhaps this text would work. Perhaps Mycroft would stop being a complete idiot and take this threat seriously. When John's mobile chimed, however, he expected another comment about Sherlock, and how difficult it was to kill him.
Where has Sherlock locked you up? –Mycroft
John stared at the screen of his phone in confusion for a few seconds, surprised that Mycroft actually seemed to be taking him seriously.
The flat. He's locked it. –JW
John stood, his muscles stiff from sitting so long. It was beginning to get dark, and Harrison hadn't turned on any lights, so John couldn't figure out what time it was. John stretched slowly as he waited for Mycroft's response.
221B is hardly difficult to break in to, Doctor Watson. I shall see you soon. –Mycroft
John let out a great sigh, leaning once more against the bars. It wasn't any more comfortable standing up than sitting down, but John felt completely useless in the stupid metal cage he was in. John paced around for twenty minutes, ready to give it up as a bad job when he heard the door downstairs open. His heart leapt into his throat, but when he heard Mycroft's voice calling for him, he let out an audible sigh.
"I'm here!" John called, and he watched as Mycroft entered the room, his face a mask of professionalism. "Mycroft, I have something to tell you. Just in case Harrison say's something, I wanted-"
"I assume you are talking about Gregory Lestrade's death?" Mycroft asked, an eyebrow raising. To any outsider, he might look unaffected, but John was a professional at reading the expressions of the Holmes boys.
"Yes, the whole thing was my idea." John said. "But it's-"
"We shall discuss this later." Mycroft said sharply, effectively cutting John off. "First, we need to get you out of here."
"Out of 221B, or out of London?" John asked.
"221B first, of course." Mycroft said. "But leaving London would be a good idea. Getting you as far away from Harrison as possible is my main concern."
"We need Sherlock back." John said softly as Mycroft studied the lock to the prison. "The only way we can do that is by making the bit of him in Harrison stronger."
"And how do you propose we do that?" Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow at John.
"I don't know." John sighed. "But there has to be something we can do."
A deep laugh echoed through the flat, its source standing directly behind Mycroft. The two men flinched, Mycroft whipping around to look at the dark cladded figure.
"Oh, Johnny boy. I thought you liked me." Harrison said, his eyes glinting dangerously. "No? Are you having too much fun?"
A/N:
Today (August 31st) is my birthday, so as a birthday present to each and every one of you, a chapter from me! (Sorry, I would give you something better, but I lack the amazing writing skills that the fandom classics have. Hope this will do!) Bless every single one of you for waiting oh so patiently for me to update. I apologize profusely for making you all wait for two months, personal drama has gotten in the way of so much, even when it technically isn't my drama, but one of my family members. It's really made sitting down to write impossible though, and for that, I am sorry.
We are coming to the climax of our story, and I do hope you like it, for I did very much. The next few chapters should be coming out quickly, and I very much hope that another dramatic instance does not arrive to keep me from writing once more.
Pistachio chips and sonar blips,
Robottko
P.S. To King Dove, who was unfortunately on anon when he wrote: " you do know that Benadect and the person who played John are aware of this fan fiction and they are disturbed by it."
I thank you for your concern, but I highly doubt Mr Cumberbatch and Mr Freeman have read this story in particular. I am neither fandom famous, nor is my story even close to good enough to be a fandom classic. It's actually fairly calm compared to some of the other juicy pieces out there, and if they were to be disturbed by anything, it would be my terrible writing skills, and most likely not the actual story. Thank you for your concern, and I hope you have a fantastic day!
(On a side note, if Ben and Martin did read this and were horrified, I would destroy any evidence of all my fanfics, then live the rest of my days as a hermit...but somewhere warm. I can be a hermit in the bahamas, yeah?)
I thank anyone else that has reviewed that I haven't responded to yet. (I usually read my reviews on my phone, which I can't reply on cause my phone is a butt.) So I forget if I've replied to you, then worry that if I send a message, it will be like, the third or fourth, and I will end up looking like a total dork. Bless each and every one of you, and I hope you enjoyed this little present!
