Guess who's computer broke, and guess who got a new one! and got a dog yesterday! WHOOOO ITS ME! so yes, I'm back, and will be updating much more, for real... but yes I've moved many times, been to a hospital twice, gotten somewhat settled, and got a computer and dog. so I'm doing good now, YAY. as always, enjoy the story, please review, as it gives me more incentive to write. Also, check out my tumblr, misherdocwho! I am a pretty fun person :P and I love making hte frend
~ Asher
sat in her cell, against the wall. She could still hear the screams that echoed, and the second one following, after their captor stated he was sorry, he missed some bones. She could still see the pained face of Sherlock, as he tried to block out the agony. The flash of the camera phone, and the ping of a sent text. She could still see and hear it, just like she could still see and hear her husband some nights. She could still hear the screams.
Sherlock had been moved to the farthest cell from hers. Moriarty had said he didn't like all fussy –wussy she did when he was closer to her. Mrs. Hudson had been silent since the hammer fell upon her boy's hand. She was, however, grateful that the madman had spared the detective a hand, as she knew Sherlock would be vital in their escape, which likely required hands. Or perhaps it was up to her. She didn't want to think right now. She wanted to go to a sort of version of the Holmes mind palaces, something that was just a memory. It was a time before the drugs and booze when she had been really happy. It was her honeymoon in Florida, gliding it felt like, down the beach with her husband. It hadn't taken long for things to turn bad. The beer and the drugs overtook her husband's life, she was just a fly, to be swatted away. But Sherlock Holmes had been watching. Always on the case that one. She could still see the punch he took for her, and could still hear herself fussing over him, and could still remember his story, which he spelled out for her, HER of all people. She swore she would never let him get hurt again, and here she was breaking that promise. Maybe it WAS up to her.
MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH
"This is around the point where the signal was abolished sir" one of the men in black said to Mycroft. They were at a long abandoned road, with one new set of tire tracks rutted into the earth.
"If I may cut in, erm, shouldn't we FOLLOW the path?"
John looked at Mycroft expectantly.
"It is likely, Dr. Watson, that this road is being monitored somehow, as to alert Moriarty to move my brother. As soon as we find out how and where it is being monitored, we will disable it, and then, as an answer to your question, yes. We will follow."
John sighed. This process was taking too long. Sherlock could be dead right now, and Mycroft was the bloody government. He should be able to move faster than this, at the very least, they should be halfway! John couldn't help but think Mycroft was going purposefully slow, even though he knew this couldn't be the truth. He sighed again and stared down the road Sherlock had traveled. John took a peek at the men in black, who were conversing around Mycroft. He looked at the rented car he'd brought. He looked at the path.
"Mycroft."
The ice man turned to face the doctor. Now he had donned a slightly irritated look. He WAS in the middle of something, couldn't Dr. Watson see?
"I'm going to see if there's anything back at the flat to help."
"Mm yes, yes of course."
Mycroft turned impatiently back to the men surrounding him. John turned away, a slight smirk growing across his face. He had just outsmarted Mycroft. Sherlock would be proud.
John got into the car. He started it, and all the sudden sped along the path, ignoring the shouts from the men in black, and the cold stare from Mycroft. Yeesh. No wonder he was dubbed ice man. John felt the adrenaline surging as he broke at least 20 laws, and blocked the dread of the future consequences. No. This time he was going to be smart. He was going to save Sherlock, his friend, his best man. And this time, he was going to do it right.
John had been following the path for about twenty minutes when his mobile pinged. He groaned, realising it could only be from two people, his friends captor, or his friends brother. neither seemed particularly enjoyable, but he needed to know if he was about to be blasted from the sky, or if Sherlock was even still alive. he slowed, and picked up his mobile. the message read; so sorry for the wait, I had to decide, hand, or knee? anywhooo, its too bad your boyfriend isn't Vulcan, then I would have been rewarded with a much louder scream!
Here's my handy work (get it!?) The following picture showed Sherlock's mangled hand, bruised and limp, bleeding onto the floor.
Hope you enjoy Johnny boy! xoxo JM
John roared.
"BLOODY BASTARD!"
The pedal hit the metal as John sped ever faster towards Sherlock.
