Short chapter, but the one you have been waiting for. The boys finally fight back!
A quick thank you to all my reviewers who are either not logged in or don't allow PM. Your feedback means the world to me and I really appreciate you taking the time to write a quick note! Thank you!
Beta'd by MrsNoggin, who worked overtime for this chapter, I lost count on how often we revised this! All remaining mistakes are my own.
Warning: graphic violence, torture and blood
Hungary, village near Budapest, 14 October 2012
Noise, lights, movement, forceful arms that dragged him forward, Sherlock's world was one confusing mess of sensation. He never felt this lost before. Suddenly he heard something that broke through the chaos. A sound…No, a voice. It was very familiar and soothing to his frayed nerves. It helped him to channel his tumultuous mind into one direction. Awareness came back slowly, but he could feel himself drift towards the light again, no longer drowning in the darkness. He did not understand words, but the sound alone served as a beacon.
"SHERLOCK!" This sound, desperate and scared finally brought him fully back into the light.
"John?"
"Good to have you back. You scared me for a minute there. How are you? What happened?" Getting back into the upper levels of consciousness had been hard, but staying there proved even harder. The massive onslaught of unprocessed memories crashed down on him again.
"Pain, hurt... mind palace...no, broken..."
Pain, so much pain. Why did his head hurt so much?
There, John's voice, he tried to hold on to that, wait, what was it saying? Why was it so unreasonably difficult to listen? Ropes? Something about free, that sounded nice...
He experimentally tried out his range of motion and found to his surprise that the ropes around his wrists were not as tight as usual. Maybe he could try to free himself, while listening to John's voice. That seemed like a reasonable target.
He was drifting again when suddenly there was a second voice. Not nearly as nice as John's and even worse, it made John silent. He recognised that voice. It belonged to... to...not Jim, but... Jake! Yes, Jake, Jim's brother. Not good, Jake was bad news. John had said something about Jake... yes, don't let him see that anything is wrong. Sherlock tried to pay attention to what Jake said, and hoped he reacted appropriately.
But then suddenly Jake was in front of him, grabbing him roughly. This was not good, something was wrong, but Sherlock couldn't quite figure it out. He retreated back into his mind, trying to make sense of the world around him.
Then he heard a pained noise.
John! Jake, he hurt John.
John, got to get free so I can help John!
That helped Sherlock to intensify his efforts to break through his own confused mind. He used John's voice and screams to guide him out of the darkness. Finally, with a huge effort, he managed to fully surface and the sight in front of him made his blood run cold.
Jake was standing over John with a large knife. There was blood smeared all over his body, from what looked like mainly shallow cuts and stab wounds, but Sherlock knew that Jake would not stop there. He saw the gun tucked into his waistband. He was after the kill and was simply playing with his helpless prey.
He kept working on loosening his bonds while keeping a keen eye on Jake, prepared to revert back into his unmoving state the second Jake looked into his direction. As long as the criminal thought that Sherlock was incapacitated, he knew he had the element of surprise. Suddenly he felt the knot slip and the rope around his wrists went slack. He'd done it!
Wasting no time, Sherlock launched himself onto Jake, who was still taunting John with the knife, leaving behind a row of shallow cuts along John's arms.
He crashed into him with full force, pushing him off John and making the soldier stumble to keep his footing. The attack was so powerful that Jake's gun was thrown across the room, out of reach for both men. Jake recovered quickly and brought his knife up, crouching in a ready position, a slick smile forming on his lips.
Sherlock caught the look in his opponent's eyes and what he saw was pure madness. Jake was completely gone, enjoying the fight and would not hesitate to use lethal force if given the chance. He realised that he had only one shot at this. And while he was trained in the art of Baritsu, he knew that he was no match for the mad, but highly trained killer in front of him. So he used the one advantage he had, his mind. He hoped he could provoke Jake to lash out in an uncoordinated attack.
"Jake, Jake, Jake... Always so aggressive, but we aren't playing anymore, are we? You're unable to play a fair game. You know you can only win when you have me secure and restrained, but now? Fighting as an equal? Are you still confident that you will win?"
"You are no match for me, you pathetic little git." Jake replied through gritted teeth. If he was surprised by Sherlock's sudden freedom and lucidity, he managed not to show it. "I will rip you apart and then continue my little game with Johnny here."
He attacked, fast, but blinded by rage. Sherlock saw the moves coming and was prepared, holding his ground against his vicious opponent, able to block most of the brutal blows that Jake threw at him. But he was weakened and as he took a little step to steady himself he saw the glorious glint in Jakes eyes. He tried to evade the blow from Jake's right fist but realised his mistake immediately, as the criminal did not follow through with his move. Sherlock bent down instead, desperately trying to regain his stance, but suddenly found himself losing his balance, swaying to the left and then a fist connected with his cheek, sending him flying across the room.
He went down hard and stayed helplessly on the floor, his ears ringing and vision unfocused. He frantically tried to regain his focus, but his head felt too fuzzy. Concussed, he diagnosed himself. Frustrated at his unreliable transport, he fought to get his mind back online. He would not fall apart again, the last few hours still haunting him, and right now John needed him. Failure was not an option.
Jake let out a triumphant scream and turned his attention to John. Sherlock struggled to get his aching body under enough control to get up as he watched him cut through John's restraints, grab him by his hair and pull him into a standing position. Still trying to get up to help his friend, Sherlock felt a sudden pain in his side made him crumble back to the floor. He looked down to locate the source of the irritating sting and saw the bright red stain on his t-shirt, just below his ribcage. He put his hand over it, feeling for the source of the blood and winced as he realized that it was a deep stab wound to his left side. So that was why he lost his balance, Jake had stabbed him during their fight! Pressing his hand against the wound to stem the blood flow, he hissed in pain. Sherlock took several deep breaths to clear the rest of the fog in his mind and focussed on getting the pain back under control. He watched helplessly as Jake attacked John in blind anger.
If the situation weren't so serious, Sherlock would have appreciated the display of hand- to-hand combat skill from both men. The blows and blocks came lightening fast, a carefully composed flow of fluid motions that made it look like a perfectly choreographed dance. Despite John's obvious disadvantage with his injured knee, he stood his ground, blocking attacks with impressive counter strikes. In his madness, Jake had abandoned his defences and went into a full force, all out attack. And while this opened up opportunities for John to strike at his opponent, he could not cause enough damage to stop him.
Sherlock had managed to get himself back on his feet, using the toppled chair as support and was about to try and tackle Jake to come to John's aid. But before he could make even one step, Jake got a good hold on John's right arm, pulling down and forcing him use his right leg to support his entire body weight. He stumbled as the leg gave out under him and Jake used the sideways momentum to grab it and, lifting him clear off the ground, turned around his own axle and slammed him head first against the wall. John was taken by surprise and had no time to lift his arms or brace for the impact.
The cracking noise was sickening.
Time slowed down for Sherlock. He heard John hit the wall, heard his scull breaking and saw him slide down to the floor where he remained lying motionless, leaving behind a long red trail of blood against the wall. All in blurry slow motion and yet in nauseating high definition clarity.
The sight of the blood on the wall made his stomach revolt in ways he had never experienced before. The blood that was supposed to be inside John's body was now all splattered and smeared against the cold concrete surface. With a terribly final feeling he realised that John was gone. His John; murdered right in front of him.
AN: To speak in Moffats wise words: "They wouldn't stop it there, would they?"
Well, I would and I am! *ducks and hides*
Stay tuned for the next chapter!
