Author's Note:
Back to Sherlock and John! This story probably won't be as long as the other two. Less than twenty chapters, it is looking like. Good news, if you want more Johnlock there will be a fourth and fifth story after this! I am excited about this. Can't wait to share them! And of course, my sincerest thanks to everyone is reviewing, subscribing, adding it to your favorites or just keeping up with this story period!
Pain. Well, that was expected. Maybe he had forgotten to ask for more pain medication. Except that wouldn't explain the amount of pain in the side of his head or the warm blood he felt trickling down his cheek. "Sherlock?" He opened his eyes, groaning as the pain in his shoulder was thrown into sharp relief. Handcuffs. His arms were yanked behind his back and he was sitting on a concrete floor.
Sherlock groaned as consciousness found him slowly. What had happened? His head was pounding. Was he on the floor? Eventually his eyes opened and focused. This wasn't the hospital. He went to move and found that it was difficult. His hands were bound behind his back. Metal. Probably handcuffs. Not zip ties. Either their captors weren't professionals or idiots. Probably both. He was in some sort of basement, a prison rather. Concrete walls with no windows and a single wooden door. "John?" He called out, maybe the army doctor was in the next room over or the very least within ear shot.
There it was. Sherlock's voice. He had barely heard it. He must have been in a room next to John. "Sherlock!" He shouted eagerly, ending it with a small shout as the more movement sent shock waves of pain through his body. "Are you alright?" He swallowed hard and glanced around the room. Calm. Don't focus on the pain. Military. Soldier. He sat up straight and narrowed his eyes, studying the room he was in carefully.
"I'm fine!" Sherlock shifted to a slightly more comfortable position. "You?" He began scooting along the floor, his hands feeling behind him. For a sharp rock or any kind of object that could be used later. Better to act helpless for awhile and then try to get away when their captors were lulled into a false sense of security.
"Fine!" John replied as he shifted to pull his shoulder off the wall. Sitting hurt, moving hurt, but he needed to stay focused. "I've got a fresh cut on the side of my head," he stated calmly, lazily lifting his head as the door to his room opened. He recognized the man instantly. "Levanda."
The Russian smirked, tilting his head to the side. "Captain Watson," Aleksandr replied smoothly. "How is that shoulder of yours doing?" He walked forward, lifting a boot and slamming his foot against the injured shoulder, pinning John against the wall.
The Army doctor shouted, his feet scrambling against the floor to kick at his captor. The pain was blinding and he only managed to breathe when he noticed the door was shut and he was alone again. No. Sherlock.
"And Sherlock Holmes," Levanda entered Sherlock's room with a small smile. "In person, no less."
Sherlock stopped what he was doing as soon as he heard the fracas next door. His eyes narrowed as the Russian entered. "What a shame you didn't die with the rest of your comrades." He gave a faint smirk. Cocky and sure of himself like usual, despite his current predicament.
"Shame? Far from it, Mr. Holmes. Pride, in fact, that I managed to avoid the stupidity that was your Father killing himself." Aleksandr smirked and walked forward, crouching down in front of Sherlock. "We've been talking upstairs." He ran a finger down Sherlock's jaw lightly. "And we don't know if you would like to watch us kill Captain Watson or just listen. Any preference?"
Sherlock locked his gaze on his captor. "If you are going to kill us, then do it. I am not going to play your games. But know this, if you kill him before me and I get out of this I will find you and make you pay." It wasn't meant as a threat but the truth. He was already calculating and thinking of a way out.
Aleksandr smirked, looking at Sherlock with a raised brow. "Really? You think so? We aren't killing you. Right now, at least." He glanced to Sherlock's right as another shout from John echoed through the wall. "We are going to kill him because he is the one thing that really matters to you. What we need your help with is to decide if just hearing it or actually seeing it will be worse."
"I told you, I won't play your game." Sherlock gave a shake of his head. Really, his input wouldn't matter either way and he knew it. There would be no point in begging or asking for any kind of mercy. He refused to do so. It was exactly what they would want. To see him squirm. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Aleksandr narrowed his eyes, studying Sherlock intently. This man was being difficult and ruining the fun he had planned on having. No matter. He could attempt to fix that. "I don't think you are in much of a position to try and do this, Sherlock," he whispered, reaching a hand out to rest on the side of the consulting detective's face. "We've got other plans, you know." A thumb ran softly across Sherlock's cheekbone. "And I'm not entirely sure you would like the second option."
Other plans? That was most certainly interesting. Sherlock didn't reply, opting for silence this time. He resisted the strong urge to bite the thumb running down his face. A plan of escape had already formed in his head, but it would mean leaving John behind and he wasn't going to do that. He needed to learn as much information about the building and the people in it, to be able to get them both out safely.
Nothing. The man before Aleksandr was stronger than he thought. "Fine," he growled, standing slowly and glancing toward the door. He shouted something in Russian and before long John was thrown on the floor, groaning. Aleksandr left the two men alone.
"Did he hurt you?" John lifted his head, keeping one eye closed to keep blood out. "I swear if he hurt you."
Well, putting the army doctor in the room with him was an interesting move. Sherlock smirked a bit. "I'm fine John. You are the one who is worse for wear. Now let me look at you." He looked his fiancé over with a critical eye.
John managed a small laugh, shifting against the concrete floor and ignoring the pain to sit up in full view of his fiancé. "Shoulder hurts, obvious enough. New cut above my eye." He smirked. "Clearly. Not too much other than that. Wishing I hadn't turned down pain medication right before we left," he joked smoothly. The bandage on his shoulder was stained a deep red already and the Army doctor's main worry was infection but the nagging sense of keeping Sherlock safe was stronger. "What did he do to you?"
"Nothing." Sherlock gave a small shrug. He laid down, bent his legs and brought his hands around under feet. "I am going to do something and you aren't going to like. I need you not to react, okay?" He gave a small smile of reassurance. With his hands in front of him now, he snapped his wrist harshly so it would dislocate. Ignoring the blinding pain he removed the mangled wrist from the cuff and then rammed it into the wall with a grunt as he slipped it back into place. His face was covered in perspiration from the abuse he had inflicted on his body. He gave a weak smile.
John almost shouted, looking at Sherlock with wide eyes. "What the Hell, Sherlock?" He hissed, shifting slightly and moving to sit next to Sherlock. He was covered in sweat himself, breathing hard and wincing with every intake. Not good. Now they were both injured. "You didn't need to bloody hit it against the wall," he groaned. "Lift it up." He motioned his head, keeping his gaze locked on his fiancé. "Let me see how bad it is, you git."
"It's fine. It isn't the first time I have done it. As an experiment once, I handcuffed and dislocated my left wrist on several occasions so as to get out of situations such as this." Sherlock smirked and gave a shrug of his shoulders. To humor John though, he let the army doctor take a look. It was pale but looked okay otherwise.
"You are going to be in a bit of pain," John muttered, glancing up at his fiancé with a soft smile. "What does that do for us now? They walk in here and you are in trouble, Sherlock." He shifted against the wall and took a sharp intake of breath. Focus. Talk to Sherlock. "I love you," he whispered, keeping his eyes slammed shut. The handcuffs were keeping his shoulders yanked back and that was the last thing he needed.
"I've endured worse. When they come in, I will put my hands behind my back. I doubt they are going to check to make sure I am still bound. They didn't last time." Sherlock gave a slight smirk. If they did find out, hopefully the anger would be taken out on him. Distract their aggression from John onto himself. The smirk turned to a real smile. "I love you too."
"I'm kind of over handcuffs," John huffed out, laughing softly. "I say we vote to never use them again. At least for a few years." He moved one leg to gently nudge Sherlock, letting it rest there. Any sort of contact was welcome. He wasn't alone. This wasn't last time. Nobody would die because of him. "Cheesecake," he muttered, his face serious. Safe. They were safe. He needed to keep his mind away from his previous experiences.
A faint smirk crossed his features. At least John seemed to be in good spirits despite the ordeal they were going through. Sherlock was trying to come up with a scenario where they could both escape safely or at least the army doctor could get out. However, he doubted his fiancé would leave without him. Just like he couldn't imagine leaving without John.
It took a while but John let his body relax, his head dropping and tucking his chin against his chest. His breathing was shallow and his eyes locked intently on the ground. "I can practically hear you thi-" The door slammed open and John's head shot up, a smirk on his lips.
"First?" Aleksandr asked softly, crouching in front of both of them with a smile on his face. "We are bored. Need some entertainment."
John glanced at his fiancé, biting his bottom lip. Not Sherlock. He was already in danger. If they found out he was already half out of his handcuffs it would only get worse. "Me," he whispered, his throat suddenly dry. What else could he do?
Aleksandr smirked and yanked John up by his right arm, laughing at he small shout from the Army doctor. "Sounds good to me." With that they left the room, the door slamming behind them.
Damn it! John, you idiot. Sherlock began searching his cell once more. He found mostly rocks but after awhile he found a broken, thin piece of metal. It was rusted but could still be bent. He smirked to himself and put the piece of metal up his sleeve. He put his hands back behind his back, slumped down into a corner, refastened the cuff back into place, and picked up a rock. He began to sharpen on the wall behind him. He had to do something to keep his mind preoccupied and focused. He couldn't let emotions get in the way right now. John's life depended on it.
Thirty minutes later John was tossed carelessly into the small makeshift cell, landing on his left side with a grunt. Alive. He was alive. Sherlock was still in the cell. "What are you doing?" He asked softly, hiding his face from Sherlock as he asked. It had been stupid to volunteer but it was either him or Sherlock and in his mind he fiancé didn't deserve anything that had just happened.
Sherlock frowned at the sight of John. He slipped the rock up his other sleeve, used the bent piece of metal to undo his cuffs, put it back in place, and then moved over to his fiancé. "Do me a favor and let me go next? You are in bad shape as it is. Don't martyr yourself for me." He took his coat off and then his shirt and began to shred it into pieces. "Come here. Let me fix you up."
"You need those," John whispered as he sat up, grimacing at the movement. A new bruise was forming across his left cheek and he was spitting blood on to the ground. "'M fine, really." A bruise in the shape of a boot was already defined across his right pectoral. His gaze lifted to study his fiancé, managing a small smile. "I'm protecting you. Isn't that what husbands do?" He sat up the best he could, slumping forward to try and adjust his arms behind him so they rested comfortably.
"Yes, now let me protect you. You can't keep taking a beating like that. Let's be smart about this. We are both walking away from here, you understand?" Sherlock took out the piece of metal and undid John's cuffs. "Relax. Now let me bandage you up the best I can. Quit being a stubborn git." He moved toward John some more as he picked up a strip of cloth.
The moment Sherlock undid the handcuffs, John moved to slump against Sherlock's chest with a small groan. "I'm not being a git," he argued with a small grin, pulling his head back to look up at his fiancé. It was moments like this that he knew, really knew, that Sherlock was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Locked in a cement room in God knows where and Sherlock was worried about him, keeping him safe and healthy. "Probably best to do my shoulder first," he informed Sherlock with a nod toward the bloody bandage. "Really the only place where bits of your shirt are going to help."
Sherlock managed a small smile as John slumped into him. "Do you remember anything? How many were there? Where they took you in relation to this room? Anything?" He asked gently, as he began to take off the old bandage and then re-bandage the wounded shoulder as lightly as he could.
"I only saw five of them," John replied surely. "They sat me in a chair and talked to me a bit. Started after that. Levanda just sat back in watched... kind of off to my right. The room was really big, high ceiling. Upstairs. House." He took a deep breath and whimpered into Sherlock's chest. Pain shot through his body and he moved his free hand to grip tightly at the waistband of Sherlock's pants. "The four others were just around me. Knocked me out of the chair and went to town." He turned his head to watch Sherlock's steady fingers tend to his wounded shoulder. "I'm not letting you go out there, Sherlock."
With a nod, Sherlock took in the information his fiancé told him. "No, I'm going out next. There will be no argument on this John. Don't make me knock you unconscious myself." He finished putting the strips on the army doctor's shoulder. He snuggled a little into John, taking care not to squeeze or move his fiancé too much.
John closed his eyes and let himself relax against his fiancé, wrapping his good arm around Sherlock and gently running his nails up and down his back. "Usually when we both have our shirts off it is enjoyable," he whispered with a small laugh. Stay positive. Joke around. It was the only thing they could do. "If they ask you about me don't answer. Don't react. They're going to tell you things that you will want to believe, things to get inside your head. None of it is true." He turned and placed a soft kiss against Sherlock's temple.
For a moment Sherlock's body tensed but he forced it to relax. "Yeah. I've already dealt with some of their kind before." He fell quiet, not wishing to elaborate. He began running a hand along John's good arm, partly to sooth the army doctor but also to help calm himself down. He didn't want to think about what Diefendorf had said. Not true. It wasn't true. He closed his eyes, trying to think of something else.
John pulled away slightly from Sherlock, his brows furrowed in confusion. "What?" He nudged his nose against Sherlock's cheekbone, pressing his forehead against his fiancé's temple. "Who said something? Sherlock, I haven't done anything." He wanted to comfort Sherlock. He could tell something had upset the man pressed against him. His gut twisted and he felt like he was going to be sick. What could anybody possibly know?
When John pulled away his eyes opened. Sherlock glanced away from the army doctor. He didn't reply right away, but finally he looked back to his fiancé. "When you were kidnapped, we were able to track down and detain one of the people involved in the operation. I interrogated him. He said that you had been sleeping with Alyona Zukov. She was Samantha, your nurse back when you had been shot at the store."
What? Somebody had the nerve to tell that to his fiancé and work him up like that? "No," John whispered softly, shaking his head and moving his hand to rest on the base of Sherlock's skull. "I would never do that to you again, Sherlock. It hurt you." He tilted his head, ignored the blood on his bottom lip, and gently kissed Sherlock. He didn't know what else to say to him and figured kissing him would prove it.
The last thing Sherlock felt like doing was kissing and he pulled away from John. "Right. I know you wouldn't. We each made a promise to each other. I would stay away from drugs and you wouldn't relieve your stress." He wasn't sure he wanted to know if the army doctor really had. He would rather just be ignorant if his fiancé had cheated again. He wasn't sure he could deal with that kind of damage right now. Just better to believe John than to question it.
John frowned slightly and lowered his hand again to Sherlock's back, scratching it gently. "You are strong. Mentally, you are the strongest person I have ever met. You don't believe a damn thing they tell you, Sherlock." He closed his eyes against and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, his nose pressing against the other man's neck. "I know me talking to you about that heroin must have been tough."
Sherlock embraced his fiancé in a hug. He was mindful not to squeeze too tight. "I wanted to use again when I found out you were captured and after we talked about it. I didn't though. Jesus John, I wanted to so bad." He finally released the army doctor and decided that a kissing wouldn't be so bad and met the other man's lips.
John couldn't help but smirk as Sherlock kissed him. Only on his time was kissing alright, apparently. He didn't hesitate in returning the kiss, his tongue eagerly exploring his fiancé's mouth. He winced when he tasted his blood. That made him pull away, glancing at Sherlock and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry."
Sherlock smirked. "Its fine my dear doctor." He reached out a hand and ran it through John's hair for a few moments. "We should probably go back to wearing the handcuffs. They will probably be coming back sooner rather than later." He picked up the first set and when his fiancé was ready he put them on, careful not to make them too tight. He put his on next in the front and then laid down and slipped his feet through the chain link so his hands were now behind his back. He leaned over and rest his head on John's good shoulder. Although, if their captors were observant at all they would notice his missing coat and shirt and possibly figure it out they had slipped their handcuffs anyway.
John relaxed against the wall, keeping his attention on Sherlock to will away the pain in his right shoulder. His eyes rested lazily on his fiancé and he finally rested his head on top of Sherlock's. "I'm sorry you're going through this," he whispered as he closed his eyes. War wasn't for civilians. This wasn't for Sherlock. Sherlock was supposed to be at home solving cases, running around London without a care. Not in some basement protecting John. "Do you think Mycroft has already figured out where we are?"
"I wouldd rather be here with you. Besides I have been through worse and lived." Sherlock turned so he could grab John's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Maybe. Probably." The consulting detective found it unlikely. However, he supposed it was possible. The truth was, he just didn't really know. It would be nice to think so but he had to think realistically. It was better to keep the army doctor positive. Morale was an important thing in these kinds of situations. John's physical and mental state were already fragile after the last kidnapping.
John instantly squeezed Sherlock's hand back, happy that he had some support with him. "He is smart. I'm sure we will be out soon," he whispered. Then the door opened, a new man walking in. The hold on Sherlock's hand tightened instinctively. No. Please, no.
"Up, Holmes," the young man stood near the door, smirking as he locked his gaze on John. "Bored again."
Sherlock eyed the new man. Before releasing John's hand he gave it a firm squeeze of reassurance and then stood up. He remained quiet. It would be easy to slip his cuffs, stab this man, and take his pistol. However, that would be reckless. If it was just him here, he would go for it. He had John to consider and couldn't risk it. Not yet. Patience never was his forte but it was their best chance right now. He would just have to wait and find the perfect time to strike.