Chapter 10

SHERLOCK
It was cold. A dense fog clung to the forest floor, as though it were pinned there. The only noise was their footsteps and the occasional rustle. The wood, Mutton on the Wold forest reserve, wasn't technically part of the school grounds but it was so close, you only had to duck under some old wire fencing. In the distance, above the tree tops, he could just see the long borne eye sore of the tall brick chimneys. Still no sign. He wasn't really sure what he was expecting, he was curious. Would she come in the flesh, or send an accomplice? Probably the later. He wasn't going to give up the USB, of course, it was his intention to give it to the police. Eventually. He had entertained that they might force him to give it up, but even if they did, he would still know what they were planning. Kind of. The files wouldn't load on his laptop, and though he suspected the encoding wouldn't be very difficult to crack, he didn't have any idea what it all meant. But they didn't need to know that.
"Sherlock," johns voice from behind him "Sherlock I don't think this is a good idea..." His phone buzzed in his pocket and he wrenched it out.

I'm waiting

He started running.

JOHN
"Sherlock!" he yelled, but his friend was already out of earshot; or just not listening. My god! What was his problem?! Ask someone to come with you and then run of without them?! Scrambling furiously over the tree roots, he stumbled, the sound of his hurried footsteps sounding through the trees and undergrowth. Why were yet even here?
A voice suddenly rose above the tree tops, loud and horse.
"Over here, we're waiting for you." he stopped. The truth hit him like a speeding bullet. He groaned, cursing inwardly, Sherlock had texted them.
"Sherlock," he whispered into the darkness, careful not to shout this time.
"Do be quick, I'm losing my patience." what had he said? What had he promised them? The damp leaves and pine needles squelched under foot as he slowly inched forward, trying to head away from the voice. Why had Sherlock even brought him along anyway I'd he was just going to abandon him? He pulled his jacket tighter around him, wishing he had worn another layer.

A gunshot rang in the frosty air. The sound reverberating off the thick trunks. Skidding to a halt, John turned his head this way and that, listening intently. Nothing. All he could hear was his own heavy, fast breathing. What the hell was going on?! Why hadn't he explained?! He pulled his mobile out of his jeans pocket; no signal.

SHERLOCK
Did they not understand that it was hard to find a specific location in a large, dense forest? But now he knew they had a gun he wasn't sure he wanted to find them. He had known of course they would bring one, but now the danger seemed very real. He shouldn't have left John.

JOHN
John turned his head sharply as a second gunshot was fired into the air. His heart beat like a broken metronome set at 300 beats per minute. He covered his ears and continued to stumble forward, eyes straining in the darkness for a sign of his friend. That terrible voice rang out again over the dark tree tops, low, angry, loud enough to carry over the autumn winds.
"We've got him, Give yourself up, or..." another gun shot, birds flapped and squawked overhead, John winced at the noise. "We've got him!" Sherlock.
"Sherlock!" John shouted into the darkness.

SHERLOCK
His back pressed flat against the tree, Sherlock closed his eyes. John, they'd got John. He didn't know what to do now. Oh, god. He covered his face with his hands and groaned. Sliding his sweaty palms down his cheeks, he turned and started running. Weaving in and out of the pines, dodging the brambles and the thick weeds. He couldn't be far away. His only concern was to find his friend.

JOHN
"Sherlock, Sherlock!" john's voice became more and more panicked as he stumbled and ran through the dense brambles and thick tree trunks. Bang. A third gunshot rang in the air. The shock nearly threw him forward, bit he regained his balance just in time. He kept running, getting desperate, disoriented and confused.
"John," he heard a voice behind him and this time he did fall. An awkward tree root caught him out as he craned his neck backwards. The forest floor rushed up to meet him, Pine needles and dirt covered his cloths, hair and face. He rolled over onto his back and, breathing heavily, looked up. Sherlock's lanky silhouette stood out against the blackened sky and the tree tops, the few pale stars reflecting in his eyes, one hand extended down towards his fallen friend, white fingers contrasting with the darkness that surrounded them.
"Sherlock! Don't, ever do that again!"
Allowing Sherlock to help him to his feet, John swore loudly.
"I'm sorry..." he looked very uncomfortable. "I guess is my fault you fell over..."
"It's not that!" why didn't he understand? "You scared me!"
"I know, you fell. I said I'm sorry..."
"No, I thought... I thought they were going to... I'm just glad you're ok" he wanted to reach out, to touch him, to know they were going to be safe. He wanted to feel secure, protected.
A sudden blinding light filled the small clearing and both boys squinted, thrusting their hands over their eyes.
"Put your hands where I can see them!" a disembodied shout from the behind the light. John lifted is hands. The situation reminded him of what had happened in Africa, to his father. Now they were in trouble.

SHERLOCK
Three men, three torches, three beams of white light shining in his face. They stood round the clearing forming an isosceles triangle. Why hadn't they gone for equilateral, they'd made it easier to escape. Why couldn't people think?
"You in the scarf, hands up!" Sherlock stood stock still. "Don't think we won't shoot you, we're armed" reluctantly, he raised his hands to shoulder height. The men had lowered their torches now, the beams crossed on the floor, all the particulates in the air revealed in there yellow light. "Step away from each other. Now!" Sherlock's heart beat was irregular, his breathing heavy and he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body. Any second now. A man dressed in all black moved forward into the light, a gun pointed right at him. "I believe you arranged a meeting," he spoke with a faint Glaswegian accent, throaty and aggressive.
"Yes,"
"and I believe you have something of ours?"
"Yes,"
"May I ask how you acquired it?"
Sherlock smirked, "your password wasn't exactly secure." the man's eyebrows raised a fraction,
"Oh really? And you thought it would be a good idea to copy all our files onto a memory stick and keep them?"
"Just in case. You never know when you might need poorly encoded kidnap plans."
"All right kiddo, enough with the sass, do you really think we're gonna let you get away with this?"
"No, I assumed you would want it back, it's essential no one knows your 'top secret plan'"
"And the code?"
"Classic literature. Not a difficult deduction given your password and the ransom note." the man chuckled and raised the gun.
"How did you guess the password?"
"I never guess." his face contorted with annoyance.
"And you think I won't try and kill you just because you're, what, 15?!"
"16." he replied indignantly, "And that would be very ambitious of you." The stony look on his face should have been his first indicator. It was his turn to smirk, "I can see you're going to need a little extra incentive," he nodded at the man to his right.

JOHN
One minuet he was standing as still as he could only three feet from his friend, next second he was on his knees, arms twisted painfully behind his back, a gun pressing into his neck. He didn't even have time to cry out, but Sherlock did.
"John!" raising his head slightly, John could see the fear in the pale face, he tried to give some indication that he was alright, that he wasn't panicking. But the pain must have showed on his face because Sherlock turned and started to move towards him.
"Stop." the commanding voice of the first man in black ricocheted off the surrounding trees. Both boys were motionless, their eyes locked onto each other. The ball of someone's foot pressed into the small of John's backs and the gun jabbed at his neck. He looked back down at the floor, breathing hard.
"I'm going to make this easy for you, you can give us the memory stick, or you can watch us blow your little friend's brains out." In the silence that followed you could have heard a pin drop. The sound of pine needles crunching underfoot, someone was moving and he doubted it was Sherlock. He didn't dare lift his eyes.
"Thank you." said a growling voice.

SHERLOCK
His yellowing hand may have been outstretched, but Sherlock didn't place the memory stick onto his palm.
"What happens now?" he asked, jerking his right hand away for the man.
"You give it to me. Oh, you mean to you and your buddy." he had clearly noticed Sherlock's blue eyes flicking over to check on John, it was probably quite obvious then. "You give me that," he gestured to the hand holding the memory stick, "and then we drive away, and you're free to go back to wherever you came from."
"Really?"
"Really."
"I'm not predisposed to believe you."
"You're not really in a position to have a choice," he smiled cruelly, nodding in the direction of John, huddled on the ground. "I'll give you a minuet to think about it."
"How generous." Sherlock's mind was racing, there must be a way out. But he couldn't see it.
"Actually, you know what? I'm tired of waiting. I'll give you, I'm not sure, what do you think Bruce, on the count of three?"
"What?! No!"

JOHN
"One..." John gasped as he realised what was happening. The man behind him, Bruce, twisted his arm tighter and pushed the barrel of the gun further into the base of his neck. He tried to struggle, but from behind his head came a harsh whisper,
"No use, I wouldn't even bother." he could almost hear Sherlock's brain working furiously.
"Two..."
"Sherlock!" he shouted and was rewarded with a jab in the small of the back.
"Shut it you!"
"Thr..." he closed his eyes, bracing himself.
"Here!" Sherlock's voice reverberated around the clearing and once again the woods fell silent. All John could hear was the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. "Here, take it." footsteps, then the Glaswegian spoke.
"Thank you, I thought that would help you make up your mind. Now next time you go trying to be all clever..."
"I don't need to try." Crap. He didn't need to look up to see the look of pure, unadulterated loathing on their capture's face right now.
"Just remember that we're armed. Now, what's gonna happen now is we're going to walk back to our truck and drive away. You are going to stay here. Come after us, and we'll shoot you. Clear?" John assumed Sherlock had nodded but he didn't dare raise his head. "Alright then. Bruce, Carl, let's split." the pressure left his neck and he felt his arms being released, the other man was backing away. He knew gun was still on him though, he didn't move. He wasn't moving until he knew they had gone. Even when the light had faded, he stayed huddled on the floor.