John and Mycroft were casually sitting in the dining area at the Coventry station. It had been exciting for John to fly to the station via private helicopter. It was not at all like the helicopters he'd been in during the war. Mycroft's setup had a mini-bar and a radio playing classical music.
They made it to the station with a ten minute headstart on the train. Mycroft was rapping away on his phone's keyboard, while John sat nervously across from him. John suddenly realized, with unease, that he had neglected to phone or text Lestrade about the developments as he had promised.
After a few minutes, John came up with a question. "So, then what's our plan?"
Mycroft glanced up from his phone briefly. "Recover Sherlock and take his abductors into custody, of course," Mycroft answered.
"Yes, but…" John frowned at Mycroft's lack of concern. "By ourselves, I mean?"
Mycroft put his phone away then and smiled at John. "You and I are going to stay right here. Trust that it will be taken care of."
John blinked, feeling stupid. There did seem to be an awful lot of people in expensive suits just standing around the place, occasionally looking at their phones. John had just assumed them to be business people. Now he wasn't so sure.
Mycroft took his phone back out and pressed a single key. Nearly instantly, half of the suited people that had been milling around all flooded to the dropoff gate. God, it must have been fun to be Mycroft.
It was kind of surreal for John to sit there with Mycroft, sipping tea, while government operatives under Mycroft's command were storming a train for them. He kept his eyes on the exit, hoping to see Sherlock emerge at any moment, preferably in reasonably good shape.
Ten minutes passed and Mycroft's phone buzzed. Mycroft glanced at it while John watched him eagerly. "Oh, bother…" Mycroft mused. He put his phone away and looked up at John. "They found the device, but it was inside of an unmarked suitcase. Just a decoy, as I suspected."
"What? As you suspected? They didn't find Sherlock? Or Moriarty's thugs?" John gaped.
"I'm afraid not," Mycroft answered. He stood. "We'll just have to wait until we can get a hold of Jackson Knowles, and then hope that he bends under interrogation."
John stood defiantly. "I don't want to just wait for someone you may or may not get a hold of. I want to-" John's phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it.
"Thought we were on the train? Too bad, so sad. Sherlock says hi. JM"
/
Sherlock gasped for breath as he was tugged upright and out of the vehicle. The change in position was painful and sudden. Two sets of arms grabbing onto his shoulders were digging into his skin sorely. He was dragged across a lawn, staggering to his feet, despite his shabby ankles, to retain some semblance of dignity. He could hear the sounds of Moriarty, practically skipping behind him.
Sherlock yanked against the two men holding him, barely getting a grunt out of either of them for his efforts. "What is your plan, Jim?" he asked, cursing the black cloth over his eyes. "Why did you-" He was cut off by a vicious bout of coughing which left him slumped and dragged once again.
"Can you just hold your horses, there Sherlock?" Moriarty teased. "You're so impatient!"
Sherlock would have replied, but he was wheezing and trying to ride out the terrible pain in his side brought on by his latest coughing fit. God, what had they said at the hospital? Kidney infection? It felt as if the organ was trying to hollow out his side and escape from his body!
Sherlock listened to the creak of an old door and felt his feet dragged down a flight of stairs. At the bottom, the room smelled damp, moldy, and unclean. Some kind of cellar, most likely. He cold feel the coldness of the concrete floor easily against his bare legs. It was the first time that he noticed he was still wearing the hospital robe, and thankfully, his underwear.
He was dropped disgracefully onto the floor, smashing his face into the concrete without the use of his arms to catch himself. Muttering a curse against Moriarty's particular family members, he shifted onto his left side to ease the pain of his right. On second thought, he shifted back to the right. The pressure was better than the stale, curdling air.
He sensed a change in the tone of the people around him, guessing that Moriarty had given some kind of signal to the two bruisers. There was a metallic clank near the wall, and someone grabbed him by the collar, pulling him over to lean against the wall. Something cold and solid was clamped tightly around Sherlock's neck and he grunted with an effort.
Moriarty was practically Igiggling/I. "Sherlock, I wish I had a camera. You look just like an angry little puppy!"
Sherlock sneered as best he could behind the blindfold and tested the iron collar fastened around his neck. Attached by a chain to the wall. Splendid. Not only did it keep him in one place, it also prevented him from getting out any noise louder than a polite conversational murmur. Not good for breathing, as John would have said.
"I have to run, Sherlock," said Moriarty cheerily. "I have to see if my project is going as planned! I'm sooo excited." Sherlock sighed, frustrated. "But I want to be a good host, so I'll leave you something to do while I'm gone."
Materials were exchanged, sounds like cloth and tools, liquids and glass were moved closer to the wall. With a tiny CHINK something heavy was clipped onto the chain going to Sherlock's neck.
Moriarty's hands were on Sherlock's face, steadying him. He removed the blindfold. Sherlock tried shaking free, but Moriarty was surprisingly strong. "Do you see that?" Moriarty wondered dangerously, his eyes gesturing to Sherlock's right.
Sherlock humored him and looked at the flotsam of equipment leaning against the wall. Some kind of IED, he guessed, considering the wires and vile-smelling liquid.
"That," said Moriarty, pointing at the makeshift bomb, "is attached to this level," here he gently flicked the wire at the back of Sherlock's neck. "Basically, my darling, if you put too much stress on the chain around your neck, you're going to blow yourself up." He paused in fake thoughtfulness, gazing up at the ceiling. "Or is it dropping the tension that blows you up…I can never remember these little details. Just stay as still as you can, ok?"
Moriarty rose to his feet. His thugs went up the stairs ahead of him. "Goodbye, Sherlock. I'll come back for you later-if you're still here." Moriarty smiled a big, infuriating smile. "Later, babe." Then he dropped the smile and glared at Sherlock derisively before turning to leave.
/
A/N: Hey! I'm so glad that you're all enjoying this story! But, I now need to ask a favor. ^^ Since, I'm not English first and definitely not a Britain, I need a beta for this story, and possibly many of my other Sherlock stories. I need someone who can help me with mechanics, and also Brit-pick, as I have shamefully failed at my conception of English dialogue.
Please help? -Puppy sad face-
