A/N: Part 12. I'm slacking in this word count thing, it's all over the place, I know, my apologies. -csf
'Where's Holmes?' the bulky man asked in an angry shout of rough English, as he stood over the crumpled soldier on the floor.
John swallowed thickly. He could still feel the rusty tang of blood in his mouth, but he didn't let it on.
'Personally, I'm hoping the git has finally gone to the Tesco's. It's about time he gets the ruddy shopping...'
Sherrinford's light blue eyes widened in shock as the fallen soldier's voice came across so clear and defiant. Was John Watson a brave man, or did he suffer from some martyrdom-chasing complex?
The towering enemy was momentarily confused. Sherrinford took the immediate opportunity to intervene, in hope of redirecting attentions: 'Look here, I don't know where Holmes is, and whatever you came here for, perhaps we can help you find it.'
'You don't have it', he answered with certainty. 'It's under the house. We need the key.' Still facing John exclusively, the foreign man didn't notice the sudden understanding flashing across Sherrinford's features.
Only John saw it, just before another punch got landed squarely on his jaw. As John's neck whiplashed and he followed the forced strained movement to minimise the damage to his already sore jaw, the library almost blackened out for a second or two. It all came back to focus just as John latched on to that one piece of understanding; Sherrinford knew about whatever the men had come for and he wasn't forthcoming about it. Maybe to keep it safe, either because of it's value or potential danger. Maybe he didn't know how to produce it to the men.
'Tie them up', ordered the one who stood quietly in watch from further away.
Sherrinford was grabbed and pushed roughly onto a chair, to which he was tied up firmly. John was manhandled to another chair, put back-to-back with the first, and given identical tying up treatment.
As John as already doubting his good luck shining so brightly on him, the pettier man leaned over the small sand and soil filled tank by the desk.
John stiffened at once, gulping drily.
He really didn't have any good memories of scorpions.
Not even passingly acceptable ones.
In one languid move, the man tilted over the terrarium till it crashed on the floor, breaking the glass structure into multiple pieces and scattering the contents.
John shivered deeply, uncontrollably.
Sherrinford must have felt it, for he was forced to look over his shoulder at the soldier tied up behind him.
The men in control left with evil grins, closing the library door behind them and immerging the two hostages in semi-darkness again. Only the moonlight shining through the window shed some light into the room.
'I'm sorry, John, if the scorpions make you uncomfortable', Sherrinford stated calmly. 'I assure you I keep antivenom at all times at the desk's drawer.'
John's answer took a couple of seconds to strain through. 'Where we can't currently reach? How reassuring do you find that to be?' His voice was also dangerously low.
'Yes, well, minor setback. Never thought a thing like this would happen...' Before Sherrinford could continue, he felt the ties that kept his hands held together behind his back snap. He took his freed wrists before his eyes in disbelief before he caught up with the fact that John had broke him free, and that John was still bound to the chair despite his hinted phobia of scorpions.
Or maybe it was just a reasonable reaction, given their sting was deadly and the soldier had been stationed abroad in desert landscapes.
Sherrinford was desperately untying John's bindings to the chair, that John himself still tried to cut through with a pocket file.
That John had cut Sherrinford free before himself, despite his own biggest fear spreading across the darkened room, was baffling Sherrinford to pieces.
John's bindings snapped as he forced his wrists apart, breaking the weakened rope. He faced Sherrinford at last, wide-eyed under a sweaty brow. 'Door, now!' he ordered at once.
They both ran to the door, crossed the threshold and shut the door back as fast as they could. John let himself sag against the wood, closing his eyes tight and catching his breath. Sherrinford felt the urge to smile down at the soldier's humanity.
'What do we do now?' he asked the soldier, hoping to refocus the man.
John opened his deep blue eyes at once. 'Now we find Sherlock. Make sure he's safe.'
'Where did you part with him?'
'Corridor. He wasn't exactly forthcoming with his plan. He just assured me he knew what they were after. And that he'd keep them from it.'
Sherrinford nodded, not without a hint of worry in his face. John focused on that at once.
'Sherrinford, what are they looking for?'
'Old family relic. Could be used as a weapon to kill thousands, if you know how to use it. We kept it locked away', he added, matter-of-factly.
John had to take a deep breath, like often with the Holmes siblings.
'And you just keep that thing at home?' he asked, frustrated.
'Well, no one knew we had it, so it was perfectly safe.'
'Until now.'
'Well, yes.'
'Where is it?'
'In the catacombs.'
'Catacombs?' John repeated.
'That's what I said.'
'There are catacombs under this house.'
'Exactly.'
'How do you get there?'
'I don't know.'
John scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand.
'Then how do you know these catacombs exist? The house is not even that old!'
'It was a part of an earlier construction, obviously.'
'Obviously', John repeated, sarcastically.
'And Sherlock found them when he was a child.'
'A child?' John repeated, this time in genuine awe.
'Of seven years old, if I recall correctly. Yes, he came back to us scared and cold, but holding proof that he had found them.'
'Do they still exist, then?'
'Presumably, yes.'
'And they hold the thing these guys came for.'
'Yes.'
'And Sherlock's gone there to... guard it.'
'Or retrieve it.'
'Shit.'
'What is it?' Sherrinford asked his first question.
'That's why we were tied up and left to rot with the damned scorpions, can't you see?'
'I don't follow.'
'They have Sherlock. They mean to extract information out of him.'
'Oh.' Sherrinford got paler.
'What?' John drilled him at once.
'That's why they didn't recognise me. They think Sherlock is me, and you and I are just guests in the house.'
John shut his eyes tight. Sherlock was in deep trouble.
