The next time John woke from his exhausted slumber, his eyes were drawn to the other half of the warehouse that was now lit up with spotlights. The gang member that had taken his gun was there, as were four others. All of them were armed and looked ready for a fight to break out. A man strolled in, elegant, tall and with thinning red hair, and it took John a moment to realize that he was looking at Mycroft Holmes. The government official was holding a briefcase and was flanked by two bodyguards. John began to try to rock the chair in an attempt to get the man's attention but he only succeeded in giving himself rope burns. He let out a groan, but it was muffled by the rope between his teeth that gagged him. John watched Mycroft hand over the briefcase and shake hands with the leader of the gang before he left the same way that he had come.
John wanted to shout and scream Mycroft's name, desperate to be free of the chair and to be out of the dark warehouse. He'd been there hours and there had been no rescue attempt so far and it was beginning to drag John's mood down. His blood sugar levels were plummeting and he was dehydrated, but now he was lacking even hope of a rescue. If Mycroft was in on this as some sort of mafia boss, then what hope did John have of ever getting out alive? He took a moment to panic about Sherlock's involvement - was the detective truly a criminal like Sally Donovan had suggested all of those months before?
Swimming in and out of consciousness was scrambling John's timeline of events, but he knew it had been hours since he'd seen Mycroft making some kind of deal with the gang. His dry throat and painful stomach told him that he'd already been here for at least two days.
"Time for you to go and swim with the fish now." the gang member laughed as he strolled out of the shadows towards John with a knife in his hands.
John's eyes went wide and he shook his head pleadingly as the man got closer with the sharp blade.
"Relax, I'm not going to slit your throat." the man laughed, slicing away some of the ropes that bound John to the chair, "I'm not a murderer."
He pulled the army doctor up to his feet and led him through the warehouse and out into the dawn light.
John stumbled from a lack of energy, his muscles frozen after being stuck in one place for so long. He blinked rapidly, the dawn light temporarily blinding him as they emerged from the dark warehouse.
"Would you like to do the honours?" the gang leader smirked from nearby and John turned his head to see that the whole gang was gathered around. The gang member holding John put him on the very edge of the dock wall and moved away.
Mycroft stepped forward, "I would love to do the honours." he replied with a dark smile.
John looked at Mycroft pleadingly, begging him for help as he tried to loosen the thick ropes around his arms.
Mycroft's cold, detached eyes bore into John's, missing the emotion that had shone through on their date nights. Mycroft raised his umbrella and jabbed John in the chest with the end of the umbrella, forcing him to overbalance and to plunge backwards into the fast-moving river below.