It took a moment for it to click in Sherlock's mind. HELP. John was in trouble. Sherlock rubbed his eyes and jumped out of bed, tripping over his own legs.
His clothes were crumpled, his heart confused, his head pounding, his limbs shaking, Sherlock was overwhelmed and not quite sure what was actually happening right now.
On his way down the stairs he almost fell over the railing, and forgot to shut the door on the way out.
His mum yelled from the kitchen, "Oi, where you boys hurrying off to?" But Sherlock didn't hear. There was only one thing on his mind.
Mycroft was sitting in his car, the engine on and ready to go. Sherlock threw open the door and flew inside. "Go! Go!" Sherlock yelled.
"Close the door." Mycroft said calmly. Sherlock shut it with a force that could move mountains.
"GO!" he yelled.
"Put your seatbelt on." Mycroft added. Sherlock huffed and ripped the seatbelt into its holder. It clicked in place. "Now, brother, tall me where it is this cafe is."
Sherlock was stunned for a second, that Mycroft didn't know something. "Um, edge of the city, across from the pavillion."
Mycroft sent a quick text and put the car into gear. "Then let's get going."
...
John woke up with a splitting headache to the pounding of a heavy drum. Instead of a chair, John was now tied to a stool, his back exposed. His hands were tied in front of him, resting on his lap while his legs were tangled in the stool's legs.
"Good, yur up." Angelo gruffed, the drum-beater behind him. Angelo looked at his watch. "it's 5 minutes to 7, what would you like, Johnny, in your last few minutes."
John spit at his feet, tainted with blood. He wouldn't give Angelo the satisfaction of looking into his eyes or begging for mercy. Sherlock hadn't come.
"Well that wasn't very nice," Angelo tutted and stepped forward. John leaned back as far as he could without tipping, but someone behind him pressed their fingers into the bloody cut left behind from the bat. John gritted his teeth, refraining from screaming. He let out a small hiss before the fingers left, leaving a searing pain in the side of his head.
John focused now on controlling his breathing, inhale… exhale… calm, relax. He clenched and unclenched his fists, blocking out the taunting laughs of the men behind him.
John weakly strained against the bonds, ready to give up.
"Aaaaaaaaaaand seven!" Angelo yelled, looking at his watch. As if a scene from a play, the five guys moved into different positions like robots. Vinci retrieved something from his back pocket but John couldn't see what it was, and he couldn't hear because of all the noise the others were making.
The one with the drum stood diagonally left from John, while another stood to his right. Angelo stood directly infront of him, while he could feel Vinci standing behind him about a foot away. The other guy must be behind him somewhere as well.
Angelo pulled a book from behind him, it was thick, leather bound and old. Ancient runes were embedded in the cover. John had the courage (and perhaps stupidity) to roll his eyes.
"Something funny boy?" Angelo asked while flipping through the yellowed pages.
At least John wasn't stupid enough to voice his thoughts. This is so iconic and stereotypical it could be in a movie. Summoning Satan! Sacrifice a teenager! John snickered under his breath. The crush coming to save the day. John breathed deeply. He kind of wished he were in a movie now. Most of those had a happy ending.
Angelo found the page he was looking for, and the pounding of the drum decreased in volume, now a quiet thumping reverberating through the floor and up John's legs, causing him to shiver.
"Saht no maai nishthm. Set eghno maai na sithaj." Angelo chanted. John wriggled uncomfortably. Somewhere behind him, a man dropped a match, igniting a circle of fire contained around them. How'd they do that? A wave of heat invaded his face and chest. The smoke made the air thick and foggy, John's eyes started to water.
Vinci shuffled behind him. Angelo did some sort of bowing his head, turned around a few times.
The fire died down a bit so it was just a short flickering of flames encircling the room but far enough from the wall that it wouldn't catch.
Something snaked around his shoulder, a leather strap, a whip? John heard Vinci morbidly laughing under his breath.
"DISEGNA SANGUE" Angelo cried.
John heard the whip snap before the line of fire seared across his back. He strained, hunched over with his eyes squeezed shut. Damn that hurt. His back felt like it was ripped in two. It was on fire. It burned. It hurt. Can it be over now? A tear rolled down his cheek, his eyes still squeezed shut.
John didn't hold back his scream.
"Somebody shut him up!" Must've been Vinci shouted. The drummer boy set his drum down and jogged to the counter, retrieved a roll of duct tape and threw it to Vinci who now had his large meaty hand over John's mouth.
Vinci forced Johns mouth shut and not nicely taped it shut multiple times.
Getting hard to breathe. Nose stuffed from smoke. Oxygen. Need.
When his back dulled to a throbbing line of heat he could feel the blood dripping down. Angelo continued chanting in slurred background noise, then the whip cracked again.
As John faded in and out of unconsousness, the sound of sirens grew louder from outside the boarded windows.