The months passed, the times were good. Better than good really, but neither of them were going to ramble on about it. At least not verbally. One could catch both of them absently smiling when thoughts wandered or comments were made.
Sherlock's ghastly habit had actually gotten better after a combination of increased time with Natasha and taking as many cases as he could possibly solve. His mind was fueled some times and calmed during others. After four decades of life, Sherlock Holmes had finally figured out a decent system for himself. He lived a life with Natasha and they were better for it together. Despite being busy, there was nothing particularly abnormal that happened in their lives. John wrote about case after case in his blog. Natasha flew in whenever she could. Sherlock kept to his usual routine.
But it was some months later that Sherlock Holmes found himself in a less than pleasant situation. He'd been chasing a lead on his own, no John, no Natasha, no big brother watching his back. That was his first, and fatal, mistake.
He'd been on a case, a case which he'd solved. But in the middle of that, he'd gotten a clue that led him to another case, another problem to solve. Something far more dangerous, which of course meant he was much more interested.
A private military group was operating out of Switzerland. A small army for hire, for anyone who could pay for it, and didn't mind making their own work. This group was responsible for several terrorist hits over Europe, including one in London. That had been the one that had caught Sherlock's attention.
Tracking them hadn't been that difficult, not when one was Sherlock Holmes and knew exactly what to look for. The facility was tucked in amid the mountains and rivers and otherwise deserted landscape of the Alps. Sherlock's plan was simple: infiltrate base, gauge effort to take it down, gather evidence, and then present evidence to the Swiss government. The government wasn't going to act without evidence, so that was part was imperative.
Little did he know that he'd be going in and he wasn't going to be coming out.
He'd slipped into the complex at dusk. Dressed accordingly, he could blend into any environment. It took him very little time to identify the important buildings around the complex. It was complex, built amid a collection of old warehouses, now converted into storage and training areas. It was small, with narrow spaces and old machinery. Not exactly the place one would expect a private military to operate from. But that was the point, wasn't it?
He'd slipped into a smaller building, one that housed a few offices, if one could call them that. The lights were off and the desks were empty. He moved in and promptly got to work on one of the laptops.
The squeak of a door was the only thing he heard before his body was suddenly rushed with the sharp electricity of a taser. His muscles seized and spasmed until he was left writhing on the ground. An eternity later it stopped.
"Now, Mr. Holmes, you're early, I'm wondering what to do with you now." The voice was low, and spoke in slightly accented English, even as footsteps approached. It was also familiar, but Sherlock couldn't place it right then.
"Wha-" Sherlock blinked a couple times, but his attempt to push himself off of the ground induced another session with the taser.
"Just stay down, I'm bringing in someone to collect you. My apologies your room is not ready yet." A sharp blow to his head and Sherlock slumped into unconsciousness.
Hours later, Sherlock woke up to complete darkness. He'd been stripped down to his black trousers and was currently handcuffed to a chair. His arms strained behind him as he tested his bonds. He blinked a couple times, concluding that it wasn't pitch dark, he was simply blindfolded. He tuned his ears to his surroundings. Wide space, but machinery and storage surrounded him. Legs tied to chair, chair bolted to ground, he wasn't going to be getting out of it, apparently. It was relatively quiet, so it must still have been the middle of the night. Footsteps clicked in the space, so he turned his head towards where they were coming from.
"You're very impressive, Mr Holmes. I've been keeping up with your exploits." The same voice said. "A proper genius, driven, ambitious, talented, the lover of a very beautiful woman. One would think you…have it all."
For once, Sherlock was annoyed with all the drama, so he got right to the point instead of answering the statement. "Who are you?"
"It's probably fitting you can't remember me, it has been a while. Over two years now, if I remember correctly. I do I believe you were a bit…roughed up last we spoke."
Sherlock drew in a deep breath, that bit of information clicking everything together. Paris, two years ago. "Ah."
"Oh, and you don't remember my name, I'm not sure we were properly introduced." He chuckled. "Moreau. Pierre Moreau. Now, impress me, Mr Holmes."
"You lost your position in the group I broke apart during my mission in Eastern Europe, concluding in Paris two years ago. You were the one who was supposed to prevent an intruder from gaining access to the sensitive information that I used to destroy your little band. Which is why when you caught me you were so…enthusiastic about making me pay. I escaped again and you were held responsible. Dangerous consequences. But you escaped and found a position here, I'd guess manager or coordinator judging by your shoes and your desk. No physical activity, which means you suffered some sort of injury during your escape. Judging by the lack of a limp, I'd guess arm or shoulder, face even. You were expecting me, which means that hit in London wasn't just for profit, you lured me here…and I fell for it." Sherlock's professional tone took on a bitter quality, berating himself for it. "And now you're going to kill me. Did I get anything wrong?"
"No, that sounded just about right. They had to amputate my left arm below the elbow, and I am head international coordinator of this operation. This was a trap, but I'm still quite impressed with your skills. There was one thing you got a bit wrong. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to put you through so much pain, you're going to want to die. Just like you were supposed to so long ago." The sound of something buzzing filled the space. Cattle prod. "Shall we begin?"