A/N: I spent ages trying to work out the order in which to put the following events (particularly in regards to Sherlock). In the end, I went with this. If there are gaps in the story, or if you have questions, there's a good chance that if it's not covered in this chapter, then it will be in the next.
***Warning – This chapter is rated M for some nasty scenes.
*Re-edited 29/07/17
Between a Rock and a Hard Pace
- Chapter Thirty Seven -
*- Dimmock -*
Mycroft Holmes started off in the room with Brian but was out again within two minutes. It was fairly obvious to everyone involved, that the younger man had told them everything he knew in his original statement. The kid was nervous and in the early stages of withdrawal. All he really wanted to do was get the hell out of there and as a result, he was being extremely helpful. Jatz on the other hand, was a different story.
Mr Holmes stormed into the small room, with an unimpressed look on his face and Peter was forced to follow, feeling like an intruder in his own investigation. Jatz looked up at their unexpected entrance but said nothing, no doubt wondering why they were there and who the suited man was. Mycroft walked around the table and stood directly in front of their suspect, quietly studying his dumbstruck face.
"Good afternoon young man, I have a few questions for you. I would appreciate if you answered them as quickly as possible, so I can get on with more pressing issues."
Jatz looked at him in confusion, before turning back to the older Holmes brother, his eyes narrowing.
"You're not my lawyer," the young man said blankly.
"No, how very observant of you, do try to keep up. I said I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind."
"Yeah actually, I do!" Jatz replied, some of his previous arrogance returning. "I said I wanted a lawyer."
"So I have heard," Mycroft continued dismissively. "I have no doubt that one is on their way but in the meantime, I want you to tell me what you know about the multiple abduction from the Skyridge Hotel on Tuesday night."
"Are you deaf?" the youngster said with more than a little attitude. "I'm not talking to any of you coppers, until my lawyer gets here."
"On the contrary, I am not a police officer."
"Well, then who the hell are you?"
"Just a concerned citizen."
Jatz eyes widened, his eyes flicking between the two of them. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"I assure you, I find this in no way amusing," Mr Holmes answered impatiently. "Now are you going to tell me what I want to know, or will I have to get the information out of you some other way?"
Jatz laughed, "I'd like to see you try."
Mycroft Holmes considered the young man for a second, before taking the seat opposite him and leaning forward on the table. Jatz stared at the elder Holmes brother for a few seconds before looking around the room, his eyes furrowed in confusion.
"I'm sorry, is this supposed to scare me?" Jatz said with the hint of a smile.
"No, but it should." Mycroft said slowly, making a point to re-establish eye contact with the youngster. "You've been busy the last few days."
Jatz turned to face Peter once again, "is this guy for real?"
"You've been rather stressed too, going by the state of your fingernails." Jatz turned back to face the government official, looking a little uncomfortable.
"Slight bruising and grazing around the knuckles, indicate that you've been in a fight recently, or at the very least you've punched someone." Jatz pulled his hands into his lap and continued to stare silently.
"You're well dressed; you come from a high-middle class family. You're well educated too but you try to hide it…" Mycroft paused, his eyes narrowing. "Did you fall into the wrong crowd by accident or did you seek it out?" Jatz dropped his head and Mycroft smiled slightly. It looked like the man was on the right track.
"You're wearing a new shirt, but the creases around the shoulder tell me you were both a driver and passenger of a vehicle within the last few hours. You drove the van to the warehouse where you tried to pass it off to a drug addict."
Almost instantly, the young man he had previously interviewed was gone. There was no sign of the ignorant and cocky jerk, instead, this new man looked nervous and almost worried.
"You've cut yourself no less than five times shaving - your hand has been trembling. Now you appear to be a relatively fit and healthy young man, which would once again indicate a high stress environment. Either that, or adrenaline, brought on by excitement…" Mycroft paused for a moment, studying the youngster.
"Not excitement then, nerves perhaps?" Jatz scratched at his nose nervously.
"You also didn't clean yourself up very well, you have a dried blood smear underneath your left collar. You tried to wipe it clean but you missed a spot." Mycroft Holmes leaned over the side of the table to stare down at the man's legs before continuing. "Slight blood spatter on the left shoe and all of a sudden, I am painting quite a clear picture of what you've been doing."
With the mention of blood, Peter took a few steps forward, inwardly cursing himself and his incompetent staff, for not picking that up themselves.
"Shoes off," he told the young man firmly. Jatz glanced up at him, looking rather shell shocked before he silently pulled them off and kicked them over.
The room fell silent and Mycroft's face became very serious.
"You didn't just drive the van, you were there. You know where they are." The young man looked like he wanted to say something, but decided to keep the words to himself, swallowing hard.
"Whose blood is that? Are they still alive?" Mycroft's voice faulted slightly at the question and he felt a pang of sympathy flow through him. He had to remember that this was still Sherlock's brother. As arrogant as he might be, it was his family who had gone missing. Anything could have happened in three days, and as time went on, the chances of them being found alive were rapidly decreasing. All things considered, Peter thought Mycroft was doing a remarkable job at keeping his emotions in check. He didn't think he would be so calm if their positions were reversed.
"Where are they?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jatz finally replied, his voice quiet and strained.
"And you are a terrible liar," Mycroft sneered dangerously, rising to his feet. The suited man pulled out his mobile phone and quickly made a call.
"I need to transfer a prisoner from Wembley Police Station and I need it done an hour ago."
Jatz's head snapped up with a look of what could only be described as fear. His eyes desperately searched the faces of those in the room looking for any sign of deception. Dimmock himself was trying to act professionally, all the while wondering where all of this was going. If Mycroft's goal was to scare the kid, he had certainly succeeded. Was he actually going to haul him away? Could he even do that?
In less than a minute, the call was ended and Mycroft Holmes had made a b-line towards the door. "If it is not too much trouble Detective Inspector, I require someone to transfer this young man to our private facility."
"Woah woah woah, you can't just do that," he said hurriedly. "He's not a prisoner, he's just a suspect; we haven't even charged him with anything yet! You can't just take him away, he's asked for a lawyer." He tried his best to keep the conversation quiet, but he could tell from the panicked look on Jatz's face, that he could hear every word.
"As I keep reminding you Detective Inspector, I am not the police."
*- Donovan -*
Sally had not always wanted to be a detective. In fact, for a brief period, she had considered a number of different career choices. Immigration, drug squad, intelligence and yes, even counter-terrorism. The idea sounded exciting and adventurous, and nothing at all like what she was currently doing.
She and Agent Ward were staking out a known drug den, out the back of a small fish and chip shop. So far, their search for people of interest in the Sutton area, had been very unsuccessful. It was almost a relief when her phone rang, providing a distraction from the constant monotony. Looking at the caller ID, she instantly recognised the number as that of Mycroft Holmes and had a brief feeling of unease before finally answering.
"Sergeant Donovan, I require that both you and your new partner met me at the Home Office immediately. I have just picked up a young man who has information of the whereabouts of our three missing friends. I thought you would wish to be there when we interrogate him."
Sally felt her heart soar. It was best news she had received in days.
"Of course, we'll be there in about 30 minutes."
"Excellent, I shall see you there."
"Has he said anything?" she asked quickly, almost as an afterthought. Mycroft didn't answer at first and Sally thought she may have missed him.
"Not yet I'm afraid, but he will," Mycroft said confidently. "I assure you, I can be very persuasive when I need to be."
A second later the call disconnected and she quickly turned to fasten her seatbelt.
"We're needed back at the Home Office."
"Why?" Ward asked suspiciously before being interrupted by his own phone. She remained quiet as he took the call, and had to hide her smile when he started the engine only seconds later.
"Yes sir, right away," Ward finished, putting his phone back into his jacket pocket. "Are you going to get that?"
Sally looked at him blankly; "huh?"
He pointed to the object in her hand and she looked down, noticing Dimmock's name flash up on the screen. In the excitement, she hadn't even noticed it was ringing.
"Any news?" she answered, not bothering with the normal pleasantries.
"I'm not sure, something strange just happened," Dimmock replied rather testily.
"What?"
"Well you're 'help' finally arrived… in the form of Sherlock's brother."
"Ahhh," she replied knowingly. Dimmock sounded pissed.
"He just turned up out of the blue, flashed his credentials, threatened us all a bit, went in there stared at the kid for a few minutes, asked him a few questions and now he's just hauled him off! Care to explain what's going on?"
"I'm supposed to be meeting him at the Home Office in half an hour. He told me he had a suspect in custody."
"Yeah, MY suspect! Seriously Donovan, what is going on?"
"Honestly Peter, at this point, you know more than I do." Dimmock sighed in frustration before muttering a couple of colourful obscenities under his breath.
"Listen, if I hear anything else, I'll let you know."
Dimmock grumbled a short reply and angrily ended the call. She sunk back into her with a sigh. Finally, a real and tangible lead. It was almost too good to be true.
"Are you ok?" Ward asked quietly.
"Yeah," she answered quietly. "It sounds like it's going to be an interesting afternoon."
She closed her eyes and tried to calm the sea of emotions swirling inside her.
*- John -*
Sherlock's entire body contorted in pain and panic. The detective's whole body thrashed against the restraints, as he tried desperately to escape the flowing water. John didn't want to look anymore; he didn't think his soul could take the abuse.
"Stop!" he cried pitifully.
He had all but given up on pleading for his best friend's life. No one was interested in what he had to say, and all it did was make him feel useless. Silent tears rolled down his face as he watched the movements slow and his friend's body go limp. Another second later, the flow of water stopped and the room fell quiet.
"Sherlock?"
He felt his heart skip, when the detective didn't respond. Frank turned the man's head on its side, but still there was nothing. A few seconds later, he felt his arm fall free.
"You're up doctor," Craig muttered, as he pushed past him and rushed over to his best friend's side.
The first few times they had subjected Sherlock to the waterboarding, the sessions had been relatively short. Once the water had stopped flowing, the detective would cough, choke and splutter for a minute before breathing on his own. Since then however, the sessions had grown longer and now, as he looked down at his friend's pale face, he saw that Sherlock wasn't breathing.
His medical training kicked in immediately, as he quickly grabbed at his friend's body and tried to manoeuvre him into something resembling the recovery position. A small stream of water slowly drained from the man's mouth, kick starting his gag reflex. Within seconds, Sherlock was coughing up the foreign fluid; his eyes wide in panic as his body shook and heaved. John had just enough time to mutter a couple words of encouragement, before he was dragged away again, his arm reattached to the wall.
He could do nothing but watch, as Frank added another plank and Craig refilled the container. Sherlock looked around the room in wild desperation, before his face twisted to one of pure agony. The back of the bench had been lifted, forcing the detective into a seated position where the muscles and bones in his legs stretched painfully. He felt sick. The cycle had started again.
He could see that Sherlock was slowly breaking and he could feel his heart slowly breaking with him.
*- Dimmock -*
Twenty minutes after having his prime suspect whisked away from underneath him, Dimmock was at Wembley Police Station, trying to coordinate with the rest of his team. Not only had Mycroft Holmes taken Jatz, but he had also left with the man's soiled shoes, assuring him that 'he would let him know as soon as he found anything.' That was quickly becoming Peter's least favourite phrase and quite frankly, he was sick to death of hearing it.
With no name, blood or DNA sample, they had been left with very little to work with. Thankfully, they had access to the young man's fingerprints and of course the van, which had so far proved to be more frustrating than helpful. He currently had officers scouring through the criminal database and checking missing persons for someone matching Jatz's description, but that could take days. As much as he hated to admit it, Holmes and Donovan, were probably their best bet in getting quick results. The real question was whether it was going to be quick enough. They were already up to day three and a lot could have happened in that time. If the men were still alive, he couldn't image them being in a very good state.
"Sir? The suspect's lawyer is here," A police constable said awkwardly.
"Which suspect?"
"The one who's no longer here."
"Shit," Peter grumbled to himself quietly. He really didn't have the energy for this.
"What do you want me to tell him?"
"I dunno," he said dismissively, throwing his hands up into the air. "The truth I guess. Tell him that government officials took him in for questioning and that's all we know. If he wants more information, he'll need to contact the Home Office."
The constable started to close the door.
"Wait!" he said suddenly; "he didn't give you the suspect's name by chance?"
"No, he was being quite cryptic about that actually, but I'll give it another go."
He muttered his thanks and the door closed quietly, leaving him once again with his depressing thoughts.
*- John -*
He'd just had his wrist re-cuffed to the down pipe again, when he heard the sound of a phone. The loud, basic ringtone echoed through the room, distracting both Frank and Craig who paused to watch their leader answer the call.
"What can you tell me?" X said calmly through the speaker, motioning at the others to continue their work. Frank was still in the process of adding another plank under Sherlock's feet, something he was more than happy to continue with.
"Well, where is he now?"
The voice had lost some of it composure but remained quite steady. Whatever the man was hearing, it was obviously not good news. X's fists clenched briefly at his side, before an annoyed growl resonated from his throat. The sound was quickly drowned out by Sherlock's deep scream, as the back of the bench was forced back up. John had to bite his tongue and swallow down bile at the unnatural sight. He watched as Sherlock tried to compose himself, all the while trying to eaves drop on X's conversation.
"Get eyes on his family. If he's smart, he'll keep his mouth shut. He knows the rules." X once again sounded like the poster child of cool, even if he did look slightly concerned, "and get on the blower to Cyrus, see if he can help."
Sherlock was breathing heavily, his eyes screwed shut in pain. Large drops of water fell from his hair and onto his face, causing the detective to tremble with cold.
"No, stay out there for now; I want to know what's going on. Get the boys to set up a couple of lookouts, I want to know the second they start moving. If we need to relocate, I want as much time as possible, do you understand?"
Mr X, slowly made his way over to the gasping detective, phone still in hand. The man silently listened to the callers reply, looking at Sherlock with suppressed rage and contempt.
"I don't care, just get it done!"
In one swift motion, X ended the call and the phone disappeared from sight. Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at his primary tormentor, his mouth curving into the slightest of grins.
"Sounds like you've got a few problems," his friend said weakly. "Things not quite going to plan?"
He could have groaned. Why Sherlock still felt the need to antagonise the man, he would never know. Perhaps he wasn't so far gone after all… either that or he had a death wish.
X's mouth twisted into a demented smile, his eyes filled with menace.
"We've had a couple of setbacks."
"Nothing too serious I hope."
"Nothing we can't handle. Of course, that puts me in an unfortunate situation, Mr Holmes," X continued, resting his hand on Sherlock's forehead. "You see, I didn't want to have to do this. I much prefer taking my time, but it would seem as though we may not have as long as I originally planned."
"What a shame," Sherlock mumbled sarcastically, swallowing hard.
"It really is. Frank in particular, is going to be very disappointed. He does seem to enjoy making you squeal."
X shot Craig a quick look, motioning down to the half-filled containers. "Make sure you fill them all up."
The night guard collected two of clear pitchers and moved over to the sink as X turned to face Sherlock once more.
"We're down to the business end Mr Holmes. I'll give you one last chance to cooperate before things start getting serious."
John felt his stomach flip; a new sense of dread flooded his system. Shit, if this wasn't already serious, he didn't want to know what the next step looked like.
"So, I'm going to ask you again... What. Is. His. Name?" The last four words were articulated very clearly, with emphasis placed on each syllable. Sherlock glanced over at where John was sitting and gave him a strange look, one he couldn't identify. It was almost apologetic, but not quite. Sherlock's weary eyes closed and he took a deep breath, before looking back at X, his gaze strong and steady.
"Go to hell."
"After you."
With that, Frank released the back of the table and dropped the cloth back into place. Within seconds, Mr X was pouring a container full water all over Sherlock's face. The detective stayed still for all of three seconds, before survival instinct kicked in and his body began to twist and struggle. The ordeal went on far longer than it previously had. Just as Sherlock looked like he was about to lose consciousness, they would remove the water and the cloth, just long enough for the detective to take a much-needed breath.
As time went on however, the brief respites become shorter and less frequent. After what felt like hours, Craig returned with the freshly filled containers, one of which X took eagerly. John could do little more than watch in horror, as the well-dressed man removed the blue cloth from Sherlock's face and poured the water directly into his friend's mouth.
The sheer increase in volume proved too much for Sherlock, who spent the majority of his time, trying to keep the liquid from entering his body. More water was flowing into his mouth than he had time to spit out, and it wasn't long before Sherlock eventually lost the battle, his body falling limp. Usually that would mean a stop to the interrogation, but X continued to pour. More and more of the liquid splashed against his friend's face, flowing down all over his unmoving body.
"Stop!" he shouted desperately, "He's out!"
X ignored his calls, intent on finishing the container in his hands.
"Stop it, you'll kill him!" He added in desperation, just as the container ran dry.
X stared down at the unconscious man for a second, before dropping the empty vessel and turning to face him. Craig was already by his side, unlocking the handcuffs.
"You better hope he doesn't Doctor Watson, because if he dies, you die."
He felt his wrists come free and in less than a second he was at Sherlock's side, rolling him into the recovery position. This time, when the water drained from Sherlock's mouth, he remained lifeless, his body unresponsive.
"Sherlock?" he muttered urgently, quickly checking his friend's pupils and pulse. "Can you hear me?"
Still nothing.
Without wasting another second, he rolled Sherlock onto his back and began chest compressions, counting quietly in his head.
Five, Six, Seven, Eight…
"Come on, come on!" he urged quietly, trying to ignore the tears in his eyes. This could not be happening, not now. Not when they were so close to finally getting out of there.
Twenty-seven, Twenty-eight, Twenty-nine, Thirty!
He tilted the man's head back, opened the airway and took a deep breath, pushing the oxygen back into his friend's empty lungs.
"Come on Sherlock, don't do this!"
He had just reached the second count of nineteen, when Sherlock came back to life, vomiting water and gasping for breath. He quickly rolled his friend onto his side, watching in complete relief as Sherlock's eyes slowly opened.
"Oh, thank god," he whispered quietly, resting his head against his friend's trembling shoulder.
From somewhere in the distance he heard clapping and a second later, Craig had pulled his arms behind his back again. It was only then, that he felt the extreme pain, stab through not only his shoulder, but his chest too.
"Well that looked easy!" X said enthusiastically, walking over to get a better view of the heaving detective "and fun!" he added almost as an afterthought. John felt his insides constrict.
"Let's do it again!"
A/N: I hate that guy! I hope he dies!