Echoes from the Darkness
By KathyG
Summary: In this post-"Sherlock" story, Sherlock, as it turns out, is not the only one who has lived with demons waiting underneath his road; John has his own share of demons waiting for him, too. And now, not only is John compelled to remember old traumas from his childhood, but the demons under his road have arisen to threaten his life and the lives of his loved ones. Can Sherlock and John's other friends deliver him and his family from them? This story is part casefic and part physical/emotional hurt/comfort. (Part of the back history of this story comes from an earlier story of mine, which I posted last year, "Please, God, Let Me Live.".)
Notes: If it wasn't for my beta-readers, sgam76 and BesleyBean—especially sgam76—I would most certainly have failed in my attempts to write this story.
I've drawn, in part, on sgam76's "Scheherezade" universe to plot this story out; the rest comes from my own head canon. And with that said, I must be a glutton for punishment! [shakes head] I've actually had the audacity to attempt a story with several plot features I'm woefully ignorant of! I'm neither a doctor, a nurse, nor a soldier, and what I personally don't know of observation, deduction, and police and detective work could fill an encyclopedia. Yet, here I am, actually attempting to write a casefic! And one, no less, in which I've got to show details about medicine and the army—mainly medicine, further on in the story. I have written my share of adventure stories, hurt/comfort stories, etc., in the Sherlock fandom, but this is the first Sherlock casefic I've ever written, and I needed a considerable amount of aid to plot it out properly. I have neither skill nor experience in writing casefic, and my personal skills in observation and deduction would make Philip Anderson look like a master in both skills. [wry grin] Sgam76 has been giving me that assistance—both with the casefic aspect and with the medical and military portions of this story.
In fact, it's sgam76, in particular, who's been giving me the biggest help, which I sorely needed for this story. She's not only been beta-reading my story, but she's also been giving me a considerable amount of help in its development, which is invaluable. Sgam76 has been such a huge help in assisting me in developing the casefic plot for this story, for which I thank her; she has also given me much-needed assistance with the story's medical and military aspects. Suffice it to say that she has my deepest thanks for giving me that help. BesleyBean, from the BBC Sherlock Fan Forum, also beta-read and Brit-picked the story for me, for which I thank her as well. Suffice it to say that any remaining mistakes that the readers find in my story are mine! =)
Chapter 1
Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, peering into a microscope. It was mid-afternoon, and John was at work at the surgery; Mrs. Hudson, who had volunteered to look after Rosie during John's shift so that he wouldn't have to take her to the nursery that time, was caring for her downstairs. The afternoon sunshine poured through the blinds hanging over the kitchen window. Sherlock was in the process of finishing off his latest experiment: an interesting examination of the decomposition of fairy cakes when exposed to vitriol. Since he was wearing his dark purple shirt, he had removed his suit jacket before beginning the experiment. Leaning back in his hard, unyielding dining chair, he picked up a pen and jotted down his findings in a spiral notebook.
Suddenly, his mobile phone chimed in the lounge. Suppressing a groan as he dropped his pen on the table, Sherlock rose to his feet and entered the lounge, picked up his phone from the coffee table, and discovered that the text had come from Mycroft. It read, 'I've got urgent business to discuss with you, Sherlock. I'll see you at 4:00. Text Lestrade and have him be there when I arrive. Better have Mrs. Hudson join us, too. M.H.'
Frowning, Sherlock sent his brother a reply, then sent an additional text to Lestrade: 'Mycroft's coming to Baker Street at four. He wants to see us both, and Mrs. Hudson, too. Urgent business, he says.'
A pause, then his phone chimed again. 'All right, Sherlock. I'll be there. If Mycroft wants to see us both as well as Mrs. Hudson, it must be urgent. What's it about?'
Sherlock texted: 'I don't know. Mycroft hasn't told me yet. He'll tell us when he gets here.' A pause, and then he added a snarky remark to his text before pressing 'send'. 'He's been obnoxiously closed-mouthed.'
Laying his phone down, Sherlock returned to the kitchen and slipped his arms into his black suit jacket. After buttoning it, he approached the lounge window and looked out, frowning. It couldn't be a case that Mycroft was asking him to solve this time, not if he wanted to see Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, too. Turning around, he crossed the lounge and opened the door. "Mrs. Hudson!"
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"Good afternoon," Mycroft said, as he, Sherlock, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson took their seats in Sherlock's lounge a few hours later after he and Lestrade had removed their coats. Sherlock and Mycroft sat in the armchairs facing each other, and the others sat on the sofa. Mrs. Hudson sat holding Rosie, who had already fallen asleep. Mycroft set a black leather briefcase on the floor next to the front chair leg, and then he leaned his umbrella against the chair's soft, cushioned arm. "I have important information to discuss with all of you." The late-afternoon sunshine pouring through the lounge windows formed rectangles of reflected light on the carpeted floor.
"About what?" Sherlock asked.
Mycroft looked solemn as he leaned back in John's red plaid armchair. Sherlock sat facing him in his own leather-and-steel chair. "About Dr. Watson." Mycroft looked at the landlady. "This is something you need to know about, too, Mrs. Hudson. That's why I've asked you to join us." Mrs. Hudson glanced down at Rosie, asleep in her arms, and then looked up at Mycroft. "And so do you, Lestrade. This is an extremely grave situation." The detective inspector nodded.
Sherlock frowned, looking from his brother to Lestrade, and then to Mrs. Hudson. "Don't be so dramatic, Mycroft; just get on with it!"
Mycroft shook his head with a brief smile before a grave expression crept across his face. Pressing his right fingertips against the umbrella handle, he started twirling his umbrella back and forth. "Very well, Sherlock. The first thing you need to know is that Dr. Watson is in real danger. It is most fortunate that Rosamund is here under the care of Mrs. Hudson right now, and not at the crèche, this time." He glanced at the elderly landlady and the sleeping baby in her arms as he spoke. "Because Dr. Watson cannot return home to his flat just now, nor could he have picked his daughter up at the nursery. He and Rosamund will have to stay here until further notice." He looked at Sherlock. "In the past, Sherlock, John has watched out for you—on a number of occasions, at my request. Now it's your turn to watch out for him. You will have to look after him for the time being, and I will help you."
Sherlock, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson all exchanged a sober glance. "Mycroft, you'd better just tell us what's going on," Lestrade said.
Mycroft nodded. "And so, I shall. And when Dr. Watson gets off work, I shall have him brought here. He needs to hear this, most of all. It will have to be done quickly, because our parents are on their way to London as I speak, to visit with Sherlock and me; they will be spending the next few weeks at my home. I have already told them about this." He took his hand off the umbrella handle and leaned forward. "This is what has happened…"
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Reuben Adelbert Gruner perched on the boot of his car, watching the surgery's front door intently, a duffle bag resting on the boot to his right, and a frigid can of beer in his right hand. He and his companion sat on the front of the boot with their backs straight. Since it was mid-June, it was warm and humid, and so Gruner was wearing a button-down shirt, and McGinty was wearing a light T-shirt. Both men were wearing blue denim shorts. Gruner's sparse grey hair lay dishevelled on his scalp. Eager anticipation lit his face. "Watson will be coming out that door when his shift ends for the day. I've been watching him and following him to his job and to his home, every day the past two weeks, and when he rides his bike to work, he always parks in that spot and comes in and out of that door. He doesn't take his car to work." He took a swig of his cold beer with his right hand and then straightened his white-and-blue-striped button-down cotton shirt with his left.
His accomplice nodded, and Gruner turned toward him. "Today, since he took the tube to work, he'll be taking the tube back home. Or so he thinks." Facing the door once more, the middle-aged man rubbed his hands in anticipation, smiling broadly and then glancing toward the duffle bag on his right. "Now I'm ready! Once we grab him, we can go after the rest of them—the baby, the sister, the cousin. And there we are—no more Watsons!"
His accomplice, Jake McGinty, who was squatting on the boot next to Gruner on his right, with his palms pressed against the boot lid, smiled grimly. A dark-brown woollen hat covered his head. A scowl spread across his face. "I can't wait to see Watson dead," he spat out. "He stopped me from having some fun, ruined my life, and got me court-martialled and sent to prison with a dishonourable discharge. And that bloody Sergeant Murray and those two soldiers—argh!" He swore viciously and raised his right hand, clenching it into a fist.
Gruner patted his arm. "Well, today, you'll get your chance. We both shall." McGinty nodded.
Gruner smiled. He could hardly wait for John to come out of the surgery door. At long last, he would be able to start finishing the project that he had started decades before, when John Watson and his older sister had been just children. He took another large gulp of his beer, and then wiped a few beads of sweat off his forehead. Good thing we're wearing T-shirts and shorts! It's too humid for anything warmer than that.
McGinty straightened his own light-blue T-shirt and then shook his head. "You know, I still don't understand. All of this still doesn't make sense to me."
Rolling his eyes, Gruner shook his head. I already told you once, McGinty! You don't listen. Why are you asking me again, you utter moron?
Out loud, he said, "This is the last time I'll explain it to you, McGinty, so don't ask me again! I only got started on this to begin with, because John and Harriet's own father, Hamish, actually tried to help me at one point. Came to me and asked me to get rid of his kids for him. Just because he had never wanted children! He thought it was lucky for him that he saw me murder that boy, because he thought it would be a good chance for him to get rid of them both. Too chicken to murder his own kids, but not too chicken to ask me to. Seems he thought he had leverage over me; he thought I wouldn't dare refuse him, for fear he'd turn me in." He smirked and took another large swallow of beer. "What he didn't know was that I wasn't going to be content with killing just Harriet and John! After all, since Hamish Watson had seen what I'd done, I couldn't afford to let him live, now, could I?" He grinned. "And since I was gonna kill him and his kids anyway, I decided to just go ahead and take out the entire extended family." A cruel smile spread across his face. "After all, I do like to be quite thorough."
Gruner drank some more of his beer and hiccupped once. He shook his head, frowning. "It's not the first time I've done a project like this, but in the Watsons' case, completing it turned out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be."
McGinty tilted his head. "Why?"
Gruner grimaced. "Simply that the entire Watson family turned out to be much tougher than I thought. I once tried to kill the whole family at once, but while they did end up in the hospital, none of them died. Before then, Hamish arranged to send his children to my house on two separate occasions, just so I could kill them—Johnny first, and Harriet later. They both managed to escape me, though."
He shook his head, and then smiled. "I did finally manage to get the parents years later, by doing a little tinkering with their car. 'Tragically,' they crashed, I'm glad to say, right into a bridge support. John Watson was in grammar school then; unfortunately, Harriet wasn't living there at the time. To this day, since their father was driving drunk when it happened, he and Harriet think their parents' death was an accident caused by his intoxication." He finished off the beer and crumpled the now-empty beer can.
McGinty smiled in amusement. "Why didn't you finish off the rest of the family right then? Starting with John? And for that matter, why didn't you try again when your attempt to kill them all failed the first time?" He brushed his light-brown hair out of his eyes. As beads of sweat formed on his forehead, he sighed and reached upwards to wipe them off with his fingers.
Gruner grimaced. "When John was seven, you mean? In answer to your second question, I was in the process of finishing off another extended family, so I had to wait before I could try again. I can only deal with one family at a time, you see—killing an entire family takes a lot of planning and preparation, not to mention a lot of time. And that goes double for killing off an entire extended family, because in my case, it's not enough to kill the parents and children; I'm not finished till I've also killed all the aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. And killing off that other family took some considerable time—years, in fact—because there were so many members of that family. The Watsons and their kinfolk had to wait till I was finished, and by the time I was ready to try again, John was 15, and Harriet had moved elsewhere. I decided to start with their parents and then try again to kill John, since they just happened to be in town, anyway. Harriet would have to wait. Eventually, I would get the rest of their family, but John's immediate family came first."
He paused. "In answer to your first question, unfortunately, I was arrested for armed assault before I had the chance. I was also accused of some other murders which I did commit, but they were unable to pin any of them on me. But they did manage to get me on the assault charge, so I had to do time in prison for the next several years." He grimaced. "As soon as I got out, I went to straight to work, checking on John and Harriet Watson. It wasn't easy, but I finally learned that Harriet was back in London, and that John was in Afghanistan, working as an army surgeon. I thought about it and decided to go after John first; Harriet could wait. After all, it would be easy to kill her once I found her, since she was living right here in London anyway, but John was going to be more of a challenge, so I decided to put her on the back burner until I was through with him. She would have to wait for the time being, along with their other relatives. I was on my own, this time—wasn't like Hamish Watson was going to be of any further help." With careful aim, he tossed the crumpled beer can into a trash bin not far away. A light, cool breeze suddenly picked up.
McGinty peered into his eyes. "What did you do there? In Afghanistan?"
Gruner chuckled and removed a package of cigarettes out of his small right trouser pocket with his gloved hand. "Funny how easy it is to make friends with the locals there if you know just what to say and what to offer. Especially when you have a master criminal with lots of connections backing you. With his help, I was able to get into Afghanistan. He found out which Taliban units were stationed in the area where John was working and got me embedded in one of them, and with the help of one of its craphats—"
"Craphats?" McGinty stared at him, puzzled.
"Insurgents," Gruner explained, as he removed a cigarette from the package and slipped the package back into his trouser pocket. "Taliban insurgents. With his help, I was able to find out where John was; he and his company, the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, were stationed at FOB Hamidullah in the Helmand Province. Seems the Fusiliers had a spy for the Taliban, a member of the cleaning crew; he kept us posted as to when and where the best time and place for an ambush would be." He smiled. "I learned that John was training to become a trauma surgeon. He was training under a consultant surgeon who was attached to the Fusiliers." He paused, and Jake took a cigarette lighter out of his jeans pocket. As Ruben held up his cigarette, Jake lit it. Gruner nodded his thanks before continuing.
"And then, near the end of July, 2009, the spy gave us a heads-up when John headed out, telling us that John and one of the nurses were being sent to a skirmish to help retrieve the wounded soldiers, and the Taliban helped me set up the ambush. One of them helped me find a good spot to aim from. He had already helped me get a sniper rifle and a box of armour-piercing bullets. I was once a sniper in the army—kept in practice after I got out." He paused to stick the cigarette into his mouth. After removing it and breathing out the smoke, he added, "The craphat promised me that if I would let him pick off the others, I could kill John Watson. A few others stayed near us to help out."
McGinty scowled. "Too bad you didn't succeed!" He clenched both fists as he spoke.
Gruner nodded agreement, pursing his lower lip. His cigarette dangled from his gloved fingers. "Yeah, but what else could I do? I only had one chance, and I took it. Unfortunately, that stupid craphat fired just about the same time I did, so that John and his fellow soldiers and medics all jolted, making me miss my aim. The bullet hit him in the back of the shoulder, not the heart. Before I could make another attempt, the insurgent fired several more times, and the soldiers called in an air strike right then; even as he kept firing, the bloody air strike got there in short order. Killed the Taliban craphat who tried to kill the other soldiers, but I managed to escape. I had to get out of there fast; I managed to do so before the air strike got there. Then I was arrested again—in Afghanistan, this time—for receiving stolen goods, and spent another several years in an Afghani jail; I only got out a few months ago. So, now I've finally got another chance to finish the deed." He smiled. "I will kill John, and then Harriet, too, and then the baby. And then, John's cousin—she's his only other relative still alive, and she lives close to the Welsh border. Since there are only five Watsons left in the entire extended family, that won't take long. The whole Watson family will be dead when I'm through with them." He paused. "At last." He stuck the cigarette back into his mouth.
As soon as he had exhaled the smoke, he turned to McGinty. "Till then, you've got to stay out of sight, McGinty. You can stay with me while I'm tailing Watson, as you've been doing as of late, but keep your face turned away from the CCTV cameras. We know they'll be looking for information, so it's essential your face is never seen."
McGinty nodded and leaned forward to glance toward the duffle bag. "You got everything you need in your duffle bag?"
"I sure do." Gruner grinned. "When the doctor comes out, just follow my lead." With a mean smile, McGinty nodded.
XXXXXXX
If you want to read John's POV of the attack, read Chapter 1 of "Please, God, Let Me Live", which is posted here on Fanfiction dot net and on Archive of Our Own.