Captain Of All These Men Of Death
Chapter 13
2004
Tussis Leniendo
Sherlock turned the flyer over and over in his hands, thought marred by his protesting transport. 'God, I feel like death…'
His senses refocussed on his surroundings - the greyed tiles, the garish adverts plastered to the curved walls, the glossy yellow paint, the smell of iron, dust and stale air. He was standing on an empty platform on the underground.
He wasn't quite sure how he'd got here. Which station was this? What was the time?
A quick turn of his head solved the first query. 'Lambeth North… and it's half past 3.' He rolled his sleeve back down over his watch as a train screeched into the station. He stepped aboard, inwardly thankful that the carriage was relatively empty. He slumped down opposite a man with dark hair who smiled at him. Sherlock quirked a brow, before offering a half smile back. He turned away, preferring to stare at his silhouette in the window.
The man wasn't so easily deterred. "You know," he said, his voice coming out in a slow drawl, a sliding tenor framed by an Irish twang; "the Bakerloo is the oldest line on the network."
Sherlock glanced at the man, taking a moment to look him over more intently. He wasn't particularly striking - he was wearing a grey high-street suit, a striped tie, and his shoes were in need of a polish. 'Salaryman, finance sector, low to mid level wage packet. Newly married.' His mind supplied him. Boring. Annoying. And yet… there was something strange. Sherlock frowned at him, his eyes filled with distaste. The man smiled.
"Built by the Victorians, you know. No power tools here. Just blood, sweat, and rats. Thousands and thousands of rats."
Sherlock frowned at him, meeting his eyes properly for the first time. Something about this man unnerved him. His eyes were dark, sinister. Cold. They held his gaze unerringly, even as he continued to speak. "So many rats in fact, the workers had to tie string around their trousers to stop them biting."
Sherlock frowned, not braking his gaze with the man. "Why are you telling me this?"
The train rumbled around a turn, the lights flickering as the two men swayed against the movement, their eyes locked. The dark man smiled again, his voice only just loud enough to be heard over the squealing brakes as they rounded another corner. "A seething mass of rats. Imagine them running past your feet, over your shoes, pressing up against the walls…" his eyes widened as he waggled his fingers, his grin sharp. "Everywhere."
"Who are you?" Sherlock ground out, trying to hide a deep feeling of unease.
"How would you fix it, Mr Holmes?"
Sherlock's stomach dropped at his name, his mouth opening to utter a retort, but a finger was placed over his mouth before he could speak. His breath caught in his chest as he felt the cold limb press on his lips.
The man stopped smiling. "You'd call a rat catcher of course," he said darkly as the train screeched into a station. "But you'd do well to treat him with care, or he might just steal everything you love."
Sherlock watched, speechless, as the man stood and sauntered off the train, the sound of his voice echoing through the empty platform. "Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, and bit the babies in the cradles…"
Sherlock fought to control a sudden rise of panic that welled up in his chest as the doors slid shut. His hands shook violently, his breath coming in thick gasps as he pressed his fingernails into his palms to try and ground himself. He needed a release. It was his only prerogative. He hated himself for it.
As soon as the train pulled into the next platform, Sherlock dashed off the train and pulled out his phone, sending a short message to a dealer he knew around the area. The girl appeared a few minutes later, smoking a roll-up. "Alright darlin'?" She said darkly, her smile all too knowing for Sherlock's liking.
"Fine." He thrust his last crumpled note at her and she passed him a small bag of white powder, her eyes glinting as she took a deep drag of her cigarette. "It's not enough love, but we'll stick it on your tab, yeah?"
Sherlock nodded, his eyes on the pavement as he took the baggie. She cackled at him, and blew a puff of smoke into his face. "Till next time then!" She called, sauntering away, blowing smoke into the sky.
Sherlock fumbled with the needle, his breath coming in short gasps, his eyes blurred as he tried to steady his hands enough to push the needle into his veins. He'd already poked himself and drawn blood. There was a small but steady trail of red dripping off the point of his elbow. Pushing on the plunger felt like a rush of euphoria. The world was bright and fantastic.
But something was wrong. Something was choppy and broken. "Bad batch…" he heard himself saying, though it echoed and swayed with his surroundings. His body felt light and his stomach churned as the world undulated around him, pain lurching up his side as he hit something on the way to the ground. He rolled over, his limbs not cooperating as he felt his heart begin to race and sweat beaded on his brow. Cold, trembling fingers dipped into his pocket and fished out his phone, but he couldn't control his limbs enough to use it. 'Damn it, this is what becomes of you…' he thought angrily as the phone slipped from his fingers, his vision fading around the edges.
"Mycroft," he heard himself mumbling over and over like a mantra as the world closed in around him. His veins felt like fire, his breath came in short bursts, his heart raced. The world crashed like a boiling sea, rough in a storm.
Something was happening to him, but he had no idea what. A warm hand pressed itself against his forehead, lifting the hair away from his eyes. Someone looked back at him. Someone's eyes. Green. The last drops of thought rolled away from him as the hand left his forehead, and he knew no more.
The translation for this chapter is "Cough Sedative", which is a reference to Bayer's Heroin - a 'non-addictive miracle cure' widely used to treat Tuberculosis, Pneumonia and all manner of respiratory ailments. The funny thing was, it did actually work. Of course, until they realised it was highly addictive and 4x stronger than morphine.
I know this chapter is short! I was planning to write more but then it kind of just came to a natural cliffhanger… haha… ahhh
I have the next 2 chapters planned out, and now both are on a cliffhanger, I'll let you decide which one you want to see first. Please leave a review saying whether you'd rather have a present or a past chapter next - most votes dictates which I next post!
See you soon! (If all goes to plan)