Chapter 2: The boy learns the rules to survive
Sherlock came to the conclusion it was safer for him to behave and play along with his 'Master'. There would be an opening in the tight security around him and he would be able to escape. Waiting for help wouldn't change his situation and he thought no one would come. So he had to find a way on his own.
After the horrible first meeting with the master they had both been collected by a car. Sherlock had climbed in without fighting. The pain wasn't worth it. There was no place he could run to right now.
During the car ride he kept as much space as possible between himself and his kidnapper. Sherlock stared out of the window trying to locate his current whereabouts. But that was not a place Sherlock had ever visited, seen in a book or on TV. There was actually nothing to be seen except the wide dessert and a few mountains in the distance.
"Listen up, Sherlock. I'm glad you learned your lesson about obedience already, so we can skip that part of your studying but remember that if you misbehave in future there will be serious punishments." The voice of his master brought Sherlock's attention back to the inside of the car.
"Today we will start your training. I have already explained to you that I will make you into something great but for this you need a certain amount of training." Sherlock swallowed. That didn't sound good.
"You will get physical training; a master of the martial arts will teach you how to use your body. You will get lessons like in school, a bit more specific and focusing on the important things for life. I have a few selected people who will teach your mind in economics, politics, history, science and languages. And it is my pleasure to teach your soul. I will give you everything but first I will also take everything. I will break you so that you can become my perfect creation." Sherlock stared at the mad man and was now really scared.
"Do you understand what your life will be like for the next years?" A dangerous spark appeared in his master's eyes.
"Yes." Sherlock answered quickly. His master's eyes got even madder.
"Yes, Master." Came out of Sherlock's mouth quickly. A punishment now wouldn't be good. He didn't want to break even if that was his Master's goal. Break and rebuild.
"Good." The rest of the journey went by in silence and Sherlock was very thankful for that.
Three months along in the residence at his master's home Sherlock was sure of a few things.
First was to endure his physical training and the studying with the professors like Sherlock had to call the teachers. He also found that these two things were the easiest to bear. His trainer was nice to him. Always pushing him to his limits and further but nice. The professors were all different, intelligent and most of them brilliant in their area but they didn't hurt him. This was nice too.
The things his Master taught him were different and just plainly wrong and Sherlock slowly understood where it would lead him to.
The first thing he made Sherlock do (and Sherlock did it, afraid of punishment) was to kill a dog. It was a stray they had picked up somewhere on the road. Master lead them (Sherlock and the dog) into a room, small and cold.
"Only one of you will leave this room alive. Don't disappoint me." He threw a knife on the ground and locked the door behind him. Sherlock was left alone with the dog and the knife.
Sherlock sat in one corner, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them. What he had to do was clear. Kill the dog or die, either eaten by it or starving. The dog sniffed around in the room coming closer to Sherlock, probably looking for contact with the only other living being.
This was so wrong and Sherlock knew it. Killing was wrong. His mother had explained it to him. 'You shouldn't hurt people or animals. They feel the same pain as you do.' But he had promised himself to survive and go back home. If he died here in this room he would never see his family again. He started to cry at that thought.
Sherlock waited. Maybe Master would get him out before the dog would eat him. He was thirsty and he was cold. But with every passing hour he knew the door would only open once only one breathing being remained.
He looked over to the dog that lay at his side of the room, eyes half closed. Sherlock had pushed him away as he had tried to cuddle with him. It would be hard enough to do this without starting to like that dog.
Sherlock got up, after over a day without food and water, with not enough sleep and the constant presence of panic and fear, his body was weak. His legs were shaking a bit as he walked over to the knife and picked it up.
"I'm sorry I have to do this. You can hate me if you want but I will do everything to survive and go back home." Starting to talk Sherlock lifted his eyes up from the knife and looked at the dog. He walked over to him, knelt down and rubbed the dirty fur.
Sherlock had no idea how to do it. He didn't want to hurt the dog, it had to be painless and that meant fast. He thought about the fastest way to kill someone.
Stabbing the dog in the heart could work but for that he had to aim and hit it perfectly. Sherlock wasn't sure he would be able to do that. He could knock it out and then do it. But he wasn't strong enough to hit the dog with enough force on the head. Strangulation would take too much time and again he wasn't strong enough. The last thing that was left, due to the lack of poison or other weapons, was cutting the dog's throat. Swallowing hart he realized that was the reason Master had given him the knife.
During his thinking process Sherlock's hand never left the dog's head. The dog had relaxed under the caring touch but also felt that Sherlock had made a decision.
Sherlock closed his arms around the dog hugging him, in one hand the knife. "Please forgive me." Sherlock pulled his arm back to his body slicing open the dog's throat with all the power he had and jumped back.
The dog made a painful noise, howling and growling at Sherlock who fled into the furthest corner of the room. The fur on the chest was not brown anymore. It now had a dirty dark brown/red color and the blood spilled on the ground building red puddles. The dog was definitive in pain and Sherlock cried while crouching down on the ground.
The dog didn't attack the child; Moriarty intervened before that could happen. Watching the whole thing he smiled to himself. The child had found out the best way to kill the animal without pain. A bit sloppy in the realization but he could learn better. Proud of his new toy and hopefully on day his future right hand he walked down the hall to get his protégé out of the room.
The child was in shock but it stood up and followed his master who pulled him by his hand. The child's eyes, red from crying were fixed on the dog until they left the room. It would be a few hard years of work but it was still early days and the child would learn soon to forget his previous life and become the man Moriarty had in mind.
Sherlock's hand was pulled and his body followed it. Master led him to a new room; he saw the locks at the door. Another prison cell for him. Master threw him into the room.
"This is your new room, if you behave, do what I tell you to do and learn you lessons, then you can stay. If not, there will be consequences you won't like. Starting with the loss of your room and having to sleep outside chained to the ground. Think about what is better. The nights in the dessert are cold and dangerous creatures come out of their hiding spots." Sherlock looked around his new room. It had a bed, a desk with chair, a wardrobe, which he could see was filled with clothes, and a bookshelf filled with books.
Sherlock looked back at Master and saw the same look on his face as before. He had already understood what that meant. "Thank you for my room, Master, I will behave."
"Good. On your desk is a plan for your days with instructions as to what to wear and what to bring. Your food will be brought to you to your room for the next weeks until I can be sure you won't disturb a meal. You can rest now." With that Sherlock was left alone; the noise of the lock was loud in the silence of the room.
And with that Sherlock's days of training and lessons began.
First thing in the morning, someone would bring him breakfast and, after having experienced once what happened when not eating it all, his plates would now find their way back into the kitchen empty.
Next was the training with his Sensei: two hours of running, jumping, climbing, swimming, diving and fighting. He learned more than one way to fight and kill with his hands. It was exhausting but kept him from thinking too much about his situation.
After that he got his lessons with the Professors. Endless talking and listening about topics Sherlock found partly interesting and fascinating and partly boring and rubbish. Six to eight hours a day only interrupted by a quick lunch alone in his study room.
In the late afternoon or evening Master would call him. They were always alone during their time. The topics were strange and difficult and disgusting sometimes. For example Sherlock had to do an autopsy on a dead man. Then Master would teach him everything about poison, where to find it, how to produce and the best way to use it. Another day there was again the killing of an innocent animal, every few weeks, and Sherlock was told to get creative and better at killing or a punishment would follow. He learned a million different ways to kill people, one or many at once. How to cover it up as suicide or send a message to someone. He learned how to hurt someone without killing. Interrogation techniques, code cracking, hacking and handling explosions which meant building bombs. Sherlock would also learn how to handle weapons of all kinds but that would come at a later stage.
Some lessons took until late into the night and Sherlock would fall asleep the second he was dismissed. He would sleep until the next morning and the cycle would start again. His days went on and on without a break or a free day for weeks and months until Sherlock just forgot to count the days, forgot to look for a way out and slowly lost the memory of his family and home. He just tried to please his Master and his Sensei and the Professors; he tried his best every day to make them proud of him.
If Sherlock had known what the Stockholm syndrome was he might have understood what happened to him but he had never heard of it and now he didn't feel like he was a prisoner of a victim anymore. He was Master's protégé. Always doing what he was told and trying his best to become a criminal mastermind himself to make Master proud.