Chapter 5: The boy slips away
There are a few advantages if you have your own little department within the government. For example you have your private little army; well let's call it special unit. Good and trustworthy people who have worked for you long enough to know how the world and their job work.
Mycroft sent for his men and gave the order to investigate the criminal organization that had its headquarters at the base his brother had been found. Collecting information was one of the most important things you have to do in this world. Information was power and Mycroft needed power. He had already collected enough information for them to read together with his brother's picture and the order to find him and, whatever he did, they were not to harm him.
"Sir?" One of his team members called for him. Young man, short. John Watson, newest member of his team, doctor, good man.
"Yes, Captain what can I do for you?" He wasn't sure he liked it when someone asked a question.
"I know this person; I think I met him a few years ago. I would be sure if I could see his eyes but I think this is the boy I saw at the scene of a terror attack." John was always good with faces and he had never forgotten the boy who had shattered his soul while John was watching. Now everyone in the meeting room was staring at him with open mouths, including their boss.
"What? Say that again. You know him?" The look on his boss' face was a bit insane but John answered anyway.
"Not know, Sir, I saw him years ago. Never talked to him." And so he told his team where they had 'met', what the boy had done, described the boy himself and everything else John could recall. In the end it was nothing new. They knew that the criminal organization they were up against offered their work to others, like terror groups. His boss looked a bit disappointed. Not directly at him but in general.
"Who is he and why is he important to you?" Asking such a private question was risky but John had always liked danger and he thought he had the right to know.
"My baby brother. He was kidnapped when he was four years old. I never stopped looking and now I have found him." On their boss's face, the iceman who only let anger or disappointment sometimes slip through his mask looked sad and guilty. The room went deadly quiet. Now they knew what kind of mission this was going to be. Not destruction, but rescue.
Sherlock was alone in his room, not his room, but a private room in one of Master's hospitals. He had told Sherlock it could come in handy to have your own army of doctors. The empty room gave him a bit of security. He was sure there were cameras somewhere in the room but at least no one would hear him moan when he moved and the pain was too much. A sign of weakness.
He still couldn't remember what had happened after the alarm system had started off and Sherlock feared Master would punish him for forgetting. It would be the first punishment in years, he swallowed hart at the thought.
Sherlock had to get better and show Master that he could do everything for him. There was very little he would not do to please him. Thinking about it he couldn't remember the last time he had wastes a single second to consider an alternative to the one which would bring the highest collateral damage, the highest body count, the biggest destruction to the area, the most fear and hate, not to mention never stopping to think twice about the people involved.
Alone in his hospital bed Sherlock felt the long forgotten pain in his stomach. He was a monster, a highly functional monster, trained to do evil. At that thought Sherlock had to vomit over the edge of his bed. As the nurses came in to help and clean him he just blamed his head injury for it.
After they had left Sherlock collected his thoughts and banished every bit of sentiment he could still find in the cellar dungeons of his mind palace. A technic he had learned from Master to sort his knowledge and use it better than normal people. That he can also hide thing, he had to teach himself. The only thing that let him go further was this dungeon where he could hide everything Master did not approve of, like feelings and emotions but also memories Sherlock wanted to forget but needed like the punishments.
It was an easy job for John to play the nice doctor who was just a soldier because he had no choice. The village he was stationed at was easily big enough to call itself a town. He was here to collect information and for that reason he was working as a doctor at the military base close by. The village people didn't trust him at first but after he had treated nearly everyone or one of their family members once he got closer to his main purpose. Not that helping the people was a waste of time. Many needed the help and couldn't pay for it in the nearby hospital. They had no more than a few rooms and a half broken room for the surgical procedures.
And after gaining their trust he also got information from them without them knowing they were giving it. About the people who visited the area, the local people, different power holders and the mysterious man who lead them all. It took John weeks to get a confirmation of the mere existence of that man. But there was nothing more, just his name: Moriarty. That was all John could get after nearly a month of work.
Disappointed in himself he left the base for an afternoon walk. Not the safe thing to do in this neck of the woods but who would stop him?
The smell of old and new books was around him and he felt as if he was in paradise. A shadowed figure walked beside him holding his small (child's hand). The figure turned to him.
"Don't let go off my hand or you will be lost." The voice was faint and sounded far away.
The books around him called his name and in a moment of distraction he let go of the hand and walked around his paradise.
As he turned around there was only darkness behind him. The figure, the other shadows and the store were gone. Looking in front of him the same. Everything was gone.
He was alone in the darkness calling a name and for help.
"Myc…" Sherlock nearly jumped out of the bed the next second forgetting the name in his mind. His breathing was fast and he had to hold himself together by hugging his chest with his arms. He closed his eyes and started to control his breathing willing it back to a normal rate.
This dream was somehow horrible and beautiful at the same time. Sherlock couldn't explain it but, as bad as the darkness was, the shadow hand always gave him a feeling of safety and home. Something he never really felt or understood. He had had that dream since he had woken from his coma but he pushed all thoughts about it away. Things like strange dreams are nothing you can allow yourself around Master.
As Sherlock calmed down he got up and got dressed. Today was the first day he was allowed to leave the hospital. And he wanted to use this chance to walk to their home, not that it was called home. It was just the place they were staying in until they would find a new place to live. Sherlock was sure Master had already a few places in mind and would test him be letting him choose.
The walk was more exhausting than Sherlock had thought but it was a good kind of exhausting after all the weeks in hospital. He was still not 100% back to his old form but he was slowly getting there.
He liked this village. With Master he had lived in many different countries, sometimes in big cities, sometimes in the middle of nowhere. But this little village had been his home for two years. He likes the climate, the surroundings and even the people didn't bother him.
As he walked over to the main street directing his steps towards his home he saw a soldier. Soldiers were supposed to be here but not alone or at that time of day. They should be at their base, walking around in big frightening groups or just staying away in the evening. To his surprise the soldier changed his direction after he spotted Sherlock. Sherlock did not think to run. In his condition he had no chance.
Sherlock waited until the soldier stopped in front of him, eyeing him from head to toe.
"Sherlock Holmes?" The soldier asked with a soft smile on his face.
He must have misheard for how did this soldier now his first name? Never mind he had never even heard of the last name before. Thinking about it he was never called by his last name. Sherlock had never needed a last name and now he couldn't remember having one. But everyone has a last name, why not him? And who was the soldier?