Sorry for the unexpected hiatus, readers. I've been busy with homework and having my girlfriend tutor me in the ways of this "tumblr".
Today's special is brought to you by Birdie7272 who said: My suggestion for a special is a kidnapping story. Not quite fluffy but you can end in fluff because you like it.
Actually I just studied human trafficking and kidnapping in issues class so it was about time I wrote this, and I tried to harden it up a bit to fit the hard theme of such an event. Coming up with some cool criminal name for the kidnapper was the worst, I finally found something but it doesn't sound nearly intimidating enough in my opinion but oh well. Hope you enjoy!
John
"Sherlock, I can't just take off from work whenever a new case comes up." John sighed as he entered the flat, expecting to see the pale ghost of his flatmate waiting anxiously by the door.
The doctor had just received a barrage of text messages from the detective explaining in great detail that John needed to leave immediately to join him at Lestrade's latest crime scenes. Apparently it was the third body to show up decapitated on the same street, how fun!
"Sherlock?" John surveyed the empty room. "Are you even...did you leave without me...?" John sighed.
It had been barely a week since Sherlock's last case, he'd closed a whole branch of a large human trafficking syndicate that had been operating in London. Sherlock had been unsatisfied with the result, claiming that he may as well have not even bothered if he couldn't find the head of the organization.
Even after John had reminded him of the two dozen lives he'd saved, Sherlock had persisted in pouting. Maybe it was a good thing he had another case to distract himself with.
John pulled out his phone, shooting Sherlock a quick annoyed text.
Left without me? If I'm going to take off work you could at least wait for me.
As he texted he noticed a shadow flicker across the surface of the screen. John frowned and turned behind him.
Nothing.
Then there was a sound, the creaking of a floorboard. John froze and his mind went into tactical mode.
Gun.
Sherlock had it last. Finding it? Hopeless.
Other weapons?
Sherlock keeps a sword under the couch. No, I made him move it to his room. Damn.
The footsteps grew nearer and John shifted quietly away from the doorway into the kitchen, pressing his back against a nearby wall. His hands balled into fists and he debated whether or not he could reach the lamp in time. That's when the owner of the footsteps moved into the room, and his partner who had remained crouched unseen behind the couch rose up and grabbed the doctor.
John actually did manage to get the lamp up and smash it over one of his assailant's heads, and the man cursed before crumpling to his knees. The other larger man who had grabbed John by his throat, swung the doctor around to slam his head into the floor. John's vision blurred and he swung wildly at whatever was in front of him, his legs upsetting the side table where the lamp had stood.
His attacker kept a tight grip on his throat, and John's body cried out for oxygen as everything went black.
Sherlock
"This is going to be a good one." Sherlock drew in an excited breath as he studied the bloodied corpse. He was enjoying himself immensely and there were two reasons for that. One being that this mystery was becoming ever so complex and he seemed to have found himself another puzzle to solve. Another reason was that Donovan had a clear aversion the the headless corpse and so he could study it without her babbling interruptions.
However he was not enjoying himself nearly as much as he could have been with Dr. Watson absent from his side. He'd been forced to leave without the doctor as he'd been taking too long packing up at the office.
"...Honestly why hasn't he quit already...?" Holmes muttered under his breath as he knelt by where the pool of blood had mingled with the thick December snow that coated the ground.
"I'm sorry, what?" Lestrade tilted his head and Sherlock, realizing he'd spoken his thoughts aloud, waved a dismissive hand.
It was odd for him to speak his thoughts without knowing, normally he kept his thoughts tightly locked up and the only other time he could think of himself muttering without knowing was...
"IOU"
Headless body. Focus.
Suddenly Sherlock's phone buzzed and the detective smirked. No doubt John was realizing his mistake in coming so late. He flicked the phone out to see he had two messages. The first was normal enough.
Left without me? If I'm going to take off work you could at least wait for me.
The second was more baffling and disturbing.
Ad;'d;lajgc
Sherlock's brow furrowed. John's phone had been smacked against something rather hard, unintentionally striking several buttons. Unless the doctor had begun throwing his phone in frustration, something was wrong.
John was in danger.
The thin detective did not give the corpse so much as a second look. He rose from his kneeling position and stormed off the scene.
"Hang on, where are you off to?" Lestrade hurried to keep up with the detective's determined stride. "Are we done here?"
"John. Something's not right." Sherlock stated rather than explained. Lestrade seemed to understand though as his face took on a concerned look. Sherlock tried to avoid feeling irritated that Lestrade was not only worried for John's wellbeing but mostly worried for Sherlock's emotional state. Somehow people had begun to notice his growing affection for the doctor, and it was becoming most bothersome.
"Want me to come with? I can take a few of the boys if you want." Lestrade offered.
"Tag along if you want. No others. I don't need you all blundering about in my flat." Sherlock sighed, hailing a cab home.
As soon as the detective stepped foot in the door he knew something was wrong. His eyes took in all the information and his brain mapped out the incidents.
Strangers. Two of them, one tall the other far shorter. One hid in the kitchen, made noise to draw John's attention. The other was behind the couch. John how could you not see him...? Focus.
Lestrade was on the phone, calling the incident in. He wasn't wasting a moment, however it really wasn't necessary. Sherlock was going to find who did this to his John and make them hurt.
They made their move and John fought back. Excellent, used the lamp. I should have left his gun out for him. He hit the first man hard and he fell but the other still had the element of surprise. Knocked over furniture in struggle. Deprived him of oxygen and dragged him down the stairs before returning to awaken his compatriot.
"I want officers looking on every street, do you hear me?" Lestrade finished, snapping his phone shut and shoving it into his pocket. His eyes flickered over to Sherlock, who was standing stock still in the middle of the room.
"Don't worry. We'll find him." He assured. Sherlock's eyes snapped up and fixed the detective inspector in a glare.
"I don't need you to find him, I will find him." He growled.
"Look, Sherlock as much faith as I have in you..." Lestrade sighed. "I really think you should let us handle this one. This is a matter for the police."
"You keep your men away from this, I don't need them sullying the trail." Sherlock hissed. Without John there to remind him that Lestrade was only trying to help he began to feel furious with the man who was standing in his way.
"If you run after them like this you're going to make an even bigger mess than even Anderson could." Lestrade insisted, but by this point Sherlock was shouldering past the yardie and taking the stairs two at a time. He would begin his search immediately.
John
He awoke with a bag over his head, his wrists and ankles were bound tightly. The air tasted stale and his head was pounding. In the distance he could hear a man talking. He assumed he was on the phone because he couldn't hear anyone responding.
The voice drew nearer and John could make out a few words.
"...make this easy...endure every torture my business..."
The voice sounded like silk with a steely edge to it. Suddenly John heard whoever was talking draw nearer, and someone grabbed him.
"Here's a sneak preview." The man hissed and suddenly there was a cold pain shooting down John's shoulder. There was someone behind him, stabbing him right where his shoulder had never healed right from Afghanistan. John screamed and his arms fought against their restraints to no avail.
"Checkmate." The voice had an audible smirk to it. John felt the sickening motion of the knife being pulled from his body. He was just beginning to come to terms with the dizzying pain when a needle went into his arm.
Everything went dark.
Sherlock
Sherlock was still out at two in the morning, scouring the streets of London for the tracks of the kidnappers. Footprints in the snow had turned into muddied tire tracks which had become indistinguishable from any other of the millions of tracks.
Sherlock felt defeated. The one moment where he needed to be clever the most and suddenly his confidence and energy were gone.
At this point he was looking frantically and practically punishing himself by pushing his body to keep running and leaping despite his lack of sleep.
He tried to ignore his phone but after it buzzed a third time he finally picked it out of his pocket. Two text messages from Lestrade were blocked out by the urgent call currently coming through. The number was blocked, but Sherlock knew exactly who it was going to be.
"Who are you?" He growled furiously into the phone. There was some hesitation on the other end, then a chuckle.
"You know me. Great brilliant Sherlock Holmes, surely you know me. You closed down my west division last week. I didn't like that very much." The voice said smoothly.
"Really?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, even though his stomach was twisting with dread. "Trafficking boss seeks revenge. Am I supposed to be surprised?"
"You're not supposed to be surprised, Holmes. You're supposed to be worried for your dear friend Dr. Watson." The man replied.
"What is your name?" Sherlock pushed, ignoring the comment.
"I'm called Encantado. Do you get why?" The man now known as Encantado asked in a purr.
"Old Brazilian folklore. A river spirit that resembled a snake. It would become a human to seduce and kidnap unsuspecting people." Sherlock rambled off, just another random fact from within the mind palace.
"Very good." Encantado replied. "A spirit that loved human depravity. It would join the party and then take home whatever treats it wanted."
"Stop wasting my time." Sherlock snarled. "I don't want to hear about your ridiculous nickname or folklore!"
"Let's make this easy, shall we?" Encantado sighed. "Look. You are never getting Dr. Watson back again. Call it petty but I do enjoy revenge. He will endure every torture of my business. I'll sell him off from bidder to bidder so they can beat him, use him for manual labor, maybe play around with him a bit. Ooh, I bet you wanted to do that first didn't you?"
Sherlock nearly crushed the phone in his hand, his body was shaking.
"Whatever they want to do to him, I'll allow it. You can just forget about saving him. Consider this a courtesy call."
"I will find you." Sherlock warned.
"Doubtful, and if you ever do you can watch me finish off the good doctor myself. Here's a sneak preview."
John's screams filled Sherlock's ears and for a moment everything that had once been crystal clear in his observant eyes suddenly became dull and hard to read.
Encantado laughed. "Checkmate." He whispered, and then the line went dead.