The door opened. A man with brown-ginger hair walked in, wearing a light blue shirt and torn jeans. Definitely not what Sherlock had excepted. Wait…does that mean that he… deduced wrong? He shook his head, trying to clear the ringing noise in his ears. The side of his neck hurt again and he tried to remembered what happened there. What came up was a blank. A blank. Since when…
He tried going to his mind palace, but as he looked, everything was locked up. Crossed off by yellow police tapes, spreading from above all the way to below, crossing out the hallway, doors, every place he could set foot on. Do not cross. Why?
The man had already reached him, boots clanging on the stone floor at each agonizing step. Tall, 1.88 or so, tattoo of a snake on his left arm, knife in the other. Knife. Sherlock wished he had the ability to speak, to make a retort about this man's flashy and dramatic wear but of course, nothing came out. The man smiled at Sherlock's attempt to speak.
"Well, well, well, didn't except to ever see me huh?" He fingered the knife in his hand, turning it around and around so that the light reflects off it. In one smooth move, he had the knife right under Sherlock's throat. Sherlock tried to act like that didn't bother him. However he flinched. Just a teensy bit. Enough for Moran to see.
The grin on his face spread wide. "Oh, sorry," he retracted the knife, "forgot you were already stabbed in the throat." He flicked the knife up then caught it in midair.
"You know how much damage you did to me over the past three years?" He started pacing around the room. "You, and your stupid mission to disable Moriarty's web," Moran snarled at the name Moriarty. "Bet you don't know, hm,?"
Of course I know you despise him, Sherlock thought, frustrated with the fact that he cannot speak. For goodness sake, you despise him, it's obvious!
There was a pause before Moran continued speaking. "I, despise him…" he said softly. Sherlock was about to roll his eyes but Moran wasn't done yet.
"I hate him," he growled, almost to himself. "I hate Moriarty, and yet you were all so scared of him, his crazy little ways to strap bombs to people. I'm not going to be like him. A psychopath. No no no, I'm going to surpass him, Sherlock Holmes, and you'll be the first." He began to advance towards him.
"You won't kill me, you only want me for money," Sherlock said, hoping that Moran could read his lips. "You won't kill me Moran, you're not like Moriarty,"
But Moran only smiled, ignoring Sherlock's silent words. "What did you say, mute?" He cupped his hand around his ear as if he cannot hear him. "What was it that you just said, mute?"
A fist rammed into him, knocking his head all the way back. Fresh blood started to stream down his face and down to his chest, turning his white shirt crimson red. Tilting to the side, Sherlock spit a glob of blood down to the ground, clenching his teeth to ignore the bleeding wound inside. Moran stood a few meters away from him, examining his hand.
"You little bastard," he walked towards him and grabbed him by the collar. "Come on mute! Say something! Come on say something!"
At each sentence he kneeled him in the stomach, earning collective gasps at each kick.
"Come on, say something!" He pushed him to the ground, the steel chair clattering along beside him.
"Come on, mute! Say something!" Pulling the chair out, he delivered some more blows, stamping on the shrinking detective as he curled over to protect himself.
"Do you know how much hardship you caused me?"
Another kick.
"How much pain, you made me suffer?"
It's going to be a while till Moran runs out of his anger.
"I had to hide, in the gutters,"
So did I.
"I barely survived, while you, went to have your little cute reunion with your pet,"
The boot slammed against his head.
"What was his name again?"
John.
"John right?"
No, Doctor John Watson.
Moran buried his foot in his stomach. Sherlock doubled over and rolled around, knees brought up to his chest as a defense. Moran only laughed at this.
Yelling, screaming, aren't they all the same?
Crying, weeping, mourning. Sentiment. Why are people so sentimental? Another blow to the head. Sherlock could feel the thick liquid running through his hair, seeping down his neck, over his face, onto the floor.
"Stupid, idiot,"
"Speak,"
"Mute,"
Another blow, this one near his ear. It blast like a bass drum, then left a buzzing sound that he can never get rid of. He tried shaking his head, to get rid of it but it was always there. Why are there always ringing? Every single time. Ringing his head. Telling him to wake up. Wake up from what?
From this place? Is this place a nightmare? But everything felt so real. Explain that.
He was now crouching on the floor now, head hid behind his legs in effort to block most of the attacks. Though not all. A kick in the abdomen resulted more blood coming up his throat, coughing it onto the hard cement ground. He felt the grains of tiny rocks, embed in the ground, palm and backhand pressed onto the concrete floor. Hands still tied.
The attacks went on, round by round, till bruises covered every inch of his body, coloring his skin black and blue.
Suddenly, a clear resonant sound broke through the air, slicing the atmosphere, breaking the thin line of sanity that he was holding on. A call. Someone was calling him. Phone. The shadow of Moran shifted as he went to grab the ringing cell. Whitney must have left it on the table at the far end. Sherlock twisted around so that he can see Moran moving towards the table, fingers tracing the edge then crawling up towards the flashing phone.
"It's Lestrade," he said with a low chuckle. "They really do care about you, don't they? No wonder one of the snipers were on him," he grinned widely then put a finger to his lips. "Let's play a game of… silence," he whispered.
There was click, followed by a voice. Lestrade's voice.
"Sherlock, where in the world are you?" Lestrade's urgent voice came through. "We have been bloody looking for you in the past hour,"
Case. Moran showed him what he was typing. "Isn't that what you always say," he mouthed, knowing Sherlock can read his lips.
"Dammit Sherlock, how about this case? And where are you?"
Boring, we already know who did it. There's no way to find out where they were.
"Fine, then. But where are you?"
Moran smiled at this. "Let me give you a little hint," he said silently. He began typing.
"Guildford? Why are you in Guildford?"
Case, I told you.
"Very well then. Um… do you need help or something like what kind of case is this? Who's leading?"
Fine Lestrade, don't need your help.
"Are you sure?"
Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Will be back in a few days.
Sherlock gritted his teeth at it and tested his restraints again. "NO!" He wanted to scream but as usual, nothing came out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the metal chair that he was tied to a few minutes ago. If he could just…
The chair slid a few feet across the ground, scraping the stone floor, iron legs clattering around. The voice in the phone stopped.
"I-what was that?"
Moran shot him a death glare then turned his attention back to the phone.
Nothing, accidentally kicked something. He typed. A sigh was heard from the phone.
"Okay then, well take care of yourself, I hope you don't run into any trouble," he said.
No, Lestrade's going to pick up soon, there has to be a way…
The call ended with a click. The room fell back into silence, waters stilled. Sherlock gazed up at Moran, towering over him like a statue, frozen, playful smile hung there, mocking him.
You bastard, Sherlock snarled.
Moran's hands were on his throat in an instance.
"What did you just say?" He asked, face inches from his. "What, did you just say?"
His fingers were like rods of iron, clamped around his throat, knee pushing him down. Sherlock tried to pry his fingers away, but his hands were still pinned behind him. He tried twisting around, to break free of Moran's stone grip but nothing worked. It was like fighting air. You can never beat it.
Black spots began appearing before his eyes, his throat working to get some air beneath the pressure. Rocks and water crashed upon him, suffocating him, drowning him. Breathing never felt so hard. Then the seal was released. He reeled, taking in gulps of precious air, oxygen that he yearned for a few seconds ago. The picture cleared. Light green meet blue-gold.
"Can't kill you now," he whispered.
Sherlock learned not to speak that day. Even when he can make no sounds.
Hey guys, Izzy here. The Moran that I'm imagining here right now is currently played by Tom Hiddleston though I have no idea how the real Moran will look in season 4. I think it will be great if BC and TH work together in a movie or something.
Thanks for Bunny's daughter, Icecat62, Lovely whim, N. , Saavikam69, Shirsim, avcngrs, bre13rose, britlynn, crexy, ivoryraindrops, paula. , and for favoriting!
Doctor Strange is literally Inception in Marvel form. One of my favorite actors acting in one of my favorite movies in Marvel wowowowowowowowow.