Hello! Are you ready for the story?
Oh, look! A rare sighting! What is it? Two chapters in one day!
Happy? (She knows I'm pointing a look at her.)
I don't own Moriarty, or any of the characters of Sherlock. I only have John Watson Junior in this chapter.
Leave a review and/or like wouldya?
Do you nice peoples like the shorter chapters?
Enjoy!
Chapter Six
Psychopaths Galore
John woke to the one thing he did not want to see.
Andromeda's bed was empty.
It wasn't like there was a struggle or anything; the sheets were tucked perfectly under the flowery duvet. He frantically pressed the big, red call button beside the bed. Much to his dismay, the nurses did not come, not even if he pressed it multiple times. He let out a frustrated cry and stood, storming over to the door. He reached for the handle, preparing for the cold metal to hit his perspiration-lined palms, but it swung open before he could touch it. Of course, hospital doors open inwards. There was going to be a bruise in the middle of John's forehead now. Oh, and another one where the back of his skull made impact with the blue tile.
"Hello!" a man stood over the boy. "Were you calling for me?" John's clenched his core muscles enough so he could see a dark haired man smiling at him. He did not like that smile, not one bit.
Immediately, he scrabbled back, crab walk style, his breathing uneven.
"What'd you do with her?" he screamed, hoping without hope that he would be loud enough for the nurses to hear.
"Oh, Johnny boy! You really think people are going to help you? How wrong you are." The man pulled a pair of white latex gloves out of his gray suit pocket and pulled them over his rough hands. "I don't really understand why you don't recognise me."
"Why should I? Who the hell are you?" He used the bed to help himself up, but that was a mistake, because the creep by the door pushed him down. The blond boy cried out, and tried to sit up, only to be pressed further up the bed. The man clunked him on the head with some sort of heavy metal instrument that phased through John's vision before he could identify it. It paralysed him long enough for the manic to tie him down with… zip ties?
"Oh dear, John, oh dear. I forgot I made you forget everything. Even darling Andy! Well, when we're done here, you'll remember every. Haunting. Detail!" That was when John realised he wasn't really in St. Anne's, merely a room made to look like Andromeda's.
"I know Andromeda, what are you on about, psycho?" John gave up struggling against the white plastic and laid his head back on the pillow.
"Ooh, hasn't Daddy taught you about name calling? Oh! Whoopsie daisy! Things keep slipping my mind today! I forgot you never met your dad! What about Mummy? Oh! My bad again, Mummy didn't care about you. You know, you aren't the only one whose parents don't like their child. Remember little Andy? No, I know you don't remember her before she was seventeen, you won't remember the time when you were both five and she ratted you out for saying 'crap'! But SHE also lost her parents, you know. Both just didn't care." The man was staring right at John from the armchair now.
"Shut up! Just SHUT UP!" he yelled as forcefully as he could, but the man's excitement was not dented.
"Deduce who I am! I know you can." The smile was on his face again. John literally shuddered with rage.
He took a shaky breath, "I. Don't. Know." He insisted.
The man stood and leaned over the poor boy. "Yes. You. DO!" the man's breath tickled John's ear. He then stood straight again and planted himself at the end of the cot. John refused to look at him and found an interest with the ceiling. "There are two ways you could know my name. You want me to name one?" John said nothing. "One, the cute little stories that you've read all over the place! Except they're not STORIES, John, they're newspaper articles about your uncle and the detective and I. Oh, look, shall I give you back your memories? No? Okay, well take my word for it then, you and I have met before! Remember when you were little? Of course you don't!"
John never really looked back on the times when he was a boy under fifteen. It hit hi that he couldn't remember much about it, other than his mother abused him whenever he was home. "How could you POSSIBLY know that?" he said, raising his head to glare at the madman.
The man smirked. "What's that saying? Another psychopath says it often. Oh yes! Spoilers! John! I can't tell you ANYTHING. You'll just have to remember." John gave him a blank stare. "Oh, don't worry. While you spend some time with me and Sebby here," a white blond man with a strong jaw line entered the room with a hypodermic syringe, "you'll remember everything in your dreams!"
John began to frantically squirm, but couldn't move away from the ever-approaching needle.
"Go to sleep, John. And when you wake up- oh, I don't think you'll be doing that for a very long time." The bleach blond haired man laughed.
John felt the prick of the needle sliding under his skin, and the rush of a foreign fluid entering his neck.
"ANDROMEDA!" he cried out. The chemical felt like fire burning through his veins.
"Maybe you'll see her in your dreams, boy." "Sebby"'s voice was definitely a man's, but was higher pitched than most. "After all, we gave her the same drug.
The last word John managed before he slipped out of consciousness was, "No."