Chapter 4: God I am tired and I truly hate school.
Author's Note: Sorry I've taken so long to upload another chapter :/ Real life is pretty tough, anyways thanks for any reviews you have sent me and I would love some more so don't hesitate. If you have any ideas or anything you want to say just message me :) Enjoy the chapter and I'll try to upload sooner.
"Very nicely done, Watson." Mycroft leaned onto his cane and looked out thoughtfully.
"You know how many people you could have killed?" Lestrade pulled John by the collar and held him furiously in front of Lestrade's face.
"Gre- Agent Lestrade, stop manhandling Agent Watson immediately. Remember that this entire meeting is being recorded," Mycroft sighed as though he was dealing with toddlers. "You have put not only Agent Holmes at risk but you have put the entire CIA at risk as well. We will have to take immediate action to relocate our entire facility and do you know how expensive that is?" John, now released from Lestrade's clutches, smoothed down his shirt and forced himself to meet Mycroft's eyes.
"I can apologize profusely and it will not do to show how guilty I am. I have been racking my brain for the last hour in fear." John watched Mycroft lift his walking stick and examine it.
"You have done more harm than you can repair. I will have to go and immediately begin the relocation process." Mycroft turned and gestured for Lestrade to follow. Lestrade shoved John aside as he passed.
"What is to be done about Agent Holmes?" John stood straighter and displayed no emotion on his face.
"That is your new mission. You can find the file in Hideout, where your partner for this mission will be waiting," Mycroft turned to leave and Lestrade followed, before he exited the door Mycroft turned his head and said briefly, "And John, we will be discussing your current place as a Special Service Agent when this is over." Then Mycroft was gone and John stumped over, unable to hold himself up with confidence.
"Hello Molly." John greeted the bright red haired girl who was viewing something in a microscope.
"John," Molly returned the greeting. Mycroft had decided against informing the CIA agents and desk workers that John had revealed the information. John welcomed Molly's warmth after Mycroft's bitter harshness and Lestrade's red fury. "It's over there." Molly pointed to the table that sat in front of the huge TV screen.
"Well, seems we have a lot of work to do." Molly glanced up at John. She nodded her head in agreement to him.
"I've read the protocol for our mission today. We don't have much to go off, since Mycroft's busy with this relocation. He's handed me three satellites to look from." Molly came around from the other side of the table and stood beside John. John lifted the sheet and read silently the words it had to offer. The faint taste of nausea lingered in his mouth and he looked up at Molly.
"Alright, we'd better get started."
"What first?" Molly inquired, they were running out of time and John wondered silently what was happening to Sherlock.
The room was a small depiction of a master bedroom. On one end lay the only thing Sherlock could recognize, beneath the blood and what appeared to be vomit, lay a bed. Sherlock eyed it cautiously. Along one wall stood an antique desk lined with burnt candles. Dried wax spilt over the edges of the candle. A small window had been barred and a mess of what must have previously been curtains hung from the slender bar above the window. Sherlock was seated in a black wooden chair on top of a blood stained carpet. Sherlock watched, calm and collected as they cuffed his hands behind him with the sharp plastic. Sherlock looked up at his captor. The man sported a balding head and a thick leather jacket, his jaw hung open slightly, revealing black soot covered teeth. The man had worked as a coal miner and had stained parts of his skin as well as his mouth. Sherlock watched him leave the room and cringed slightly at the sound of the loud thud of the boulder on the other side falling into place. Sherlock listened to the man's retreading footsteps. Sherlock waited patiently for movement of some sort. Eventually the light outside dimmed by the hour and Sherlock predicted it was around 6:00 when the door opened.
"Sherlock," Moriarity stepped into the room. Sherlock watched Moriarity, who stood now with his hands inside his pockets, survey the room. "I was hoping it would be harder, Sherlock," Moriarity walked towards the window. "I hoped you would put up a bit more of a fight but little Sherlock, how could you?" Moriarity laughed. "You made a big mistake, playing this game. The game of the adults,"
The door opened and 2 men entered, the coal miner was one of them, the other was thin and tall. Together they stood behind both ends of Sherlock's chair.
"You see when I heard what a huge fuss you all were making over this silly paper, I decided I would make it worth your while," Moriarity turned towards Sherlock and held a cigarette between two fingers. "Now I know your CIA base and I have your little John in my hands like a puppet. 2 days, Sherlock. That's all it took," Moriarty gestured to Sherlock. "Strip him." Moriarty ordered the men.
Sherlock felt the blade of a knife cut the flex cuff open to release his hands. Sherlock immediately brought them into his view, the tips of his fingers had gone slightly blue and his wrists lined with a not-really-but-very-nearly scarlet red cut. The men behind him hoisted Sherlock up and then Sherlock was barely standing on his own limp legs. Sherlock gripped the chair to stay upright.
"Do not try and fight back, Sherlock. You know what will happen if you do, don't you?" Moriarty took a long slow drag from his cigarette. The thin tall man stood in front of Sherlock and took a knife out from his pocket; he tore a straight line through Sherlock's suit and ripped it off.
Sherlock pulled the shirt over his head, preferring to do it himself than have someone else do it for him.
"There is absolutely no trace of you, Sherlock. Nowhere. No one will find you here and by the time they get to the cinema to look for clues my crew will have swiped and swept the entire hall clean," Moriarty grinned at Sherlock. Sherlock stood, bare and naked in the cold air of the musty old room. He felt stripped of not only his clothes but also his power. Suddenly Sherlock felt defenseless.
"I spent a long time in Jamaica when I was about 23. Such a beautiful country, and the gambling, oh you should have seen me play," Moriarty gestured with his hands for Sherlock to be seated. The men shoved Sherlock into the chair, his buttocks and lower organs coming into contact with the damp cloth. "I played once against this man who went under the alias Quantim. The stakes that night were up to 20 million and right before the game was going to end, right before he knew and I knew I was going to win, you know what I saw on this murderous, cold, undefeated man's face? I saw the fear of all the men he had killed," Moriarty inhaled on his cigar and he exhaled swiftly. "That is what I am going to see in your eyes." Moriarty smiled and puffed again on his cigar.
The first satellite they looked into was known as 'Time Warner Cable.' It was darkening outside though John and Molly paid no attention. They watched the satellite through the first few hours of the day and the cinema was packed with hundreds of people John could not make out who was who. They watched through 6 different satellites before John collapsed.
"We'll never find him." John said, mostly into his hands.
Molly smiled, not at his exasperation but at his melodramatic-ness. "It's been only 2 hours. We've searched every angle and every corner and we haven't found him yet…"
"Well I bloody hell know that already," John's hands fell to the lab table and he glared up at Molly. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. It's been a long day." He sighed but Molly took no interest in what John had been saying. Molly closed her eyes in deep thought and her face completely tranquil. Then she opened her eyes and John immediately recognized the tint and sparkle of hope. He sat up and Molly lightly pushed him aside. She began typing into the computer.
"John you said they had weapons on them." Molly grinned into the computer screen and beside her John fumbled with what he was receiving.
"Yes, so?"
"So luckily for us there is a thermal camera setting on this satellite and we can view every element in different colors." Molly turned to John and he grinned at her.
"You're brilliant Molly! Now we've just got to get the setting on, do you know where to do that from?" In answer to John's question, Molly switched the camera to its thermal setting. The screen burst into a million pixels of different colors. John's eyes fought the blue and he searched for the dark blue, or almost black color indicating a hard metal. There was a silence of hope and anxiety as they searched the crowd of hundreds. John could see himself, could see Sherlock beside him, so close. John's eyes flickered away from the two of them. "Keep going to the next image, they must have arrived later than us."
Molly pressed forward and John watched Sherlock turn and face John with a serious face. Then John grabbed the tickets from Sherlock and turned. John watched Sherlock hesitate for a moment before following John.
"There!" Molly's finger lunged forward and paused the playing pictures. She pointed towards the picture. "You see?" John blinked and looked at the two large men. Yes, they were most defiantly the men who had held Sherlock. Where was Irene? "They're going through the back entrance." Molly's finger followed them as they walked towards the turn of the huge theater. On the other side John knew were the employers' quarters. Then John' spotted Irene. Irene entered separately through the regular entrance and walked forward with purpose. John's stomach turned as he remembered her bitter betrayal he yet had to wrap his head around.
"Skip forward," John instructed and Molly obliged. People hurried back and forth until John saw Sherlock exit coolly with the 2 men beside him. To an outsider it might look like Sherlock was in no problem but John could see the way Sherlock glanced around frantically and nervously. They entered a black Suede car. John paused the picture it was on. He zoomed into the car and noted it's number. Then he entered the search engine and typed the number in. Several results showed up, including a tracker that had at some point been installed in it. John opened the map and viewed it's location. It had been parked in an alleyway a short walk from John's apartment, 221B. John grabbed his coat. "Let's go." Molly did not disagree in the slightest with the idea.
"I really don't know what you want from me, as well as why I am naked." Sherlock glanced down at his bare body. The skin was smooth and clear, his chest dotted with a few hairs, but all in all he was not much to look at. He wondered silently what John would think of him, then dismissed the thought immediately, John would never have to think anything of his naked body because he would never see Sherlock's naked body.
"So average!" Moriarty bit into the apple he was eating. "You are acting so average, Sherlock," He chewed for a minute then he swallowed. "I want to know where you kept the codes. I have men in your apartment right now. And they are waiting for your precious John Watson to come home," Moriarty added a bitter touch the name. "And in the meantime they have been shredding apart every item of clothing you have ever owned and tearing apart your apartment. Now it is all very simple, Sherlock. You tell me or I use the classic Bond torture method on you." Sherlock lifted a long chain with a leather pouch attached to the bottom, the leather pouch was filled entirely with sand that made the pouch as hard as rock. Sherlock swallowed. He had read the Bond books and knew exactly what was to come.
The deadly silence danced around Moriarty and Sherlock sharply, like a paper cut. "No?" Moriarty pointed to Sherlock but looked towards his men. They hurried forward and strapped Sherlock's chest with a leather belt to the chair. Sherlock breathed in and struggled, the strap's edges cut deeply into his skin. Then one of them took the knife and slit the bottom of the chair open, Sherlock's bottom half fell downwards but he was held up by the straps on his body. The men stepped back and waited patiently. Sherlock tensed as Moriarty lifted the chain. There was a deadlyness to Moriarty's moves. Sherlock closed his eyes and the delicious snip of the chain being thrust into the air accelerated Sherlock's heart rate. Then Sherlock felt nothing, for a short tense moment, Sherlock felt absolutely nothing. But the moment lasted for barely a fraction of a second because suddenly, Sherlock's entire body thrust itself forward. Sherlock hunched forward and his mouth gaped open. Every muscle in Sherlock's body twisted, cramped and his skin bulged with the cramped muscles. Sherlock's toes and fingers clutched together and then bent in odd positions and he screamed silently. His knuckles turned a sharp shade of white and he panted, sweat dripped off his chin and onto his bare leg. Blood dripped down Sherlock's chest from where the leather bit his skin. Sherlock found no ability to sit up, his every muscle and every nerve had died.
"What a piece of art!" Moriarty mused. "Look at you, you pathetic excuse of an agent," Moriarty shook his head. "I am wasting time on you, Sherlock. This game has been played to no avail for too long. Tell me now, Sherlock, or we can continue on. I do reckon you won't be able to live much longer through this…method. Though I would enjoy seeing how long it would take to crack you,"
Sherlock's eyes dripped small drops of tears and he breathed shallow breaths. Then, in a small lucky miracle, he fainted. Moriarty groaned. "I was hoping you weren't one of those," Moriarty paced the room and after 5 minutes of silence Moriarty gave permission to the men. They stalked forward and with a stick began to beat Sherlock. One slapped Sherlock's limp face and another gave blows to Sherlock's chest, careful not to break any ribs or cause permanent damage. They stepped back when Sherlock groaned. "Welcome back sweetheart." Moriarty pulled back his arm and lunged the whip at Sherlock from under the chair.
Sherlock screamed in an agonizing pain. This time, he did not faint; he threw his head back and struggled against the impossible pain. Moriarty leaned forward and whispered into Sherlock's ear.
"No one's here to save you, Sherlock, now talk to me." Moriarty waited for a moment then with a clenched fist, delivered a blow to Sherlock's face. "TELL ME!" There was impatience in Moriarty's voice and Sherlock swallowed back a pathetically desperate sob. Moriarty waited again and Sherlock remained silentl in some miraculous way.
"W-water." Sherlock croaked and Moriarty stood up straight.
"Oh Sherlock, you have failed me again." Moriarty turned away from Sherlock. "Have your way with him." Moriarty didn't even bother to turn as he delivered his instructions to the now smiling men. Moriarty left the room and distantly Sherlock heard classical music playing loudly. Sherlock groaned as a painfully dry finger stroked his open chest wound. Sherlock's eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted for the second time in 20 minutes.
"No, Gregory darling. We cannot simply announce that one of our own has betrayed us so shamelessly." Mycroft poured himself a glass of scotch.
Gregory stalked forward and stood right before Mycroft, their noses nearly touching. "Don't, call me darling." Gregory breathed heavily on Mycroft and Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"Must you always be so melodramatic?" Mycroft turned and walked to his large leather seat.
"John Watson, a trusted agent and friend gets off clean? After what he's done to the entire CIA facility? After nearly getting us all killed?" Greg threw his hands up and stared directly at Mycroft. Mycroft smiled halfheartedly.
"Don't worry so much. I have plans for John, and he will come to regret his mistake. Patience, Gregory."
John pulled Molly back from the door and examined it carefully.
"No, they're inside." John whispered softly, he pulled Molly back into the small gap between the apartment building and one neighboring it. They stood quietly.
"What do we do?" Molly asked nervously, she was not used to fieldwork and John understood that. Most women worked in desk jobs
"We break in," John carefully looked out and up at the windows. "2 rifles stationed at the windows, 2 body guards." John deduced.
"So we jump in, fight off the guards and then we get Sherlock and run?"
John shook his head towards Molly and she hesitated.
"Then what are we going to do?" She asked pointedly.
John stopped himself from rolling his eyes at Molly, instead he explained.
"We attempt to only knock out the guards and then collect blood samples from the men and tape up the scene. All in all, if this goes well, we have a lot more information about our enemies." John looked up at the pipes climbing the building, and then he looked around the empty street. "Ready?" He asked Molly. She gulped and before she could reply John pulled out his gun and fired into the air. There was striking silence, and then a door closed. John tensed and then lunged himself forward. In precise timing he caught one of the bodyguards. He knocked the man out with the butt of his gun then dragged his body in. By now the men with the rifle must have seen him.
"I can't fight." Molly's voice shook as she looked down at the bleeding man. John looked her over, she had a slender figure, one that could bend and flex well but Molly was not well built nor was she trained in the art of fighting, not in the slightest, that was clear in her uncomfort with simply the sight of blood. John found it ironic that seeing the blood pumping out of the man's nerves got Molly nervous but seeing the same blood under a microscope didn't affect her much.
"Just stay by me," John wished he had another gun to give to her, he needed someone to have his back, 3 snipers was literally impossible to take out, let alone taking them out alone. John stepped out into the open air and didn't hesitate before pressing himself tightly against the wall and slinking forward towards the door. He prayed silently that Sherlock was in there and they would be able to get him out.