This is slash! Just warning. Harsh contents ahead. So chapter two everyone. Its a little on the dark side but yeah so here we go.
I do not own Sherlock. BBC does.
It was rare for Sherloock to meet a man taller than him but even as the man leared over him he felt little fear. He just observed. The man thought he was in a position of power when in all reality he was just standing there, not intimidating Sherlock in the least.
"What do you want, exactly?" He asked the man. They were standing in an alley that was dimly lit on one end with cars rushing by on the other.
"Run. We want you to run." He stated. Sherlock glance around in a matter of seconds he summed up the one easy opening and relised thats what they wanted him to take. He bolted the other direction and shoved past the shocked men and ran. What he had relised earlier and had chosen to forget was that he no longer had shoes on. The adrenaline helped him to forget the pain in his feet. he just had to run. Most people wouldn't keep track of how long they ran but his mind easily suplied the countdown.
Thirty minutes. Forty minutes. An hour and fifteen minutes. An hour and a half. His body finally started to feel the effects. Sweat beaded his head and ran down his chest, soaking his white shirt. He felt the sticky blood with each step but he didn't stop. He ran until he could no longer breath.
He was within shouting distance of 221B and almost did shout when someone grabbed him and pulled him into the shadows. He faught his assailent but the large hand over his mouth and nose made it hard to do anything. His vision blurred as he tried to fight but his breath never came as he blacked out and knew it was over.
John glanced out the window. As he had done all night. As he had done for three nights in a row. As he had done hopeing to see the one person that meant anything to him. As he had done since Sherlock had gone missing.
yet again he was met with nothing. Just nothing. The room was silent. He would perfer the loud obnoxious violin at three in the morning or Sherlock shooting the wall out of boredom or anything but this nothing. He glanced out again and took a second look. His eyes widened when he saw Sherlock in a white shirt and black tie across the road. Why didn't he have shoes?
Go to him. John's head supplied. He turned and bolted down the stairs and out onto the road. He ran to the spot and stood there panting then started to do what he thought Sherlock would do. He looked around for clues. There was blood on the ground in different places in small amounts but in the shape of the right foot toes of a large man and the left foot heal. He was almost sure they were Sherlock's but again he had been too late.
Sherlock woke up on the ground. his head spun and he could feel the bruising on his lips and cheeks. This was no game of wits. For some reason there was nothing. They had no motive and no pattern and really no reason to be doing this. Who would risk him running for so long?
He sat up then slowly stood up. He felt the wind against his bare chest. His shirt was unbuttoned and untucked and his tie hung loose around his neck.
"Where are you!" He yelled, his deep voice echoeing off of distant walls. He was in a large room with round tunnel like features.
"Here." Said a voice behind him. He spun around and felt a great pain in his back. He wished there was some light of any kind in the room. He knew he had been stabbed but not very deep. He inhaled and slowly let it out. He had been hit by worse. He set his jaw as the blade was taken out. A boxcutter. He wasn't sure until he was hit again and this time he gasped in pain making the attacker chuckle.
"Don't like that do we?" Another man said from in front of him. So there were at least three men in the room. He felt the blood causing his shirt to stick to his back. Suddenly there was someone standing unbearably close to him, backing him into the other man. He stumbed into the man who wrapped his arms from behind around his waist. He tried to push the arms down off his waist but his hands were grabbed and held out in front of him.
"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice more strained and higher pitched than before as it echoed back to him.
"Chaining you up." he was lifted by the waist and his arms were raised above his head and shackled. The man let go of his waist. the weight of his body snapped down causing his wrists and shoulders to snap uncomfortably. He swollowed as he assesed whether his left arm had dislocated.
"At least you won't have to see our faces." That was yet another man. They weren't moving very much so he deduced that they didn't have noghtvision goggles on. They were working in the dark but with such coordation. They had done this six times before him and now they were perfect.
"So, Smarty pants, what do you think?"
"What do I think? You are very organised and thurough. Probably just sex and thrill junkies and nothing more." Suddenly he was stabbed again in the back. It wasn't very much, he would lose little blood but it still hurt mor ethan he would ever admit.
"Oh, we are more than that."
John sat bolt upright and yelled. He wiped his face forcefully and shook his head. Why had the dreams of war come back now odf all times. The phone next to him went off anf he grabbed it a little too enthusiatically and tossed it. He picked it up and sighed when it was not a text from Sherlock. Why had he thought it would be? That is all had been a bad dream?
Are you alright? My brother going
missing has us all frazzled but you
are rather normal so you may be
more concerned. Text me anytime.
Mycroft Holmes
Why was Microft texting him this late? He looked at his clock. and gasped. He had stayed asleep until two in the afternoon. He had been out all night following the bloody footprints but they stopped dead on the other side of town about two hours from 221B.
Thank you for your concern, Mycroft.
John W.
He wanted it so badly to be Sherlock on the other end of that text. Suddenly his phone buzzed again. to quick to be Mycroft. He looked at it and his heart dropped. It was sherlock's number. He opened the text.
Bet you miss me. I miss you as
I scream your name in
My new friends say hi and hope
you are doing alright. Lots of love,
Sherlock Holmes.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had to think this through. He knew they were just trying to taunt him. They just wanted to wave Sherlock in front of him. He had to get them to talk. Anything would help.
I do miss you, Sherlock. I hope you
Are alright. I hope to meet your
friends sometime. BTW when did
you change your signature?
John W.
He waited as Mycrofts text came in saying somethin about meeting up sometime for tea. Then it rang again.
Wouldn't be so calm in person.
Sherlock
He smiled. He knew he probably wouldn't but really, they didn't.
You wouldn't still be alive in
person.
John W.
He waited a little longer as it came again.
We shall see.
John cursed and threw the phone against the wall. Mrs. Hudson knocked timidly on the door," Dr. Watson, are you alright?"
"Yes. Knocked over a glass of water."
Sherlock breathed in and out to keep himself calm. It had been a while since any of them had moved near him or even moved at all. Based on the breathing two had left the room leaving two in the room with him. Suddenly one grabbed him from behind and put a hand on his forhead as if cradling it against his chest.
"It will all be over soon." He whispered as another pair of freezing hands painfully touched his exposed abdomin. He breathed in and smiled.
"Cold hands? That the worst you can do?" he said. The cold hands wondered up his body, brushing his nipples and cradling his face. The hands owner put his lips to Sherlocks ear.
"This is by far not the worst." Then he bit Shrlock ear. Sherlock held back his whimper by biting his lip. He felt the blood gush down his neck as the man behind him licked it off," And by far not the best."
Hope you enjoy. Reviews are welcome as well as suggestions.