EEEEEEEEK I would sincerely like to thank Clufie, Little Miss Witterer, and Snivy of the Top Hat for their reviews.
I finally figured out how to format this right(ish) so it's not so squished together. Here, we come back to Sherlock to see how he's doing...
Also, I think we can agree that I don't own Sherlock.
Sherlock jolted to life after receiving a swift blow to the face. He was strung up from the ceiling, his wrists being held up by a chain that went through the cable ties to the roof, and his ankles connected to the floor in a similar fashion. Sherlock was thankful that his feet were still on the ground. A man, presumably from somewhere in South America, judging from the accent, spoke up.
"Where is Mycroft Holmes?"
Sherlock decided to completely ignore the man and instead spend his time awake looking absorbing and making mental notes about his surroundings, mentally bookmarking anything that may have been of use to him. They were in an empty warehouse, with two exits... One of which the man and his friends had just entered through, judging by the streaks of floor that were liberated from dust. Outside, there were two, maybe three men, in case he tried to escape. And upon inspection, the man from South America came from Chile. The accent, now that Sherlock thought about it, was distinct to the central region of Chile. Rich, possible weapons smuggler with lots of footmen to do his dirty work, seen by the lack of calluses and the fancy Rolex watch. His decision to ignore the man and simply observe did not go unnoticed. The man nodded to a guard, and he was hit right in the diaphragm, not unexpected, but still painful. Sherlock gazed at the man, giving him a look so penetrating that it would crumble the Great Wall of China. He was rewarded with another blow to the face, and subsequently decided to irritate the man, just for fun.
"Your silence will do nothing. Where is Mycroft Holmes?"
"My brother's whereabouts are of no importance to me."
The man chuckled lowly, pacing around Sherlock. He looked at Sherlock, head tilted, amusement written on his face.
"You are funny, no? I will ask one more time, and trust me when I say that you have one more chance before I must inflict some pain. Where. Is. Mycroft. Holmes."
Sherlock looked up at him, ignoring the small river of blood that was now flowing down his face, carrying an expression of nonchalance.
"I don't understand why you are so desperate to find Mycroft. Clearly, you are from the central region of Chile, the accent made that ever so clear. You've been in Britain for a long time, evident from the lack of tan lines around your collar and wrist where your suits end. You are clearly in a criminal business, I'm thinking weapons smuggling due the amount of foot soldiers and familiarity with violence. Not one to get their hands dirty, are you? Also, you have some family issues, mainly to do with abandonment, maybe they left you, or maybe they died young. Your closest family member was your brother, but even he is gone, killed, not by natural cause, but due to a raid gone wrong on your compound. Or, well, maybe a raid gone right, if you look at it from a world safety point of view." Sherlock paused, and gave a smug smile. "Was I wrong about anything?"
The man, who had gone from every emotion ranging from amusement to fury, now showed no emotion. "My parents died in a fire... they left my sister and me to fight the rest of the world..." with that he trailed off. Sherlock muttered under his breath, "Sister! Always the sister..." and with that, the man nodded, and Sherlock was drugged back to sleep.
Okiedokeyday, what did we think? Please let me know, I have 4 reviews after 3 chapters, and it's way more than I was expecting, so thank you. However, I still beg of thee to review. Even if it consists of 1 word that reads "Awful" I will take that as a win. (It would, however, be nicer if the one word was "Okay" or the like.) Thank you for reading!
Kimbee