I was taken from the cellar through the house and up what I gathered was the service stairs to a large wing. There was a cold point on the stairs, where I could clearly see through a glass window cut into the stairwell a wide well carpeted corridor, with bright coloured wallpaper, behind a wide oak door. I went towards the door, but my guide a young woman with a bright chestnut main coughed and nodded in the opposite direction. At the top of the stairs, directly opposite the wooden stair is a metal door, I look at my guard but she just pushes past me at the top of the stairs. Taking a card out of her pocket she swiped it through a card reader on the side of the door, opening it inwards, she steps out of the way letting me past.
"What if I need to get out? What if there is an emergency?" I ask suddenly terrified
"The rooms all have CCTV, and there is a phone, if you need to leave we will probably see why, or you can phone for help." She starts to close the door, "If the fire alarms are triggered there is a fire escape which will be automatically unlocked, good day Dr Smith."
I stand looking at the locked door for a moment; an overpowering sense of claustrophobia gripped me. To my right there was another oval window, this time looking down onto a paved service yard. The room I was standing in smelt of damp it was full of old boxes and looked like a storage room. It must have been 30ft between me and the large casement window on the furthest side of the room facing the locked door. Along the right hand wall there were two wooden doors, but on the left hand side, the outside wall there was just one small thin slit window, which made me think of arrow slits. At the end of this wall at the outside corner there was a tiny wooden door.
The view from the casement window was amazing, looking over a large formal garden and out towards the surrounding countryside. I stood there for a moment letting the claustrophobia recedes, before turning towards the doors. I carefully opened the door closest to the locked door, pushing it open gently.
"Sherlock?" I called into the darkened room; I had the impression of walking into a velvet curtain. The deep purple and stifled heat of the room shocked me. As my eyes became adjusted to the dark, I caught sight of a real curtain to my right, and pulling it gently flooded the room with light. My patient groaned, and I sore him lying in the supine position over a dark leather sofa in the middle of the room. "What are you doing?" I asked him.
He looked up and fixed me with a stare, then smiled "Nothing, thinking"
I looked around the room taking in my surroundings, the wall furthest from the door I'd come in from contained a large Victorian fireplace which contained a roaring coal fire. That explained the heat, and I thought the slight sulphuric smell. As well as the sofa leaning against the opposing wall the room contained a battered wooden desk and two comfy looking armchairs. With the window to my back I stared at the horrendous wallpaper in the room, all dark swirls and muted colours. The wall opposite me opens into an archway showing a bright and well-appointed kitchen diner beyond. Obviously the destination of the second door in the room before. Either side of the fireplace are two further doors.
"I've just met your brother"
"Hmm, did he offer you money?"
"Yes" I laughed
"Did you take it?"
"NO!" I'm insulted
"Why ever not?" he sat up and stared at me
"Because as I told him, my first concern is you. If he's stupid enough to put me up and feed me for free who am I to complain, what else do I need money for?"
"What about when you leave here?"
"Do you want me to go now?"
"No, of course not, but you'll want to eventually"
"Why?"
"Everyone does eventually" he sighed "No one wants to spend much time with me"
I go and sit beside him, carefully taking his hand; I've seen this with other addicts. "Hey let me make that decision won't you? I'm not going anywhere until you tell me to leave"
He smiles "Thank you Doctor"
"John" I say automatically
"John?" he asks
"Yeah according to my medical records, John Smith."
He smirks, "Actually John suits you."
"I know."
Normally my descriptions are very precise or very vague, as they are either real places or entirely fictional. The "prison" wing in this chpt, is the house I lived in as a small child. It was an old Chateaux, and my brother and I used to play in this wing. However we left there when I was 11, and I find difficulty describing it, so halfway through I have inputted the basics of 221B. If it makes no sense let me know.
In real life this wing was the oldest part of the house and always cold and smelling of damp, the door wasn't high tech but a metal studded door, which we used to pretend was a prison door.
J