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CHAPTER 4 – The Bitter Return
Life was finally getting perfect after these two years after Sherlock's death. With Mary's fingers gently intertwined through his, they wandered through the park just as sunset was approaching. The birds were silhouettes upon the crimson sky as John slowed down and turned to face the love of his life. "Mary, we haven't known each other for very long, but you are the best thing that has happened to me and …" as John looked into her eyes about to say those final words, a man in black ran into them. "Oi watch it, you could've hurt her." The blue eyes were piercing and slightly familiar but John continued to rant at the man and tell him to just leave. His arms were wrapped protectively around Mary as the man continued to apologise and say, "in parks you meet old friends, maybe an old friend could run into you one day." Almost hinting at something, the man lingered waiting for an answer but john's only response was an icy glare. "John …" the man slowly pulled back the dark hood to reveal loose black curls and, high cheekbones, and the famous trench coat with its collar turned up. Rage coiled and writhed through John along with great pain as he stepped back and clung to Mary for support. His stammers came out rough as they caught in John's throat, "You let me believe you had died … not one … not one call or letter. You … you let me grieve." The sadness was quickly turned into complete rage as Sherlock only smiled and joked.
Sherlock, with blood dripping from his nose, slowly tried to reason and explain to John but John quickly wrestled him to the ground. "NOT ONE CALL, I learnt to survive without you and I built a life. Life has begun to get absolutely perfect and you think that I will be perfectly fine with you coming back and ripping open the wound that has only just healed. How could you do that Sherlock? Actually, no, I don't need or care about you." Sherlock was astonished and in his eyes was sadness and pain about the emotions pouring through John. Sherlock had expected John to hug him and welcome him home, or at least be happy that he was alive. But not one ounce of happiness was lying in John's eyes, only the wrath of a man that had been hurt.
John had lived without Sherlock for so long and now that he was back, he didn't know what to do. He completely ignored the man until Sherlock finally contacted him saying, "John, I need your help on a case, extremely dangerous. SH." John slammed the phone on his table, creating a spider web effect of cracks to slowly spread across the screen. He crumpled onto the floor and as the warm, salty tears trickled down his cheeks he found himself helpless and in complete agony. Although John was determined to rule this man from his life, Sherlock was always going to be a major part of his life. As John reached up for his phone, glass splintering into his thumb, he typed back 'Why don't you get another lab rat to mock.' "NEXT," he shouted as his next patient was ushered into the room with what seemed like a horrendous birthmark covering the better part of his face.
The sky was turning a dark blue as John's shoes clicked on the pavers near 221B Baker Street. Suddenly, a mob of joggers started to make their way around him, jostling him from side to side and as he tried to stay upright, John felt a cold metal rod getting closer to his head. "I'm not with Sherl-." The words didn't leave his lips fast enough and as he sank into a dreamless sleep, the men quickly finished their procedure of placing him, head covered, in the back of a nearby car.
The drips of cold water on the back of John's neck felt slimy and strange. He could feel water lapping at the middle of his calves and as he struggled to move, the strong sailor's ropes slowly cut abrasions into his wrists. His attempts of screaming were futile as he could barely utter a single syllable. His hands gripped his phone and as he attempted to navigate his way by memory he could hear footsteps pacing just through the wall. The water was up to his knees by the time he finally figured out how to call someone, anyone. Thankfully it was Mary and, as he muttered his words as clearly as he could, she said, "I'm getting Sherlock, John." As she hung up, John hung his head to try and lessen the pounding that was echoing through his skull. Tears slid slowly down his cheeks as he thought of the danger that his love was getting her into. Life with Sherlock was of course an adventure but danger was always imminent. His heart was slowly breaking thinking of Mary ever getting hurt while under his protection.
"Sherlock, please you have to help me," Mary cried in anguish to the consulting detective," It's John, he's been kidnapped, and from what I heard there is slowly rising water and he is tied to a post. He said to tell you that he can smell fresh bread and it seems like there is a restaurant nearby. Use your mind palace, Sherlock." Mary was learning quickly for a new acquaintance of Sherlock's. And as his mind flitted through photos and short memory videos that he kept stored away he clicked onto a conversation he had with Mycroft. "Shugrues Restaurant has a wonderful view of the lake, people have heard of a secret basement but its too waterlogged now. Its right underneath the kitchen of the Restaurant." Sherlock grabbed his trench coat, flipped up the collar and raced downstairs while stating, "He's at Shugrue's Restaurant, it takes usually only 8 minutes to get there but we don't have enough time, we need a faster mode of transport than walking."
"I have my car if you need it." Mary exclaimed as she whipped out her keys and ran to a small black car outside 221B Baker Street.
They raced along streets as Sherlock calculated distance and estimated time differences with different routes. 'Time is running out, Mr Holmes,' was the next text that Mary got on her phone and she urged Sherlock to drive faster.
The water was rising faster now and as he felt it completely cover his hands and slowly inch up his chest, John struggled to get free from the post. Barnacles slashed through his pants as he writhed, forgetting the pain, only wanting to be free. He thought of Mary sitting at home not knowing what he was doing and not knowing the imminent danger that was upon him. The footsteps outside grew louder and as they paused just beside his ear, John lowered hi breathing but heard nothing. But as he heard swords being unsheathed and the footsteps ominously coming closer he knew was on the road to darkness with Sherlock and nothing good could come from it.