CHAPTER 9. OF MICE AND MEN
Sherlock looked over the list of potential warehouses all abandoned, dammit to many, it would take to long to go one at a time. They needed to narrow it down, Sherlock looked over his shoulder before getting into the cab. Of course, obvious how predictable, "Sir, you do know we are being followed?"
"Yes, Clarke I am aware." Sherlock glanced over the list again, he could narrow it down to five. That's why I'm going to drop you off at our flat." His smile John knew all to well, he'd been on the loosing end of that forced grin.
"Sherlock!" John objected shaking his head " No, I'll do it."
"What?" Clarke asked.
"He's just as capable as you John. Besides, I hardly think with your bad shoulder and the way the weather has been that you'll be in top shape when they shove you into a trunk. I trust your marksmenship as opose to a some untrained pencil pushing rookie. Besides" Sherlock looked back at the uniformed Clarke, "He wants to help."
"Oh, god." John just shook his head.
"Yeah, I'll do it, what do you want me to do?"
"Oh, just get out here wait for my text. Just stand there on the street in front of the flat."
"That's all? I can do that."
"Sherlock-" John began to say something but the thin detective practically shoved the young man out of the cab.
Clarke waited looking at his phone, it vibrated he opened the text, wondering how this would help them find the DI and bring the cop killers to justice.
"Don't Panic.-SH" Clarke read it over twice, mouthing the words odd, they made no sense, and when the heavy object a police club most likely, came down hard across his shoulders knocking him unconscious all thoughts left him and complete darkness overcame him.
Clarke awoke realizing he was in absolute darkness, he tried to sit up but his hands where cuffed behind him and he could hear the muffled sound of an engine, he kicked his restrained legs out, hitting his knees on something hard. Yeah, it's a trunk. Son of a- he remembered the Consulting Detectives text. Panic started to creep in his palms sweating, tight places, small spaces. He tried to swallow his fear, had to keep from drowning.
Why he didn't ask enough questions sometimes was beyond him, no wonder the good Doctor seemed angry and had objected. Oh well, Clarke had been in tougher spots, well not life and death, once in boot camp he'd been locked in the women's toilet in nothing but his underwear. Try explaining that one, he barely managed to get out without being caught, Henry, yeah Henry had distracted the females and came back to break his friend out. Clarke realized he never asked what Henry had done for a distraction; he'd have to ask.
"Clarke, you need to ask more questions mate or just keep your head down. You're such a know it all. Lighten up." But after that he and Henry had been best friends the thought that some dirty cops were gunning for his friend was enough to keep him from hyperventilating seeing how his mouth had been taped. He took easy breaths, and waited, the words don't panic repeated in his mind.
Sherlock had texted DI Dimmock and Mycroft, they ditched the cab and had one of Mycroft's goons take over tracking the black car with the PC in the trunk.
"They'll lead us right to him."
"Sherlock, that was low. You could have at least warned him."
"He had to look unsuspecting."
"You're a bastard sometimes. How do you even know they'll take us to Lestrade? They could just take the kid out and shoot him in some back alley."
"They won't." A statement.
"What you don't know." John kept an eye on the car in front of them.
"Because they need to ask him some questions first."
"Oh great they are going to beat him and then shoot him-"
"John he's a soldier, I'm sure he's seen tighter spots." John shook his head, no he knew a battle hardened soldier when he saw one, that kid most likely never left base, probably a communications officer, he had the open friendly demeanor of one. And his friend the same, they didn't look worn down and haunted like so many young men John had patched up.
"You know that's not true."
" Not good?" he turned to the angry doctor,
"Yeah, Sherlock just a bit!"
"In my defense he did want to help. Can't change that now. Forward John, forward. Lets not look back. "
"Wake up, cop!" one of the thugs pulled Lestrade to his feet, his hand uncuffed he was lead into the "interrogation room" as he called it.
"Greg. Turns out we don't need you anymore. We've got us some fresh meat. Soldier boy will give us answers to our questions. I've told the boys they can cut you up and leave you in any seedy alley of their choice."
"John?" Lestrade tried to squint his vision blurry, he couldn't see the figure in the chair.
"Oh, no not the loyal dog. This is a different one, but just as useful he's been tagging along with our dear consulting detective. Poor kid, they just dropped you off unattended sent you off to bed like a good little boy?-"
"Fuck off!" came the unfamiliar voice.
"Oh, no, someone's mother didn't teach them manners, doesn't know what's good for him." DI Rivers shook his head, and he started for the uniformed PC in the chair, but the sound of sudden laughter unmistakable laughter turning into strangled coughs but still Greg Lestrade was laughing.
"What the hell? What's so dammed funny?" he growled, one of the thugs tossed the weak DI at Rivers feet. Lestrade looked over at the young kid, he'd expected it to be John, but looks like the sociopath found another mouse to lead him to the end of the maze.
"I bet he grinned at you m'right?" Lestrade's voice was raspy but Clarke understood, grimacing at the older mans face, he hardly recognized that he was the same man from two weeks earlier.
"Yeah, he grinned."
"I'm surprised John didn't stop-"
"Oh, he tried I volunteered. I had no idea of course but here I am. Why would you assume I was John?" Lestrade shook his head lying on his back, he had to laugh, despite the pain in his ribs.
"Cause he's usually the soldier in the chair playing bate." Came the wheezing voice.
"What are you getting at Lestrade? Take him out back go on, get rid of him." The thugs smiled and grabbed the chuckling man by his bruised arm.
Clarke caught the gleam of a very sharp two sided hunting knife, well, thought sadly, there was the DI's missing evidence.
"I get to make the first cut-" the two thugs argued and Lestrade recalled the last murder he'd solved, similar marks, similar knife. Well he knew Sherlock wasn't far behind that young PC probably didn't know what the hell he was agreeing too.
"Hang on Greg." The imaginary Sherlock urged. "These idiots have no idea what door they've opened."
Lestrade laughed again, it hurt and he coughed, his lugs felt as if something sharp pushed into them. "I waited three years I guess I can hang on a few more minutes."
"Don't be so melodramatic Lestrade." Imaginary Sherlock huffed.
"So this is how it will be PC. I want some answers, I want them quick and I'm in no mood-"
"Piss off!" Clarke tried to pull out of his chair. "Tell me Rivers those men, did you shoot them yourself? Or instead of getting your hands dirty you watched from the car? " When Clarke recived no reply he continued on trying to buy some time "Oh, I'm right. Because if it had been you, you would have known it wasn't us. That Smith and Howard were not US!" he growled. "You bastard!"
"Wrong place wrong time kid nothing personal."
"They had families, Howard had kids-a wife!" he almost pushd out of his chair, but one thug pushed him down holding him still.
"Like I said wrong place wrong time. They didn't suffer much. If it brings you any peace, Howard was shot in the back through the heart, quick painless, Smith was a fool. He should have radioed it in, he didn't have a weapon of any kind still he ran toward the gun fire, and when he was on his knees he was going to beg for his life, or talk Vinny here out of it. Never got a chance did he Vinny." The thug holding Clarke in his chair chuckled shaking his head.
"Your going to die-"
"Oh. They wont catch me, we have enough higher ups under the belt, the Cavollari pay well. Lestrade should have fallen into line, bastard was offered quite a bit of money and he threw it practically in my face. So where were we, oh yeah tell me what those two know?" he put the gun Clarke's forehead, chuckling at the sudden stillness in the younger man.
"PUT IT DOWN!" came the familiar voice, a commanding voice, one that made Clarke want to jump up and stand at attention from the force of it. He looked over and realized of course, there he was. Doctor Watson couldn't be ordinary, no what ordinary man got to run with the mad genius, no of course not. Doctor Watson had more to him. Clarke would have to ask later.
"Oh, how sweet another soldier. I've heard stories Doctor. But you are but one and I've got the gun to his head. What will you do? I'll shoot and then Vinny will shoot."
"It would be difficult to shoot if Vinny was himself shot, somewhere unpleasant I think. Not much of a brain so a bullet wouldn't hurt there, maybe in the upper thigh, or just at the hip. Tell me John where exactly is the the pelvic bone-" Clarke had to laugh now, he understood DI Lestrade's words, how many times had the good Doctor been bate.
Rivers kept a tight grip on his gun, looking from Sherlock to John. "Oh sod this! Where's Lestrade!" Sherlock growled.
"They took him out back." Clarke replied coolly, the end of the 9mm pressing harder into his skull.
"Once again Clarke very good." Sherlock said in such a conversational tone, that Clarke and Rivers turned to look at him. "John kill him I'm going to get Lestrade."
Clarke heard the sound of a gun shot, two and he thought with his eyes clasped shut that dieing didn't hurt, not at all really.
"Dammit Sherlock!"
"No time! I have to get Lestrade he's waited long enough!"
"Clarke?" John crouched down taking a pair of handcuff keys and letting his hands go.
"Thanks." He stood up and then sat down, looking at a moaning Vinny John took the used cuffs and put them around the big mans wrists, not that he would move from that nasty gunshot wound in his hip. As for Rivers he was now being handcuffed, the Doctor tutting over the shoulder wound.
"That's going to leave a mark. I would know. Here take his gun, watch these two."
"Sir, yes sir." Clarke looked at the two men, he sent a hard kick to DI Rivers, one landing on his injured shoulder. "Those men had families."