John swallowed and allowed himself to relax, a little. He ducked around Walt's massive frame and found himself face to face with his former army buddy. He'd saved this man's life once, suffered through his own hellish injury to make sure he survived that day on the battlefield and now, here they were again. Their fates seemed intertwined no matter how often John tried to clear the slate.
"Trevor," John managed keeping his eyes locked on his former friend. Trevor's pictures in Mycroft's files had revealed some of the aging he'd undergone in the past two years, but up close, he'd visually aged almost ten years since John had last seen him. His face looked grimy, dirt caked into his large pores, hair greasy but cropped short as if a child with a pair of dull scissors had cut it. He looked gaunt, hungry and wild.
John hoped there was enough left of his former comrade in arms to see reason in the offer he would make. Mycroft had spelled out the terms of the plea bargain but he had to be assured the intel he would get in return would absolutely lead to finding Moran and hopefully Moriarty.
"Uh, hi." John began but only got those two words out before Trevor took up where Walt had left off. He grabbed the lapels of John's khaki shirt and pushed him right back up against the wall. "Answer the man's question, Watson. What are you doing here?"
John scrabbled at Trevor's grip. For a man who looked half-starved, he had remarkable strength. "Mycroft.. Holmes…" he croaked.
"Bastard!" Trevor bellowed in his face. "Never say that slimy fucker's name in my presence again or I'll," here he twisted his fist even further into John's shirt until he heard a rip and felt the material give. Trevor pushed so hard on his chest, John found it hard to draw in breath. He felt close to passing out. If he did, he had no idea if he'd ever wake up.
"The bastard…" John tried still trying to breathe, "caught me in London,"
Trever's eyes narrowed as he looked into John's face. John had already decided that he'd spin his story as close to the truth as possible. Men like Trevor could spot a lie a mile off. Finally, he felt Trevor's grip lesson. "Why in fuck did you go back? I heard you'd gotten clear and were living with your girl and her son in the states. Why would you give that up?"
John's surprise at Trevor knowing this about his personal life lasted only a moment. Men like Trevor had their networks, even in prison.
" I came back for my father's funeral," he pressed on doggedly trying to croak out words with the little breath he'd managed to pull into his lungs. "He caught me coming back from the Tesco buying groceries for my mum."
Behind Trevor, Walt snorted a laugh and said in a high falsetto voice, "Buying groceries for me mum…"
"Shut it, Walt," Trevor snapped at him and shook his head. Walt dried up. Trevor seemed to be the alpha male in this group and John hoped that would play in his favor.
"I've always admired you, Doc but why in hell's name would you put yourself back into that man's path?"
John looked at the floor. He'd actually begun to seriously question the decision himself but it boiled down to one thing, "I have to get free of it, him all of it. I took a chance coming back to London that he wouldn't care about me anymore. I had to help out my mum. She needed me. I know it's stupid but there it is. Besides, my girl in the states….we broke up."
"Sorry to hear that, Doc," Trevor said shaking his head. "But I have to say the thought of you off with that hot little honey living the good life made me a little bit jealous. I'm not sure I've got that much sympathy that you've been tossed in here with the rest of us."
John absorbed that a moment before continuing not sure how to proceed with that revelation. "I was an idiot to think I could ever go back to my family in London. Mycrof…The bastard thinks I'm responsible for his brother's death."
Trevor fully relaxed his grip on John's shirt and let him fall back against the wall. "Yeah, I heard about that too. Famous consulting detective jumps off a building. So, he threw you in here to rot to get his revenge on you for his brother?"
John pursed his lips together and shook his head. "That and other things…," he said.
Trevor threw back his head and laughed. It was a wild sound that sent a shiver of fear straight into John's belly. He sounded like a man just on the verge of madness. "I'm sure the other things would make a wonderful story to hear. Can't wait." He clapped John on the back and pulled him away from the wall. "Well, welcome to our little corner of St. Pete's hell. You can bunk in here with Walter; he won't bother you….. much. But we spend our days in the rec room, such as it is."
"Trev," Walt began following behind them like a forgotten puppy, " This is my room. You said I'd get it to myself."
"Shut it, Walt. Doc here is an asset to our little team. He's a bona fide doctor, he is," he said throwing the much larger man a wide smile. "Trust me, we want 'im with us. Like he said, he's little and won't take up a bit of room. Will you, Doc?"
John nodded agreement and followed Trevor out of the narrow cell and back into the hallway. Even though he felt the "meet and greet" had gone better than he expected, he didn't trust Trevor any further than he could throw him. He'd have to keep on his guard and find the right time get man off on his own. Everything depended on Trevor's cooperation.
He hoped he could gain the man's trust soon. The smell in the corridor made John want to vomit up what little food he'd eaten that morning. It smelled like rotted meat and shit in varying degrees. Trevor lead him past several more smallish cells and into a wide, sun baked courtyard he hadn't seen before. There was a single spigot in one corner and a gaggle of children hovered around it washing their hands and heads in a sullen stream of water than poured from it onto the hard-packed dirt ground. John reckoned it must be at least 95 degrees, he chuckled at that and remembered to recalculate in Celsius. 39 then. Still, it was bloody hot.
"Thirsty?" Trevor asked him. There's the water cooler, Doc. Just push the kiddies out t'way. They get a little possessive of it at times."
John eyed the mud splattered children some of which were as young as two or three years old. "I'm okay for now," he said followed the other men over to a shaded corner of the courtyard. While the majority of prisoners were Latino, this appeared to be a meeting place of sorts for the Anglo men incarcerated in this part of the prison.
A wooden table with a scattering of chairs grouped around it seemed to be their destination and they arrived with greetings from some of the other men. From what John could tell at first glance, this group contained men from UK, Australia or Canada. Most were ex-military from their well-muscled arms and thick necks, definitely Trevor's usual gang. Looking around at each face, he recognized one of the men from his brief time in Trevor's employ two years ago. He remembered stitching the man up after a particularly nasty stab wound. The man nodded at him and gave him a grin which made John feel a bit more relaxed. It was remarkable how grateful a person could be when you provided life-saving medical assistance.
"This is John, everybody. I'd just call 'em Doc. We're gonna' give him a trial run in our group. I knew him on the outside and he's an upstanding fellow," Trevor announced to the group. "He may or may not have a bug up his ass about some dealings we had a few years back, but if so that's between him and me. I hope he can let bygones be bygones, as they say…." Here Trevor eyed him warily waiting for some kind of response.
John simply nodded and said, "I don't think I really have the luxury of holding a grudge now," he said and addressed the group, "Anybody need a doctor, just make an appointment," he said trying for a joke. The smile on his face died as he looked at the grim circle of soldiers gathered around the rickety table. "Eh, yeah. Bygones. No worries."
"Good!" Trevor said clapping him on the back once more. Someone produced a weathered deck of playing cards and a makeshift game of poker began. There weren't enough chairs for everyone in the group so John just leaned up against a support beam nearby and watched the men play. The hottest part of the day crept up on them and the slim section of shade disappeared entirely making rivulets of sweat drip down his back and chest. He finally decided he needed a drink of water or he might just pass out from heat exhaustion and stress.
When most of the men seemed interested in game, he sidled over to the water spigot. Just as he was about to reach for the handle when a young, brown haired boy stepped in front of him. "You gotta pay, Gringo."
John pulled back from the boy. He remembered Trevor telling him to just push 'em aside… So John tried asserting himself and pushed past the boy. As soon as he did however, he was met with a large shadow falling over the spigot. A huge, dark skinned man had materialized out of nowhere. "You pay, little rata!" he boomed at him. "Water costs."
John looked back around to Trevor's group. They had all stopped playing and were insentiently watching this new drama unfold. Trevor grinned at him but none of his new found "friends" made any move to support him or come to his aid. Apparently, he was on his own with this first trial. Not having water for the next few days was not an option in this heat. He sighed and turned back to face his opponent.
"What do you want?" he began.
"Rata, I want your boots!" The man answered pointing at John's feet. He let out a huge laugh holding his extended belly covered only in a once-white, wife beater style undershirt. "Boots for one drink."
"Price seems a bit high," John said amicably. There was no way he'd give the man his boots for a drink. This wouldn't do. And why was everyone referring to him as "rat?" A bit insulting really. Then, he heard Sherlock's voice in his mind. It startled him in its clarity. "Observe, John. What do you see?" So he looked, really looked at the scene before him.
Two of the smallest children, twin boys, bore a striking resemblance to the man currently holding control of the spigot. The man most likely was their father, and the pair had most likely been born right in the prison.
"Impetigo," John said. Your sons have a nasty case of a pretty serious infection called Impetigo. If left untreated it could be serious. I could lead to scarlet fever which could be deadly."
"Eh? Rata." The man said looking back at his boys. John had inferred correctly judging by the man's reaction. "What are you talking about?" He shouted angrily. What's the matter with my niños?" He surged forward and John thought he may have badly miscalculated. After all, Sherlock's deductions often lead those he deduced to want to beat him to a bloody pulp.
He threw up both hands in a supplicating gesture. I'm a doctor. Your niños, have a bad infection called im-peh-ti-go. It's contagious and if one of the children has it, they probably all do. I can treat it in return for some water."
The man looked skeptically at him. He went over to a young, thin boy and picked him up in a surprisingly gentle manner. "Pietro, he said pointing to the child. He's had this over a year now." He said pointing to an angry red rash spreading alongside the boy's arms and down his back. John saw blisters forming which suggested it had been left untreated a while and had advanced to an alarming stage. It sickened him to see the maltreatment these children faced in this place. Who in their right mind would allow such young kids to be raised in this environment? But, he put on his neutral, doctor face and examined the child with utmost care, careful not to touch the open sores or rash with his hands.
"I can treat this and cure it, but I need medicine. Do you have access to antibiotics?" John asked the man. It was surprising how quickly the once menacing man turned polite when John put on his "caring doctor" persona. Most parents cared more about their children than anything, John had discovered and he'd use this to his advantage here.
"Guarda!" the man spat. "The guards say it's a heat rash and to keep it clean and cool. Nothing works on it. They don't spend money on anything they don't have to. They want us to pay for everything ourselves." He lamented putting the boy down.
"Look , if you can get some Bactroan, it comes in a tube and is spread on top of the rash. It will go away. It takes a while, but it will work."
The man studied him and nodded. " I can get medicine. You write it here. If you tell the truth, you can drink for free. If you lie, I'll kill you."
"Fair enough," John said clearing his throat nervously again. He hoped he would not be around long enough to see the outcome of this treatment plan. But, for the children's sake, he hoped the father followed through and got the medicine. The man stepped aside and allowed John access to the spigot. He glanced back to men at the table and noticed that they'd all resumed their game. Bastards, John thought.
John used his cupped hand to pool the water. It tasted oily and bitter. He decided he didn't want to know the source but drank a bellyfull of it anyway. Lord knew what he'd have to do for more of it next time.
He doused his hair with the water and splashed some on his neck and arms before heading back to his new prison family, but before he left, the large man came back with a slip of paper and a pencil.
"Write the name here."
John carefully printed the name of the medicine and some alternative oral medications on the paper. "Put this cream on twice a day. If this doesn't work, you may have to have the boys take antibiotics by mouth too. It's a very advanced case they have." The man nodded again and disappeared back into another part of the building.
"Thanks for the help," he said sarcastically to Trevor as he neared the poker table.
"You gotta make your own way here, mate," Trevor said grinning. "You did all right for yourself.
He had, John thought. But he'd only been here half a day and he'd nearly been beaten three times. He'd have to try working on Trevor as soon as possible.