Special thanks to my beta MrsNoggin. This chapter would look very different without her!
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to ACD and the Masters Moffat and Gatiss. Until they invite me into their club on genius writers I shall own nothing!
Sherlock stumbled into the cell and froze. He vaguely heard Jake say something, but the actual words did not register. Every last brain cell in his head was concentrating on the impossible figure sitting in front of him.
"J-John?" Sherlock's own voice was shaky. Interesting, he couldn't even remember the last time that had happened.
"Sherlock! Oh god, it's really you." There was a distinct note of relieve in John's words, but his voice was laced with something else, something Sherlock couldn't quite identify.
Seeing him sitting in that chair was a shock to Sherlock. Never ever had he expected his friend to show up at this miserable place. Mycroft and his minions, yes, but not John. How had he got here? How did he even know to look for him? After the initial shock was over, he took in his friend's appearance and the deductions came in lightning speed, supplying some answers to his most pressing questions.
'Military clothing, ruffled and with traces of vegetation and soil.'
'Sturdy boots, new, worn less than two weeks, muddy.'
'New lines on his face, hair a shade greyer, slightly dazed look.'
So John had left London about two weeks ago to go searching for him. He had expected to run into trouble, hence the military outfit. Most likely Mycroft had briefed him thoroughly on Sherlock's mission and disappearance. He had been camped outside since last night, lying flat on the ground most of the time, probably watching the house they were currently in. The dazed look and the lack of gravel on his shoes suggested that he was drugged and unconscious when he was brought in. The house was surrounded by gravel paths; Sherlock saw traces of tiny stones on all the guards' shoes all the time. John's shoes had no such traces. And although he looked utterly happy to see him, Sherlock could read all the grief and sorrow of the last few months in his face. Grief that he had caused.
These facts all established themselves in his mind in the brief second while he was stepping closer to John.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock hissed.
John gasped at the sight of his friend. He almost didn't recognise the man in front of him. Sherlock looked terrible. He had lost an alarming amount of weight, his shirt hung loosely on his bony frame and his body was covered with multiple lacerations and bruises. But the scariest sight was his eyes. Their usual spark was gone, replaced with a look of despair and resignation.
'What has he done to you?' John thought quietly. 'Am I too late?'
However, within a split second, everything changed. Sherlock jolted into action, the spark in his eyes was back and he took two quick strides over to his friend.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, folding his long legs as he squatted down in front of John, but unable to keep his balance, he ended up sitting on the floor in an ungraceful heap.
"Well, hello to you too! Glad you're not dead. Good to see you again." John felt his old anger at his friend's betrayal surfacing. If Sherlock caught the accusing tone, he completely ignored it.
"Yes, whatever." He waved his hands. "You were not surprised to see me, so you must have known that I was still alive and expected to find me here. Mycroft. Maybe sentiment, more likely he had no other resources available and chose to use you. You came to rescue me; however that plan has been compromised by your capture. Now we are both trapped and Jake will try to use you to break me, which makes my position even more difficult. Now, seriously, why are you here?"
John sighed. Sherlock in full deduction mode, as acidic as ever. Still, this was much better than the shadow that had entered the cell.
"You sodding git! I missed you, that's why!" John took a deep breath to calm himself. "This might come as a surprise to you, but I did figure out that you faked your death with my own tiny little brain. Then I convinced Mycroft to tell me the truth and, after learning that you dropped off the radar, I came after you. Didn't expect Moriarty senior to capture me though...and I am still bloody angry that you lied to me."
Sherlock just blinked, but at least he had the decency to remain quiet after his friend's outburst. John felt the tension of the last few months leave his body. He had found his friend, alive and relatively well. The detective may be a bit cracked, but the inside was not damaged yet. He was not too late, now all they had to do was get out of here.
"How?"
"How what?"
"How do you propose we get out of here? In case you had not noticed you are still chained to a chair, we are locked behind a solid steel door, the hallway has at least two guards on patrol at any given time and there is a very real camera up there, recording everything."
John noticed the emphasis that Sherlock put on the last word and saw The Look in his pale grey eyes. The look that usually said: 'How can you not get it? It's so obvious!' And finally it clicked. Jake was recording everything, of course, he was a surveillance specialist, and so not only a camera but also a microphone was installed in their cell. They were listening to every word spoken.
"Still reading my mind then?" John decided to follow Sherlock's lead and kept his tone neutral and slightly annoyed. When he looked up he found that Sherlock had got up and positioned himself between John and the camera, at an angle that both of their faces were hidden from view. John mouthed a quick "I got it" to Sherlock, who in turn dropped his icy facade for a quick moment and allowed John to see the turmoil of emotion that he really felt upon their reunion. John gaped at the quick display of relief joy and guilt before the mask slipped firmly back into place.
"You have always been transparent to me, John." The indifferent, dismissive voice was back and Sherlock moved over to the wall, not bothering to hide his face from the camera.
"Well, then you should know that I don't have a plan, but I am sure you can figure something out. With your massive intellect and all!"
Sherlock gave him a short nod and leaned back against the wall, sliding down to a sitting position and stretching out his long legs, effectively hiding his entire upper body in the dead spot of the camera, but making it look so casual that it would not arouse any suspicion. Sherlock closed his eyes and the look of exhaustion and despair slid back into his face. It was so rare to see real emotion in Sherlock and in the last few minutes he had displayed a wide range, from shock to relief, happiness to misery. John sobered as he realised that this display of emotion meant that Sherlock's usual filters were compromised and there could be only one reason for that.
He switched into doctor mode. Drawing upon his own experience with trauma patients, he analysed Sherlock's behaviour. The detective had been imprisoned by Jake for a month and by the looks of it, hadn't received the best of treatment. He was obviously exhausted, yet he put on a strong face and hid his weariness from Jake. John knew from experience that strategy could not be kept up endlessly and the look in Sherlock's eyes earlier confirmed that his armour had already been cracked. Abuse over extended periods of time left scars and while Sherlock was very good at covering them up, John knew they were there; he had treated enough soldiers that had been captured by the enemy to recognise the signs. The sudden changes of mood, the pretence that everything is exactly the same as before and the shrugging off of the mistreatment as nothing major. But it was major and it did hit eventually. Just because psychological torture left no visible scars it did not mean that they weren't there. John just hoped that he could get Sherlock out before he crashed completely.
He really wanted to get a proper look at Sherlock's injuries, but as he was still restrained to this damned chair that would have to wait. He settled for information instead. There was really no point in hiding this information from Jake, so John decided to simply blurt it out.
"Ok, there are some things about my past that you don't know. Maybe it will help you to get some perspective. So here it goes..."
John told Sherlock the same story he had told Mycroft. He added the information about his shooting and Jake's turn to insanity. During his tale, Sherlock opened his eyes and listened to John with intense attention.
"I fail to see how this information is relevant to us getting out of here." Sherlock sounded almost bored, however his blazing eyes told a different story:
'You still manage to surprise me.'
They continued the conversation non-verbally. It was a skill they had developed over time. Sherlock had always been able to read other people like open books; a slightly elevated eyebrow, a tiny flinch of the lips, he could interpret the information effortlessly. It was not as easy for John, but they eventually found that he was a decent lip reader. In combination with the growing familiarity that comes automatically when living in such close quarters, they were both utilised to interpret each other's facial expressions into actual conversation. It was a handy skill and John used it routinely to rein back Sherlock before he offended yet another witness.
Shaking off his little musing, John flinched slightly and looked apologetic. 'I didn't keep it from you on purpose.'
'I know.' Sherlock mouthed, and then he broke the eye contact, looking down briefly, before glancing back at John. 'He will hurt you.'
John nodded almost unnoticeably and sat up a little bit straighter, lifted his chin and focused his uncompromising gaze right at Sherlock's. 'I can handle it.'
'You shouldn't have to.' Sherlock gave him a pained look that almost made John gasp in surprise. Another unexpected display of emotion and it caught him off guard. John's face softened as he took in the exhausted look of the other man. He made a weak attempt at a sad smile and hoped it conveyed the right message to Sherlock:
'It will be ok. We will be ok.'
Out loud, John said: "I am tired of this. How idiotic of me to think you would be glad to see me. Don't worry, I'm sure Jake will get you out of this misery soon enough and throw you back into your own cell. Now, shut up and let me sleep!"
With a huff he closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to whoever would listen that Sebastian/Jake or whatever his name was, did believe this little charade. Otherwise things were about to get really uncomfortable.
John took stock of their current situation. Sherlock was weakened, physically and mentally, but still fighting. However, he couldn't keep the fight up indefinitely. His own position was only marginally better, although he was so far unhurt, he was certain that was about to change. And the fact that he was chained to a chair did not improve his chances at overpowering an opponent. He needed more intel on how Jake ran his operation: how many guards, shift changes, where the cameras and microphones were hidden and the like. Information he knew how to get, but it required time. And time was the one thing they did not have.