This chapter was a challenge to write, and I can't thank my beta MrsNoggin (and MrN!) enough for her help finding the right dose of emotion. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Warnings: Torture
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!
Hungary, village near Budapest, 13 October 2012
Sherlock barely noticed the door slam shut behind Jake. His gaze was focused on his friend who was trying to regain composure. He realised he knew next to nothing about John's army time, he hadn't even known about his special operations status. It was never relevant information, he had deduced enough to know that John could handle himself with or without a weapon and that was enough. But it wasn't enough anymore. They were in the hands of a madman who knew everything about John's past. And he was using it to hurt John. Oh, not in the physical sense, but torturing John's mind with long suppressed images of horror and war.
"John?"
"Don't. Just... leave me alone."
"He is wrong. You are not the same. You are a good man."
John's answer was immediate and angry. "Am I, Sherlock? You have no idea what I did during the war!" In a much quieter voice he added, "What they made me do. I was a good soldier, following orders, but I was not a good man. Or a good doctor. I used my medical knowledge to inflict pain. I denied treatment to prisoners. I killed people. Sometimes from afar through the sniper rifle, but sometimes I was close, could see the life fade out of their eyes. These images are burned into my mind."
He continued to speak, his voice turned bitter. "People like you and Jim, you can distance yourself from these pictures and you can choose not to care. Human beings are just parts of the puzzle for you, not important in the grand scheme of things. But I cared about each and every one of them. And that is not a good thing in a warzone, trust me. I had to learn to tune it out. The hard way, because I had no other choice."
John paused, struggling with the memories. "The first enemy soldier I killed... god, he was just a kid. Barely out of his teens. He had snuck up onto one of my nurses and I was the only one with a clear shot. I took it, he died and the nurse lived. Couldn't sleep for weeks afterwards. My commander took me aside, told me to get a grip or he would send me home. I couldn't go home. The army had paid for my medical studies; if they sent me home prematurely then I would have to pay back the tuition fees. My family does not have that kind of money, failure was not an option. So I adapted. Learned to distance myself. And eventually it worked." He stopped and looked up to Sherlock, making eye contact for the first time since Jake left.
And Sherlock understood. Suddenly, all the clues he had missed, all the little pieces fell into place. He continued when John stopped.
"Actually, it worked so well that Andrew Doyle was born. He was the tough and ruthless soldier, so that John Watson could continue to be the good doctor. He was more than just a cover identity. He was a part of you. Then your superiors decided to kill off Andrew Doyle and sent you home, suddenly you had to cope with the onslaught of bad memories again. The nightmares must have been crippling. That was how you found me, about to crumble under the horrors in your own mind. But by me giving you a new chase, a new purpose, you could unleash Andrew again. John could push the dark thoughts away and become the friendly flatmate everyone loves. A classic case of dissociative disorder. Fascinating, really, I'll have to do some experiments when we get back home. How did your therapist miss that?"
John had nodded through Sherlock's deductions. Spot on, as always. "She does not have access to my SRR file. Only the normal army files. She never stood a chance. The only ones who saw right through me were you and Mycroft."
"I didn't see it. Not until just now," Sherlock frowned.
"Well, you have never met Andrew. Not really. Just glimpses of him. Bit hard to get the whole picture from that. But you knew that my limp was psychosomatic and that a good adventure would cure it. Mycroft said I miss the war. It was not the war I missed; it was the adrenaline rush, the danger. It took you less than a day to give all of that back to me." He gave Sherlock a sad smile. "So please don't tell me that I am a good man, if I had met Moriarty instead of you that day, I could very well be in Jake's position right now!"
Sherlock didn't know what to say. He wondered if John was right. The chance meeting with Sherlock had brought out the caring doctor, while giving the lethal soldier just enough action to stay satisfied. With the wrong influence could it have gone the other way round just as easily?
"No, you couldn't. You came out on top, because that is who you are. You did some terrible things, but deep down, John Watson is and always was a good man. And that is what people like Jake or Jim will never understand. For them violence is always an option, and collateral damage does not matter. For you, it is the last option, used reluctantly and targeted."
"Thank you."
"What for?"
"For believing in me. For trusting me."
After a long pause, Sherlock continued, "I am certain the next session with Jake will be less than pleasing for us. He thinks that he won the first round, which will boost his confidence to go for bolder methods next. And you will most likely be on the receiving end. A little bit of acting from your side might help to prevent things from going too far."
John pursed his lips, clearly considering something in his mind. Sherlock could see the moment he came to a conclusion as his face relaxed and then broke into a knowing smile.
"Just watch." John said.
And then it happened. All of the sudden there was no trace of the mild mannered doctor left in John's features. Sherlock barely recognised the man sitting opposite him. The look in his eyes was cold, calculative and held a dangerous gleam, like a caged animal, waiting to be unleashed. His whole posture projected strength and unyielding willpower. Sherlock realised that the man sitting opposite him was dangerous. He had killed before and he would do so again without hesitation, if the situation required it.
The ease with which John slipped into this alter ego made Sherlock slightly uncomfortable. John had been right, he had never seen the full transformation, all he had ever seen were small traces of Andrew shining through. This was a change on a completely different scale. He understood why John had hidden it from everyone. It was unsettling.
And then, all of the sudden, his John was back. Concern showing on his gentle face.
"Sherlock?"
"When -, when you become him, are you still in control? Or is it Andrew taking over completely?"
"I am still me. It's hard to describe how it works, maybe a bit like acting, only instead of pretending to be someone, you really become that someone. Like putting on a suit and becoming a superhero. But I am always in control. Being Andrew just makes certain things, certain decisions easier."
Sherlock nodded, relieved. It was comforting to know that John remained himself inside. Then he frowned and put on a pouty face.
"How could I miss this? I never miss the important things!"
"Are you serious? I just tell you that I have an alternate personality inside me and all you are upset about is that you didn't deduce this from the way I tie my shoelaces! This is really eating you up, isn't it?"
"Of course it is! Don't you see? I always see through people the moment I meet them. Not with you though. You posed an interesting puzzle from the moment we met. There was something in you that didn't quite fit, something hidden. That's why I choose you as flat mate in the first place. Needed more time to figure it out."
"Oh, so that's what it was? You were intrigued by me? All this time, I have been a puzzle that you just couldn't solve?" John felt his temper flare up.
"No! At first yes, but it turned into something else after our first case together. I knew I had found a kindred spirit, a true friend. Someone who would not judge me. So I backed off." He levelled his eyes with John's. "You are the first and only puzzle I ever gave up on. Because the possibility of driving you away was unbearable."
"Sherlock, I -, you -, god...what a mess..." He stuttered, unable to voice out his confusing emotions. His anger had died down with Sherlock's explanation, but he still felt conflicted about the whole matter "Look, let's get through this first. We will figure things out once we are back home, all right?"
Sherlock nodded his consent. John was right; this was neither the time nor the place to work through all their issues. For now they had to focus on beating Jake Moriarty.
Jake walked into the room again, but his time he held some tools in his hands. John blanched slightly as he recognised the items: One very solid looking hammer and a 6" combat knife. He knew at least ten different ways how each of these items could be utilised to inflict non-lethal wounds and none of them were pleasant. Facing Sherlock, Jake started.
"The arrival of your loyal pet here has screwed with my plans. I thought I would have longer to play with you and now I have to rush things. And I hate rushing through this. But don't worry, I will still have plenty of time to finish what I started. And John will help me to achieve that goal. I know you don't care much about being hurt yourself, but how about watching your friend suffer?"
The method Jake was using on Sherlock was familiar to John; he had witnessed it in Afghanistan. It was the first step in breaking someone's will. Give them a simple decision, with an easy way out. Once the victim starts begging, raise the stakes. It was similar to training a dog; desired behaviour gets rewards, undesired behaviour gets punishment. With the right incentives and proper execution, it was a very effective method to destroy all the defences of the victims. After that, they could be moulded into any shape desired.
Jake continued his taunting. "Are you really that cold to let him endure endless pain? Knowing that you can make it stop anytime? Hmm?" Jake paused and fixed his cruel gaze on Sherlock, searching for any sign that the younger man was affected by his speech, but Sherlock just stared at him with unimpressed apathy.
"Fine. Have it your way then. I have sooo many ways in which I can hurt John. And I will enjoy every last second of it. And all you have to do to stop it is ask me nicely. Beg me to stop hurting your friend and I will. Simple."
"I am not stupid." Sherlock's voice was cold as he answered. "But you might as well just go ahead. I never cared much for him, and with what I know now, that he is a killer, I definitely can't be bothered to." John had to remind himself that Sherlock was just acting. But damn, that had been very convincing. "But please, don't be boring. If I have to watch, at least be entertaining."
"Entertaining! Ha, we shall see. I will use my trusted knife, like this!" He shouted the last word while turning lightning fast and stabbed the knife into John's right knee, not penetrating more than half an inch. John had not been expecting the blow and could not suppress a hiss. Jake smirked.
"At the moment the damage is minimal. But I will drive it in further, inch-by-inch, very slowly. It is angled in way that it won't hit any major blood vessels or bones, but will destroy cartilage and tendons. From what I hear it is very painful, and can result in permanent damage. Ask me to stop and John will walk out of here, stay quiet and he might never walk again. Your choice!" He gave Sherlock a diabolical smile.
John was mentally recalling everything he knew about the anatomy of the human knee, taking into account the angle of the knife and the penetration depth. Jake was correct. The damage he was about to cause would be beyond repair, even if he would get medical attention right away, which was unlikely.
Ignoring the pain in his knee John focussed on his friend. Sherlock face looked calm and composed, but he could see the anger and barely controlled rage behind the cool facade. He gave him a sharp glance to remind the detective of his earlier promise. A little twitch of the lip and the suddenly vacant look in Sherlock's eyes told John all he needed to know. His friend was safe in his mind palace.
"Is this all you've got? I mean, Sherlock is clearly not the least bit interested in what happens to me, so we might as well leave it." John hoped he could lure Jake into abandoning his little game.
"You're right, he does look a bit bored. So, entertainment it is!" He grabbed the hammer and drove the knife in further. John screamed.