Jim
John Watson's sense of security ended the day I first snatched him. After everyone returned home safely, he increased his awareness and upped his protection of Sherlock and himself. Just because he managed to make it a bit more difficult to catch him unawares doesn't mean that it's entirely impossible. I've had this set up for weeks, just waiting for a chance to use it. I had my opening, I took it. Sherlock pissed me off, I use that to my advantage. Sure I've wanted to do this for weeks, but now I have motive. Now I can hurt them both in the process.
I straighten my tie and a small smile slithers across my face. I lick my lips once and ease open the door. Somewhere discreet enough to not be recognized, but somewhere easily accessed by myself and Sherlock, should he chose to play. Sadly, he won't. I'm a bit of a whore when it comes to these things. I prefer to keep him guessing. The good doctor is tied to a chair, wrists strapped to one of the arms and legs tied to the corresponding chair legs. He's gagged, but he won't be for very long, I have a plan, you see.
It was easy enough to snatch the bugger. He tries to be careful, but it only ends up being comical. Accidently bump into him, scare his trousers off and there you have it. One doctor down, one torture session to go.
As soon as I enter the room he starts to freak out, struggling this way and that, eyes wide, heart pounding so loud, even I can hear it. I chuckle, and that sets him even more on edge. I have everything set up, but I don't want to rush it. I kneel down in front of him , look him in the face, and grin widely.
"Hello Johnny boy. Enjoying yourself?" He stills, staring at me with wide eyes. If that's the most fun he's going to be… I pull the gag out and as him again, "Enjoying yourself?"
"What do you think?" He asks in return, a voice full of spite. I chuckle.
"Oh you will be, darling boy. You will be." I stand, time to instill long overdue fear, time to make things right. I look toward the camera I have strategically placed in the upper corner of room and wave, I then gesture towards the door and smile widely. The door eases open and a tray is pushed in by one of my men. Pliers, pokers, hammers and all manner of small devices litter the top of the tray. John eyes them and closes his lips. Oh that's cute. He thinks he can handle it. Simply because he was in the army. Quaint.
