Disclaimer: The characters of Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John H. Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson are the intellectual copyright of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and I hold no claim upon them.
A/N: This story, although set in the modern 21st Century, is highly influenced by the structure of the original stories about Sherlock Holmes.
I'm highly enjoying writing this- and I hope anyone who reads it will highly enjoy it too!
Rated T, but this may move up to M as events unfold later on. Enjoy! :)
He had been one of five when he started; but he couldn't quite tell how long he had been in the same place, with no clocks or windows in the room which he was encased there was no means of telling the pass of time – and he was sure that the days felt longer because of this denial of sunlight or distraction. For even the sound of a ticking clock would be a welcome distraction to ease the senses from the monotony of time; but even if there had been some means of distraction it would not have appeased the uneasiness growing within Adam McLachan's mind. Several times he had convinced himself that he must be dreaming, but on exerting physical strength against his bondage he felt pain, and the irrepressible pain he felt in his stomach when he knew he had been without food for days, led to his conclusion that he could not be suffering from some horrible dream or delusion. He devoted much time now to wondering where the other four that he had initially been brought with, had gone; and why he had been the one who remained still – the others had disappeared, one by one, and none of the rest could place when they had vanished from the room. When the first one, the youngest girl, Samantha Carstairs, had vanished none of them could fully recall the last time they had seen or heard her… The room was shrouded in darkness for the majority of the time and in the darkness it was not easy to distinguish the outlines of people, or objects. They had come to the terrified conclusion that someone must be taking them away in the dark and the night. If all four of the others had been taken and never returned, surely nothing good could be coming to himself. There had been one major change however – the electric lights had been turned on for what Adam felt could surely be the last few days, if not longer; the white light reflecting blindingly off the walls and burned imprints of light into the back of his retinas so that even when he closed his eyes he could still see the irradiating white light. Now there was light in the room Adam could see his surroundings, when the lights had first been switched on he had wished they hadn't – along the wall was chained at least six other beds, very similar to a bed that would be found in a hospital; thin sheets were bundled upon each of the beds, all except from the bed that Adam was attached to. It didn't feel right – it felt too ominous, there was something definitely wrong… and there wasn't anyone that would be concerned about him disappearing, there wouldn't be anyone that would be looking for him. He hadn't seen his biological parents in over five years and there wasn't a snowflakes chance in hell that they would notice that he wasn't there, he had been under the care of social services on and off for all of his life – and then permanently from five years ago. His two younger siblings had been split up from him and were in separate foster homes, they wouldn't notice he had vanished until it would be too late… he was sure by that time that his inevitable fate would have come to pass, whatever that fate would come to be.
The next time that Adam opened his eyes he was in complete darkness once more; in the darkness he strained his ears until he was positive that someone was moving around him in the room. He opened his mouth to cry out, but realised that his mouth had been gagged and that he couldn't make an audible sound. His eyes were still uncovered and he opened them the widest he could, but he could not penetrate the darkness around him – his eyes had become too accustomed to the light. He had no hope of fighting against whoever was in the room with him – he was still chained to the pipe running along the wall and the bind on his arm was as tight as ever, unable to be severed or broken. He had no chance against the firm hands the enclosed upon the biceps of his arms, pinning him down to the bed; he couldn't stop the sharp scratch below his left elbow, or stop the misty fugg that proceeded to descend into his brain and swim before his eyes. He knew he was moving in the dark, but his limbs felt like lead and he couldn't struggle against his captor; he was roughly dropped onto a flat cold object – he felt his shoulders connect with something metallic feeling – before his final darkness overcame his mind.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed that- I certainly loved writing it! I'd be grateful at receiving any advice or constructive criticism for how I can make it better- so if you have any, drop me a message or a review! Thanks :)