Author's Note:
Kind of a gritty chapter. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review!
The man moved forward and roughly grabbed Sherlock's elbow, yanking the consulting detective forward. "Stop standing around," he growled and pulled Sherlock forward, slamming the door shut. "Christ, you idiot," he whispered as he led Sherlock up a long staircase and into a large living room. Just like John had said, high ceilings and a nice set up. "Sit," he shoved Sherlock into a wooden chair and walked away.
"Standing up for your little fuck toy?" Aleksandr asked with a smirk, sitting a few feet away from Sherlock and smirking. "Did he tell you what we did to him?"
Sherlock smirked as he was forced to go forward. He didn't plan on making things easy for these men. It would probably result in a brutal beating but it was better they use up their strength and anger on him than John. As soon as he was shoved into the chair, he stood back up stubbornly. "I prefer to stand thanks." He glanced over to Aleksandr. "Actually, the young man with blue eyes requested me by name." He gave a small shrug and ignored the last question entirely. He began to let his eyes wander around the room, taking in every detail he could of the place. Windows. Doors. Paintings. The floor. The walls.
Aleksandr stood up slowly, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock. He had height on his side, standing a few inches taller than the consulting detective, and had the advantage of using his arms. "I am aware. But if Captain Watson really loved you he would have jumped up to protect you. And now here you are." He stood a few inches from Sherlock and tilted his head with a smirk. "How is he?" He curled his hand into a fist and landed a blow to Sherlock's stomach.
With effort Sherlock managed not to laugh. It had been his idea to be taken next. This Russian had no idea what he was talking about. It was a weak attempt at getting in his head. The doctor he had interrogated had been a more worthy opponent in that respects. The blow to his stomach made him double over automatically. Silence found him once more. His resolve to not play their game his main goal at the moment.
"Nothing to say?" Aleksandr pulled Sherlock up with a rough tug to his hair, letting go to deliver another punch to the side of Sherlock's face. "Apparently the oh-so-smart detective is really just an idiot." He lifted a foot and kicked Sherlock in the middle of his chest in order to push him back in the chair. "We want to know what the plans were," he growled. "Tell me or you will end up just like your idiot of a father."
Sherlock smirked despite the fresh pain in his body and slumped back into the chair. He breathed a little heavier but otherwise showed no indication that the abuse had affected him. Did these guys really think he knew about some government weapons plans? Even if the plans existed he wouldn't know about it. His father had never talked about work with him. If anyone knew then it would be Mycroft. However, John said it had all been just a ploy.
"You are a bit more boring than your little lover. He shouted and screamed." Aleksandr stood up and straightened his shirt. "And you just sit here." He slipped his hand into his pocket. "But we have plans." With one smooth movement he pulled a syringe from his pocket and smirked at Sherlock. "You really like this stuff, don't you?" He wiggled it between his fingers.
Sherlock tilted his head down so his face couldn't be seen. He narrowed his eyes and his jaw clenched tightly. When his gaze shifted to the needle, it was controlled and calm. It wouldn't do to get injected with heroin. It would slow down his reflexes and his mental capacity. The only possible benefit would be to endure physical abuse a bit longer because his body would be numb to the pain. Perhaps a different tactic would be needed here. "If I tell you what you want to know, will you let me have it?" He needed to sound desperate and pathetic, and he certainly felt like it when he asked but it was the only way he could think of to keep it out of his system for the time being. Plan. He needed to come up with an escape plan before he was injected with drugs.
The other man's offer sounded good. "What do you know?" Aleksandr muttered softly, taking a step closer to Sherlock. If any information could be found he would inject the consulting detective himself. He crouched in front of Sherlock, pulling the cap off the syringe and pressing the needle against Sherlock's exposed elbow. "It better be good."
What? No. It was supposed to be an exchange. The injection wasn't supposed to come before the information. Instead of buying time he had just sped up the process. Sherlock closed his eyes, his breathing slowing down as the drug began to take effect almost immediately do to being put directly into his vein. Two years he had gone without heroin in his system. He would be lying to himself if he didn't say it was wonderful and soothing. However, in the couple years that had gone by he had lost his tolerance to it. His body went lax in the chair, as he fought for consciousness. His eyes blinked rapidly and he smiled lazily to the Russian.
"That is what I thought," Aleksandr whispered, turning toward the largest Russian in the room. "Take him back downstairs. I am sick of him." The large Russian nodded and picked Sherlock up, throwing him over his shoulder and easily taking him back down to the basement. With a small shrug of his shoulder he dumped Sherlock on the floor, glanced at John, and left.
"Sherlock?" John's eyes went wide and he moved without a second thought. "Sherlock..." The consulting detective was too relaxed and now he was scared, nervous. "Please... talk to me. What did they do?"
Sherlock barely noticed being carried or even being dropped onto the floor haphazardly. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on John and even longer to hear the words spoken to him. "Didn't want it…please believe me…" His hand grabbed desperately and clung to the army doctor's wrist tightly. The grip didn't last long, because his hand dropped as soon as he passed out on the cold concrete floor.
"What?" John asked softly, searching the floor desperately for the small metal piece Sherlock had discovered earlier. When he found it, he quickly undid his handcuffs, grunting as his shoulder moved forward. Didn't want it... body extremely relaxed... "Heroin," the soldier whispered softly, looking at his fiancé with a small frown. Those bastards injected Sherlock with drugs. "Shhh, it's alright," he muttered despite the fact that Sherlock was passed out. "You are fine. I am here." He tossed his handcuffs against the wall before undoing Sherlock's, pulling the taller man with his good arm so he was closer to the wall. "I will be right here when you wake up." He situated Sherlock so his head was resting in his lap and John instantly moved his hand to run through his fiancé's hair.
It had been long enough that heroin has been in his system, his body began to react to it in a negative way. Sherlock began coughing in his sleep, his body shuddering. His body went still, including the rising and falling of his chest. While coughing, bile had come up and got stuck in his airway.
"Sherlock?" John jumped into action instantly, ignoring his shoulder. "C'mon, Sherlock!" He cleared the airway, held Sherlock's nose shut and instantly started mouth to mouth, moving to start CPR next. Every press down on Sherlock's chest made John shout softly, the pain shooting through his body as he used his injured shoulder. "Wake up," he muttered. "We have got to get out of this together. You said..." Another press of mouths before he returned to his fiancé's chest, counting out each compression. "Stop this."
Sherlock started coughing again, eyes snapping open as he fought for breath. He continued his coughing fit, swallowing convulsively. Once his breathing was under control, he made a face at the taste in his mouth. The drugs were still in his system and would be for awhile, but he figured the worst of it had passed. His thoughts were still hazy and once his heart had stopped racing, his heart rate dropped. He glanced up to John, giving a small crooked smile. "Sorry," he muttered. He closed his eyes, but didn't pass out this time. He was just trying to concentrate but it was proving difficult.
"Oh God." John let his head drop, eyes closed, as he heard Sherlock coughing. Alive. Sherlock didn't die. "Not your fault," he whispered, grimacing as several drops of blood fell from his shoulder on to Sherlock's bare chest. "You are fine. Stay calm. Awake." He moved against the wall again, keeping himself as composed as possible for his fiancé. "Know how it feels," he muttered as he placed Sherlock's head in his lap again, running a hand through his hair. He started humming softly to try and keep Sherlock calm.
His eyes opened when he felt something warm, sticky and wet on his chest. Sherlock reached a hand up, ran a finger through the liquid and then inspected it. Blood? His? No. John's? He shifted up off of the army doctor's lap to a sitting position and forced himself to focus on his fiancé shoulder. "You are bleeding," he muttered more to himself than anything. "Need to stop it…" He didn't do anything afterward, trying to think of what to do next. "Need to stop it," he repeated, more for his benefit in hopes it would help him think of the next logical step.
"Hey, hey. Shhh…" John tugged gently on Sherlock's shoulder and shook his head. "Lay back down. I'm fine. Promise. Relax. We need to get you better." He smiled tightly, leaning down to place a soft and quick kiss on Sherlock's lips, forcing the man's head back into his lap. "Just relax." He leaned slightly to the side and picked up a small strip of Sherlock's old shirt, pressing it against his wound to mop up the extra blood that was now running down his arm. "Talk to me about something." A pause as he grabbed a second strip of cloth, the first already drenched and stained. "Amy. Talk to me about little Sandi."
Sherlock let himself be pushed back down into John's lap. "I am fine. Worried 'bout you." He snuggled into the army doctor's lap after awhile. The heroin was making him sleepy, but his fiance had said something about staying awake. "Tired..." He complained quietly.
"Nothing to worry about here, Sherlock," John replied smoothly, tilting his head slightly and smiling as he studied Sherlock's face. He needed to keep Sherlock calm, happy, keep his mind off of everything going on in his body. "I know you are tired but just stay awake. For me. Think... about our honeymoon. We get to spend all the time in the world with each other." The thought even made him smile and the hand in Sherlock's hair moved to scratch lightly at Sherlock's scalp.
Honeymoon? Oh right. Getting married soon. If we get out of here, Sherlock thought dimly to himself. "Did we decide where to go yet? I don't remember..." His brows furrowed in thought. Panic struck him suddenly. "John, I don't want to forget. Don't let me forget...please...need to remember everything." It startled him how scared he sounded. Losing his memory again was his biggest fear, next to losing his dear doctor.
"Shhh." John bent and gently kissed Sherlock, pulling away with a small smile. "Private beach. Somewhere near the Mediterranean. Italy, you said," he recited smoothly from memory. "And your Mum, she has got our wedding all planned out. You in your black tuxedo, me in a white one." His hand moved to run across Sherlock's jaw line. "And Mycroft is your best man. And you are so excited, we're getting married and you're the perfect husband." What else could he tell Sherlock? He had told his fiancé everything, anything he could remember. "I proposed to you while I was in Afghanistan."
Sherlock relaxed marginally as John spoke to him. "Sounds good." He managed a slight smile, his head nestling into the army doctor's stomach a little more. "John..." He paused before going on, "...if I don't make it. I love you." His hand groped around until it found his fiancé's and gave it a squeeze.
"Nope, you don't talk like that." John returned the squeeze as he shook his head. "I promise right now that we are both going to get out of here. I'm a soldier. It is my job to protect you and get you out safe." He glanced down at his fiancé and ignored the pain in his right shoulder as he moved his hand to scratch lightly at Sherlock's chest and stomach. "You will be fine," he muttered.
"I'm tired," Sherlock complained again. He shifted so he was a bit more comfortable, stretching out his legs on the floor. He closed his eyes, his body relaxing even more. "Not sleeping. Just resting," he mumbled.
"Nope." John gently smacked Sherlock's cheek. "No, Sherlock. Stay awake, keep your eyes open. Keep looking at me," he pleaded as he patted Sherlock's cheek several more times. "C'mon, you have got to stay awake. No sleeping-"
"Managed to get out of your handcuffs, did you?" Aleksandr stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smirk. "Get him out of here."
"No!" John was yanked from the floor, fighting against the two men that held either arm. "No! You can't just leave him here!" He tugged roughly against the henchmen before he was pulled out of the room and the door was slammed shut.
Sherlock groaned from the contact on his cheek. His eyes opened when he had felt John struggling. He tried to help the army doctor fight the men off but it was a feeble attempt. He slouched against the wall, the rock he had been sharpening gashed into his wrist. Cursing softly and slightly confused he picked the object up for closer inspection. He smirked once realization hit him, letting his arms fall to his side, he began scratching stone on stone.
It didn't take long before John was shoved back into the room, stumbling and falling onto his knees as the door was shut. The bandages on his shoulder were gone and blood was streaming down his arm. A new cut was spread across his right side. "Sherlo-" He turned his head to the side and looked at the wall, then at his fiancé. "What are you doing?" He asked as he took several deep breaths, moving across the floor to take a few strips of cloth and hold them against the open wound on his shoulder.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the condition of his fiance. The cob webs of his mind were starting to clear. He moved his hands to his pockets and gave a shrug. It wasn't that he didn't trust John, it was just better not to say anything about the escape. Just in case. It was safer, better. He moved over to the few remaining strips and turned back to the army doctor. "I am doing better. Motor functions are a bit off and the pain from the punches I took earlier are starting to register." He smirked faintly. "Now let me fix you up." He needed to get John out of here soon. The blood loss would probably render him unconscious soon, which would make escaping with the wounded man all the more difficult.
"That's good," John muttered. His eyes lifted fractionally from his shoulder to examine Sherlock. More alert. Moving better. Certainly had recovered faster than John had a few days ago. "I brought you something," he muttered with a proud smile. His free hand fished around in the pocket of his Army pants, finally removing a small granola bar and tossing it at his fiancé. "I know you. Eat. You haven't in a while." With that he smoothly ignored Sherlock's attention to his wound.
Sherlock arched a brow at the granola bar. "Where did you get this?" He put the packaged food down for the moment, so he could finish bandaging the wound as best he could with the limited resources. He picked the granola bar back up, opened it and split it in half. "I can't imagine you have eaten much while in captivity. I will eat if you do." He offered a portion to John with a smirk.
"They took me upstairs," John muttered. He skillfully avoided telling his fiancé that the men had poured salt in his open wound. "Fell a bit and found it." He shrugged and inspected Sherlock's makeshift bandage. "Could've been a great doctor," he whispered before taking half of the granola bar. The thought of food made his stomach turn but Sherlock needed to eat. John shoved the half in his mouth and chewed quickly, swallowing it with a grimace. "Was that good heroin then?"
Sherlock watched John with a frown. He was about to eat his half of the food but the question asked stopped him cold. He looked away from the army doctor and then shook his head. He glanced back over to his fiancé. "Not really. Lower purity level than what I have taken in the past. Probably why I was able to recover in a relatively quick fashion." He wasn't hungry at all now and he threw the granola bar onto the ground.
John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, moving to pick up Sherlock's half of the granola bar. "Eat." He moved to straddle Sherlock's thighs. The last thing they needed to do was fight. Eating, even just a little bit, would help them. "Please." He placed the granola bar against Sherlock's lips as his right arm hung limply at his side. "For me. Eat it for me. We both know that I might be awake for much longer. You need to stay strong." His eyes searched Sherlock's face intently before he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his fiancé's forehead.
Sherlock ate the granola bar to humor John. He didn't say anything in reply. He just leaned his head against the army doctor's good shoulder instead. He just wanted some form of comfort right now, his fingers running along his fiancé's back and hair. He needed some sense of normalcy.
At least he was eating. That was a good sign. John wrapped his left arm around Sherlock protectively. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered into Sherlock hair. He needed to stay strong for his fiancé. It was the only thing he could do. "Do you remember in Scotland when the cabin ran out of hot water?" A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "And you were in the shower? Christ, I have never heard you scream so loud." He pulled Sherlock tighter against him and laughed again.
Sherlock lifted his head and gave John a faint smirk. "Well, at least I didn't fall out of a boat while it was still on land." He continued to run his fingers through his fiancé's hair, although it wasn't soft and bristly like usual. It didn't matter though. He had missed it. He put his head back on the army doctor's shoulder, to get the closeness back.
"You were wiggling it!" John replied with a laugh. He let his eyes close at the feeling of Sherlock's fingers in his hair. "You and your long limbs had a better grip on the bloody thing," he whispered as he placed a kiss on the side of Sherlock's head. At least they could talk about something else. Keeping everything as positive as possible was his main goal and it seemed that Sherlock had the same idea. "That was the same day we broke that headboard."
"I may have gotten a little over zealous that night," Sherlock commented with a smirk. In any given situation, he figured he would be extremely turned on by their current position. However, he supposed this was nice despite their predicament. His head stayed on John's shoulder, fingers trailing from the army doctor's hair to lightly graze along his fiancé's back.
John closed his eyes at the feeling of Sherlock's light touches. "A little?" He whispered with a soft chuckle. "Didn't mind though. Liked it." He was already struggling to keep his eyes open. "Don't let me fall asleep," he muttered. "I can't fall asleep, okay?"
At John's words, Sherlock sat up and let his hands drop to his side. While keeping his fiancé calm was important, it was even more essential to keep him awake. "Keep talking to me then. Tell me another story. Maybe a sequel to the pirate story?" He gave the army a doctor a gentle smile at the memory.
Pirate story? John blinked several times and studied his fiancé. "Oh," he whispered. "They were both at sea," he muttered as he rested his head against Sherlock's shoulder. "And Sherlock was teaching John how to sword fight." Where was he going with this? Why was he talking? He closed his eyes instead, relaxing against the warm body in front of him.
When John stopped talking, Sherlock shook his fiancé's good arm. "You need to stay awake my dear doctor." He knew applying pressure to the wounded shoulder would work but he couldn't bring himself to be that cruel and inflict damage on John. "You need to finish your story."
John lazily opened his eyes, studying the area of Sherlock's neck in front of him. "John was good, strong and agile, but Sherlock was better," a pause where he took in a shallow breath. "Always better. So one day, when they encountered a horrid sea monster, John and Sherlock teamed up and saved their pirate ship." He slumped heavier against Sherlock. He knew what was happening, why he was having trouble. Blood loss. Weak. Probably dehydrated. "Love you."
Sherlock managed a small smile, but his eyes watched John worriedly. "I love you too." He needed to get John out of here as soon as possible. He could tell his fiancé was losing the fight to stay conscious. The only option now was to attack. It would be a desperate attempt but the army doctor needed medical attention fast. Desperate was all he had now. He was about to call out for someone to come, when he heard something like scratching at the door.