Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter 48
Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy
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WARNING: Some of the following chapters have descriptions of captivity and, torture and all things not nice. If you are a younger reader, or sensitive, Please skip or read chapters marked as non-graphic this is still rated T. If alternate chapters are offered, it will be marked clearly. For example alternate chapter 6 will be marked NON-GRAPHIC CHAPTER 6. These alternate chapters give the information in a more non-graphic way, but still T rated way. As always, thank for reading favorite, and comments.
**Rating temporarily T**
"Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle.
James Russell Lowell, "Cambridge Thirty Years Ago,"Literary Essays
Deleted Memories of Abduction
It was almost like holiday… at first.
There was a little roughing up, a slap or two, and an occasional threat. They had even been kind enough to give Sherlock small amounts of food and bottled water. He maneuvered his handcuffed hands to the bottle picking it up, and bringing it to his lips.
Sherlock winced as he drank the water avoiding the side of his lips that was split and bleeding. He drank as if the water was liquid gold; every drop was precious to him.
He reluctantly stopped before his thirst was satisfied and hid two half-drunken bottles under the dirty mattress on the floor. Earlier he had forced half the sandwich down his throat feeling like it would come back up at any moment.
Every morning they came asking the same questions, he always politely declined to answer. Whenever his… sessions… were over, they would redeposit him back in the locked space. He would crawl back to the mattress, and go to his mind.
He would spend hours storing and deleting information. Organizing and storing data. Every overheard conversation, word, inflection of voice, name, and date was stored.
Sherlock was beaten until unconscious once. When he regained consciousness, he had stored entire conversations spoken without restraint since they believed him to be still unconscious.
It would come in useful when he escaped, if he escaped.
Sherlock vaguely wondered when his life had become so dangerous that the events of the past week had been tolerable.
He heard footsteps approaching. Two voices talking. One was the voice of his usual guard; the other was new and spoke with authority. There was an odd inflection in the new voice that cause Sherlock to pay closer attention. He recognized the voice.
The floodlights suddenly came on.
"Odpověděl na otázky?" The voice in the shadow asked.
"Ne, pane." The guard replied.
Sherlock translated the conversation in his mind.
Did he answer the questions?
No sir.
Sherlock spoke several languages well enough and French quite well. He did not think it wise to divulge this little piece of information.
The voice spoke in Czech with a thick Arabic accent. There was something more, Czech undertone.
So, he spent a considerable amount of time there in the Czech Republic, and still does. He could tell at some point he had a university education. He was intelligent and came from money but nothing legitimate. He had taken over the family business at a young age. He spoke and walked with authority.
This was a man used to being obeyed.
From Sherlock's surveillance, he had come to the belief that before him stood Ayyad. Third on Interpol most wanted list until he was believed to be killed around the same time as Moriarty.
It seems it was a day for dead men to walk.
He was captured as he gathered the last bit of data and pictures that would have proved his hypothesis.
What sent a chill through Sherlock was the certain knowledge that Ayyad would not risk coming to England, unless something so big was in play that he would risk the details to no one but himself.
Mycroft needed this information.
Ayyad was unaware that Sherlock knew his identity. Ayyad was careful to stay in the shadows.
"Hello, awake are we, did you sleep well?" He spoke English very well despite the thick accent.
Sherlock blinked away the sweat and blood that was stinging his eyes. "Quite well, although your accommodations leave something to be desired; thank you."
He knew now was not the time to be a smart arse, but that never stopped him before.
"Funny, aren't you," the voice moved slightly outside the glare of the light contrast by heavy darkness. "Let's see what we can do to remedy that."
In walked his guard Novák, otherwise know to Sherlock as "Mr. Stupid" as he had come to name him.
He was tall and solidly built with a deep tan. He wore a no sleeve tank that showed his grotesquely large and muscular arms. Probably for intimidation Sherlock decided. His left arm sported an old scar that ran from elbow to wrist.
That is not what gave Sherlock pause; it was the look in his eyes; blood lust and pure evil.
The others he had encountered during his stay had been ruthless yet professional; this one was in it for pleasure not money. He loved to intimidate, control, inflict pain and kill… slowly. This gave him delight, pleasure.
Sherlock was sure Novák had killed small animals as a child.
Obviously, he was hired for muscles not brain. Novák was their weakness, maybe he could exploit him, but Sherlock also knew if he died, it would most likely be by Novák's hand.
Novák walked slightly stiff, wearily eyeing Sherlock, but his limp was almost gone. Novák had learned the hard way that Sherlock was not one to be taken down without a fight. Sherlock learned that Novák knew how to hold a grudge.
It was a dangerous game he was being forced to play, but he had no choice. He sensed that Novak blood lust was growing, The "Voice" did not know it yet, but he was losing control of Novák.
Novák stepped forward and smiled. The first explosion of pain in his abdomen did not surprise him. What did surprise him was that Novák did not hit him in the head again except the periodic slap.
Three days earlier, Novák, had hit him in the head with the back of his gun, Novák beat Sherlock into unconsciousness, and had given him a nasty concussion. Sherlock went in and out of unconsciousness for hours.
When he had awoken, his body was painted with bruises and he almost felt as if his head was split in two. Sherlock somehow had managed, with great difficulty, to stifle a moan. He bit his tongue so hard that he drew blood, all to keep any sound from escaping. He also kept his eyes closed. Both to prevent detection and fight back the nausea.
Sherlock had heard Novák being reprimanded. They obviously wanted him alert and awake; torture was so much more effective when the victim was awake Sherlock thought grimly.
Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts and back to the present when the voice spoke.
"Our organization has been torn apart; many people have been killed and assassinated, trying to find the leak. So you do understand, I cannot allow you to spoil the plans that would breathe new life into our little organization."
"With you as the new head, of course," Sherlock said.
"Of course… Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock's blood ran cold as he realized they had said his name for the first time. Moreover, if they knew his name he had just lost the upper hand. He had to regain it.
"Have you worked out who it is that wants you dead yet… Mr. Ayyad?"
"Well, no need for pretense then," Ayyad stepped from the shadow, revealing himself for the first time.
"None." Sherlock agreed.