Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter 51
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 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 M**
"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
After three days, Sherlock was deposited face down on the ground in his room. He lay on the cold concrete floor. It provided some comfort to his abused body. His body shuddered uncontrollably.
Sherlock was drugged, electrocuted, beaten, assaulted in his mind, assaulted in his body, and near drowned.
His body was a mass of bruises and welts, various small cuts, scrapes, and lacerations. He had dried and wet trails of blood. He had almost forgotten about the whipping. They were careful to avoid too much blood loss.
They wanted him alive, for now.
Their purpose was to humiliate and inflict varied kinds of pain. They did that well. Their second purpose was to break him. Even though, Sherlock showed defiance at every opportunity; the truth he kept from them was that they were very close to that goal as well.
Sherlock pushed it all inside. With trembling arms, he managed to push himself to a crawling position. He was rewarded with a spinning room, and spasms of pain. Sherlock put his face back down on the cold concrete and after a minute, tried again.
Groaning from the pain, and soreness; he managed to crawl close to the mattress, but had to stop to rest twice.
Sherlock had not noticed the food, and water they had given him. He became angry at the sight of it. "Slowly kill a man, but don't forget to feed him," Sherlock thought.
He knew their reason for doing this was calculated, not mercy. It was to keep him alive long enough to extract the required information from him. He pushed the anger behind a door, and closed it until he had use for it.
Sherlock's hands were shaking, and still cuffed, and sore. Opening the bottle of water proved to be more difficult than usual. He did manage finally.
He drank some greedily, but his hands were shaking so severely that he spilled half the contents on the floor, and himself.
He let the empty bottle slip from his hands to the floor.
Sherlock finally reached the mattress, and with difficulty crawled on. He noticed they had returned his clothes, and put it in the corner.
The defiance Sherlock acquired as a child came to the surface.
He would put them on in the morning and even tuck his shirt in. He would button every button, and put on his belt.
He would not let them win.
At the moment however, he was too weak for such things. Sherlock managed to pull his shirt, and clumsily drape it around himself as he curled into a ball for warmth.
He left the room.