Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter 129
Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy
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**To those of you that I communicate with on a regular basis, I appreciate you. Love you all.
Tell me your thoughts, Love to all.
She sings of a sword so white,
so luminous, that its own light
alone must slay;
she sings of a sword, a sword, a sword,
and I creep away.
~Hilda Doolittle
Present Day Earlier that Day
John opened his eyes slightly disoriented.
Where was he?
He frowned; another police officer he did not recognize was in the front seat. John wondered if he was in the front seat the entire time or if they had stopped and he did not notice.
John had to admit that he had been lost in his own misery. He acknowledged that he had not been paying attention to his surroundings.
How long had he been lost in thought, John wondered.
The car continued to move. John squinted as light flashed on his face as metal and glass reflected the sun.
Now that his mind was a little clearer, his mind started to question.
A slight irritation, a small nagging sensation was in the back of John's mind.
As he thought about it, the officer had been very vague. He was never clear on where Sherlock was.
"Um… excuse me mate, but where did you say Sherlock Holmes was exactly?"
"Oh… he is waiting for you at the hospital."
They were in a remote area; there was not a hospital in any direction close by that he aware of.
His breathing hitched.
John was sure the officer did not say Sherlock was at a hospital, but in fact was unable to be transported to the hospital because he was fighting off everyone, and calling his name.
John thought he should know, after all he had been rehearsing the officer's words over and over again in his mind like a broken record.
"They can't transport," that was what the officer had said John was sure, "They can't transport until you get there. He's fighting…" those words exactly, John remembered.
His senses tingled. It was a feeling of danger, the same feeling that kept him alive in Afghanistan.
John reached reflectively for his gun. His eyes widened as he remembered that he did not have it.
He really hoped that living with Sherlock had had him paranoid.
John licked his suddenly dry lips.
"Well," John thought darkly to himself, "There was one way to test the John Watson you are buggered theory."
"Sorry, I need to use my phone, I need to make an urgent call, I don't want my landlady to be worried." John waited.
"Um sorry, I must have misplaced it, we're almost there. When we get out the car, I'll look for it." The officer looked straight ahead and never looked back.
John sighed. Theory confirmed, he thought to himself grimly.
Avoiding eye contact, guilt - Eye shifting upward and to the wrong side - creating a lie not remembering a memory. John could almost hear Sherlock's analytical voice in his head.
John had purposely observed his facial expressions as he spoke by looking at him in the rearview mirror.
John swallowed.
Sherlock, where was Sherlock, John wondered desperately.
The other officer looked warily at John in the rearview mirror as he was being driven. John put on what he hoped was a believably innocent face and nodded once to him.
John inconspicuously scanned the car for anything that could be used as a weapon. His training as a soldier came back. A thought occurred to John. His hand slowly moved until it was in his pocket. He then wrapped his hand firmly around an object.
His face remained blank as he inched his way toward the door in a way that he hoped was not drawing attention to himself.
They were slowing down.
Maybe, John thought, he could open the car, somehow jump out, and make a run for it. It was risky, but John saw no other option.
His hand almost touched the handle to the car when his body swayed to the left as a sharp and sudden turn was made into an alley.
John tensed his muscles, but his face remained blank.
John took a deep breath to calm and steadied himself.
He saw four men up ahead. He looked grim.
He was not surprised.
It happened suddenly. The door in the front and back simultaneously opened and rough hands grabbed John. The young officer and the man in the front seat also quickly exited. They quickly spoke then the young officer drove off by himself as another car pulled up instantly.
The men present were speaking another language, John was not good with languages but he believed it to be something Eastern European, but he could not be sure.
As they tried to get him into the car that just drove up, pandemonium broke out.
Hands grabbed, fists flew, then shrieks of pain were heard as one man went down and another was hit in the throat with the base of John's hand.
John ran a few yards before the distinctive clink of a pulled back trigger of a gun was heard.
"Stop now or I'll shoot," was spoken with a thick accent.
John stopped and held his hands partially up.
Seconds later, the wind was knocked out of John as a very angry soldier tackled him unnecessarily. This soldier was holding the side of his bleeding neck where John's pen had stabbed.
John was disoriented for a second then came to himself when rough hands grabbed him for the second time in minutes.
"Where is he," anger filled John despite the gun.
"Don't worry you'll be together soon." The same voice answered.
Pain filled John as he felt a prick. John opened his mouth to protest but his tongue would not cooperate.
John's world narrowed as it faded to gray then black.
A/N: In this case buggered is a not so nice way of saying he was in trouble.