Chapter 10- Unfamiliar Surroundings

A/n: so here is the next chapter! I hope you enjoy it! X

JW

I had no idea where I was.
Everything ached and I wanted desperately to move my hands. The ropes that bound them to the back of the chair were tight and unforgiving, wrapped more than once around my wrists and coiling up to my elbow. My arms hurt like hell. I was thirsty too, which didn't help, and I was incredibly lightheaded, probably due to both lack of water and the blow to the head I had received sometime before I gained consciousness.
I tried to think back, to understand how I had got into this position. Tied to a chair in an unfamiliar room. Blindfolded.
But every time I tried it felt as if some strange white mist was clouding my memory.
I closed my eyes, frowning deeply. I had been at a crime scene with Sherlock, the body found was another one of Moran's victims, the writing on the arm, and bruising just like mine indented the wrists. I remembered Lestrade's conversation, how they has no idea where Moran had taken the shot, first believing it to be the house opposite, tans then reconsidering due to the angle the bullet went in. Sherlock had wanted to check the other bodies...
My head started to pound badly, drawing a muffled groan from my lips. I had to remember. I had to remember.
I'd had Sherlock's phone in my hand. It had started to vibrate. An unknown number calling.
The phone call... Must have been something important. My memories were getting more confusing now. Whoever had struck the blow to my head had some power. I shook it frantically to clear my thoughts.
The phone call had been from a woman. I had been fearful. I remember turning, listening to the voice, which had switched to a man soon afterwards. He has told me to move to the house opposite...
"Now turn doctor, you see that house there? Number 32? Walk in. Thats it. Doing what I say is the only way to save your precious Sarah..."
I startled as the memory came back, clear and fresh. The voice had been low and threatening. I remembered how I had turned back slightly, wondering whether I should call Sherlock, who was too busy talking to realise where I was. But the voice had interrupted me again, reminding me that he could kill Sarah at any moment. I had stepped into the house.
And that's where everything went blank. I must have been struck on the head immediately.
It had been a trap.
But he had Sarah, still. And he had captured me so he could lure Sherlock in as well. In one swift move, he had changed it all, lead us all to him like lambs to slaughter.
The new body had been a trick. That's why it had been different. He had chosen the enclosed street to lead us close to his hideout, or one of his hideouts anyway, but not close enough so as we knew what house he was in. He knew that the presence of many houses would confuse Lestrade, so he would call us. and even then he was sure that Sherlock couldn't know what house he was in. God he was clever. And when Sherlock gave me his phone, Moran had guessed that, relying on Sherlock's predictable actions. He had made the phone call. He knew that Sarah was one of the few people who I would have wanted to save the most. He had played on my weakness and guilt for bringing her into my confusing life. By doing that he ensured that he had me, and so he could get Sherlock as well.
God, we had been so stupid. After weeks of taunting letters, lulling us into a false sense of security, he had been keeping us off his trail and making a plan.
All of this became so clear to me, whilst sitting, aching and confused, in that chair, and I wondered why I hadn't realised it before. I just hoped that Sherlock would figure it out before he too came to save me.
I remembered our conversation a few weeks before:
'He wants to kill me doesn't he?'
'He won't get to you John, I promise...'
Moran wanted to kill me. That much was certain. He wanted to finish the game Moriarty had started. He was just delaying the process. He wanted Sherlock to see.
My head was extremely painful now, and I forced myself to stop thinking about his motives. Thinking was for Sherlock anyway. I hoped he wouldn't come. If he came it was all over. I remembered how he had said he had a plan. I hoped he used that plan now. I really did.
I tried to flex my wrists, with minimal results. I opened my eyes again, confronted with the black rough material of the blindfold, pressing almost uncomfortably on my eyes. It was better to keep them closed. And god, I was so thirsty.
I shifted a little in my chair, trying to stop my legs from going numb.
I wasn't frightened. I was a soldier, I was taught how to handle situations like this. I just needed to remain calm, and hold together, wishing and hoping and preying that Sherlock didn't do anything stupid.
Because he had a knack for doing that whenever my safety was involved.

A/n: a review or two would be lovely x