Note: I really need to thank my betas GoSherlocked, Katzedecimal and Grizzy for high speed beta-ing. I am so glad that you are helping me with this. 3
I feel the cold floor underneath me when I wake up again. Not just the floor is chilly, but also the air. I am freezing. Oh, probably because I am nearly naked, only in my pants and t-shirt. It's uncomfortable. I am somehow restrained at my wrists and ankles.
I try to remain motionless, eyes still closed. Best not give away that I am conscious again. I hear only one other person breathing. John? I listen to the rhythm of the breathing for a while. Regular, not in pain, but not relaxed either. Controlled. Definitely John.
I open my eyes and find him tied to a chair. Fully clothed. Unhurt (thank God). Tired, angry. Slightly scared, most likely on my behalf. Still relatively fresh shaven. So I have not been out cold for more than three days. If John's beard growth were stronger, I could tell more precisely.
I try to sit up and realise that I can't. The chain that binds me to the ground is just slightly too short to allow it. The different ways we are restrained are very telling. John is placed in a superior position, while I am tied to the ground. He is exalted, almost hallowed while I am abased, humiliated.
Different treatments, meaning that Mary has different end games for us in mind.
"Sherlock, you all right?" That's John for you. Captured and tied up by his murderous ex-wife, but mainly concerned about my well-being. Good question though. Am I all right? I don't feel pain, only the cold emanating from the floor. I am able to think clearly.
"I think so," I answer, a bit surprised at how rough my voice sounds. Must have been out cold for more than one day then. Hard to tell without any natural light in here. I raise my head as high as possible to take a closer look at our prison. No window, only one door. The room is not bigger than approximately five square meters. Bare walls, cast concrete floor. A cellar room? Likely.
I look at John again. He is tired and angry, worried but not too confused. "So, what did Mary tell you already?" I ask him. (Pleased with his admiring surprise at my correct deduction.)
His expression shifts, and there is something darker in his eyes now. "Looks like she wants to teach us some kind of lesson," he states, his calmness too striking to be heart-felt. "Said she'd be back when you're awake. Not sure how long ago that was."
The door opens before I can answer. Mary. No longer blonde, but brunette. Incredibly pleased with herself. She lets her hand linger on John's shoulder as she comes to a halt next to him. Conclusion: still has feelings for him left. One reason why he was so clearly put into a higher position. Good, his life should be relatively safe then.
"Sherlock," she sneers, "finally awake. See, John and I had started the loveliest chat while you were asleep, and I was only waiting for you to join us." There is something lurking in her eyes. She is waiting for a certain reaction from me. Me being arrogant, most likely, for that would be my usual reaction to a pun like that. Well, better give her what she expects to find out what she is up to.
"Funny," I say, trying to put just an extra amount of smugness into my voice. (Not really hard to accomplish, I must admit.) "John and I always waited for you to be gone before we got started."
Watching her expression harden is kind of satisfying. But only temporarily. Her hand that was loosely lingering on John's head grabs his hair and gives it a (painful) drag. John's face clearly shows his pain while he remains absolutely silent.
"God, Sherlock," Mary spits, "That's exactly your problem! You just can't keep your dirty mouth shut. And the moment you speak people get hurt." She takes a deep breath to regain control. Caresses John's head once more. "But we will work on it. Don't worry. When I am done with you, you will never hurt people again."
"What are you up to?" John asks her. Did she recognise the slight waver of his voice? Does she realise that he is beginning to be scared for me? Hard to tell. She is controlled again, her face not giving away much.
"I will teach him to be quiet," she explains then, her hand sliding down John's neck. I can see how disgusted he is by her touch. "Not sure if he will live long enough to operate according to it, but we will see."
John's concern for me is clearly visible on his face now. I look at him confidently, but he does not react. So I have to calculate the risk of speaking up to assure him that I will survive Mary's little kidnapping. What would he prefer, worrying about me or suffering from physical pain instead?Well, it's John, so the answer is clear.
"Be assured that my life has been threatened in more interesting ways before," I inform her politely, closely watching John for a reaction. There it is, the slight relaxing of his jaw muscles. He knows now that I don't think I will die here. And he believes that my assessment is correct. Good.
Mary's reaction follows almost immediately, as was to be expected. She slaps him across the cheek, fast and hard. His head is flung back a little. The muscles in his jaws clench again. But his eyes don't flicker. He agrees with me, is glad that I told him. (I can't help but feel an enormous relief at that. Hope that it does not show on my face.)
"You are not a fast learner, are you?" she says to me, truly angry now. "Look at how you force me to hurt John." Does she really believe this in her own twisted logic? Apparently. That makes her more dangerous than I thought, because that way she can treat John badly without even feeling guilty.
"So," she goes on, "here is what we are going to do. Every time you talk, John will get hurt. Funny, don't you think?" She smiles at me (and means it. She really is enjoying herself right now. That is the scariest fact so far.)
I need to find out how far she is willing to go.
John and I exchange looks. I silently try to communicate that I am sorry for what I will do next. He gives me a nearly imperceptible nod. I have to brace myself for speaking up, knowing it will cause him pain.
"Maybe you're overestimating my compassion," I say, and try very hard not to close my eyes when she beats John so hard that the chair nearly topples over. (Funny how his pain hurts me. That could turn out to be a problem during our confinement here.) Mary's face clearly shows her anger with me, but no regret about nearly sending John to the ground. (Bad. She is willing to risk seriously hurting John. Maybe this whole thing turns out to be more dangerous than I thought. I try to will my fear away. Not easy.)
"I don't think so," she hisses, and struggles hard to regain control. Then she observes me, and her face lights up. "No, clearly not."
She leans down to John's ear and says in a low voice, "Look how much it hurt him to cause you pain. And that is exactly what you have to learn, love." She leans even closer, so close that her lips nearly touch John's earlobe. (He suppresses a shudder. That makes me happier than it should.)
"People get hurt because they love you, John," she whispers, "and they get hurt because you love them. Just look at Sherlock now." John does, and I see my own regret reflected on his face. Swiftly, I show him my most confident expression again. But it was too late. He has already seen the pain Mary was talking about in my eyes.
Mary leaves John's side now, places herself between him and me. Blocks our view of each other. A show of force.
"Or look at me," she continues. "All the pain I suffered because I love you." Love, not loved. Good. The more she loves John, the safer he will be.
"But you will learn, John, I know you will." There is honest love in her voice now. (Wish I could see her face.) "You will learn that loving someone else other than me causes only pain." She approaches him again, kisses his cheek. "I know you will learn!"
With that she leaves us alone.
I consider talking to John, but decide against it. Mary appeared almost instantly after I had woken up. Conclusion: she is monitoring us. I try to spy the camera or microphone, but the room is too poorly lit to find it. Still, she will know that I have talked and punish John for it. At the moment, there is nothing of any value that I could tell John anyway, beside the fact that I am confident that we will make it out of here relatively unharmed.
I mean, all that I have to do is shut up, and no matter what my reputation is, I am sure that I can bring up enough self-control to do so. John has to pretend being sorry for leaving her, soothe her a bit, and by the time she drops her guard I will surely have come up with an escape plan.
Nothing to worry about, right?
I look at John. Our eyes lock, and I try to read his expression. And fail. He is hiding something, some kind of worry. For me? For himself? I cannot tell. Damn. Wish I could just ask him. But that would be exactly what Mary wants. Contemplate speaking to him.
"Don't," John says (to my surprise). I frown, and he explains, "Don't talk, Sherlock. It's not necessary. You are sure we will make it out of here, right?"
I nod, and he nods in return. "Good. That's good." He wants to say more but doesn't.
Suddenly it dawns to me that remaining quiet might be harder than I thought.