Author's notes: Again, see the notes at the end for warnings.
All the love to my lovely betas! 3
The noose tightens the moment my body sags down, and I am unable to breathe. But there is no panic this time. It will be over soon. It will be …
Then I hear the noise somewhere behind me. Fighting. Mary killing John? I squint my eyes shut. Don't want to see it. Getting dizzy. Over soon. Someone screaming. Don't look. Again a scream but different now, gargling. Have I heard John dying? Over soon. Please, let it be over soon.
Need air. Can't breathe. Don't want to. Feel my body jerking. Steps coming closer. (No!) Dizzy, dizzy.
Steps reaching me (no no no). And then …
and then my body hits the ground. (How?) The rope is removed. (Impossible!) I gasp and retch and breathe (Another game? God, no!) and don't open my eyes because I couldn't stand seeing her. A hand on my head, soft. Caring.
John?
Opening my eyes requires an enormous amount of energy. And there he is, hovering over me, looking at me with unconcealed concern. And a tiny bit of triumph. Blood on his shirt.
"Sherlock, are you with me?"
Am I? I think so, even though it takes some time to realise that I am. I try to raise my head to see what happened but my body doesn't obey. Not yet. So instead, I just pant and wait for my strength to return. Concentrate on what John is babbling about the entire time.
"She is dead, Sherlock. It's over. We'll be out here in no time. Relax. It's over."
Over? I have been so sure I'd die that I am having trouble accepting our survival. And there is Big Boy, still somewhere outside the room.
"Can you get up?" John asks, and I need to consider that one too. Turns out that I can't. So instead he helps me into a sitting position, half leaning against him. It's been days since we last touched each other. Would be content just to sit like that, my naked back against the upper part of his body. Heat emanating through the thin shirt he was allowed to wear.
When the room stops spinning, I look up and see Mary's body lying on the ground. Her eyes open, her face expressionless. Blood underneath her, soaking her hair. Her cut throat gaping open.
Now the fidgeting I have watched starts to make sense. John has not been waiting, he has been freeing himself. And he did not allow me to give in. He ordered me to create a diversion so he could overpower her.
I cannot avert my eyes from her corpse.
His hand on my neck. "I need to handle Big Boy before he gets suspicious," John explains. "Can I leave you here for a moment?"
Yes, of course. I wouldn't be of any help in my current state, still too weak to stand on my own. So before leaving without me, John makes sure that I'm leaning against the wall so I won't collapse.
My eyes follow him out of the room and then fix on Mary once more. Something about her corpse is bothering me but I don't know what. Maybe the fact that I actually enjoy seeing her like that.
Then I realise what is wrong. I cannot deduce how exactly John has killed her. He must have used her knife of course, but did he hesitate when slicing her throat open? I should be able to tell from the wound but can't. Did he stand up to kill her or did he finish her while lying on her lap? Did she put up a fight?
No matter how hard I concentrate on the blood stains on the wall and the way the body is placed and the way John's ties are arranged on the ground, I cannot see how it happened.
Before I can worry about it, John is back. Is there more blood on his shirt than before? No idea. But there is a certain satisfaction in his eyes.
"He's dead," he announces, and that is all I need to hear. "We are alone, in a little hut in the woods," John explains then. "I haven't seen a phone upstairs, but I am sure Mary is carrying her mobile."
Without hesitation he approaches her body and fishes for her mobile. Finds it in one of her trouser pockets.
"No signal down here," he tells me. "Come on, we need to get you upstairs anyway. There are blankets to keep you warm and I really want to leave this room for good."
Brilliant idea. John more or less manhandles me until I am standing, my legs trembling. No idea how he manages it, but after a while we make it upstairs.
I take a broad look at the room and again fail to deduce details of what had been going on here. But Big Boy is dead, definitely. Looks like his head is smashed worse than necessary. That is all I can tell. Why does my deduction lack details? Shock? Probably.
Before long, John lowers me on a sofa and covers me with a blanket. Then he sits next to me, allows me to lean against him once more, and dials a number he seems to have learned by heart. Puts the call on speaker so I can hear as well. Only one ring, then the call is answered.
"Captain Watson, what a relief to hear from you," the voice on the other end of the line says instead of a greeting. Mr. Super Secret.
John quickly explains our situation and is assured that a rescue team will be sent at once along with an ambulance. Might take a moment because the GPS of Mary's mobile tells Mr Super Secret that we are far out in the woods.
"There is something else, sir," John says after reporting roughly what happened to us. (Turns out we have been missing for two weeks only. Seemed much longer to me.)
John needs to collect himself, squeezes my hand, then says,, "We have been told that Mary has ..." His voice breaks. He starts again, "That Mary has killed our daughter, as well as Sherlock's parents and my sister. Do you know if ..."
He cannot finish his sentence, looks at me instead. (His sadness and hope and fear and hope again are overwhelming me. All I can do is cling to his hand.) We can hear some hushed murmur, then some more. It goes on for a while. Then Mr Super Secret is back on his phone.
"I have collected reports from several agents. I am sorry to tell you but it seems that your sister has died from alcohol poisoning in a club three days ago." I watch John's face run through more emotions than I can identify. (Painful.)
"But," Mr Super Secret goes on, "The reports coming in from Sussex are clear. Your daughter is fine, so are Mr and Mrs Holmes."
John gasps and our eyes meet. The expression on his face matches the turmoil in my guts. Only very slowly does a smile spread on his face, but once it is there, it radiates a warmth that heats up my cold body. She lied to us. They are alive!
It is all right for me to cry in a situation like that. I know that because John is crying too. We should probably get ourselves something to eat while waiting for the ambulance, or at least something to drink but neither one of us seems to feel like getting up. Instead, we remain huddled against each other.
After some time, we hear the sirens of two ambulances as well as the arrival of several cars. (can't tell how many, but anyway.) John only moves away from me when gently forced by the paramedics.
He throws a tantrum when they try to separate us and only calms down again when we are placed inside the same ambulance. They will bring us to a nearby hospital to take care of our wounds. No need to stay for long, they say, maybe just one night to be sure.
At the hospital we are both examined thoroughly, our blood is taken, our blood pressure measured, John's statement is written down and finally finally we are alone in a hospital room.
John gets up immediately again and sits down on my bed. Holds my hand, places his other hand protectively on my neck.
"You understand that Mary is gone, don't you?" he asks concerned.
Of course I do.
He looks at me closely, so very closely. Then he swallows and goes on, "Then you also know that it is all right for you to speak again, right?"
Of course it is. No need to be silent now that she is gone. It was a mind game, that's all. A cruel and efficient one, but one that definitely ended when she died. Of course I can talk again without doing harm.
And I will surely say something soon.
Maybe tomorrow.
Author's notes: Warnings for character deaths I am not sorry for. ;-) Suicidal thoughts, violence.
Unfortunately, I am still writing the next chapter, so it could be that I will not be able to update next Friday already. Sorry.