Sherlock felt the cocaine hit his bloodstream. For the first time in his life, he resented the drug, no hated it, even as the first euphoric high swept over him. His heart rate increased and he could feel his thoughts speeding up, but he didn't feel the horrible constriction in his chest that he had expected. The dosage that he had been given was far less than needed for an overdose. That was at least a small break. It meant there was still time for John and Greg to act. Also, while Moriarty still hovered, he was blessedly silent and far easier to ignore.
His heart aching, Mycroft looked on. He watched every nuance of expression as it played out over Sherlock's face. His brother started shifting restlessly where he sat, though rough hands held him in the chair.
Walsh cleared his throat as he deliberately placed more vials on his desktop. "Shall we let him enjoy the high for a bit before we mix things up and push him a little harder? How much do you think he can take before his heart gives out on him?"
"Don't!" Mycroft couldn't stop himself from pleading, not where his brother's life was concerned. "Please. You don't have to kill him. Hurt me instead."
"Be quiet, Mycroft," Sherlock spat. "You're giving him just what he wants."
"Silence him," Walsh ordered, pointing towards the younger Holmes.
Link grinned and punched Sherlock in the face.
The detective slowly turned back to look at him. "Come, now. Is that the best that you've got?"
"Brother-mine, do shut up," Mycroft pleaded. "Don't make this any worse than it already is."
Sherlock laughed, forcing himself to sound bitter. A feat that wasn't very difficult at the moment. "How could it be worse, Mycroft?" He looked at his brother pointedly. "Maybe if John and Greg were here to watch. Wouldn't that make a lovely..." His head reeled as Link struck him again.
Another of the henchmen took off his tie and used it as a makeshift gag, putting an end to the detective's talking. It didn't matter, Sherlock could see that his message had been understood.
Knowing that someone was aware of their predicament and would try to rescue them gave Mycroft a small glimpse of hope. It was tinged with dread, knowing how unlikely a rescue attempt would be to succeed. If they just got there in time to save Sherlock, that was all that mattered.
John, his frustration mounting, hit the roof of the car. "Come on Greg," he growled to no one in particular. Ducking down, he glared at the man cuffed to the passenger seat. "How many people are in there?" His question was answered with silence. "Allow me to put it this way, when my friend arrives, I will get answers out of you one way or another. It's up to you if you're still alive when I'm done."
"You're his doctor friend. You won't kill me," the man said with bravado.
John grinned, showing all his teeth. "Yes, I'm a doctor, but I was also a soldier. Just you think about that."
Something on John's face made the man swallow and look away. He cleared his throat. "There will be three of them."
"Just three?" John asked, incredulous.
The man scoffed. "Walsh doesn't trust many people."
The doctor nodded once. "Alright. Tell me what I need to know to get my friend out of there alive." When the man hesitated, John lunged towards him, stopped in his advance by the handcuff holding him to the doorframe. "I can and will break every bone in your body, if I have to."
The man went pale, not doubting the doctor for a moment. He began to talk.
Mary was relatively unscathed by the collision, much to her surprise, but the paramedics fussed over her due to her pregnancy. It was entirely unnecessary, she sought to assure them to no avail.
"Mrs. Watson, you took a blow to your head when the cars collided. You hit it against the window. I really must insist you go to hospital and get checked out." The female paramedic crossed her arms. "If not for you, then think of your baby."
Reluctantly, Mary agreed. "Fine, but the woman who was with me, she definitely has concession."
"And she's being reasonable about it. Look." The woman pointed to where Molly was being loaded into the back of an ambulance.
Mary stood, placing her hand to the small of her aching back. "I already told you I'd go to hospital. You don't have to..." There was a stronger twinge of pain where her hand rested and she felt the first stirrings of cramps. "Oh, God."
The paramedic was by her side in an instsant. "Mrs. Watson? Is it the baby?"
"Yes, get me to hospital now. I'm not due for five more weeks." She would not panic. Mary was a nurse, she knew that, though early, five weeks premature wasn't an automatic death sentence for a baby, but what if something had gone wrong? She wanted to call John so very badly, she needed him there, but she daren't lest she put him in danger. Mary let herself be helped onto a gurney and started praying to a God she hadn't believed in since she was a very young girl.