Hello darlings, I hope you are enjoying the story so far. I haven't been getting a whole lot of reviews so just let me know what you think! Thank you for reading
xoxo Ashley
Hannah woke up in a bed. This bed almost fooled her into believing last night had been a dream. It was comfortable, too comfortable. She could feel the drug had moved out of her system, but felt sluggish as though moving through molasses. She felt a small throbbing pain where the needle pierced her neck and she slowly lifted her hand to it in an attempt to soothe the small ache. She found a small circular bandage over top of it, the middle of which she could press down and feel the ointment beneath it. Whoever her captor was, his aim was to care for her.
She moved her hand down to her side, fingers slipping against the high tread count sheets and she could feel the duvet that covered her from the waist down. Both of her arms moved so her hands could support the weight of her as she pushed up from the bed, coming to rest back on her knees, her face still pressed to the bed. She sat up one vertebrae at a time and felt a pleasing pop in her back. She couldn't feel panic yet. The drug lay heavy on her mind, she could liken the feeling to being drunk.
She turned and let her legs move from under her to rest over the side of the bed. Her feet didn't come close to touching the floor. The bed felt extremely high up when in reality it was just raised slightly higher than her own bed. The one she shared with Sherlock. The sensation of pins and needles made their way up her legs as she let her feet touch the ground, the feeling never being one she liked, she let out a loud groan in protest. Once the feeling diminished she slowly made her way across the room.
A pair of white double doors was her destination and she was slightly shocked with how long it had taken her to reach them. There were two silver handles which she gripped loosely with her hands, her muscles not being able to fully tense. She was slowly feeling her strength return to her. She opened the doors and they led to an equally white sitting area. She figured that this must be some sort of hotel. To her left was a kitchen, the breakfast bar stools sitting behind the tall island. White marble. She heard sizzling and there was a delicious smell in the air.
She slid her hand against the wall, each step a bit more confident than the last. She rounded the corner to see one person she thought she wouldn't see ever again. His broad shoulders and now very shaggy blonde hair moved, his head turning to face the plate where his arm held a spatula with a perfectly formed Belgian Waffle. Her mouth watered at the sight. His blue eyes turned towards her and made contact.
"Jacob?"
...
In a fit of anger once, John yelled at Sherlock telling him that he was a machine. He wondered how proud Johnny boy would be if he had seen how quickly Sherlock jumped into his car and sped back to the house. How his hands gripped the wheel so tightly he could have lost circulation in his finger tips or how his mind went through the many possibilities. His first thought was is Moriarty really dead? He faked his death, surely the consulting criminal could have also. But then again no. That possibility was ruled out. It could be one of Moriarty's men. But what value do they see in Hannah? Unless. His teeth ground as he muttered, "Jacob."
His fingers quickly pulled the keys out of the ignition as he sped into the house, the front door was still locked. He quickly jammed his key into the lock and turned letting himself into the house. He ran up the stairs two at a time knowing that at that particular time of night Hannah would have been in their bedroom. The door was left open and he immediately saw the thin blanket she used on the floor, her mobile next to it. A picture frame was shattered on the floor and the pile of folded laundry she had left on the chair to be put away the next morning was on the floor as well. Sherlock looked for anything that could help him, anything that could lead him to Jacob's location. Anything at all, but Sherlock knew he was good. Trained professional good, meaning he covered his tracks well.
Sherlock didn't know him very well, of all the times he met him the man had portrayed a nearly perfect bumbling idiot, but John. John knew him and John was the only person that could help Sherlock now. Sherlock shakily picked up Hannah's mobile. He selected a new message to Dr. John Watson and typed.
I need your help. Now.
...
Jacob moved towards her with a smile. Hannah stumbled backwards, hitting her shoulder on the wall and wincing. In his hand was a plate of perfectly formed waffles that he placed on the breakfast bar. He was allowing her to keep her distance. Why? He moved quickly to the fridge and pulled out a small plate of butter and a bottle of syrup. He placed them down on the bar and went back for the orange juice. He poured her a small glass and set it down next to the plate along with a large cup of ice water before wiping his hands on his trousers. "I made your favorite." She didn't know his aim and if there was anything she learned from Sherlock it would be to not attempt to leave before figuring out the plan.
She hesitantly moved to the stool closest to her, where her plate was set and lifted herself into the stool. He had an identical plate for himself on the opposite side of her. She picked up her knife and fork and cut herself a small piece, lifting it to her mouth and eating it. Jacob had always made the best waffles she had ever tasted and this time he didn't disappoint. She felt almost devious for indulging herself in these while she knew she left Sherlock to find her. She lay out a plan in her head.
Goal One: Find out what Jacob was up to.
Goal Two: Find out where she was.
Goal Three: Find a way to relay the information to Sherlock.
She had to work as quickly as possible to get these things done. The pair slowly consumed their food with an awkward tension in the air. "Jacob... why am I here?" He collected their empty plates and went to rinse them off in the sink. The last time the pair of them were together it ended with the death of Arthur Gregg. She had fear and anger swimming beneath the surface of her skin. She felt lost to the boy she grew up with, but it made it seem as though Jacob and Sebastian were Jekyll and Hyde. Right now she was with Jacob, the charming and kind Dr. Jekyll.
"I wanted to see you." He paused, shutting off the sink. "I knew you wouldn't really do this willingly, so I brought you here." He wiped his hands on a towel. Hannah didn't really know what to say. So she said,
"Can I go home?" She redirected her eyes to the window, stepping from her stool towards it. She heard him walk behind her and wrap his arms around her waist from behind as she looked out onto a street that she recognized.
"We can finally be together..." He whispered. "Why would you want to leave when we can finally be together?" Hannah felt uncomfortable. She felt sick. And she felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest as his lips pressed softly against her neck.
"Jacob-"
"I love when you call me that." Hannah bit her lip. He had given her the information she needed to relay to Sherlock. She knew both her location and Jacob's motive, but right now she couldn't help but feel a mixture of disgust and sadness towards the man behind her. She didn't know what to do. "Everyone knows me as Sebastian now." Jacob was making her really uncomfortable. She felt conflicted.
She used to know this man, this boy, he was her friend. Her only friend. She thought he had been her protector at one point. While a part of her didn't want to break his heart another part of her was seething, a bubbling anger was beneath the surface of her skin. She had to reach Sherlock and soon.
Jacob buried his face in her hair, the sweet smell of her intoxicating him. Her body was so warm and inviting. Her one hand moved towards his, grasping his wrist, her thumb brushing across his skin as she looked out onto the street her eyes were full of thoughts he didn't want to bother her by asking about them, not yet. He had to make her feel as comfortable as possible before he could move any further. He needed her.
Hannah was soon showering, the door locked and her thoughts to herself she was letting the hot water scald her skin. Jacob, the poor soul, seemed almost puppy-like. Different than he had been before. She rest her head against the tile, her body has a dull ache from the stiffness that was held in her muscles for so long. No matter their ties, no matter how far back their history went, he sided with Moriarty. He aided the man that ruined her life and murdered her family. The man that tried to kill Sherlock.
Sherlock. She knew he was worried. She had gone into town to see Mrs. Gregg for a few hours and he was tearing the house apart when she got back. She wondered how much he has put together so far. She wondered how she will get the information he needs to him.
...
Sherlock was ready. He text John as Hannah, knowing that he would respond to her quickly and be out here as quickly as he possibly could. Sherlock needed John's army expertise. John knew Sebastian just as Hannah knew Jacob. The things he has heard of Sebastian would be worth gold while trying to find Hannah. Or maybe he was just convincing himself because it has been over a year since he last talked to what Hannah referred to as his best friend.
A downpour had started, lightning lit up the sky and thunder roared. Sherlock sat on the steps, waiting for the doorbell. A pair of headlights cast shadows into the room he knew John would run to the door as quickly as possible to get out of the rain. Those few seconds between the headlights and the doorbell were the longest he could comprehend. He could feel a slight amount of anxiety and the first thing that came to his mind was how he wasn't the same man he used to be, the structure is still there but some things have changed.
The ringing of the doorbell almost made his heart stop. He pushed himself from the stairs and walked to the door, his hand on the heavy doorknob he turned it. John's hair was plastered to his head, the tops of his shoulders wet with rain, hands tucked tightly under his arms from the chill. John's eyes widened when Sherlock revealed himself from behind the door, his lips parted slightly. Sherlock waited for him to say something, anything. He didn't. His silence urged Sherlock to speak.
"Hello John." His voice wasn't as confident as it had been. John's mouth closed and his jaw clenched. Sherlock waited. John's hands dropped from his sides and his fists clenched. In a sudden movement John pulled his arm back and let his fist connect with Sherlock's jaw.