Chapter 19
John blinked slowly, his head felt heavy along with the rest of his body. He tried his best to remember what had happened. He had been in a hospital with Lestrade and Mycroft-
No, that wasn't right. No, it was Darcie; Darcie and Henry with a gun! Everything came swarming back to John in a matter of seconds. He remembered the attack, and the dream of the asylum. He remembered being rescued too, but that was all just another trick created by Darcie. John gritted down on his teeth. This madman was going to wish he had really shot John back in the hospital by the time he was done with him. He and Sherlock were-
John paused, his eyes widening in terror. Where was Sherlock?! John whipped his head around, ignoring the headache pulsing above his temple. He could feel dried blood sticking on the side of his face. His eyes fell on a chair next to him. It was empty, but John could see that someone had been sitting there not too long ago. A thick pool of blood rested on the floor below the chair. John's heart clenched and he could no longer keep silent.
"Sherlock?!" John cried out. "Sherlock, answer me!"
"Sherlock can't come to phone right now," called a voice. John's head shot up and he frowned at the sight of Mr. Darcie and Henry standing in front of him, their weapons of torture sitting on a table right next to them. "Would you like to leave a message?" Darcie taunted. John cussed at the mad doctors and pulled at his restraints fiercely.
"Where is he?" John spat, glaring at the two doctors. They each grinned at him, shaking their fingers in unison.
"All in good time, Dr. Watson," Henry giggled. He strolled merrily toward a table set up with several weapons of torture. He lifted up a scalpel covered in blood. Sherlock's blood. Henry smiled as John's face fell at the sight of the thick crimson dripping from the blade. He set down the blade, glancing all around the torture table. "Yes, here we are!" Henry shouted, lifting up what looked like a pair of pliers. Henry bounced over to the chair John was being held in and shoved the good doctor's pointer finger into the mouth of the pliers. John struggled under the restraints, cursing and swearing at Henry but the mad doctor only smiled wider. With as much force as Henry's thin body could muster he clamped the handle of the pliers. John yelped out in agony as he heard the bones in his own fingers snap and crackle. Henry went for John's middle finger next, but Darcie stopped him.
"Now, Henry, don't forget procedure," Darcie reminded him. Henry nodded, thanking Darcie and then looked into John's pained eyes.
"Who are you?" Henry asked. John frowned at him. He was about to ask what Henry meant, but then it dawned on him. They had asked Sherlock the same question when he had been taken to the torture room. John took a deep breath and spat a wad of spit into Henry's eye. Henry reared back, hissing in disgust.
"My name is Dr. John Watson. I was a Captain in Afghanistan before I was shot in the shoulder. I have a sister named Harry and I met a consulting detective known as Sherlock Holmes at St. Bart's Hospital. We moved into 221B Baker Street together and have been living there, chasing after criminals ever since," John stated within a single breath. A glint of hatred flooded throughout Henry's face then and he slapped his hand against John's face. John shook his head, trying to get the blurred spots out of his eyes. Then his fingers were back in the clamp of the pliers, being squeezed to the point of shattering. John kept his eyes open, fearing that if he closed them for even a second he would fall back into the untrue world he has been stuck in for several days.
"Who are you?" Henry repeated after snapping John's middle and ring finger. John stayed silent, refusing to answer. Henry simply shrugged and forced the clamp down against John's pinky. Cracking echoed and bounced off the walls. John bit down on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood in his mouth. Pain pulsed through John's hand, but John kept strong.
"Where is Sherlock?" John spat. Henry didn't answer. He simply got up on his feet and pulled the dirty scalpel from the table and slashed it against john's cheek lightly. It wasn't hard enough to cut bone like it had to Sherlock's wrist, but it was enough to send a fresh trail of warm blood down his chin. "Where is Sherlock Holmes?!" John repeated. Henry let the scalpel fly against John's cheek again and again; one for each time John mentioned his name. John kept strong, ignoring the pain flashing through him as much as possible. He was never going to let these people win again. He and Sherlock were getting out of here no matter what, but first he needed to know where the consulting detective was.
"Well, Dr. Watson, what do you say now?" Henry asked after giving John several more slashes. John glared at him and repeated his answer, not even flinching as Henry raised the scalpel over John's face again.
"Enough, Henry!" Darcie ordered, stepping closer to the two of them. Henry's face fell into a pout.
"Oh, but, Mr. Darcie…" he trailed off as Darcie glared at him with a poisonous stare. Henry pulled himself away from John and handed the bloodied scalpel to his boss. Darcie kneeled down to John, smiling almost exactly how Moriarty had before he had put a bullet through his own head.
"I'm very surprised by both you and Mr. Holmes. You both are much stronger than our previous patients," Darcie said, his eyes glittering with a thrill John only saw from people who were excited beyond excitement.
"Well, that's us the Blogger Detectives- Hat man and Robin! We aren't easy to kill." Darcie let out a delighted laugh.
"Oh, Dr. Watson, we don't wish to kill you. You're our patient!" Darcie giggled. John mumbled something under his breath and Darcie's face reddened into a fierce crimson. John expected him to stab him with the scalpel like Henry had, but he simply got back to his feet.
"Henry, I think it's time for Dr. Watson to be reunited with his friend," Darcie said, his voice cold as ice and lacking in all emotion. A wild smile appeared on Henry's face and he took a few steps back, walking over a table with a black blanket on top. John felt his heart squeeze in terror as Henry pulled away the blanket, revealing Sherlock's paled face. A gag was stuffed in his mouth and his wrists and ankles were tied down. Sherlock's eyes were closed and John could still see that his wrist was still untreated and bleeding heavily.
"See," Henry cooed, tapping Sherlock on the cheek. "He's just fine."
"For now," the doctor who had injected a drug into Lestrade and helped torture Sherlock said, walking into the room with several other doctors. Now John was surrounded.
"That was my line!" Henry pouted. The female doctor waved him off and stepped over to Sherlock's side. Her eyes scanned his figure quickly and gently she patted his cheek, calling to him to awaken. John watched as Sherlock's eyes opened. They were a dull grey and bloodshot. Sherlock's eyes rolled over to John and the consulting detective struggled at the sight of his friend, trying to get to John. The woman then grabbed Sherlock's hurt wrist and squeezed it as tight as possible. John flinched as the sound of bones crunching boomed around the room. Sherlock flinched, squeezing his eyes shut from the pain.
"Stop!" John screamed. Darcie held up his hand and the woman let go of Sherlock's wrist. Sherlock gasped at the sudden relief and breathed in deeply to calm himself. "Just stop…" John gasped, he felt so tired, like all his energy had been drained away. Darcie brushed John's hair from his eyes.
"You're right, John. It's late. We can carry on tomorrow," stated Darcie before turning to his doctors. "Come along! We have other patients to treat!" and with that they were all gone. John let out the breath he had been holding in for so long. He let his eyes scan over to Sherlock. His friend was tied down to the table still.
"Sherlock, we'll get out of here, I swear!" John shouted, knowing far well that that would be a miracle itself.
"I am positive," Sherlock answered, sitting up on the table, a smile on his face as the ropes fell from his wrists onto the floor. John frowned at him, but his questions were answered in one word.
"Pickpocket," Sherlock said, holding up the scalpel for John to see.
I'm back! Glad you all enjoyed your little cliffy last chapter. I couldn't leave you with anything happy now, could I? Comic Con was absolutely crazy. I didn't get into the Sherlock panel sadly after waiting several hours in line, but I did get to go to the signing and have Gatiss, Moffat, and Sue sign my T-shirt. They were so much fun to speak with. I'd say that the worst part was the lines and how they set them up, but other than that it was soooo much fun!