Author's Note: I am so sorry this was updated so late in the day, guys! I normally try to do it first thing in the morning, but our internet had been turned off and we had to get that sorted. *embarrassed blush* Yes, that actually happened. ANYWAY, at least it's still on Friday, right? Here's the next update! And apologies for the lack of a cover-photo; it's my goal for all of my stories to have one, I just haven't found a suitable one yet. :P Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Don't own anybody but Doctor Manson
Sherlock felt as if he was buried alive. Or perhaps like he was very deep under black water. The darkness surged about him. The oblivion pressed down on him, dragged at him, even as his mind dimly fought to break free.
He had a vague impression that something was wrong. Blurry shapes stood over him. Someone touched him, lifted him…he heard voices, but they were somehow disconnected, without meaning. The blackness dragged him under once more.
Sherlock woke up. His mind was clear, for the most part, though a bit slower than normal. He could still detect the lingering effects of the drugs. Kidnapped, he remembered. He had been kidnapped.
He kept his eyes closed, his breathing deep and heavy. He was lying on something cold, hard, and smooth. He was no longer wearing his coat; in fact, from the chill of the air he guessed he wasn't wearing his suit jacket either. He shivered, and his wrists met unyielding metal cuffs. When he breathed he felt constriction on his chest…he was strapped down. Well, that was a bit disquieting.
Sherlock remembered the phone. He could still feel it against his leg; that, at least, was a comfort. It was quiet…too quiet to be natural. Somebody else must be nearby.
"Welcome back to the Land of the Living, Mr. Holmes," a deep, friendly voice said, "I know you're awake."
Sherlock opened his eyes. He was in a room; one that rather resembled an x-ray room. In the dim light he could see a white-haired fellow in a lab coat, smiling soothingly at him.
"You tried to come 'round a bit too soon, actually; they had to give you a second helping just to keep you under. But now you're here, and I've been waiting rather impatiently to meet you."
Sherlock said nothing. His eyes flicked over the lab-coated man, taking in details and absorbing information. He'd seen that man's picture many times over the past three months. Frederick Manson had simply vanished from the face of the Earth, leaving a distraught wife and three children. And now here he was, smiling down on a helpless Sherlock.
Why?
"What's going through you mind right now? I can see it working," Dr. Manson said. He stepped closer, the better to see Sherlock's face.
"It's far beyond the capacity of normal people to fathom the processes that take place in my brain, whether it is explained to them or not, Doctor Manson. So perhaps we can turn our attention to a less presuming and idiotic line of questioning," Sherlock's stream of insult was delivered with his usual rapid-fire, cool sharpness. That, at least, wasn't fuzzy. "What am I doing here, why am I restrained?"
Manson ignored the insults directed at him with the ease and practice on a similar level with Mycroft's. Sherlock resisted rolling his eyes.
"They're just a precaution, customary when one has been sedated. For the patient's own safety, you understand."
"Don't know if you've noticed, but I'm awake now. Feel free to take them off anytime." It was more of a demand, actually. Sherlock's tone indicated that with extreme clarity.
Dr. Manson gave a gurgling little chuckle, as if he was really genuinely amused.
"I don't think we'll take them off just yet, Mr. Holmes. I think we'll leave them on just a bit longer."
Author's Note: Creepy? What do ya'll think? Also, does anybody have any theories of what's going on? ;)