A/N Edit: The first A/N was when I first wrote the chapter... like months ago. Sorry guys. I am also sorry to the lovely beta reader who offered to beta my stories. I wanted to send them to you, but I was honestly a tad not ready I fear. It's hard to explain. Yes, most of these were posted on my AO3 account, but I'm going to start posting them here :) Like, one every 2 days and if you can't wait it's on AO3...
A/N: First of all, let me write this down because it has come to my attention that I really should have edited most of those other chapters I posted last. This was, again, brought up by LibraryCat9 because I contradicted myself on the Translucence blindness to the TSL factor I introduced. Let me explain this now so hopefully it will clear up a little bit.
Much like Helen Keller who was taught sign language by her instructor using her hand to mold Helen's over to get the letter and shape, (I apologize if this is incorrect information, but I was told this by my ASL teacher so…), this is how the Translucence are taught their TSL. The difference is, of course, that they can clearly hear the sounds which makes it significantly easier. Now that that is explained, let me attempt to explain how they learn in case that comes up later.
Most of the time TSL is taught to the educated Translucence, albeit rare in the society. Otherwise, this trait may be acquired by physically teaching. That being said, it is almost interesting to realize that the Monochrome/Iridescence society was the ones to create this system – not the Translucence themselves. This was because the Translucence didn't see the need, but the normal crowd found it difficult to convey conversations with them when they spoke so softly.
Translucent parents rarely teach their offspring this skill unless they actually know this language very well or have the patience to slowly perfect it. Neither is the case half the time depending on lifestyle and culture.
In the case of Lucille, Toby, and Seth, if you remember correctly they are orphans. I originally planned to mention their past in some filler to explain things, but while I'm at this whole information spiel, I might as well clear it up now. They are orphans but their parents, prior to being assassinated by the Violent Vicinity, were actually mediocre in status compared to the usual Translucence party. That being said, they didn't live in the Grime Zones then and had more or less a place to live in. Their parents were able to have someone teach their children TSL because they found it a useful skill in case they were in trouble or wanted to prosper in life, granted this did cause the Violent Vicinity to notice them and led to the tragic result.
So, to sum this up, TSL is a language that Translucence who are uneducated – a good portion of the percentage – don't understand and those who were lucky to learn are able to convey. If there is confusion as to why John knows this language, think of it as ASL or the like. You learn it in case you need it but just enough to get the basics.
God that was longer than expected. I apologize a lot. I hope this answers your question LibraryCat9.
P.S. If you have questions about the concepts in my story, expect these long explanations. I try to make it easier to understand with more words if that makes any sense at all.
Chapter 14: Patchwork
The confession didn't scare me as it probably should have. In fact, what I did feel would be akin to concern in retrospect. I was definitely put off by the fact that there were more people like Sherlock, or at least one more person, out there roaming the streets for the opposite reasons, but the fact initiated protectiveness rather than fright. The increased danger was disconcerting and I was worried for the Translucent and Monochrome who resided here.
The captain in my bones that protected soldiers in the heat of battle ached to put an end to this danger. It was preposterous the social clashes that take place merely because one side couldn't get along with the other. It resembled childish disputes that truly had no reason to ever happen in the first place. My inner combatant wanted nothing more than to create peace in an already dangerous area as I had in the past.
However, these were clearly different circumstances and I doubt it would be as easy as ordering a squadron towards a confined violent area. This little drawback did nothing to relinquish the bitter resentment towards these quarrels nonetheless.
The point was, a surge of robustness seemed to originate from the confession. A fierce emotion I have been told to reign in many times for it often led me to rash or stubborn circumstances. It was far better than crippling horror though.
It wasn't just emotional attachments that strengthened these sentiments. It was the safety of the people, as the doctor part of me would gladly attend to. If that same individual came by often, then that would result in more than enough hospital emergencies for this absurd cause. More unnecessary injuries and fatalities that could have been prevented.
Or murders if the Violent Vicinity were to decide to go too far.
Ha, if. The Violent Vicinity would take any chance to end the life of their long-settled enemy. They wouldn't falter in the act due to age either. It's that fact alone that makes me curious why they decided to contradict it this time. It definitely wasn't because of the other two younger children and their innocence. In fact, the Violent Vicinity would gladly torture those two in front of the eldest for show and pure mutiny and malice.
The Violent Vicinity became parched with wild assessments if they didn't get their blood quota. They thrived for violence – as their name hints – and disproved of any terms resembling peace. Screams, tears, and blood were their meals of sin and they would never, ever cease a kill just because of the age of their enemy.
This fact brought up a question now.
Why did they stop for these children? It didn't make any sense. They don't care about anyone besides themselves. Nobody else besides their own little clan. "To each its own" I have seen painted in gray or blackening paint (blood?) along crumbling skyscrapers and vacant buildings. A message they wished to enforce on anyone, including their enemy before ending their life.
It portrayed an paradoxical message compared to what happened to this young man.
But I didn't have the time to wonder about the sudden ethical and moral change in society. I needed to help this boy. Personal wonders can wait until I am back at the flat with the boy's safety resting in the front of my mind.
"What is your name?" I asked the boy who still eyed Sherlock wearily. I couldn't blame him. Sherlock hadn't exactly made an effort to ease the children's fears nor had he even introduced himself. To them, he might as well be a dark shadow behind me that would strike in their moment of weakness. I would have to talk to him about that later if he continues to accompany me.
The young boy didn't speak at first. I waited. If I pushed him, he would scurry like a frightened animal. I needed to be patient which I thanked whatever God out there that I was.
"Toby," he responded slowly, averting his eyes to meet mine. They were shielded of emotion as expected.
"Okay. Well, Toby, do you happen to have a knife around here? Preferably one that isn't rusted or without a handle." I paused for a second. That sounded a little too vague. No doubt he is in a state of paranoia and suspicion about Sherlock and me. I needed to clarify. "I need to cut your brother's shirt so I can get to the wounds when your sister gets back. It would make things easier to treat him effectively."
Toby opened his mouth a little as if to retaliate before nodding mutely at my stern stare and standing. I didn't watch where he went, merely attempting to rip the few bits of the boy's shirt I could tear without additional help. It was becoming increasingly difficult with the blood crusting all over in patches of dark splotches.
There was another contradiction.
Why whip this boy? The Violent Vicinity was known for their murders and attempted assassinations originating around knives. They prided themselves in how much blood their blade got to soak up. A whip was a weapon none of them have used as far as I have been around the medical crew. Whoever did this was an outlier in their society, or possibly not even of their society altogether.
Another rip occurred between my fingers as I picked apart the fabric and discarded it next to me. I suppose this frustration did aid in getting rid of the fabric easier.
It still did not change the fact that logic and routine was lost here. None of this made any sense. This was definitely not Violent Vicinity protocol and I should know! I am a bloody doctor and have seen these cases for as long as I have been occupied at the hospital. This should fall into place easily but it doesn't. It's scattered like a million puzzle pieces all from a different puzzle. I didn't want to ask Sherlock about this, but the temptation was growing quickly.
Speaking of Sherlock, he hadn't uttered a word since he got here. He muttered even less after Toby signed his name. He seemed to be giving off a cold, emotionless stature among the children for some odd reason. It was unsettling and definitely not the usual attitude the detective expressed. Even the sparks I got when I occasionally brushed his wrist were weak and minuscule compared to those I attracted before.
I wanted to ask Sherlock what was the matter because clearly something was, but I needed to focus on the unconscious boy's injuries for the moment. They were of a greater importance than Sherlock's stand-offish attitude.
Although I did plan to ask him of it later if I had it my way.
"Doctor Watson," I looked up and Toby was there with a knife. It was a switchblade, nothing fancy, but definitely an abnormal occurrence in the perks of this neighborhood. The blade looked brand new and not a single drop of rust or grime covered its metal sheen. I rose a brow at the young boy who clearly should not even have this. Toby's face darkened under my scrutiny like he could feel my suspicion despite his blindness.
"I… won it in a game of cards," he uttered quickly and I rolled my eyes at his obvious lie. Sherlock could lie better and he was bloody awful at it.
"A game of cards…" I repeated slowly and the boy nodded fervently. Staring at him for a second longer, I let out a sigh.
Better not question it. That would be wasting valuable time that I need.
Grasping the knife, I effectively stripped the injured boy of his garments and frowned when he shivered against the warm night. Placing my palms against his forehead, I ripped it away quickly, cursing under my breath.
Some of his wounds had managed to get infected. The fever was the tell-tale sign. Unless the boy was sick prior to his beating which I highly doubted at this point.
"Before I proceed, what is the name of this young lad, Toby?" I asked, grabbing the edge of my medical scrubs I still had on from work and ripping a long strip out of the bottom. Sherlock watched with disinterest, but I saw Toby flinch.
"Seth," he responded quietly.
"And has Seth been sick before the attack?" Toby quickly shook his head as I expected. The boy didn't sport any other common signs of illness, only expressing those conventional for fighting infections in the body from an outside source.
Layering the strip of fabric to a makeshift cloth, I gave it to Toby. He took it but not without a few questions in his expression.
"I need you to get this cloth wet with preferably clean water if you can. Cool as well. It's for Seth."
"Why?" he questioned. He was standing, but his pose was hesitant.
"Because I fear your brother may have an infection and I'm going to have to act fairly quickly whenever your sister gets back. Right now, we have to calm this fever and bring it under or he will have to be taken to the E.R. which I'm almost certain you don't want to be at." The boy paled but nodded and ran out of the room. I sighed, plopping down again.
An infection. I expected it, but I was hoping that it wouldn't happen. When I looked at the wounds previously covered by the fabric, I muttered a few choice words. A few of the lashes were beginning to show pus or inflammation. No doubt it was because the fabric was kept on him for so long. Bacteria liked to grow in dark, moist, warm areas and Seth's body was the best environment with his blood, body heat, and clothing.
"John." I jumped at my name being called. I forgot Sherlock was there. He was being so damn quiet that I thought he left me or just turned into a ghost.
"Hm?" The scraps of cloth were moved away from the body of the boy to the walls of the adobe home. Away from him and his sickened body.
"How long do you plan to stay here?" It was emotionless. Rubbing the bridge of my nose in exhaustion and worry, I looked him straight in the eye.
Maybe he should go home. It would be best. He couldn't really do much here. This was where I shined and he looked more awkward than Harry at a wedding.
"I honestly have no idea, Sherlock. Medicine and helping someone isn't something that you can slap a time limit on and expect it done. It depends on the body and the illnesses that plague it. Right now, Seth is very sick and in bad condition. I might be here for a good few hours." Sherlock opened his mouth to put in his two cents but I stopped him. "But, you don't have to be here. Go ahead and go back to the flat. Once I get there we'll go get some take-out or whatever. Gives you time to sort out the case, right?"
Rubbing the fatigue out of my eyes, I looked at Sherlock in time to catch what I thought was a hint of worry and hurt. When I blinked again, it was gone. It was replaced with his emotionless mask and I concluded that maybe I imagined it all. I was already on the brink of enervation after all.
Also, because nothing else would have made sense for those emotions entirely focused on me.
Standing silently and gracefully, he walked to the edge of the adobe doorway and walked out. When the steps went silent, I sighed. Some of the tension I didn't feel before fell on my shoulders. For some reason, being alone now without Sherlock made my hands shake and my brain overthink things. The tension was getting to me and I didn't like it.
"John?" I looked up and saw Sherlock there again. His head peeked in and I rose a brow in his direction to inquire his presence.
"Be careful. Something is amidst and I don't trust half the people here." I was about to scoff at him and his rarity in trust altogether but almost as quick as he was there he was gone. I let out a breathy laugh and shook my head. He didn't trust anyone? Mr. World's Only Consulting Detective? When did he trust anyone? I mean, I doubt he even trusted me!
My head slowly nodded side to side. His words were almost verifying what I thought of earlier, though. Of what I suspected, actually. This attack was abnormal and even Sherlock realized it which is as good as an official confirmation.
Using the knife, I continued to cut pieces of fabric until Seth's bare chest lay bare. His breathing was shallow and labored. A layer of sweat glistened and I felt helpless as I put the knife aside and tried to make, the boy more comfortable until the real help arrived.
When I saw a dark shadow cross the floor again, I almost wanted to yell at the man. Really. How many times was he going to come back? Truly now. Was he one of those people who were lost without someone to praise their actions? I never dubbed him as so but now I was seriously considering it!
However, one glance at the figure in the doorway and my mouth went dry.
Sherlock was not at all the silhouette I narrowed on in the doorway. Not in the slightest.
Who stood there instead was a man of lanky build and irregular hue. His pose was nothing short of mocking and obvious distaste. In fact, he appeared like he wanted to pummel me to the ground if given the chance. It was all in his stance and while I couldn't tell his occupation from his left pinky or his string of lovers with a glance at his neck, I could clearly define the absolute mood of anger that flooded the room.
When he stepped into the spotlight the moon offered begrudgingly, I could see his form more clearly along with his face. Pale grey and white painted his skin like porcelain and not a single blemish marked its surface. The composition matched perfectly with his black styled hair and corresponding black suit. He moved his hands to reside inside his pockets and I caught the movement like a mouse watching a cat wearily for its next strike.
I was well aware that I was the mouse in this situation. I was definitely the mouse, but I could act like I wasn't. That was easier to do than to retort half-weary contradictions.
"Hello, love," Following the voice, I quickly met the alternating colored eyes of the man. One second they were metallic and the next they were a light gray. I forced my attention from his amused gaze back to Seth who was currently shivering more violently than before. Part of me knew that he needed the medicine quickly, but the other part knew that if they came here they would no doubt be the cause of this rendezvous in the first place.
"Who are you?" My voice was low and stiff. If any warmth resided in its being, it was gone now by the mere sight of this man.
"Oh, I am wonderful, dear. Thank you for asking," he responded sarcastically before smirking. "You know, that's what they always ask don't they?" This time he didn't turn to me but to the shadows behind him. A second later, a snicker rang out from the darkness as another man came out, taller than the one beside him. His skin was significantly darker than the pale man beside him and his build even more pronounced.
A gleam bounced off the knives that adorned his belt and the few snipers on his back. My lips tightened as my eyes narrowed. I thought I had a chance with the man before, the paler one, but now it was questionable and leaning towards their favor. It didn't help that I needed to keep this boy safe. What if they were here to finish the job?
I would lay down my own life before they touch this boy.
The bulkier man looked me up and down, his expression emotionless save for the few glimpses of the betraying amusement, "Yes. Who are you?"
"Why are you here?"
"Where did you come from?"
"Who do you work for?"
"Are you here to kill me?"
With each banter they sent back and forth, they took a step forward. The taller man retrieved his knifes while the other pulled a whip out of seemingly nowhere. Words were flying between them like they were playing a little game of badminton. It was almost as if they practiced the lines which made it more eerie than it probably should have been.
Adjusting my form, I slowly crawled in front of Seth, seeing as he couldn't move to protect himself. I extended my arms away from me to keep the damage to hopefully my body only if any were to be dealt. It was highly possible with the way the two were balancing their weapons.
"What's your name?" They ended though this was on the paler ones side. This time, he directed the question at me. I decided to use silence and remained quiet.
"Oh? Cat got your tongue? Odd considering you asked who I was a minute ago, did you not? Or was that a trick of the ear?" He snickered, but at the last word a brief tinge of his annoyance presented itself with the glimmer of his metallic eyes.
He glanced around the adobe room before meeting my eyes again with irritation, "If you give us your name, we will tell you who we are. Deal?" He seemed reluctant to the question, his companion even more so, but at the same time curiosity was burning at him. Again, that theme took place between morality and curiosity except I had an inkling feeling that this man didn't hold a smidgeon of morality to his name.
That being said, I didn't trust him. Why should I trust a bloke – or two – who were clearly the ones responsible for inflicting the pain onto this young lad? I knew they were bound to cause the same to me, but I wasn't going to practically give them information on a silver platter while I am at it.
The brawny man peered at the man I presumed was his boss or leader. "He isn't responding. Did you want me to introduce him to what we do for those with tightened lips?"
"…I suppose you could impose upon him a few reminders," the man allowed with a small grin playing across his lips. He didn't look nearly as sorry as he sounded. Quite the polar opposite.
With his knives spinning over his fingers, the follower came up to me quickly, pressing the knife to my neck. My hands were itching at my sides to throw a punch, but I would be leaving the boy behind me exposed and that was probably what they were waiting for. Breathing slowly and shallowly, I glared at the perpetrator with bitter resentment. He reacted with indifference.
Carefully, dramatically, he slinked forward with a grin. "Now, care to tell me what your name is?" He paused and then the smile widened. "Please?"
I rolled my eyes at the mannerism. Really. Please does affect the information you get in some cases, but it certainly didn't apply to this one. He would have better luck torturing or killing me than eliciting personal information.
It didn't matter anyways. Currently, my doctor-mode and military-mode were both active. Protection and concern. Self-sacrifice and determination. I was not going to let their blades touch Seth. They were going to remain as far as I can restrain them. If that meant that I would get hurt in the process then so be it.
A quick sliver of pain caught me off guard as I flinched. The brute lifted his knife and smirked at the line made on my neck. It didn't hit an artery but my medical knowledge told me it was dangerously close. I was well aware of the warm liquid that trailed down my neck as I breathed and slowed down my racing heart to compensate. I needed to remain calm. The faster my heart beats the faster the blood is going to pulse.
I didn't have much time to focus on the goal before two more cuts were afflicted towards my cheek and just over the brow. A low hiss escaped my lips but nothing more. I refused to give them the satisfaction of witnessing my pain.
"Now don't hurt him too much, Sebby," the theatrical man scolded and I blinked as a gasp escaped the lips of whom I presumed to be Sebastian and not that little pet name.
"Jim!" Sebastian protested but it was too late. It seems I managed to gather their names before they even caught whiff of my own.
"Oh please, it's not like it will truly matter. Besides, keeping my name a secret is not entirely my forte. You should know this by now," Jim replied with a dismissive wave of his hand before glancing at me. "Oh! My name is Jim Moriarty, but I am sure you will learn to remember that later."
"Jim…" This time it was a sigh that escaped Sebastian's lips and I resisted the urge to chuckle. Were these two really the two that attacked this boy? The skills proved that they very well might be, but their attitude was certainly not in the ball park I expected. "You're not-"
Moriarty rolled his eyes as if he had heard this multiple times before. "Stop being a sour sport, Sebby. I have told you how much I despise it."
"But Jim-"
"Sebastian. You will do well to remember your place." The chill and order in Moriarty's voice was a swift change from earlier. It was no longer playful and childish but cold and emotionless. I felt a shiver run down my spine as my suspicions were confirmed that these were indeed the two men who attacked this boy. I questioned it earlier, but now I was more than certain. I didn't need Sherlock here to confirm it.
Sebastian lowered his head and stopped his retaliating. "Yes, sir."
Then, just like that, Moriarty was back to his usual self with a grin. "Good! Now, let's continue before some little mice squeals on us."
I clenched my teeth when those eyes suddenly turned predatory.
But I refused to succumb to their attempts at intimidation. "Why are you here?"
A low chuckle rang out between the both of the men, almost harmonizing as the time wore on.
At last, Moriarty smiled pitifully. "Oh I don't think you are in the position to ask questions."
I shook my head, determined. "No, I may not be, but that isn't going to stop me from asking anyhow. Why are you here?"
Sebastian sent another cut right below my previous incision along my neck, a little deeper than the last and a little closer to a major artery. Clearly he wasn't amused with my reprisal towards his bosses words.
Moriarty, on the other hand, was impressed by the looks of it. "Ah… I can see why Sherlock chose you to follow on his heels now. How interesting."
I was tempted to bristle at the mentioning of Sherlock's name. Tempted to ask what he knew of him and if he did anything to him. But I held my ground. I didn't want to show weakness in the face of the enemy. One of the first things you learn when in the military and you are captive.
Moriarty was hoping to find my weakness. He was purposely saying these things to throw me off and leave me vulnerable. That's one of the most common goals in any criminal's book of tricks. I was certain I had it under control.
Then Moriarty shrugged. "But primarily it was for a little thrill as I am sure you understand, Captain Watson. A little kick of adrenaline all us junkies require to survive in this monotonous world."
I froze. He knew my name. Not only that, he knew my previous title.
"Oh, surprised that I actually know you? You really shouldn't be." He smirked at me and I could read in his eyes that he knew more about me than he was willing to share. "I was just seeing if you were so gullible as to give out your name readily. It seems I have been mistaken to your uselessness, Dr. Watson."
Uselessness? I wanted to knock Moriarty out. To jump up and throw a right hook because I knew I wasn't useless. If I was useless, I wouldn't be kneeling here, protecting this boy with my life. If I was useless, I wouldn't be kneeling here arguing with the devil for all its worth. He was trying to coax me out with jabs at my pride and I refused to let them break my walls.
A chuckle rang out from the pale man at my reaction.
"You don't like that, do you? Being diminished of your worth?" Moriarty smiled innocently as I narrowed my eyes. He laughed a humorless snicker once more and stepped towards me. Sebastian's hand clamped on the back of my neck, but I didn't need it. I wasn't going to back down to him. That would be a sign of weakness. "So human. So normal. You're not like Sherly at all and he seems to still keep you regardless of that one singular fact."
Straightening himself, he clapped his hands and returned to where he originally stood. I absently felt Sebastian's hands lessen their pressure.
"Now, your question, yes?" I was surprised he remembered it at all to be honest. He seemed very flamboyant and tangential which left him unexpected. I was going off instinct alone to deal with him. "These are his parts, you know. His territory so to speak."
It didn't take me long to grasp what he meant and who he meant. These were the areas, the society, Sherlock most associated himself to. The discarded, the wronged, the damaged, the criminal in some cases. Moriarty didn't attack this boy for no reason. He, somehow, knew that I associated myself with the sibling and thus knew attacking him would bring myself at the beck and call. I hadn't the slightest clue how he knew Sherlock would come, though.
"Confused?" Moriarty questioned and I shook my head.
"Hardly," I lied.
"Is that so?" Moriarty cooed and walked closer, narrowing his eyes at me. After a second under his scrutiny, a grin blossomed on his face and he backed away. "Hm… Well, as much as I would love to testify that, Captain Watson, I am on a strict schedule right now. Sadly."
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. The retribution I was dying to give after the treatment I had been given. "I thought you were the one who ruled this supposed crime. To think you are actually subservient to others doesn't exactly place you as such, doesn't it?"
Beside me, Sebastian stiffened considerably. I didn't need his actions to tell me that I had somehow crossed that invisible line. The line that Sherlock held as well as I. Pride.
"Now you've done it," Sebastian muttered next to me as Moriarty ceased his pacing.
When I looked up to meet Moriarty's gaze, he was no longer smiling. It was just as he was when he addressed Sebastian. Stoic and emotionless eyes narrowed upon my form in distaste and displeasure. I didn't need to be a mind reader to understand what he was thinking about me. The gray eyes of his sparked metallic and never changed back.
I prepared myself for the worst. I remembered what Toby said about this man. I hardly believed he would be speaking of Sebastian. While the criminal was indeed threatening, he wasn't nearly as unpredictable as Moriarty – as this present Moriarty. I knew he wasn't of Translucent blood. There was no possibility of him harboring those genes with the way he was acting.
No, he was of Violent Vicinity origins. There was no doubt about that. I just didn't know how much of him was Violent. I didn't know if he obtained the methods they used the most. I didn't know what he could do to me.
Thus, I expected the worst. I prepared myself for pain and whatever else he may throw at me.
And it was going to be thrown at me entirely. I was not going to let him abuse the boy behind me any more than he already has. These thoughts raced through my head like a vicious circle of determination as I kept my gaze steady on Moriarty's dispirited own. The pain will be narrowed onto my person. If taunting his quality and ruling required such, I wasn't going to hesitate to get on his bad side.
Moriarty slinked forward carefully and I watched him. Those eyes never changed. His facial expression never changed. It was similar to looking into the face of a dead man.
When he was no less than half a meter away from me, he held out his hand. Sebastian mutely gave him the knife.
I knew what was going to happen before he even slashed multiple lacerations on whatever skin was visible. I couldn't keep back the hiss of pain as he did so. These were not methodical. These were variables. The slashes of pain that burned my cheeks, forehead and brow were completely random. Luck was playing a big factor in how I haven't had my lips slashed at yet for all the retaliations I have given.
When the cuts ceased, I let my breath out raggedly. I was taking deep, harsh breaths to keep my heart steady and not racing like a stallion. I imagine the glare I stabbed at Moriarty was nothing short of hatred. I thought he was done, but I wasn't sure. Moriarty was not a predictable man as I said earlier.
And then, Moriarty seemed to actually think over his next area of abuse. I gave him a steely glower and he regarded me apathetically.
Then he nicked my neck. It was clear he knew what he was doing when I realized he nipped the edge of an artery. Not enough to kill me immediately, but enough to make me bleed out no more than 15 minutes after his leaving. Nonetheless, I kept my breathing even and slow. Speeding up my respirations would only end me faster.
Moriarty observed me with aversion. "I want you to give Sherlock Holmes a message." I didn't miss the full usage of Sherlock's name. It was a sign that he was serious and not at all as playful as he seemed earlier. "Tell him to remove himself from the case or the next time I won't be so lenient with his little pet." He spat the word "pet" out as if it was a disease and I resisted the urge to scoff.
He blinked slowly at me when he realized he wasn't getting any reaction. Then, he backed away, retreating to the door.
Before he walked out, he glanced at Sebastian. "Sebastian. Deal with him but don't kill him. Leave a more permanent reminder if you will." And then he was gone. I silently hoped nobody else would come across him. I never saw him put away his whip and I was concerned for the innocents outside of this abode.
Sebastian waited a few seconds before he spoke. I heard the hard edge in his tone mix with exasperation. "You are very lucky although I'm a little saddened that you didn't try for more."
"Lucky?" I huffed out and the man met my gaze.
"Yes, lucky. If you weren't Sherlock's little dog, he would have slit your throat open without a second thought." A mental shiver raced down my spine, but I didn't let it show.
"Then why do you follow him if you are under the same possibilities of danger?"
Sebastian closed his eyes for a moment before smiling. It resembled more of a grimace after a second. "For my own personal reasons." It was clear after this he was not going to speak to me.
I tried to summon the energy to push him off me, but it seemed that the blood loss took a gradual effect over my energy as I attempted to struggle. Sebastian was the one with the upper hand in this situation and I resented it.
Moving until he was right in front of me, he didn't hesitate to thrust the knife into my upper left shoulder. For all the pride I had, I did not utter a noise. I didn't focus on the pain. I didn't focus on the fact that my arm might as well be useless if it isn't treated immediately. Instead, I kept my eye on Sebastian while thinking of the boy behind me that didn't have to go through this.
Sebastian clearly didn't like the lack of reaction I was giving. Without warning, he twisted the blade. At this, I did hiss out in pain and he grunted in approval before removing it entirely. My blood dripped from it freely.
Wiping the blade on his pant leg, Sebastian spared one rueful grin before walking out to follow Moriarty.
I spent the next five seconds focusing on the fact that I was not only bleeding profusely from my shoulder but also consistently from my neck. Bleeding out to death was a possibility at this point and I cursed myself for not having my gun on me. The knife lay discarded next to Seth but that would have done little in the company I had.
The damage was done anyways. There was no reason to ponder anything of it at this very moment. I protected the boy. He did not get harmed in the process of my actions. That was what I valued most in this situation as a success.
But that did not change the fact that I was indeed injured. Crawling over to the abode wall, I collapsed to the ground. My breaths were increasingly choppy. The pain was flaring vibrantly in my shoulder. Speaking of the injury, my arm felt like it was dead weight. Each time I focused on moving it, I found it to shoot a spark of pain along my nerves that spotted my vision.
Great, so he shredded my tendons no doubt. A muscular injury. That was going to take time to heal.
Sighing, I spared a glance at the boy.
For a second, I was pleased with the fact that he was safe.
And then I remembered that Sarah and the other two children could be coming back. For all I knew, Moriarty could have run into them on purpose. If that was the case, they may be in danger.
I refused to sit around here in my own blood and made a goal to go find them.
Although saying you're going to do something is far different than actually performing the action itself as many like to say.
Cursing, I stood abruptly and immediately regretted it. The walls and the entire room rotated and contorted in my vision. Ceilings mixed with the floor and the walls spiraled in a monotone mess. Shades of gray and black mixed together and I grimaced, closing my eyes immediately. My hand shot out to balance myself against the abode walls since my knees threatened to buckle on me.
The only reason I didn't faint was because I was a doctor and knew how to deal with this. God knew if I hadn't been trained I would have been out like a light from vertigo.
Once the walls ceased spinning, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. It wasn't until I took my first few steps that I realized just how incredibly weak I was at that moment. My feet didn't step out like I planned but shuffled inconsistently. The blood loss was already taking its toll and I knew that unconsciousness wasn't far behind. I would have sworn loudly had it not been that I worriedly focused on the black spots that danced before my eyes.
I pushed it aside and attempted to place it in the far reaches of my mind. I needed to focus on Sarah and the children. My own injuries can wait.
It was probably a few minutes later that I finally reached the doorway, but it felt like hours. My breaths were absolutely ragged and my vision even worse so. Nonetheless, I grinded my teeth and pushed myself forward. It took a few seconds for me to balance myself without support, but I managed.
I was about to glance around when I heard my name.
"John!"
Turning towards the noise, I immediately caught sight of Sarah and the children. A grateful smile crossed my face and a quick burst of laughter. The rush of adrenaline to get me out here was already starting to drain, leaving me light-headed and shaky.
When Sarah got to me she looked at me and noticed the injuries close up. She gasped, but I waved it aside.
"A-Are you okay?" She asked despite my assurances.
Black began to consume my vision. I didn't want it to but it was expected. The exertion I placed on my bones, muscles, and heart practically promised it.
"Thank God you're not hurt. The boy is inside… I-I need… need…"
I tried to form a coherent sentence, but the next thing I knew I was falling and Sarah was calling out my name.