A/N: Trigger warning torture
John laid in the boot of a car, his hands bound behind his back and his mouth gagged. He tried not to think about where he was going and what would happen when he got there. He already had a pretty good idea based on Victor's threat. Torture was definitely on the table. Victor had cut John's palm to get a few drops of blood on a piece of paper. John noticed there was already blood there, perhaps Lestrade's? It made the most sense, Sherlock and Mycroft were the ones trying to stop him. Had successfully done so, at least for a little while. The drops of blood were nothing more than some theatrics. To send the message to both Sherlock and Mycroft that their mates would be suffering. Pain wasn't what John was worried about. If he was honest, it was the prospect of being raped again. John would rather have a beating than go through being touched by Victor in that way again.
Of course, there was the likely chance that Victor was going to kill him. Slowly, painfully, most likely in front of Sherlock. To show that he did not issue empty threats. Victor had warned Sherlock to stop his investigation, to stop Mycroft from digging or he would come after John. He tried to come after John before in their flat. Tried to make Sherlock be the one to end John's life, but Sherlock's control won in the end. This time, Victor wasn't going to take that chance it seemed.
This also includes Lestrade now. John had a feeling that Victor didn't know that Mycroft had a mate before being caught. Sherlock was Mycroft's weakness in Victor's mind and John was Sherlock's weakness. It made sense that Victor had no knowledge of Lestrade, otherwise he would have gone after the DI instead of John. At least, that's what John concluded. It could be that he wanted to get under Sherlock's skin like he did before. Manipulate Sherlock like he'd successfully done in their uni days.
Regardless, it didn't matter now. John was just passing the time musing about his current predicament. He had been in the car for a little over an hour. Whether the location they were going to was really that far or if they were just driving around to build anticipation John wasn't sure. Either way, John just wanted out of the boot already. They laid him on his left shoulder, probably on purpose. It was clear that Victor knew of John's injury when he squeezed the daylights out of it at the store. Victor's crushing grip plus putting his weight on it was making it ache. The boot of the car was too small for John to roll onto his back so there was no way to relieve the pain. It also didn't help that the temperature was dropping, and John didn't have a coat or shoes.
At the time he wasn't sure why they took his shoes, they "scanned" him with some device, and it beeped when it hovered of his shoes. Having time to think on it, now that he wasn't in a full panic, the device was probably to detect tracking devices. John wasn't aware he had anything like that on him, other than his phone. Sherlock's doing surely or Mycroft's. With how protective Sherlock was lately, he seemed like the most likely suspect. Too bad it was a pointless effort. Even without a tracker, Sherlock would find John. He had no doubt. It was just a matter of how long it would take the world's only consulting detective to find him.
The car finally was slowing to a stop after nearly two hours. They were on a gravel road by the sounds of it. John released a sigh of relief; he would be out of the boot soon. The relief quickly was replaced by panic when he let his situation sneak in again. The brief moments of relief would serve him well but wasn't something he would be able to hold onto. He was going into the unknown. He was thankful for his army training, but even that couldn't really prepare him to deal with vampires. Not just Victor, but his "children" too.
Gravel shifted under the feet of John's captures as they walked around the vehicle. It was unclear if they were going to let him out or not. He could hear voices but couldn't make out what they were saying. John tested his bindings on his wrist, there was no give. He wouldn't be able to slip out of them, he already knew that of course but figured trying again wouldn't hurt. What else could he do while he waited to be released from the car?
Listening intently John could hear their footsteps retreating from the car. Fuck! They're going to leave me in here? John thought grimly. John released a muted scream against the gag in his mouth as panic rose in his chest. He squirmed against the restraints again, hoping for a different result. Unfortunately, they remained in place, John's efforts doing nothing to loosen them. Now his wrists hurt as well as his shoulder. Perfect, John groaned, before taking a deep breath to calm himself down and clear his head. He started counting, just to keep his mind occupied. If he dwelled on the small boot, the pain in his shoulder and wrists, the creeping cold he would spiral. This was just the beginning. They were trying to rattle him. Mental torture to start, a fragile mind made physical torture intensify. John just needed to remain calm.
John stopped counting when he got to 3,609 seconds. One hour. He had been in this boot for three hours now. The temperature had dropped significantly, they couldn't possibly keep him outside for much longer. Hypothermia wouldn't be out of the question for this time of year. Sure, it had been a nice day, but it was still spring in London, it could snow. They wouldn't jeopardize their chance to physically torture John, his abduction would be a wasted effort otherwise. No, they would let him out soon. He was sure of it, he just had to wait a little longer. He could do that.
Time pasted by slowly, and John found himself dozing off despite the cold. The sound of footsteps approaching woke him from his restless nap. Now fully conscious John was aware of just how cold he truly was. His body started to shiver almost violently; he tried to curl into a ball to conserve heat. It did nothing to help. The footsteps finally stopped near the boot. Relief filled him, he would be taken somewhere probably worse but at least he won't be in this boot anymore.
"This is bullshit." A man grumbled. He was close enough to hear, John assumed he was standing right next to the car.
"Yeah, well we have our orders so suck it up." Another chided.
"It's bad enough one of them is a cop. This guy is probably some regular guy."
"He's not just some regular guy you idiot. Haven't you heard of Sherlock Holmes? This dude works with him and he ain't no average Joe. Just don't think about it, yeah? Victor doesn't pay you to think."
"Victor doesn't pay me." He grumbled.
"Shut up Richie."
Keys jingled and soon the sound of the key going into the lock followed. John took a deep breath easing his fear. These guys were errand boys, they weren't going to hurt John, probably. The boot opened; it was still light out but there was a grey overcast now making the light less harsh but still irritating to John's eyes. John squinted as he looked at the two vampires standing over him, he could see much but he could tell they weren't the same vampires Victor had with him at the store. John looked at them with pleading eyes. There was a chance that one of them might have sympathy for him.
The guy on the left shifted uncomfortably under John's gaze and looked away. He must be Richie, John thought. He could be John's chance. The guy on the right looked impassive as he grabbed John's right arm forcefully and yanked him out of the boot. A small grunt escaped from John at the unexpected force. Most of the effort to get him out of the boot was from the vampire holding onto John's arm. John's legs were weak from being in the cramped space for so long.
As he was pulled out his legs made little work in aiding his release. His left knee knocked against the inside of the boot, sliding along the frame before finally leaving the boot completely. The vampire tried to get John to stand but John's legs were uncooperative, buckling under him nearly falling to the ground if not for the vampire gripping his bicep. The gravel dug into John's cold socked feet. The ache of the cold intensifying the pain.
"Richie are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me?" The man snapped. Richie flinched and looked over to the other vampire as if just realizing he was there.
"Sorry Frank." He mumbled and grabbed John's other arm. John made an involuntary groan as his left shoulder was jolted. Richie looked at John in a panic. "Sorry."
"You're telling him sorry? How the hell did I get stuck with a pathic sack like you?" Frank shook his head. "Come on," He ordered.
They dragged John towards an abandoned building, or that's what it looked like. John's feet trailed painfully behind him. Still not having the strength to use them on his own. He noted that Richie's hold was more supportive than Frank's. Richie hooked his arm under John's armpit while Frank kept his hand on John's bicep, gripping it painfully tight to hold him up.
John looked over at Richie, their eyes met for a moment before Richie quickly looked away. Richie was kindhearted, it was clear on his face, he didn't want to be doing this. Unable to disobey his sire and all that but John had a suspicion that he could get this bloke to help him.
The building was an abandoned apartment complex. Richie and Frank took him through the lobby and made their way to the stairwell. They descended the metal staircase, making their way to the building's basement. The basement level was cold, dank and void of windows. It was too dark for John to see anything, but he could hear several people walking around and whispering to one another as they moved deeper. By the sounds of it, there had to be at least a dozen or so vampires around.
No wonder Victor was able to break out.
They came to a stop, John heard keys and a door being unlocked. The door opened to a dimly light room. There was someone else in the room, laying on the floor. The light was too weak for John to see who it was, but he had an awful feeling that it was Lestrade. Frank released John's right arm when they were close to Lestrade's motionless form. Richie was slow to do the same, the sudden loss of support on his right threw all his weight to his left. John grunted and Richie quickly got him to the ground.
Frank crouched down next to John; he made work on John's binds as Richie grabbed what sounded like chains. They were changing his restraints. John shifted slightly, preparing to strike at the right moment. The binds were loose enough for John to break out of them. Taking the opportunity John punched Frank as hard as he could. The punch only managed to redirect Frank's face away from John. Frank snapped his attention back to John and back handed him. The force knocked him on his back leaving him rattled. There was a lot of strength behind that hit, more than John would expect from someone.
"Frank, what are you doing? We aren't supposed to-."
"Shut up and restrain him!" Frank barked.
Richie scrambled with the chains and quickly cuffed John's wrist. John barely moved, he felt dazed after being hit. Frank didn't hold back, if Frank was this strong, how strong was Victor? Frank grabbed John by his shirt, lifting John's back off the ground once John was properly cuffed. Their eyes met and John could see the rage in Frank's eyes. One hit wasn't enough to dissolve his anger. Four rapid punches struck John before he could even blink. His mouth filled with blood causing him to sputter and choke against the gag in his mouth.
Before Frank could do anything more Richie pulled him off and pushed him away from John. John desperately tried to remove the gag from his mouth, becoming panicked as he continued to choke. Richie was next to him again and batted John's hands away to remove the gag for him. It only took Richie a moment to take it off, John spit out the blood immediately followed by a coughing fit to clear out the blood he accidentally swallowed.
"Jesus Frank, what the hell? We aren't supposed to touch them!" Richie snapped.
"Whatever, he's going to get a lot worse from Victor. Who cares if he's a little hurt? Prick deserved it." Frank scoffed and walked out of the room.
Richie sighed as he watched John continue his coughing fit. Richie patted his back in an effort to help John, but it only made him flinch. Richie retracked his hand from John and mumbled an apology before walking out of the room, locking the door. John cursed himself for flinching, he was hoping he'd have a chance to talk to Richie alone. He just ruined his chance.
"Fuck." John groaned.
He managed to stop coughing, his throat feeling raw from his efforts. He could already feel his jaw and cheek starting to swell. He brought his hand up to his face to check the damage. He was thankful that despite being in cuffs there was enough slack for him to move around. Touching the area with gentle fingers John noted that even with a light touch his cheek and jaw were very tender, but it didn't feel like anything was broken. He scanned the room, and his eyes fell on Lestrade's unconscious form. His stomach sank, he completely forgot about Lestrade. He shuffled over to Lestrade and tried to assess him.
"Greg, can you hear me? Greg?" John didn't touch him but spoke firmly to try and rouse him. There was no reaction from him, but John knew he was alive. He could hear Lestrade breathing.
Lestrade was laying on his right side, turned away from John, making it difficult to determine if it was okay to move him. The dim light in the room did little to aid John in his examination. Deciding to not move Lestrade, John elevated what he could. Lestrade's left eye was swollen shut, his brow bone appeared broken. John lightly touched the area and confirmed it was in fact broken. Lestrade didn't even flinch when John touched him. He'd must have been knocked out or passed out from the pain.
The left side of Lestrade's face was littered in bruises from his eye down to his jaw. His nose was bruised and bloody but fortunately not broken. His lip was slip open with dry blood caked around the wound and on his chin. John's eyes traveled down to his neck, no signs of fang sized puncher wounds, but that could be on his right side. There were red striped welts cascading around his neck. Possibly from being choked with a rope.
John swallowed a lump in his throat as he continued scanning over Lestrade. The left shoulder was dislocated. Lestrade's shirt sleeve had been cut open from his shoulder down to his elbow. There was a sizeable laceration in his bicep, blood saturated the area around the wound and on Lestrade's shirt. It looked as though they were trying to dig something out of Lestrade's arm. A tracker maybe? John could see Mycroft implanting a tracker in Lestrade instead of just adding it to clothing like Sherlock. It seemed that the implanted tracker didn't get past Victor either.
John strained his eyes in the dim light to confirm the wound on Lestrade's arm had stopped bleeding. Unfortunately, the wound was still bleeding. John carefully ripped Lestrade's sleeve down to his wrist. Giving him enough fabric to work with to tie a tourniquet above Lestrade's wound. He wasn't sure how long Lestrade had been left bleeding, but it was probably the reason he wasn't waking up. A small grunt did escape the man's lips when John pulled taut one last time. It wasn't much, and it was probably a pointless endeavor, considering their situation, but John had to do something. Doing a brief check of Lestrade's neck and back he decided to roll him over so John could get a better overview of his injuries.
John held in his breath as his eyes roved over Lestrade's body. The front of his shirt was tattered, exposing bits of Lestrade's skin. His torso bloody and bruised. There were several deep lacerations scattered around his upper body: his right cheek, left collar bone, right bicep and forearm. His stomach had a large horizontal cut that was nearly six inches long. That wound alone would need stitches. Lestrade was not going to last much longer if left untreated.
Was Victor's plan to torture them to the point of death in a basement without Sherlock and Mycroft present? For someone who's clearly an egotistical sadist, killing off Lestrade and John without an audience didn't sound like something Victor would do. He would want Sherlock and Mycroft to be witnesses to their deaths. To show he had won, and they couldn't stop him. There was no way a man – a vampire – like that would miss out on that chance. Victor would want Sherlock and Mycroft here; John was sure of it. There was a chance that they could make it out of this. John knew that Sherlock and Mycroft would stop at nothing to save their mates.
"We just have to hold on." John muttered. Lestrade stirred and groaned as his body painfully protested at his movement.
"J-John?" Lestrade's voice was hoarse. His right eye was slightly open, but blood shot.
"Yes, it's John." He confirmed.
"Fuck." Lestrade groaned, "They got you too…"
"They did, found me at the store. Threated to kill everyone if I didn't go with them." John explained.
"Jesus…" Lestrade breathed and swallowed painfully, "Do you know…is Mycroft okay?"
"I don't, sorry."
Lestrade took a shaky deep breath and closed his eye. "I saw him get attacked. There was so much…blood." Lestrade choked back tears. John took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Victor wouldn't have killed him; that's not his plan." John said softly, "We're bait for them. They'll be here and they'll get us out. It'll be okay Greg." John tried to say firmly, but his words held no conviction. He hoped his words would be true, but there was a chance Victor could make good on his promise.
The sound of the lock unlatching made them both flinch. John released Lestrade's hand. He forced himself to turn around and stand, to make himself the bigger target. Stepping forward he kept himself between the door and Lestrade. They'd done enough to the DI, John was going to make sure they didn't touch him again. Lestrade wouldn't survive another beating. He needed to keep the vampires' focus solely on John.
"John, what are you-."
"Shh, stay quiet Greg." John ordered. Focus could be shifted to him if they noticed he was conscious.
Victor strolled in, a duffle back in hand that chilled John more than he wanted to admit. The door closed behind him as he entered. So, just him then, John swallowed, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Victor smirked taking in John's stance, feet apart and fists at his sides. He commanded a strong presence but lacked the resolve to stand in front of Victor without fear. His body betrayed his attempt to look calm, trembling as he kept his eyes locked on Victor's. John was too easy to read. It's a wonder that Sherlock gives him the time of day. This human was nothing special. Mycroft's pet was nothing special. How were these two mundane humans able to captivate the Holmes' brothers? It was baffling and infuriating. Victor will take great pleasure in destroying these pathetic humans. He dropped the duffle bag allowing it to hit the ground with a heavy thud. The barrage of tools knocking together added to John's dread.
"I see you got some of your courage back. Good, it'll make things more entertaining." Victor grinned, showing off his fangs.
John didn't get a chance to even respond before Victor was in front of him. A swift punch in the gut had John doubling over. The air from his lungs ripped painfully from his body. A strike to his face followed, unable to get a chance to even catch his breath. John was knocked towards the ground. The back of John's shirt was grabbed before he was able to fall completely. Victor adjusted his hold to grip the front of John's shirt as John was desperately trying to fill his lungs with air. Each breath felt like it took twice the effort to bring in. Victor's strength was unreal. A delayed pulse of pain beset John's face and neck from the force of Victor's attack.
John knew it was going to be painful. He knew that vampires were on another level when it came to their strength, but this was already too much, and Victor had just started. With Victor's free hand he pulled out a hunting knife. There was dried blood on the blade. He pressed the tip of the knife against John's carotid artery on his left side. The blade was sharp enough to break John's skin. He could feel a small trail of blood running down his neck. John forced his body to stay still. His breath was finally under control as he stared Victor in the eyes. There was an unsettling glint in his eyes. A dark twisted pleasure he got from inflicting pain.
"Stubborn I see," Victor mused, "You're more entertaining than Mycroft's pet I'll give you that. Don't assume that will help you. It'll only make me try harder."
Victor ran the knife down the length of John's throat, a thin cut following in its wake. The blade followed along John's shoulder only to stop when it reached his scar. Victor pressed the knife slowly into the damaged area. Out of reflex John's right hand snapped up and grabbed Victor's wrist. The intent behind the action was unintentional, but Victor took it as a threat. His face contorted into a snarl. John didn't even register the push. Just a sudden lift, his gut twisting like he'd missed a step in the dark, then a wall crashing into his back, stealing his breath. Victor's body pinning him firmly in place. His left-hand gripping John's right arm painfully against the wall. John's left hand remained at his side. Victor's foot on the chain preventing John from moving it more than a few inches. The blade returned to John's left shoulder.
John clenched his teeth together to keep from screaming as Victor slowly pushed the blade into his damaged shoulder. Victor had managed to find the exact spot where the bullet ripped through John. White-hot pain overloaded his nerves. Signals of pain spread like wildfire throughout John's body. A series of grunts and short screams escaped his lips. Victor looked pleased by the reaction; he wanted more. He twisted the knife, being rewarded with a deep guttural cry ripping from John's throat.
A sheen of sweat coated John's body, his eyes filled with tears, his breath ragged, his body trembling once again and his heart pounding against his chest. It was everything Victor hoped for and more. Victor twisted the knife again earning another painful scream from John. He pressed the knife deeper, stopping when it was halfway in. Victor watched John's face as he slowly pulled the knife back out. John gritted his teeth attempting to compose himself again. The blade dislodging from his shoulder, a trembling whimper took over.
"There it is." Victor gleamed. "The fear. That didn't take us long." Victor licked the blood off the blade and hummed in delight. "Now the real fun can begin."
Victor hummed as he rummaging through his duffle bag after getting bored with the hunting knife. The tune a light peppy melody, the sound didn't belong here in this cold, dank, dark room. It was as if he was searching for a book to read and not a tool to conflict pain. It made John's skin crawl. Cloaking him with a heightened level of unease. Victor's pure joy from it all was beyond inhuman. Vampire or not, the almost merry air surrounding him couldn't be real.
John kept his eyes on Victor from his spot against the wall. Too weak to stand John sat on the floor, being kept upright by the wall behind him. His body was covered in lacerations, similar to Lestrade. John was exhausted, his voice was raw and there was no sign of Victor stopping anytime soon. The wounds Victor inflected were not deep enough to put John in danger of bleeding out, but they were enough to leave John dazed. John glanced over at Lestrade; his eye was closed. He was still pretending to be asleep. That was good, Victor was not likely to do anything to Lestrade with him unconscious.
Victor's footsteps drew John's attention back to the vampire. John swallowed seeing the tool Victor decided to go with, a metal rod wrapped in cloth. Unlike the hunting knife, the cloth on the metal rod was clean. This wasn't used on Lestrade then. Victor twirled the rod in a circle as he approached John. Humming all the way until he was in front of John. He placed the rod under John's chin and forced him to look up at him.
"Stand up," He ordered. John glared at Victor in an act of defiance. John was not going to simply give into Victor. He's in a lot of pain and knew Victor was going to cause more but he wasn't willing to participate in this hell. He would fight for as long as he can. "I said, stand up," Victor repeated swinging the rod striking the top of John's left shoulder. The edge of John's vision went black for a moment, a gruff yell echoed in the room.
Victor allowed John time to recover before raising the rod again in warning. John motioned to get up and Victor took a step back to give him room. It took a lot of effort, but John got to his feet. He was unsteady but managed to hold himself up. Victor smirked and placed the rod on John's back pushing him away from the wall. Getting the hint John took a step forward.
"To the center." He instructed. John did as he was told and walked towards the center of the room. His chains dragging behind him as he slowly made his way to the middle. "Stop,"
Once again John obeyed, he swayed a bit as he waited for what was coming. Victor approached John again slowly, tapping the ground with the rod as he neared. Building up the anticipation with alarming effectiveness. Victor circled John like a shark circling their prey. John kept his eyes forward, focusing on standing upright rather than the lurking predator. Not reacting was John's only power move. He could tell it was pissing Victor off. His emotional impulse was a weakness that John quickly figured out. The downside was that Victor tried harder to break John, but John wasn't easy to break. John was terrified of course, but he was determined to hold his own as much as he could.
After circling John nearly a dozen times, Victor finally stopped in front of him. His eyes burning with anger as he met John's eyes. There was still a fire in the human's eyes. A glimmer of hope that the doctor was holding onto. Victor wanted nothing more than to snuff out that fire. Rip away any shred of hope that he had. Break him like he broke Mycroft's pet. John was just a weak, fragile human. He was nothing. John Waston was not going to get the better of him.
Victor set the rod down at his feet and gathered John's chains. Pulling John forward slightly, causing him to stumble a bit. Victor raised the chains towards the ceiling. John's arms were jerked above his head, his feet lifted off the ground slightly as Victor attached the loops of the chains to a locking carabiner. Victor secured the locking mechanism on the hook then took a step back to admire his work. There wasn't much slack for John to be fully planted on his feet. Instead, he was on the balls of his feet, Victor wanted to add strain to John's arms and shoulders. Increasing his pain as much as possible.
John's left shoulder was on fire, between the stab wound, the strike from the metal rod and the strain of his weight against his cuffs, it was all too much. He felt as though he may pass out at any moment. His eyes fluttered close against his will. The action earned a frustrated groan from Victor. Picking up the rod he swung hard, hitting John's ribs on his right side. John's eyes snapped open, screaming in agony as his side throbbed with pain. His body swinging for a moment before he managed to stop himself with his toes.
The cloth around the rod padded the impact but not enough. John was sure his ribs were fractured if not broken. He struggled to catch his breath as Victor swung again hitting John's right hip. A shattered cry barely passed his lips before Victor started to swing wildly. Hitting John with such rapid succession that he barely had time to react. This was different from when Victor used the knife. There was more hate behind these blows. He was angry, John knew that he saw it before they started. The control Victor had before was gone.
With the knife, Victor was deliberate. Causing pain but careful not to inflict any wounds that would put John at risk of bleeding out. Now Victor's face was twisted with contempt and a manic hysteria. Swinging and roaring as each blow hit John. He was blinded by fury, not even paying attention to John's reactions like he had been before. There was no savoring John's pain this time. This was desperate behavior from someone trying to get his way. Trying to get John to break.
John managed to disassociate from his body as Victor continued his assault. He couldn't completely ignore the pain, but it lessened the intensity. Thoughts of Sherlock helped take him away from the horrid place. Sherlock laying on the sofa in his blue dressing gown shouting he was bored. Sherlock playing his violin as John sat in his chair enjoying the beautiful melody as he sipped his tea. Sherlock's smile, laugh and his baritone voice telling John he loved him. Sherlock kissing him, touching him, and loving him. Sherlock. He would find John. John just had to endure for a little longer. Sherlock was brilliant after all. He just had to wait.
Although the ruthlessness behind each blow was becoming harder to ignore. Even thoughts of Sherlock weren't enough to dampen the agony of Victor hitting the same places for the fifth – sixth – time. Back, chest, ribs, stomach, legs every possible place he could hit. It was too much, and Victor didn't notice how far he'd taken this torture. Pushing beyond what he intended because he was lost in his rage. Determine to destroy that sliver of hope that John was holding onto. He just needed to push a little more. John will break soon; he will make him break.
"Please…s-stop…please." John pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. Speaking for the first time since Victor entered the room. He had no idea how long he managed to endure the beating, but he couldn't take anymore. To his surprise Victor stopped. Through blurry vision John saw Victor step away from him. The clatter of the rod dropping soon followed.
"He speaks and to beg no less!" Victor yelled; his voice was frantic. "I love it, do it again." Victor demanded grabbing John's face and searching his eyes. John couldn't see very well, but he could tell Victor looked how he sounded, manic.
"Plea…" John couldn't even finish the word before his vision went black.
"John, John? Are you awake?" Lestrade called, watching as John's eyes fluttered open and closed several times. John took a shaky deep breath before his eyes snapped open locking onto Lestrade's. Lestrade had managed to get into a sitting position, leaning against the same wall as John was earlier. "You've been out for a while, how're feeling?"
John slowly came back into consciousness taking in his surroundings as he did. He was laying on his stomach, his left arm at his side and his right outstretched in front of him and his head turned towards Lestrade. The ground was cold, it felt nice on his battered body. Every inch of his body ached. It felt like he fell off a cliff and landed on jagged rocks. He attempted to move his right arm and immediately regretted it. John released a gravelly groan and took another deep breath.
"Like death…you?" John croaked. It hurt to talk, his throat was dry and inflamed.
"Slightly better than death, but not by much."
"So, progress?" John joked.
"Still have a sense of humor after all that? You sure you're human?" Lestrade shook his head.
"It helps more than you think."
"Guess so,"
"He didn't start on you again, right?" John asked. He couldn't tell in the dim light if Lestrade had more injuries or not.
"No, thank God. He was pissed when you passed out. Took it personally. He just got you down and dropped you there. Didn't even give me a second look."
"Good," John sighed. "When he comes back, pretend to be asleep again."
"What about you?"
"I'll do the same,"
Lestrade opened his mouth to respond, knowing that John was lying when the sound of the lock unlatched. Fuck, he's back already? John groaned and waited for Lestrade to close his eye before doing the same. If Victor tried to go after Lestrade John would wake up and draw his attention away from the DI. He may seem better now, but John knew he couldn't survive another beating. John probably couldn't either, but his instinct to protect outweighed any concern he felt for his own wellbeing. Besides, all he had to do was last long enough for Sherlock to find him. John could do that; he'll endure until Sherlock saves him.
The door opened and closed shortly after. Light footsteps echoed in the room as they approached John and Lestrade. Those steps weren't from Victor, another vampire sent to continue the torture? Unlikely, Richie had mentioned they were allowed to touch them. John could see that applying to all of Victor's "children". John risked a peak at their visitor. It was Richie. He was holding two water bottles and looked from Lestrade to John, locking eyes with the doctor for a beat to confirm he was awake before Richie sighed in relief.
"You're still alive." Richie crouched down and did a quick scan of John, "Shit, he really…" Richie bit his lip and looked over at Lestrade, "Him too…"
"It's Richie, right?" John asked. He couldn't believe it, he came back, but why? There was no way Victor ordered him to come in here and give them water.
"Y-Yes," Richie nodded turning back to John, "I…I just…I brought you water. Both of y-you water." He stammered. He placed a water bottle in front of John and started ripping the paper label off the other.
"…thanks." John whispered with a note of uncertainty in his voice. John wanted to trust Richie, but this could be a trap. They were in the bowels of Victor's vampire nest after all.
"I'm not…I didn't tamper with them or anything. They're completely safe, I promise." He said quickly and opened the one in his hand, "See, brand new." He took a drink showing it was safe. "Do you want some?"
John eyed Richie for a moment, noticing for the first time how young he looked. He looked barely eighteen. No wonder he was so timid, he was just a kid. There wasn't an ounce of dishonesty in his eyes. This kid was really trying to help them. John glanced over at Lestrade; he was still pretending to sleep.
"Him first," John said pointing at Lestrade with his eyes. Richie turned to look at Lestrade.
"He's asleep…" He said dumbly.
"Greg, it's okay. Richie's here to help." John explained. Lestrade opened his right eye slowly feeling unsure, but he trusted John.
Once he got a look at Richie, Lestrade understood why John seemed to trust him so quickly. Richie stood and walked over to Lestrade then kneeled next to him and brought the water to his lips, helping him get a drink. He gave Lestrade small amounts, going slow to not overwhelm him. He had Lestrade drink a fourth of the water bottle before making him stop. He placed the water bottle next to Lestrade's right hand so he could get more if he wanted. He gave Lestrade a small smile before standing again and walking back to John.
"Do you think you can sit up?" Richie asked as he kneeled next to John. John didn't need to try to know that he couldn't move.
"I can't move." He admitted with a sigh.
"Umm…okay, I can…" Richie thought for a moment, "I have to move you, is that okay?" He asked softly.
"Yes, but gently." John urged.
"Okay," Richie agreed and placed his hands lightly on John's body. He slowly rolled John onto his back. He gave John a moment to get used to the new position before he lifted him into a sitting position letting his back rest against Richie's chest. He grabbed the water bottle next to them and opened it. He helped John with the water bottle the same way he helped Lestrade. "I'm going to take you over to the wall." Richie informed, after John drank a decent amount of water.
"Alright," John consented. Richie carefully picked John up and carried him over to the wall next to Lestrade. He confirmed that John wasn't going to fall over then retrieved the water bottle placing it near John's right side. "Thanks…" He groaned. Sitting up wasn't ideal, but he appreciated being able to look at Richie properly.
"Did Victor send you?" Lestrade asked warily. He didn't fully trust this kid.
"No, I swear."
"So, he doesn't know you're here?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Won't he kill you for helping us?"
"Well…he's gone so I'll be fine." He said nervously. "And we were told not to come down here so no one else will show up. And I'll take the water bottles with me when I leave, no one will know." He rambled as if trying to talk himself out of getting in trouble.
"You were able to disobey him?" John asked.
"Disobey?" Richie's eyebrows furrowed as he thought for a few moments before understanding what John meant, "Oh! It wasn't a sire order, just a regular one. Everyone follows his orders, but I couldn't just…I wanted to help. This whole thing sucks and I don't want to be one of them. All they do is try to make more of us. I'm tired of the blood and the killing. I wanted to help…even just a little."
John and Lestrade exchanged a knowing look at one another. This could be their chance. "Would you be willing to help us more?" John asked carefully.
"I can't let you go." He said quickly.
"Nothing like that." John assured him.
Richie shifted his eyes between them uncertainty in his eyes, "Then what?"
"Do you have a phone?"
It took some convincing, but Richie agreed to send a text for them. They chose to send the message to Sherlock. Lestrade didn't say it, but John could tell he was worried that Mycroft was incapacitated by his wounds from Victor. Although it wasn't likely, they didn't want to risk sending a message to someone who may be unconscious. Either way, both Holmes' will get the message, and they will be safe soon. Richie left the room soon after sending the text for them. Not wanting to push his luck by sticking around too long. No one really paid attention to him but eventually they would notice he was missing from upstairs.
"Do you think Sherlock will trust the message?" Lestrade asked.
"Yes, he'll know it's from us." John said resolutely.
Time went by slowly; at some point both had fallen into a fitful sleep. There was nothing else for them to do and there was no telling how long it would take for Sherlock and Mycroft to come for them. Even if they were already here, there was a nest of vampires they would have to get through to get to them. The plan to contact Sherlock was beneficial for them, it at least gave the Holmes brothers a location, but nothing more. They didn't expect Richie to provide additional information or aid them any further. It was already too big of an ask to have him text Sherlock the address.
There was no telling how long they were in the room waiting before Victor returned. John had awoken to the sound of the door slamming shut. He kept his eyes closed and hoped that Lestrade was doing the same. John hoped this would deter Victor from torturing them. The bag of torture tools clattered to the floor. John couldn't help but flinch. Victor's footsteps echoed as he approached them. Chains rattled, John wasn't sure if they were his or Lestrade's. He waited a moment before the sound of Lestrade being dragged could be heard. John's eyes snapped open.
Lestrade's eye was closed but Victor was dragging him to the center of the room. He was going to hook Lestrade up to the ceiling. John didn't think he just acted. Slowly he got to his feet. His body protested, every muscle screaming at him to stop moving, but he ignored it. He needed to get Victor's attention away from Lestrade. John let out a small groan when he managed to stand fully. Victor stopped and turned to look back at John. The look he sent John was murderous. He was furious. Victor dropped Lestrade's leg and advanced towards John.
When he got close, he raised his fist and punched John in the face, knocking him back down on the ground. John didn't get a chance to break his fall. He hit the ground hard, he held his face trying to hold the pain back. He recovered quickly, determined to keep Victor's attention. Removing his hand from his face John tried to get back up. John was able to get on his hands and knees, provoking Victor more. His focus had to stay on John. Victor kicked him in the stomach, John blacked out for a second, collapsing on the ground like a sandbag. John came to, he found he was on the floor again laying on his side. Victor had returned to Lestrade, gathering his chains.
John forced himself to get up again by sheer force of will. "Is that…all you…got?" John panted. The delivery was weak, but his eyes were unwavering.
Victor's lips twitched as he tried to suppress the anger rising in him. Victor left this human battered and bleeding. Beaten to the point of begging and rendering him unconscious. He's barely able to stand right now, and yet he still has the audacity to provoke Victor. To taunt him as if what he endured was nothing more than child's play. Victor dropped Lestrade's chains, his hands clenched into fists.
John's eyes flickered to Victor's fists; he's got his attention now. John didn't so much as see Victor move but he sensed it. Despite his aching muscles John's body reacted, arms jolting up to block his face just as Victor's fist made contact with his forearms. The force breaking John's left radius bone. Victor emitted a guttural growl, grabbing John by his arms and throwing him across the room.
"Stay. Down." Victor ordered, his voice coming out like venom.
John's chains pulled taut as he connected with the floor, pulling on his arms painfully. His body throbbed and his vision blurred, but he was still conscious. He could still protect Lestrade. Using mostly his legs, John got up again. His body swayed and his vision went black for a moment, but he stayed up.
"John, stop." Lestrade finally spoke.
"Yes, John, stop." Victor agreed.
A rush of air brushed against John's body followed by the sickening sound of a bone snapping. Pain erupted through his right leg as he once again crumbled to the ground. Writhing as a blood curdling scream torn from his throat. Tears ran down his face as he checked his leg. Bile came up involuntarily when he saw that his knee was facing inwards. John spit the taste out of his mouth the best he could. His breath ragged, his body coated in a cold sweat, his vision fading. He was about to pass out. Victor grabbed John's throat and slammed him against the wall. His hand tightening around John's neck, a look of pure disgust on his face.
"You fucking insignificant wannabe hero! You couldn't just stay down? How dare you insult me like this! You want to take his place so badly, fine!" Victor spat, squeezing harder with each sentence. John couldn't breathe, his right-hand grabbed Victor's wrist to try to pull him off. It only made Victor squeeze harder. John's eyes started to roll into the back of his head. His hand slipped off Victor's wrist, limply dropping at his side as he starting to lose consciousness, "You will not get the better of me you pathetic human!"
"Victor, put him down." A male voice ordered, but Victor didn't listen. "I said, put him down."
Victor immediately released John's throat. He crashed to the ground landing on his ass. The wall behind him kept him upright for a moment before he slumped over on his left side. John struggled to catch his breath; he could feel what little energy he had, fade away. He laid on the ground, eyes slowly closing against his will.
"Jim, I'm…I didn't-."
Jim? That couldn't be…could it?
"Plan doesn't work if he's already dead, you reckless twat!" Jim screamed cutting Victor off.
No, that's not possible…John thought before passing out again.