Lost and Found 2/10
Summary: AU. Sherlock and John were childhood friends, and as they got older they only got closer. They got engaged just before John went to Afghanistan, still having joined the army to cover med school. Sherlock is still a consulting detective. John is declared MIA, but it becomes clear that that there's more going on than that when Sherlock gets a message in the form of a dead body. Major John!Whumpage, but no character death.
Warnings: Rated T because there's no sex, but there are torture themes, kidnapping, Moriarty (obvs), etc. Nothing you haven't seen before i'm sure but should be mentioned. Also apologies for very unimaginative title.
Pairing: Sherlock/John and a bit of Mystrade pre-slash later on.
Length: ~12'000 in total
Rating: T
Previous Chapter
Sherlock dropped the phone, and it wasn't until he heard the tinny voice of Lestrade calling him through the speaker that he was on the floor desperately scrabbling for the device.
"Y-yes." There was no way it was the same one. He was just jumpy because he was worried. John was missing, but he was in Afghanistan... but that wasn't totally right. He had already said that it looked like someone else was involved in the incident... Someone not directly involved with the war. He had to know. "Text me the exact address. I'll be there as soon as I can."
He only vaguely remembered throwing some money at the cabbie before he was standing frozen in front of a disused warehouse by the river. The same thoughts swimming through his brain, paralyzing him. 'What if it was him? What if it really was his John?'
"Sherlock. Sherlock!"
"What?" he yelled back at Lestrade.
"Sherlock, I've been talking to you for about two minutes now, what's wrong with you?"
Sherlock swallowed and shifted on his feet, regaining his composure as best he could. "Nothing. Let's go." He strode into the building quickly with a confidence he didn't really feel, Lestrade following him.
It wasn't a large warehouse, and it was all one large space, with some catwalks higher up. There was Donovan in the center of the room with Anderson and the rest of the forensics team, as well as a few uniformed officers, and there; unmistakably was a dead body.
Usually they brought him a sense of excitement, of intrigue, but today- all he felt was dread, horror, the outright fear that it could be John. He told himself that he was being ridiculous. John and Watson were both common names... but together?
He half ran to the body, and when he saw the face he almost sank to his knees.
His eyes burned and clouded over, his blood pounding in his ears and he felt faint as he looked down at the body of someone who was definitely not John.
"We found some powder on the floor before you got here, looked like heroin but we've sent it off to the lab to make sure, and there was a bottle of morphine in his pocket. We think it might have been a drugs deal gone wrong."
"Wrong. He's a male nurse." Medical. "He lives in Camden, shared house. Stealing drugs from the hospital he works at." He looked at the proffered morphine bottle, and then at the man's arms. "Doesn't take it himself, so he's selling it."
"Yeah," Anderson butted in, "He's selling it to the guys who shot him! Drugs deal. Simple as."
"Don't be an idiot Anderson. He can't steal enough to sell to more than a few people a week without being noticed, and the body has been clearly executed."
"What? In the shoulder? Don't they normally execute people in the head Holmes?"
"Yes, but-" Then he looked back down at the body of John Watson, with his dark blond hair, average build and average height, and his hospital job. On the surface he was so like his John. His fiance John. The John who had been taken as leverage against someone with a personal connection, the John who had been taken by someone rich and powerful enough to trade arms and kidnap someone from an active war zone; and suddenly the truth came crashing down on him.
The man in front of him was far too close to his John to be a coincidence, in looks and in profession. The shoulder wound made it look like a random shot had hit the man, but it was too clean, too straight, there had been no other bodies, and this John Watson shouldn't ever really have been here at all.
It was a message. From the person who had John.
He, Sherlock was the person that they were trying to get to.
Suddenly it was hard to breathe and he staggered back. "What's wrong with you?" Donovan asked him. "You didn't know him did you?"
"Of course I didn't!" He snaped in his best 'don't be an imbecile voice. "Don't you think that if I did I would have mentioned it before now?"
"Well something's obviously wrong." Sherlock knew better than to mistake her tone for concern.
Some of the forensics officers who saw him regularly were staring and whispering to each other but he ignored all of them.
Someone powerful enough to kidnap a soldier from an open war zone. That would take someone with Mycroft like levels of influence to pull it off. Someone whom Sherlock had provoked. No-one who did this would be so easily infuriated by his abrasive personality, which was what affronted most people, and even if they were, no-one would go to such lengths unless he was causing them serious problems. It was about his crime solving.
It must be someone who he had repeatedly foiled, but were still able to run a considerably varied crime network... not in jail then. Someone who planned the crimes without ever committing them himself... It was quite perfect really:
"A Consulting Criminal." He muttered to himself slowly.
"What?"
"It was an execution. I'm going home." With that, he left.
"He knows something." Anderson glared after him.
"Drugs bust?" Inquired Sally.
"I think so." Lestrade sighed in return.
Sherlock sat in the back of the cab, biting his fingernails. He had four patches on now. A consulting criminal. Someone who spent every day telling others how to murder their 'loved ones' and get away with it.
Someone like that had John. Someone who had murdered an almost innocent man just because they wanted to send a message. Just to get his attention.
'Other John' had been shot in the shoulder. Was that where John had been shot? Most likely. He tried to avoid the constricting feeling in his chest at that thought.
A wound like that could be easily fatal, as proved by 'Other John'. Certainly monstrously painful.
He tried not to imagine John; hurt, cold, and in the clutches of a mad man. He knew that that the doctor would never admit it, but he would be lonely, and afraid, no doubt hoping that Sherlock himself would save him.
His only comfort was that John had most likely been kept alive. If he was dead, it would most likely be his body on the floor of the warehouse right now. Not to mention the person behind this was obviously smart. They wouldn't give up a powerful bargaining chip like that if they could help it. Not before their little game was finished.
And it was so obvious that it was a game. They were playing with him. There was no other reason for taking John, other than to show the sheer range of their purview.
They were showing him that they could do whatever they wanted, and there was nothing that he could do to stop them.
WHORING FOR REVIEWS!
Next Chapter
Warnings: Rated T because there's no sex, but there are torture themes, kidnapping, Moriarty (obvs), etc. Nothing you haven't seen before i'm sure but should be mentioned. Also apologies for very unimaginative title.
Pairing: Sherlock/John and a bit of Mystrade pre-slash later on.
Length: ~12'000 in total
Rating: T
Previous Chapter
Sherlock dropped the phone, and it wasn't until he heard the tinny voice of Lestrade calling him through the speaker that he was on the floor desperately scrabbling for the device.
"Y-yes." There was no way it was the same one. He was just jumpy because he was worried. John was missing, but he was in Afghanistan... but that wasn't totally right. He had already said that it looked like someone else was involved in the incident... Someone not directly involved with the war. He had to know. "Text me the exact address. I'll be there as soon as I can."
He only vaguely remembered throwing some money at the cabbie before he was standing frozen in front of a disused warehouse by the river. The same thoughts swimming through his brain, paralyzing him. 'What if it was him? What if it really was his John?'
"Sherlock. Sherlock!"
"What?" he yelled back at Lestrade.
"Sherlock, I've been talking to you for about two minutes now, what's wrong with you?"
Sherlock swallowed and shifted on his feet, regaining his composure as best he could. "Nothing. Let's go." He strode into the building quickly with a confidence he didn't really feel, Lestrade following him.
It wasn't a large warehouse, and it was all one large space, with some catwalks higher up. There was Donovan in the center of the room with Anderson and the rest of the forensics team, as well as a few uniformed officers, and there; unmistakably was a dead body.
Usually they brought him a sense of excitement, of intrigue, but today- all he felt was dread, horror, the outright fear that it could be John. He told himself that he was being ridiculous. John and Watson were both common names... but together?
He half ran to the body, and when he saw the face he almost sank to his knees.
His eyes burned and clouded over, his blood pounding in his ears and he felt faint as he looked down at the body of someone who was definitely not John.
"We found some powder on the floor before you got here, looked like heroin but we've sent it off to the lab to make sure, and there was a bottle of morphine in his pocket. We think it might have been a drugs deal gone wrong."
"Wrong. He's a male nurse." Medical. "He lives in Camden, shared house. Stealing drugs from the hospital he works at." He looked at the proffered morphine bottle, and then at the man's arms. "Doesn't take it himself, so he's selling it."
"Yeah," Anderson butted in, "He's selling it to the guys who shot him! Drugs deal. Simple as."
"Don't be an idiot Anderson. He can't steal enough to sell to more than a few people a week without being noticed, and the body has been clearly executed."
"What? In the shoulder? Don't they normally execute people in the head Holmes?"
"Yes, but-" Then he looked back down at the body of John Watson, with his dark blond hair, average build and average height, and his hospital job. On the surface he was so like his John. His fiance John. The John who had been taken as leverage against someone with a personal connection, the John who had been taken by someone rich and powerful enough to trade arms and kidnap someone from an active war zone; and suddenly the truth came crashing down on him.
The man in front of him was far too close to his John to be a coincidence, in looks and in profession. The shoulder wound made it look like a random shot had hit the man, but it was too clean, too straight, there had been no other bodies, and this John Watson shouldn't ever really have been here at all.
It was a message. From the person who had John.
He, Sherlock was the person that they were trying to get to.
Suddenly it was hard to breathe and he staggered back. "What's wrong with you?" Donovan asked him. "You didn't know him did you?"
"Of course I didn't!" He snaped in his best 'don't be an imbecile voice. "Don't you think that if I did I would have mentioned it before now?"
"Well something's obviously wrong." Sherlock knew better than to mistake her tone for concern.
Some of the forensics officers who saw him regularly were staring and whispering to each other but he ignored all of them.
Someone powerful enough to kidnap a soldier from an open war zone. That would take someone with Mycroft like levels of influence to pull it off. Someone whom Sherlock had provoked. No-one who did this would be so easily infuriated by his abrasive personality, which was what affronted most people, and even if they were, no-one would go to such lengths unless he was causing them serious problems. It was about his crime solving.
It must be someone who he had repeatedly foiled, but were still able to run a considerably varied crime network... not in jail then. Someone who planned the crimes without ever committing them himself... It was quite perfect really:
"A Consulting Criminal." He muttered to himself slowly.
"What?"
"It was an execution. I'm going home." With that, he left.
"He knows something." Anderson glared after him.
"Drugs bust?" Inquired Sally.
"I think so." Lestrade sighed in return.
Sherlock sat in the back of the cab, biting his fingernails. He had four patches on now. A consulting criminal. Someone who spent every day telling others how to murder their 'loved ones' and get away with it.
Someone like that had John. Someone who had murdered an almost innocent man just because they wanted to send a message. Just to get his attention.
'Other John' had been shot in the shoulder. Was that where John had been shot? Most likely. He tried to avoid the constricting feeling in his chest at that thought.
A wound like that could be easily fatal, as proved by 'Other John'. Certainly monstrously painful.
He tried not to imagine John; hurt, cold, and in the clutches of a mad man. He knew that that the doctor would never admit it, but he would be lonely, and afraid, no doubt hoping that Sherlock himself would save him.
His only comfort was that John had most likely been kept alive. If he was dead, it would most likely be his body on the floor of the warehouse right now. Not to mention the person behind this was obviously smart. They wouldn't give up a powerful bargaining chip like that if they could help it. Not before their little game was finished.
And it was so obvious that it was a game. They were playing with him. There was no other reason for taking John, other than to show the sheer range of their purview.
They were showing him that they could do whatever they wanted, and there was nothing that he could do to stop them.
WHORING FOR REVIEWS!
Next Chapter