The Cabin: chapter fragment
Title: The Cabin
Theme: July Writing Prompt #3
Prompt: the word “game"
Rating: PG
Universe: BBC
Characters: John, Sherlock
Word Count: 665
Summary: In this chapter fragment, Sherlock and John find a cabin filled with clues.
(note: This is a short fragment I intend to use in a much larger piece, and written for a prompt challenge using daily prompts. Not a complete anything.)
The Cabin
"Well, damn."
That was John's first thought when he and Sherlock stepped through the cabin door.
Every exposed surface within the cabin was covered with paper - from typewritten pages to newspapers, to photographs. John could even see excerpts of what he thought to be hospital records and government forms. Literally hundreds of pieces of paper were in the one room shack, taped to the walls, covering the floor, lining the ceiling. Even the few warped beams supporting the ceiling were enveloped by paper.
John didn't understand why this little cabin terrified him, why the hairs on the back of his neck had assumed full alert status.
There was nothing physical in the room - not a singe piece of furniture, no writing instruments, absolutely no signs whatsoever of human occupancy. If it weren't for the shreds of paper carpeting the entire structure, John would swear not a single soul had ever crossed the threshold.
Yet John felt his protective armor mentally slide into place.
“How do we even start?” John asked Sherlock.
“Thinking.” was his only reply. “But whatever we do, it needs to be soon.”
John understood: following a theme in this convoluted mess of an investigation, the environment was perhaps their worst enemy.
The heat trapped within these four wooden walls was intense, the humidity so thick you could scoop it up like ice cream. John thought he could see paper disintegrating.
“What IS this place, Sherlock?” John finally whispered, feeling an inexplicable need to maintain the surreal silence found within these walls.
“I won't know specifics until I make some kind of order from all this,” Sherlock responded. “I need you to photograph everything, every inch and centimeter that you can, before I start. Remove your shoes and try to stay out of contact with any of the paper while you do.”
“Easier bloody said than done, mate,” John responded, even as he bent to untie his shoes. “Is this some kind of horrifically complicated game? Some kind of overachiever's jigsaw puzzle?”
“This.” Sherlock said, gesturing to include the entire structure covered in words and images. “This isn't a game, John, it's someone's living nightmare.”
Sherlock noticed John's surprised glance.
“This isn't intended to be some kind of intricate puzzle, it's an attempt to find a way out. We are looking inside someone's head, John.” Sherlock answered. “This is someone attempting an exorcism.”
The detective pointed at his own head and said, “My mind palace is where I place everything so that I CAN remember, yes? So that I can reach inside my brain and find what I seek, without having an actual, physical source in front of me. I don't need to physically keep the newspapers, the books, the photographs, the articles, I just deposit it all in here, all the stuff I want to remember.”
“With you so far,” John replied to Sherlock's questioning gaze.
“Then there is also information, memories or such that we remember despite ourselves - traumas, evil, horrible acts, etc - things that we know but wish to hell we didn't remember. Things the human brain, even mine, can't delete.”
Sherlock raised his hand and reached toward one of the pieces of paper stuck to the wall to his right. He stopped his hand six inches from the paper found there.
“This John, all of this, is someone desperately trying to delete, to forget. When this person performed an exorcism of his own memory, this is what came out. We are looking at someone's nightmares made tangible. Things that this person can not forget, that are irrevocably ingrained, but that cause this person significant pain.”
“Jesus,” John muttered. “How do you know all this?”
Sherlock paused, straightened his shoulders, then said in a voice barely above a whisper, “Because I tried this very thing 18 months ago.”