Danger Nights- Chapter Six
Danger Nights
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some violence
Character(s): John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Alexei Holmes, original male and female characters
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is losing one of Britain's most crucial resources: his mind. As John, Sherlock, and Lestrade struggle to find a solution, the past comes back to haunt everyone. Sequel to Promise to the Living and The Devil in Devon.
Status: WIP
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five
The instant he opened his eyes, John cursed himself for drinking so much. His head throbbed, his mouth was cotton-dry, and his limbs refused to work in real time. He smelled like sweat and damp fabric. He didn't want to imagine what he must look like.
Mycroft will kill me.
Mycroft. It all came back to him in a rush- the ECT treatment at St. Thomas, the busty nurse who'd lured him and Alexei into an ambush, and the heavies who'd pummelled him until he felt like an overripe apple.
Alexei!
John struggled upright. Pain and dizziness nearly flattened him again, but he braced his hands against the mattress and forced his aching eyes to stay open.
He had been placed on an antique four-poster bed with a mattress the size of a soccer field. Its thick velvet curtains were closed at the sides but open at the end, letting in enough light for him to see that Alexei was beside him, lying in the recovery position.
John checked his pulse. Reassured by the results, he gently manipulated Alexei's ribcage and limbs. There were no broken bones or visible wounds, but the boy was a disaster from head to toe: his Armani jacket was badly creased, dirt streaked his face and hands, and bits of straw clung to his hair.
It was almost comical. They were on a luxurious bed in a room that befitted an eighteenth century nobleman: from his vantage point, John could see clean stone walls and flooring, velvet-upholstered furniture, oil paintings, and a large fireplace with an open hearth. But both of them looked and smelled as if they'd arrived here in a sheep car.
John inched carefully to the edge of the bed and parted the side curtain just wide enough to peer out. He saw more furniture - an antique desk and chair, bookshelf stocked with leather-bound volumes, and a bedside table with a porcelain-based lamp - as well as a solid wooden door. Unless someone lurked on the other side of the bed, they were alone.
He was trying to decide what to do next when Alexei stirred. Closing the curtain, John turned back to the boy and touched his shoulder.
"It's John. Easy now. You probably feel as horrible as I do, but neither of us appears to be hurt."
Alexei opened his eyes. "John?"
"Yes. It's me."
The teenager stared blearily about. "Where are we?"
"I don't know. But we'll likely find out soon."
Alexei struggled to sit up. As John helped him, the boy said in a clearer voice, "We've just arrived, obviously. And we were brought here in boxes."
"How can you tell?"
"Your right shoulder is elevated above your left and your shoes are newly scuffed at the toe, which indicates that you've recently been in a container too small for your height. We're both covered with dirt and straw." Alexei sniffed his jacket sleeve. "Furniture polish. We were brought here as part of a crated furniture shipment."
Satisfied that the teenager was all right for now, John's immediate concern flashed to another Holmes. "Mycroft," he exclaimed, reaching for the curtain again. "Did they-"
"They didn't take him."
John hesitated, fingers clutching the fabric. "How can you be sure?"
"Strategically unlikely because it would be too big of a risk. With us out of the room, Anthea would never leave him unattended. They're in the general area of the hospital, and she's armed." Alexei frowned. "I was right. Mycroft was drugged before he returned to London. To create an artificial state of depression."
John struggled to follow, but his headache and anxiety made thinking difficult. "But what does that have to do with us being kidnapped?"
"Whoever is responsible is not my father's enemy. If their agents got close enough to drug him, it would have been just as easy to kill him. Their goal was to kidnap us."
"The Consortium," John whispered. "But no. They'd have killed Mycroft if they had the chance."
"I agree." Alexei had the intent, faraway look of a Holmes tackling a puzzle. John could almost hear his brain at work, testing pieces for compatibility and interpreting the results. "Our abductor planned things perfectly. They struck at a time when Mycroft's personal security team was limited to Anthea alone."
John swallowed. "He- he didn't want anyone he didn't trust implicitly to know what he was being treated for and how."
Alexei nodded sagely. "His competency would have been questioned otherwise. But someone outside his circle not only knew how he'd have an onset of severe depression treated, but where and with which doctor. They also knew that you would go with him and that I'd notice something amiss and not be able to stay away." A small smile tugged at the corners of the boy's mouth. "Clever. I'm looking forward to meeting them."
He looked and sounded exactly the way Sherlock had when the detective first learned of Moriarty's existence. John remembered well the reluctant admiration and headstrong desire for confrontation. Sherlock had been like an over-caffeinated greyhound: all nervous energy and so desperate to chase the rabbit that he rarely saw the pitfalls ahead.
"Listen, Alexei," John said. "Take some advice from an ex-soldier. Don't go looking for trouble: it always finds you soon enough." Especially if your last name is Holmes, he added mentally. "Focus on figuring out a way for us to get out of here."
Before he could say anything else, the door opened. Multiple footsteps crossed the carpet over the stone floor. A moment later the bedside curtain nearest the door was drawn aside.
The well-dressed man who stared down at them was in his mid-forties, with prematurely grey hair like Lestrade's. He was thin to the point of being skeletal, leaving him with bulging eyes and a pinched expression. But since the two men flanking him were mountain-sized and had shoulder holsters bulging under their suits, he didn't need to worry about his fragility.
"Dr. Watson. Alexei," he greeted. His voice was soft- barely above a whisper- and had an American accent. "My name is John Mayberry. I apologize for the condition you found yourselves in when you woke up. My men were unnecessarily rough."
"Have you killed them yet?" Alexei asked.
Mayberry's eyes widened a fraction. "What makes you think I'd do that?"
"This entire scheme was plotted by a clever man but carried out by simpletons. John and I were brought here in a deplorable state." Alexei held up his filthy hands. "Yet instead of being tossed in a dungeon or basement cell, we're placed in relatively luxurious accommodations. The people you hired didn't know what your plans for us were; otherwise they wouldn't have brought us to you in such a state. Therefore, they're not part of your regular entourage."
Mayberry grinned broadly. "Remarkable. Go on. What else?"
"You wouldn't send people you didn't trust implicitly to kidnap the partner and son of Mycroft Holmes unless you intended to cover your trail by killing them afterward."
The thin man laughed and clapped his hands. "Incredible. You're as intelligent as your file indicates, young man. And the answer to your question is no. They're presently downstairs, in the old servants' hall." He paused significantly before adding. "Enjoying their last meal."
John shifted on the mattress until he was between Alexei and the newcomers. "What do you want with us?"
"With you personally, Dr. Watson? Nothing." Mayberry's watery grey eyes shifted to Alexei. "It's young Mr. Nowak here whom I have business with."
"Nowak-Holmes," the teenager corrected sharply.
"Nowak-Holmes. Of course. I'm sure you'd both like to be more comfortable, so there's been a hot bath drawn for each of you in a room down the hall. You'll also find a change of clothes. At six, one of my staff will bring dinner."
The show of hospitality didn't reassure John. "What do you want with Alexei?"
Mayberry regarded the boy with visible reverence. "He's going to save my life."
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some violence
Character(s): John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Alexei Holmes, original male and female characters
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is losing one of Britain's most crucial resources: his mind. As John, Sherlock, and Lestrade struggle to find a solution, the past comes back to haunt everyone. Sequel to Promise to the Living and The Devil in Devon.
Status: WIP
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five
The instant he opened his eyes, John cursed himself for drinking so much. His head throbbed, his mouth was cotton-dry, and his limbs refused to work in real time. He smelled like sweat and damp fabric. He didn't want to imagine what he must look like.
Mycroft will kill me.
Mycroft. It all came back to him in a rush- the ECT treatment at St. Thomas, the busty nurse who'd lured him and Alexei into an ambush, and the heavies who'd pummelled him until he felt like an overripe apple.
Alexei!
John struggled upright. Pain and dizziness nearly flattened him again, but he braced his hands against the mattress and forced his aching eyes to stay open.
He had been placed on an antique four-poster bed with a mattress the size of a soccer field. Its thick velvet curtains were closed at the sides but open at the end, letting in enough light for him to see that Alexei was beside him, lying in the recovery position.
John checked his pulse. Reassured by the results, he gently manipulated Alexei's ribcage and limbs. There were no broken bones or visible wounds, but the boy was a disaster from head to toe: his Armani jacket was badly creased, dirt streaked his face and hands, and bits of straw clung to his hair.
It was almost comical. They were on a luxurious bed in a room that befitted an eighteenth century nobleman: from his vantage point, John could see clean stone walls and flooring, velvet-upholstered furniture, oil paintings, and a large fireplace with an open hearth. But both of them looked and smelled as if they'd arrived here in a sheep car.
John inched carefully to the edge of the bed and parted the side curtain just wide enough to peer out. He saw more furniture - an antique desk and chair, bookshelf stocked with leather-bound volumes, and a bedside table with a porcelain-based lamp - as well as a solid wooden door. Unless someone lurked on the other side of the bed, they were alone.
He was trying to decide what to do next when Alexei stirred. Closing the curtain, John turned back to the boy and touched his shoulder.
"It's John. Easy now. You probably feel as horrible as I do, but neither of us appears to be hurt."
Alexei opened his eyes. "John?"
"Yes. It's me."
The teenager stared blearily about. "Where are we?"
"I don't know. But we'll likely find out soon."
Alexei struggled to sit up. As John helped him, the boy said in a clearer voice, "We've just arrived, obviously. And we were brought here in boxes."
"How can you tell?"
"Your right shoulder is elevated above your left and your shoes are newly scuffed at the toe, which indicates that you've recently been in a container too small for your height. We're both covered with dirt and straw." Alexei sniffed his jacket sleeve. "Furniture polish. We were brought here as part of a crated furniture shipment."
Satisfied that the teenager was all right for now, John's immediate concern flashed to another Holmes. "Mycroft," he exclaimed, reaching for the curtain again. "Did they-"
"They didn't take him."
John hesitated, fingers clutching the fabric. "How can you be sure?"
"Strategically unlikely because it would be too big of a risk. With us out of the room, Anthea would never leave him unattended. They're in the general area of the hospital, and she's armed." Alexei frowned. "I was right. Mycroft was drugged before he returned to London. To create an artificial state of depression."
John struggled to follow, but his headache and anxiety made thinking difficult. "But what does that have to do with us being kidnapped?"
"Whoever is responsible is not my father's enemy. If their agents got close enough to drug him, it would have been just as easy to kill him. Their goal was to kidnap us."
"The Consortium," John whispered. "But no. They'd have killed Mycroft if they had the chance."
"I agree." Alexei had the intent, faraway look of a Holmes tackling a puzzle. John could almost hear his brain at work, testing pieces for compatibility and interpreting the results. "Our abductor planned things perfectly. They struck at a time when Mycroft's personal security team was limited to Anthea alone."
John swallowed. "He- he didn't want anyone he didn't trust implicitly to know what he was being treated for and how."
Alexei nodded sagely. "His competency would have been questioned otherwise. But someone outside his circle not only knew how he'd have an onset of severe depression treated, but where and with which doctor. They also knew that you would go with him and that I'd notice something amiss and not be able to stay away." A small smile tugged at the corners of the boy's mouth. "Clever. I'm looking forward to meeting them."
He looked and sounded exactly the way Sherlock had when the detective first learned of Moriarty's existence. John remembered well the reluctant admiration and headstrong desire for confrontation. Sherlock had been like an over-caffeinated greyhound: all nervous energy and so desperate to chase the rabbit that he rarely saw the pitfalls ahead.
"Listen, Alexei," John said. "Take some advice from an ex-soldier. Don't go looking for trouble: it always finds you soon enough." Especially if your last name is Holmes, he added mentally. "Focus on figuring out a way for us to get out of here."
Before he could say anything else, the door opened. Multiple footsteps crossed the carpet over the stone floor. A moment later the bedside curtain nearest the door was drawn aside.
The well-dressed man who stared down at them was in his mid-forties, with prematurely grey hair like Lestrade's. He was thin to the point of being skeletal, leaving him with bulging eyes and a pinched expression. But since the two men flanking him were mountain-sized and had shoulder holsters bulging under their suits, he didn't need to worry about his fragility.
"Dr. Watson. Alexei," he greeted. His voice was soft- barely above a whisper- and had an American accent. "My name is John Mayberry. I apologize for the condition you found yourselves in when you woke up. My men were unnecessarily rough."
"Have you killed them yet?" Alexei asked.
Mayberry's eyes widened a fraction. "What makes you think I'd do that?"
"This entire scheme was plotted by a clever man but carried out by simpletons. John and I were brought here in a deplorable state." Alexei held up his filthy hands. "Yet instead of being tossed in a dungeon or basement cell, we're placed in relatively luxurious accommodations. The people you hired didn't know what your plans for us were; otherwise they wouldn't have brought us to you in such a state. Therefore, they're not part of your regular entourage."
Mayberry grinned broadly. "Remarkable. Go on. What else?"
"You wouldn't send people you didn't trust implicitly to kidnap the partner and son of Mycroft Holmes unless you intended to cover your trail by killing them afterward."
The thin man laughed and clapped his hands. "Incredible. You're as intelligent as your file indicates, young man. And the answer to your question is no. They're presently downstairs, in the old servants' hall." He paused significantly before adding. "Enjoying their last meal."
John shifted on the mattress until he was between Alexei and the newcomers. "What do you want with us?"
"With you personally, Dr. Watson? Nothing." Mayberry's watery grey eyes shifted to Alexei. "It's young Mr. Nowak here whom I have business with."
"Nowak-Holmes," the teenager corrected sharply.
"Nowak-Holmes. Of course. I'm sure you'd both like to be more comfortable, so there's been a hot bath drawn for each of you in a room down the hall. You'll also find a change of clothes. At six, one of my staff will bring dinner."
The show of hospitality didn't reassure John. "What do you want with Alexei?"
Mayberry regarded the boy with visible reverence. "He's going to save my life."