Fic: If Heroes Don't Exist...
Title: If Heroes Don't Exist...
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: John, Sherlock, Moriarty
Words: 1286
Warnings: kidnapping and imprisonment, some language
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: John has been kidnapped - again. How is Moriarty involved this time?
Author’s notes: Originally written for the great-tales December challenge for this prompt (spoilery!): The villain shocks everybody by doing one completely selfless thing.
Comments and criticism are always very welcome! Enjoy! :)
It was dark. Dark and cold. Had been for several hours, too. Maybe even a day? John wasn’t too sure of his sense of time anymore. Not since someone had kidnapped him right from the middle of a busy street. Kidnapped him in bloody daylight with lots of people standing around, watching, but not observing how John had been led - forced - into that Mercedes with darkened windows. John carefully touched the back of his head and groaned. He could still feel the bump from where he had been hit so hard that he had passed out immediately after sitting down on the smooth leather seats.
When he had woken up again, he had been here. Wherever this ‘here’ was, it could not be argued that it was a stinking dark hole, freezing cold and wet in some corners. At first John had tried to fumble around in the dark, but after discovering the rotten smell coming from some of the wet puddles, he had decided it was best to stay as far away from them as possible. Although there was a small streak of light coming through the ceiling (most like through a trap door), it was hardly enough to make out any shapes at all. As far as he could tell, he was alone in this prison, though.
John crouched down and leaned his back against one of the drier stone walls. A nasty chillness crept through his jacket into his bones and made him quiver. He was cold, he was hungry and his head ached as though trying to kill him. What a great day. The only glimmer of hope was the thought that by now surely someone had noticed his absence. And with Mycroft monitoring all of London there should be an army of police officers on the way to rescue him. Not to mention Sherlock. John sneezed. If only this wasn’t so damn uncomfortable. He could already feel a severe cold approaching. Sherlock had better hurry!
Suddenly the trap door above him opened. John shrank back, blinded by the dazzling light, pressing himself into a corner and holding his breath. If he couldn’t see the intruder until his eyes had adjusted to the sudden light, he’d better make sure not to stand around completely helplessly. But no one entered. He could not hear anything either, not matter how hard he tried. After a moment, John carefully let out his breath and whispered: “Sherlock?”
“Oh, you wish it was, darling!” an all too familiar voice answered cheerfully. John froze on the spot and an ice-cold shudder crept down his back. Moriarty. Oh, he should have bloody well known! Although he had to admit that this sodding dungeon was lacking Moriarty’s usual style, who else would dare to kidnap him right from an open street? Well, apart from Mycroft, obviously, but he usually didn’t hurt John. On second thought, who else would be interested in kidnapping him after all? Apart from two or three of Sherlock’s other enemies, that was. Anyway, this seemed to be about Sherlock - again. John refrained from looking up and thus being blinded again and muttered through gritted teeth: “This will not help you getting to Sherlock. He is far too clever to walk into your trap just like this.”
“Ah, is he now?” Moriarty sounded amused - even more amused than his usual chirping. “Then how do you explain the teeny-tiny fact that I expect him to be right here in exactly - let me see - 4 minutes and 35 seconds?”
Damn. How could someone as brilliant as Sherlock be stupid enough to fall for this incredibly old trap of kidnapping the sidekick? John wanted to groan and hit the wall in frustration, but stopped himself in time and only rolled his eyes instead. As long as he didn’t know exactly what Moriarty wanted or knew, he wouldn’t show any weakness. Maybe he was only bluffing after all. If only his ruddy head allowed him to think more clearly!
“Suddenly so silent?” John could almost hear Moriarty raise his eyebrows in false and mocking surprise. “Oh. Oh, I see. You have completely misinterpreted my friendly little visit, haven’t you? But really - do you think a place like this would be my style?” He tsk-ed and gave a shrill laugh which made John shiver involuntarily. “No, I am merely here to ensure that my most beloved archenemy’s wee pet doesn’t get hurt by any petty criminal. Can’t allow that to happen, now, can I?”
With that something dropped through the trap door and silence followed. After staying perfectly still for several seconds waiting for whatever Moriarty had dropped to explode, John felt his body relax almost against his own will. Surely this could not be over. But as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could clearly see the outline of a rope, dangling down the trap door right in front of him. Reluctantly, he pulled at it. It didn’t fall down. Clutching the rope with his numb hands, John very carefully started to pull himself up out of his prison.
Just as he was trying to orient himself in the dark corridor, he heard excited voices and heavy steps coming close quickly and seconds later a police team came running around a corner, guided by Inspector Lestrade and - bless him for caring and damn him for falling into this trap - Sherlock. But Sherlock looked unharmed and his face lit up like a torch when he saw John standing there right in front of them. John almost fainted with relief.
---
Sometime later John had been secured from the old brewery which happened to contain the rotting prison cell, put into a shock blanket and placed into Sherlock’s care. After Sherlock had left the police investigating for once, he continued watching John intently, his eyebrows knitted.
“You didn’t escape on your own.” It was a statement, not a question. “There were guards placed all around the building, yet by the time we came to your rescue they all had been eliminated in the most professional manner. And apparently whoever did that also opened the trap door to your cell in order to let you out. But who? Who could have been here before me?”
John grimaced. Sherlock wouldn’t like the answer at all. With a cough he admitted: “It was Moriarty, Sherlock. He talked to me - ...”
An enormous shout of rage interrupted him. “WHAT? Moriarty? How dare he come close to you again?! I will hunt him down - I will have Mycroft hunt him down!” And, almost as an afterthought: “Did he hurt you, at all?”
John sighed and put a hand across his eyes. This was going to be difficult. And his head was still throbbing painfully. “You don’t understand, Sherlock. Moriarty didn’t kidnap me - he rescued me from whoever did kidnap me in the first place. Said something about not allowing other criminals to hurt me.”
Sherlock gave him a disbelieving stare.
“But why? Why would he do that? Why not kill you himself when he had the chance? Why help you - you of all people?” Sherlock had started walking in circles around John excitedly, running his fingers through his curls until they stuck out wildly in all directions, always eying him suspiciously as if he was simply refusing to provide an answer. “This does not make sense at all! There must be a motive, some profit for him - something!”
He was almost screaming.
“Let it go, Sherlock”, John shrugged. He really didn’t feel up to this mystery right now. What he felt up to was a soft, warm bed and a cup of tea. “Maybe if heroes don’t exist, completely evil supervillains don’t exist either.”
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: John, Sherlock, Moriarty
Words: 1286
Warnings: kidnapping and imprisonment, some language
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: John has been kidnapped - again. How is Moriarty involved this time?
Author’s notes: Originally written for the great-tales December challenge for this prompt (spoilery!): The villain shocks everybody by doing one completely selfless thing.
Comments and criticism are always very welcome! Enjoy! :)
It was dark. Dark and cold. Had been for several hours, too. Maybe even a day? John wasn’t too sure of his sense of time anymore. Not since someone had kidnapped him right from the middle of a busy street. Kidnapped him in bloody daylight with lots of people standing around, watching, but not observing how John had been led - forced - into that Mercedes with darkened windows. John carefully touched the back of his head and groaned. He could still feel the bump from where he had been hit so hard that he had passed out immediately after sitting down on the smooth leather seats.
When he had woken up again, he had been here. Wherever this ‘here’ was, it could not be argued that it was a stinking dark hole, freezing cold and wet in some corners. At first John had tried to fumble around in the dark, but after discovering the rotten smell coming from some of the wet puddles, he had decided it was best to stay as far away from them as possible. Although there was a small streak of light coming through the ceiling (most like through a trap door), it was hardly enough to make out any shapes at all. As far as he could tell, he was alone in this prison, though.
John crouched down and leaned his back against one of the drier stone walls. A nasty chillness crept through his jacket into his bones and made him quiver. He was cold, he was hungry and his head ached as though trying to kill him. What a great day. The only glimmer of hope was the thought that by now surely someone had noticed his absence. And with Mycroft monitoring all of London there should be an army of police officers on the way to rescue him. Not to mention Sherlock. John sneezed. If only this wasn’t so damn uncomfortable. He could already feel a severe cold approaching. Sherlock had better hurry!
Suddenly the trap door above him opened. John shrank back, blinded by the dazzling light, pressing himself into a corner and holding his breath. If he couldn’t see the intruder until his eyes had adjusted to the sudden light, he’d better make sure not to stand around completely helplessly. But no one entered. He could not hear anything either, not matter how hard he tried. After a moment, John carefully let out his breath and whispered: “Sherlock?”
“Oh, you wish it was, darling!” an all too familiar voice answered cheerfully. John froze on the spot and an ice-cold shudder crept down his back. Moriarty. Oh, he should have bloody well known! Although he had to admit that this sodding dungeon was lacking Moriarty’s usual style, who else would dare to kidnap him right from an open street? Well, apart from Mycroft, obviously, but he usually didn’t hurt John. On second thought, who else would be interested in kidnapping him after all? Apart from two or three of Sherlock’s other enemies, that was. Anyway, this seemed to be about Sherlock - again. John refrained from looking up and thus being blinded again and muttered through gritted teeth: “This will not help you getting to Sherlock. He is far too clever to walk into your trap just like this.”
“Ah, is he now?” Moriarty sounded amused - even more amused than his usual chirping. “Then how do you explain the teeny-tiny fact that I expect him to be right here in exactly - let me see - 4 minutes and 35 seconds?”
Damn. How could someone as brilliant as Sherlock be stupid enough to fall for this incredibly old trap of kidnapping the sidekick? John wanted to groan and hit the wall in frustration, but stopped himself in time and only rolled his eyes instead. As long as he didn’t know exactly what Moriarty wanted or knew, he wouldn’t show any weakness. Maybe he was only bluffing after all. If only his ruddy head allowed him to think more clearly!
“Suddenly so silent?” John could almost hear Moriarty raise his eyebrows in false and mocking surprise. “Oh. Oh, I see. You have completely misinterpreted my friendly little visit, haven’t you? But really - do you think a place like this would be my style?” He tsk-ed and gave a shrill laugh which made John shiver involuntarily. “No, I am merely here to ensure that my most beloved archenemy’s wee pet doesn’t get hurt by any petty criminal. Can’t allow that to happen, now, can I?”
With that something dropped through the trap door and silence followed. After staying perfectly still for several seconds waiting for whatever Moriarty had dropped to explode, John felt his body relax almost against his own will. Surely this could not be over. But as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could clearly see the outline of a rope, dangling down the trap door right in front of him. Reluctantly, he pulled at it. It didn’t fall down. Clutching the rope with his numb hands, John very carefully started to pull himself up out of his prison.
Just as he was trying to orient himself in the dark corridor, he heard excited voices and heavy steps coming close quickly and seconds later a police team came running around a corner, guided by Inspector Lestrade and - bless him for caring and damn him for falling into this trap - Sherlock. But Sherlock looked unharmed and his face lit up like a torch when he saw John standing there right in front of them. John almost fainted with relief.
---
Sometime later John had been secured from the old brewery which happened to contain the rotting prison cell, put into a shock blanket and placed into Sherlock’s care. After Sherlock had left the police investigating for once, he continued watching John intently, his eyebrows knitted.
“You didn’t escape on your own.” It was a statement, not a question. “There were guards placed all around the building, yet by the time we came to your rescue they all had been eliminated in the most professional manner. And apparently whoever did that also opened the trap door to your cell in order to let you out. But who? Who could have been here before me?”
John grimaced. Sherlock wouldn’t like the answer at all. With a cough he admitted: “It was Moriarty, Sherlock. He talked to me - ...”
An enormous shout of rage interrupted him. “WHAT? Moriarty? How dare he come close to you again?! I will hunt him down - I will have Mycroft hunt him down!” And, almost as an afterthought: “Did he hurt you, at all?”
John sighed and put a hand across his eyes. This was going to be difficult. And his head was still throbbing painfully. “You don’t understand, Sherlock. Moriarty didn’t kidnap me - he rescued me from whoever did kidnap me in the first place. Said something about not allowing other criminals to hurt me.”
Sherlock gave him a disbelieving stare.
“But why? Why would he do that? Why not kill you himself when he had the chance? Why help you - you of all people?” Sherlock had started walking in circles around John excitedly, running his fingers through his curls until they stuck out wildly in all directions, always eying him suspiciously as if he was simply refusing to provide an answer. “This does not make sense at all! There must be a motive, some profit for him - something!”
He was almost screaming.
“Let it go, Sherlock”, John shrugged. He really didn’t feel up to this mystery right now. What he felt up to was a soft, warm bed and a cup of tea. “Maybe if heroes don’t exist, completely evil supervillains don’t exist either.”