Promised the Dark, or, Indestructible. Chapter Six
Title: Promised the Dark, or, Indestructible. Chapter Six
Author: ghislainem70
Word count: 800
Rating: PG-13
Warning: depictions of violence
Disclaimers: I own nothing. All honours to Messrs Gatiss, Moffat et al.
Summary: Sherlock is dead, and Moriarty is holding John captive. BAMF! John.
Promised the Dark, or, Indestructible. Chapter Six
The unmaked van bearing the ravaged Moriarty drove away through the blighted council estate. A large semi truck rumbled past in the opposite direction. There was a lone figure splayed flat on its roof. The figure shot a bolt attached to a steel cable from a crossbow mounted to the roof of the trailer. The bolt pierced the rear doors of the van, and the cable ripped them off.
A fast black SUV rounded the corner and pulled behind the van, which was now weaving defensively. A figure emerged through the SUV sunroof, crawled over the hood and leaped into the rear deck of the open van.
Tendrils of noxious gas issued from the cab of the van and it slowed, then came to a rolling stop against a graffiti'd wall. Two more figures emerged to recover Moriarty's unconscious body from the van, and the SUV sped away.
* * *
Two hours had passed and Mycroft's team was unable to find any solid clues to Sherlock's location amongst Moriarty's devices. It was most probable that Sherlock was being kept at a safe house used as a temporary base by Moriarty, but where?
A faint trail from the video feed from John's captivity in the cell seemed most promising, and that was their urgent focus.
John shuddered as he realized that while he had been tricked into believing Sherlock dead, the watchers in his cell had been not just Moriarty, but Sherlock, too. He obsessively played back signs or signals he could have given if only he had known his love was alive.
Moriarty's cell phone rang.
* * *
John tried to seize the phone, but Mycroft held him back and put it on speaker. A muffled female voice with an Eastern European accent (Czech?) said:
"I have my husband back now. You should have been more careful. For what you have done to him, you will pay. For every injury inflicted upon my husband, I shall visit one hundred-fold upon you, Mycroft Holmes. And you, Lestrade. And of course, especially you, Doctor Watson.
"Before, was just a little game. Time to take it to the next level."
"Where is Sherlock" John shouted as the line went momentarily quiet, only faint breathing to be heard.
"You will never, ever find him on your own. Your key is useless to you. Soon it will be too late, anyway. If you ever want to know where Sherlock is, there is only one way."
"I'm sure we can come to an arrangement," said Mycroft phlegmatically. "These games do not get you what you are really after, I know it and you know it. Come now. This affair has become tiresome. You've made your point. Name your price. I imagine you are acquainted with my bona fides. If a thing can be done, I will do it --- if you release Sherlock."
"I will not bargain with you, Mycroft Holmes. I have a precondition to any possible future dialogue. . . But, I make no promises. The condition is nonnegotiable and must be performed immediately."
John was nodding urgently, signaling Mycroft to agree. There was a pause as Mycroft frowned, considering. "I suppose we'd better hear it. What is this is -- condition." Mycroft spat the words as though they had a foul taste.
"Everything as it was before."
"I'm afraid you'll need to be plain. What is your condition?"
"Return Doctor Watson to us. He needs to be taught some . . . manners."
Lestrade and Mycroft stared at John with horror, but John's entire being was now reduced to the ticking clock on the wall. Less than three hours until fail deadly.
"Yes," John said with steely determination.
* * *
The word had barely issued from John's lips when Mycroft's team quickly administered an injection containing a tiny glowing bead into the skin of John's lean hip.
There was pounding on the reinforced steel door. Lestrade's radio crackled and he murmured to let just one man through. Lestrade opened the door slowly, his gun cocked. A sharply dressed man who looked like a Moriarty wannabe was there, armed with a submachine gun. He gestured for John to follow him back out the door. "Now."
John stepped forward.
Lestrade was shaking like a leaf in the grip of powerful emotion. John had the briefest moment of revelation, but the steel door was already slamming behind him. John heard Lestrade hurl his shoulders against the closed door with strangled cry, "John, no!!!"
* * *
John was dragged along a few feet, then pushed stumbling out the warehouse door and up a fire escape, the huge gun viciously prodding the small of his back.
John glimpsed a flash of grey sky and the whirring blades of a helicopter before a black hood was thrown over his head, and then John was flying.
To be continued. . ..
Listen to Battleflag:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2BNpK01eww
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