On a quick trip to the Tesco on the way home from work, John had no idea of just what was going on back at Baker Street, but ideas ran through his mind alongside his list of things to get. After their moment at the pool, John seemed more keen than ever to keep his eyes more open and observant than usual. It'd been too long, nearly a month now and no contact from Jim. It was as if he was waiting for them to let their guard down. John never would, but somehow he thought that wouldn't stop Jim.
Loaded up with basic necessities, including some well overdue tea, John returned to the flat to find it ... empty. This wasn't a completely unusual event, Sherlock deciding he needed to check on something or find the nearest hoodlum to catch because he was bored waiting for John to get back. He didn't think much of it.
Four hours passed and John was honestly beginning to worry. The need to know where Sherlock could be was grinding at him, knotting up a wonderful anxious ball in his stomach. No texts, he'd usually say something if he was gone
( ... )
Sherlock huffs a sigh when he's left alone, really starting to feel the burn of the drugs coursing through his system. He'd been so good for such a long time at keeping away from anything illegal, but the rush of the high was brilliant, and he immediately remembered why he'd resorted to it in the first place. It was brilliant. He only wished he could properly enjoy the high without still trying to make good his escape. Not that it seemed like much of a possibility. His arms and legs were zip-tied to the chair, and his thus far meager attempts to free himself already had the bonds cutting into his wrists. He could barely feel it, but he could see that his wrists were already bleeding a bit.
He groaned at the empty room at the combination of a dizzying wave of disorientation from the drugs as well as pure frustration that there was nothing he could do to get out of this. Not only did he get himself caught like an amateur, but he was sure the embarrassment of being rendered so helpless whenever John did find him would
( ... )
When John's time was half up, another friendly reminder from Moriarty pinged his phone. He snatched it up so fast his hand was a blur. He was in a cab on the way to the crime scene with a go ahead from Lestrade to be there, even though John wasn't technically on the payroll, he wasn't a cop, and that the Yard hadn't been there to secure the scene. Lestrade could hear the desperation in the doctor's voice to find his flatmate. He also informed John they were RIGHT behind him and not to do anything rash
( ... )
The euphoria didn't last as long as Sherlock would have liked, almost immediately giving way to him feeling lightheaded and dizzy again. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat, which was worrying at how loud and fast it thumped away in his chest. His breathing had also taken a turn for the erratic, both an effect of the drugs and the fact that he had no idea how much time had passed or would come to pass before the next dose. Jim hadn't given him the courtesy of letting him know how much time he had left, and he was getting increasingly paranoid that it would be any moment now. He held out hope that John would find him, but there was always the possibility that he didn't even realize he was missing yet. He was sure that any devastation John would feel at finding him dead would be overshadowed by the distinct feeling that Sherlock had brought this on himself and, therefore, deserved this. He struggled again against his bonds, hissing at the ties cutting into his skin even further. He couldn't really die this way,
( ... )
Comments 101
Loaded up with basic necessities, including some well overdue tea, John returned to the flat to find it ... empty. This wasn't a completely unusual event, Sherlock deciding he needed to check on something or find the nearest hoodlum to catch because he was bored waiting for John to get back. He didn't think much of it.
Four hours passed and John was honestly beginning to worry. The need to know where Sherlock could be was grinding at him, knotting up a wonderful anxious ball in his stomach. No texts, he'd usually say something if he was gone ( ... )
Reply
He groaned at the empty room at the combination of a dizzying wave of disorientation from the drugs as well as pure frustration that there was nothing he could do to get out of this. Not only did he get himself caught like an amateur, but he was sure the embarrassment of being rendered so helpless whenever John did find him would ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment