Chapter 1 Decisions
A/N SHERLOCK is property of bbc...i dont own the characters although i do love to dream about them. :)
CHAPTER ONE. DECISIONS
John tried to catch his breath. They only had 15 minutes at most, before Team Kidnap, as he'd dubbed their pursuers, would be on them. The night air was cold, oh how he welcomed it, the fresh air of the open. As opposed to the stale air of a prison cell, one with no windows and a the irritating flicker of a florescent light. Whatever the bastards had shot into Sherlock still held him in the grip of a drugged stupor, actually that was a bit of a plus, considering some of the dark haired detectives injuries.
"Train yard. Right. Ok, ok. But where the hell-" John spoke to himself scanning the area. His taller companion leaning into him, breathing less shallow, maybe the cold air was sobering Sherlock up.
John balanced his friend, gently leaning Sherlock up against the shell of an empty cargo container. The good doctor worked at pulling Sherlock's dark coat shut, fastening the black buttons tightly. Ignoring the shaking of his own cold numbed hands, or was it the onset of infection? He pushed that down, unaware of his blood staining the scratchy bellstaff coat.
"Switzerland." Sherlock grumbled, head tilted back, exposing the fair skin of his neck. John could see the dark bruises caused by large meaty hands that had tried to squeeze the air(and life) from an otherwise talkative detective. John could only guess what Sherlock had deduced about the unhappy goon causing such a hostile response. Either way John added that to another reason why he didn't feel bad about killing Mr. Meatyfists.
"How the hell could you know that?" John muttered shaking the memory of the dead man from him. John now shifted his own weight moving to stand next to his friend, so they both leaned against the support of the metal hull. The tired doctor tried focusing on staying ahead of his own pain. Refusing to acknowledge it, the sharp ache was pinching at his side, causing him to catch his breath.
"Heard them talking while they questioned me." Sherlock's clumsy drunk like movements didn't help him stand on his own, he quickly leaned back onto the cold hull. The moonlight reflected against dark eyes blinking rapidly, then shaky hands wiping and rubbing at them in frustration. John frowned seeing the makeshift finger splint he'd hastily fashioned for Sherlock's broken ring finger and pinky, at least their captors hadn't cut the appendages off as threatened. "Why is everything spinning?" irritably said, causing John to smile despite himself, knowing this a sign that his friend was coming to. "Hard to think with this blasted spinning."
"Ok, Switzerland. Bloody hell! Switzerland!" John read the cargo container the two now leaned against and as usual no surprise Sherlock was right and they were in Switzerland.
"John is it necessary to yell?" more irritation, good.
"Oh, sorry its just-never mind." He peered over his shoulder hearing the sounds of nearing trucks, trucks or vans no doubt they'd figured which direction he'd headed in. The ex soldier only had a hand gun and a hunting knife, his clumsy hands checked the slide, "yup one bullet. Fuck!" he swore to himself. Well at least they had something. After all, that's all he could manage on such short notice, compliments of their recently deceased interrogator.
Ok, weapons inventory; check, plan of action; take the mobile with the low battery call Mycroft hope he can track the signal before the damn thing dies. Give Sherlock the gun, a precaution they may- they get passed me, I'll keep the knife. "Sherlock look at me-" he held his friend's face in his cold hands, examining it in the dim light of the moon.
Thankfully a bright, full, clear night, no clouds maybe a good signal for the phone, things would look up. "Sherlock, I'm going to call Mycroft. Then maybe we can find a car that's leaving this place, stow away and hope to god that your big brother can triangulate the signal before the hit squad comes to collect. Now, let me look you over, do you know what they gave you?" Sherlock tried to stand now,
"I'm dizzy-no idea but it seems to be wearing down. Thought they said they'd wait so I would be awake for further interrogation. John why are we in a Swiss train yard?"
"Well, it was either go left to the heavily wooded forest, or right to a means of escape. Seeing how you weren't much help I had no choice but to make the decision on my own. I opted for the train station."
"Makes sense. No signal in the woods although we'd have more cover, it would make it harder to be found and not to mention hungry predators." Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes clasped tightly shut.
"Yeah, well I'm just playing it by ear." He ran a hand over his friend's torso, broken ribs, bastards. He winced sympathetically and suddenly grateful Sherlock wasn't completely alert to these injuries.
John had tried these last two days to keep their abductors more focused on himself, but that only lasted a bit. Seeing how they wanted Mycroft's attention and what better way then to send video footage of a big burly man beating the government officials defenseless little brother.
The only reason John had been allowed to live was to doctor the consulting detectives injuries, seeing how a fatal injury had taken out their own on base doctor. John felt no remorse for shooting that man, a doctor should know better. So he deserved the bullet to the chest. Besides John wasn't going to allow the mad man to use a scalpel on his very conscious friend. It was all a show an attempt at a warning to Mycroft, a statement that these bastards meant business.
Well John had mucked that up for them, served them right the sodden idiots. He'd managed to temporarily free himself from the hold of the big toad, catching them all by surprise; he'd disarmed Mr. Toad. (the brute's lack of neck, his bald head, bulky shoulders, and wide mouth made him resemble said creature)who by the way insulted him by not even thinking to tie John's hands up. No, that toad somehow assumed that Doctor John Watson was weak and not a threat.
Something John gladly proved wrong more than once first after disarming Toad man and then shooting Doctor Scalpel, another shot took out the other goon holding a hog-tied Sherlock.
That's as far as John Watson got before some other bastard tackled him from behind, dammit he'd been so focused on those in the line of sight it hadn't occurred to him that anyone else would have been in the seemingly abandoned warehouse, of course a fight ensued. The familiar click of a cocked weapon ready to fire, made him freeze, one of the other men he'd shot in the legs was up holding his semi automatic to John's head.
"Very stupid Doctor, we were going to let you die quick. But now I think we have fun torturing you. Then I think we kill you!" this was coming from the cameraman, obviously the brains for lack of better word of the group..
"Well that wouldn't be wise, seeing how he just shot your only doctor and you have injured men to worry about." Sherlock's eyes locked on Johns, a silent thank you exchanged between the two.
"He's got a point boss." The new player that tackled John kept a tight hold on the man, digging a knee into the doctors back, now taking out his handcuffs wrenching the doctors hands behind him. John's war injured shoulder screamed in protest, but he bit back any sound.
"Fine." The leader snapped, looking at the broken camera at his feet, "This is why I think mobile phones are so much more useful." He sighed taking out his own camera phone and sent a swift kick to the side of Sherlock's head, causing John to struggle against the hand cuffs.
"Bastard!" John growled trying to start forward.
"No worries doctor, he'll live. You can check him over yourself." Camera phone man laughed sending the video file with a text to an unknown contact. Then he threw the phone onto the cement by the unconscious Sherlock, stomping on it.
"Get him to a cell, and show the Doctor to the infirmary. Light that on fire. I'm going to need a new phone. Pity I liked that one. I owe you for that one Doctor, I rather had become attached to the new iphone."
"Oh, they'll be out with another one next week no doubt. Maybe it'll have an app for stupid" John received a hard punch to the gut rocking him to his knees. At least from where he stood, Sherlock was fine, unconscious and they wouldn't be stomping on his vulnerable form just yet.
Now after John had disarmed Mr. Toad yet again days later, he'd managed to get them this far. Sherlock was all right, just some scrapes, bruises, a few broken fingers and ribs but nothing too serious.
Taking a deep breath John scanned the box cars lined up on the three different tracks, finally finding an open boxcar, there were several trains in the yard engines going, this was as good as any, he hoisted his friend up. They were going to make it. "Here Sherlock, take the gun, it has one bullet left." He panted whispering frantically pressing the weapon into his confused friend's hand.
John cringed clutching at his side, damn the bandages he'd wrapped around the wound felt sticky with the blood already starting to soak through, he hissed now, adrenaline starting to drop. He couldn't pull himself up the pain was starting to wear at him.
"John?" Sherlock's worried voice cut through the weariness seeping into the Doctor's tired bones.
"Its alright Sherlock, move to the back of the car into the shadow." Breathless, dammit, just needed some energy.
John had dragged and half carried a drugged Sherlock five miles to this train yard, on three hours of sleep and a day with no food, managing to keep his energy. The doctor once soldier, only stopped once to check Sherlock's vitals and of course to quickly stitch himself up with the small med kit he'd lifted from the kidnappers infirmary. All that seemed to finally be catching up to him at a very inconvenient time.
"Mycroft" John croaked into the stolen Iphone, not waiting for any other answers. "Don't. I mean-tell them you don't negotiate with terrorists-" he chuckled despite himself.
"John? What the hell-" John heard the men nearing, the trains on both sides of him were starting to move and just as quick he made the decision or rather it was made for him, knowing he'd be visible soon. "I don't know where we are, but come get him. He'll be all right. "
"John? I'm locking on to the signal. John-" Mycroft's voice sounded distant but John didn't care, " We are in Switzerland if that helps. On a train. Thought I'd make the decision easier for you Mycroft Holmes. Government official, brother of a mad genius detective." He sighed now "Tell him-well Goodbye Mycroft."
"John?" and John tossed the mobile into the boxcar, he must of hit Sherlock cause he heard him groan. "Sorry." He mumbled and then cut away from the moving car, starting to gain speed. He needed to put distance between them so they couldn't guess which train the detective had been put on.
The Doctor moved as if going to grab a railing of another end car, the one going the opposite direction of Sherlock's thus buying the drugged man some time.
Mycroft was quick and he'd find his annoying little brother within an hour, maybe thirty minutes, but John would give him this head start.
"There he is!" he heard someone shout, "Stop that train!" another growled John smiled knowing his plan worked. It didn't matter, he was losing blood faster, if he were lucky he'd be unconscious by the time they really got down to the more painful methods of their torturing techniques.
"Goodbye Sherlock-" he mumbled as one of the kidnappers in black tackled him hard, his whole body thrown to the frozen train yards gravel floor, and thankfully he blacked out.