Sherlock - Dangerous Mould and Shot in the Dark Trilogy

Chapter 70

He was running through the halls of the house, which seemed to expand with every step he made. He realised that it wasn't the house that grew but he who shrank. He was ten again. He needed to find the stairs to the cellar. Fast, fast! His abductor was after him; that man. He wanted to incarcerate him again. He felt him coming closer. He ran. The staircase had moved. It had been at a different place in the old palace. This one, however, was much bigger and the cellar was so far away. He kept running.

The footfalls behind him became louder. He could smell the man, could feel his hot breath on his cold and sore skin. In front of him, he saw the way to the lowest storey of the building. It unfolded in front of him, spiralling down into deep darkness. He was scared, but there was no escape. With the courage born of desperation, he ran down the steps, tripping, sliding. His heart was beating wildly. Strangely, the light went with him, the darkness was only in front of and behind him. He saw the last steps and jumped, stumbling upon landing, but his instinct told him to get back on his feet and resume running. Fast! The light had disappeared and he was panting; the terror was clenching his heart and making it impossible to breathe. Curiously enough, he knew his way and eventually reached the door. The drumming of the footfalls behind him was becoming unbearable. The knob turned easily and he flung the door open. There was no handle on the inside of the door. He held the door open - and waited for the horror to come.

It was a cold, cold breath of agony, disgust, embarrassment, hatred and inexplicable fear that rushed past him through the open door. He was barely able to keep it open and a scream wanted to escape his lips. He was trembling. The very second he felt he wouldn't be able to bear it any longer, he slammed the door shut, locked it finally, and the freeing scream came from deep down his heart and ricocheted from the walls of his mind palace.

Sherlock woke with a start, his skin wet with sweat. He tried to recall his dream that he knew he had had, as the echo of it was still tingling in every fibre of his body, but it was simply impossible. He knew it had to do with his abduction, but the details were gone. The feelings of helplessness and terror that had hunted him through endless nights lately had vanished. Eventually. The word reverberated in his mind. He let out a deep sigh, pulled his blanket up to his chin and instantly fell asleep again peacefully.


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