Under The Weather

Chapter 8

Tw: violence

John

"So. My brother has been taken," Mycroft says, it's not a question, he must be able to tell.

It might be the fact that I was in a constant state of panic after I called Greg and all I could manage was "Sherlock" before I hung up. Or he could notice the atmosphere is different without Sherlocks presence in the flat, or that could just be me.

"How did it happen? You were in the same flat as him," Greg asks.

"I don't know," I mumble.

"I've checked his room already. They came in through the window. He woke up but was immediately drugged, there was a syringe amidst the clutter," Mycroft explains.

"God," Greg mutters.

"What does the criminal world see in Sherlock that makes him so interesting to torture?" I ask no one in particular, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

"I don't know, maybe they're all just out of their minds. I work with him on purpose and I still get tired of him," Greg jokes, trying to lighten the gloomy mood.

Sherlock

I've been kidnapped.

I'm alone.

Panic flutters around the edges of my mind, slowing advancing.

My breathing speeds up again. But this time there's no John to help me.

Oh God, John.

He probably thinks I'm dead. What if he's worried! I don't want to worry him. Why would he be worried about me? I'm just some random person he shares a flat with. And puts him in danger. And probably annoys him. And he probably hates me and this is the opportunity of a lifetime for him. But I'll never get to tell him; How something as simple as him existing brightens my life, how his eyes shine when the sun hits them at just the right angle, how amazing it is that he wants to stick around. How much I appreciate him. How much I love him.

Air struggles to flow through my lungs as I drown in my thoughts. I curl into my self as much as I can, comforted by the feeling of my body close.

Out of nowhere, I hear breathing not matched with mine. I hold my breath. And the breathing continues.

"Hello, Sherlock. Did you miss me?" That familiar voice. The one that tortures my brain.

"No," I mutter in disbelief, unraveling my limbs.

"Aww, but Sherlock! We've had so much fun."

"A bit too much for me," I say, forcing confidence into my voice.

"Are you calling me boring? I don't do boring, Sherlock!" The Irish man exclaims.

"Yes, I can tell," I remark.

A small 'beep' rings through the room before Moriarty starts talking again, "You can send them in now. Sherlock isn't having enough fun, yet."

The sound of metal against concrete follows his instructions, opening a contrasting square of light, soon replaced with 2 distinct patterns of movement as darkness retakes the small room.

"Help Sherl here have some fun if you boys will."

Suddenly, a strong kick is placed into my rib cage. I repeatedly receive more kicks around all my body.

After a, seemingly, long time, the assault stops. And the square of light takes the three people away. Leaving me no one but myself in the dark room.

John

It had been almost 5 days since Sherlock was taken.

Lestrade has been using his power on the force to help any way he can. While Mycroft has used his "small" position in the government to get any information he can. As for me, I've searched as much of the London streets as I can manage. Though we have no way of knowing if Sherlock is still in London. Or Europe for that matter.

"We found him!" Greg says, running through the door.

"What! How?" I ask, already grabbing my coat.

"I put my best team on the job of tracking the person who messaged you and Mycroft. And they were finally able to find the source." He explains as we jog down the stairs and out of the flat.

"Does Mycroft know?" I ask.

"Called him on my way here. He's going to meet us back here."

We climb into his car and head to where Sherlock is being held.

Sorry, this chapters kinda short.  I couldn't figure out how else to make it so that it would be longer plus feel fluid. Thank you for reading!