Sherlock x Mute!Reader

10. Final round

"The cellar!", you heard Sherlock's voice shout through the speakers of the television on the wall.
The camera followed him through the rooms as he searched for a way downstairs. Watson was running behind him, trying to keep up.
"What makes you think that he's talking about the cellar?", Watson's voice was breathless.
The camera stopped as Sherlock stood in front of a rusty metal door and tried to open it.
It wouldn't.
Irritated he tried again, pulling the door handle with both hands but besides squeaking loudly it didn't move an inch.
Sherlock quickly examined the door as he answered: "He said, "It's getting cold in here". The whole museum is heated - except for the cellar. Not a very creative riddle though...".

"Sherlock,", Watson suddenly said, his voice was alarmingly cold.
Knowing that something wasn't right Sherlock turned around.
Watson stood in the middle of the hallway, stiff like a soldier.
In the shadows behind him, something moved.
Within seconds Sherlock had his gun in his hand and pointed it at the man behind Watson.
"You're not scaring me with your gun, Sherlock. I know that you won't shoot.", Jonathan stated, his voice dripping with confidence.
Sherlock laid his left hand around the right to support the aim at Jonathan: "Why wouldn't I?"
Silver metal reflected the dim blue light of the room next to Watson's head as Jonathan waved his own gun slightly.
"Because if you shoot, I'll shoot too. And then, SPLASH -", he gestured his gun as if he would shoot and pushed Watson's head to the side with the gun barrel, "your friend's brain will be all over the walls."
The smile on Jonathan's face pissed Sherlock off.
"What are you doing this all for?", he asked, slowly walking towards Jonathan and Watson.
Jonathan's mad laugh echoed through the floor and he wiped some tears out of the corner of his eyes as he got a hold of himself again.
"You really don't know, do you? Oh, poor Sherlock.."

Through the tv screen, you saw how someone suddenly appeared behind Sherlock, pointing a small gun at him.
You screamed silently, yanked at the handcuffs, and threw yourself off the bed to get free. Hot tears of fear rolled down your face as your mouth voiceless shouted Sherlock's name.
Helpless you witnessed him collapsing on the ground.
The adrenaline rushed through your body, making you numb as you madly fought with the metal around your wrists.
You grabbed the chain with your hands and pushed your feet against the cold and rusty frame of the bed.
The room was filled with the loud squeaking of the bed, metal bending dangerously under your force, mixed with Jonathan's hollow laugh and Watson shouting Sherlock's name, which echoed through the speakers.
Suddenly there was a loud snapping sound and the resistance of the handcuffs was gone.
The air got knocked out of your lungs as you hit the floor hard with your back.
Dizzy you tried to follow what Jonathan spoke into the camera:
"I bet I gave you a heart attack there, didn't I?!", he said excitedly, bowing down with a proud grin on his face as if he had just accomplished his greatest feat.
"Don't worry (y/n), he's not dead. Just sleeping peacefully."
With that, the tv suddenly switched off and cold and silent darkness encased you.

You don't know for how long you've been trying to break the metal door open, pulling at it, kicking it, running against it.
But it was no use.
You had searched for another way out, but there was none.
Not even a window.
You had broken down, crying again and sitting trembling in a corner.
At one point Jonathan came into the room, pulled you up forcefully by your arm, and took you with him.
You had tried to break free from his grip as he dragged you through a cold floor - until he pointed his gun at you.

Now you're sitting in a dimly lighted room on a plastic chair, your arms tied to it with tape.
"I know I don't need to do this but...", Jonathan said as he taped your mouth. "The aesthetic!"
He chuckled darkly and stepped back from you, his hands at his waist as he looked proudly at his masterpiece.
You were shivering, your eyes and cheeks red from all the crying, your hair was sticking to your face and the tape was covering your mouth from ear to ear.

Suddenly you heard a grunt beside you and the rustling of clothes.
Someone coughed and grunted as if in pain.
Jonathan clapped his hands excitedly and flipped a switch on the wall: "He's awake, finally!"
A light flickered a few times before it flooded the room in a bright white.
You had to squeeze your eyes tightly and from the groaning sound of the person next to you, he did the same.
Blinking you tried to adjust to the new light and looked to your right from where the sounds came.
Your eyes met with Watson's and even from the distance, you could see that he was relieved to see you.
He was sitting at least 2 meters away from you, also tied to a white plastic chair and with tape on his mouth.
He flinched back as Jonathan ruffled his hand through Watson's gray hair.
"Let's begin the final round."

A big tv screen was switched on and made Watson and you turn your head towards it.
You could see Sherlock, who was laying on the ground of a small room, unconscious.
"Good morning, Sherlock!", Jonathan all of a sudden shouted, making you jump.
He stood between you and Watson, his arms spread wide to both sides and a big smile on his face.
He had a small microphone attached to his shirt, a remote control in his left hand and a gun in his right.
Only now you noticed a camera standing on a tripod some meters away from your left which was aligned at Watson and you.

Grunts and groans sounded through speakers, echoing back from the stone walls.
It was Sherlock, who was waking up and tried to pull himself together.
Jonathan's smile grew even wider as he saw Sherlock in such a state, trapped and defenseless, knowing that the man, the great Detective was fully under his control.

"Good morning, Sherlock!", someone suddenly shouted and woke Sherlock up from his dreamless sleep.
His head hurt and his mind was foggy.
Grunting he tried to sit up, holding his head with his hands and massaging his temples.
It took him some seconds to puzzle everything that happened together but once he remembered he jolted up.
His eyes wandered around the dark room, examining the walls quickly to get an overview of the situation he was in.
He noticed a door to his right and reached his hand out to check if it's open.
The second his fingers touched the steel of the door handle a projector was suddenly switched on and projected a video on the wall beside him.
It showed Watson and (y/n), tied to chairs and Jonathan standing between them with his arms wide open.
Sherlock's stomach turned as he saw in which state you were.

"Sherlock, my old friend!", Jonathan joked, his voice resounding from the speakers in the small room.
"What do you think of my little game so far?"
"I can't say that I like it.", Sherlock answered teeth-gnashingly.
"Oh, how sad. But I think you will have fun with this final round, I promise!"
Jonathan walked over to Watson and squeezed his cheeks, making the doctor yank his face away from him.
"The rules are simple:", he explained. "You shoot one and the other one will live. If you shoot Watson, (y/n) will live and you two are free to go. If you shoot (y/n), Watson will live. Simple, isn't it?"
Sherlock's face darkened: "What's the catch?"
Jonathan chuckled, now standing behind you and caressing your cheek.
"There is no catch."

You turned your face away from Jonathan's hand.
Just the fact that he was standing so close to you made you sick and you definitely couldn't stand him touching you.
"There is a gun in the right pocket of your coat.", he said into the microphone on his shirt, his eyes glued to the tv screen, which showed Sherlock slowly pulling a gun out of his pocket.
"Just point it left, for Watson, or right, for (y/n) and all this will be over.", Jonathan smirked. " I will do the dirty work of course!'

Scared shitless you stared into the barrel of Jonathan's gun.
He was standing still, letting Sherlock have some time to think about his decision.
It had only been a few seconds before he started talking again, but they felt like hours.
Hours of pure fear.
"So, who do you want to shoot? Watson?", Jonathan's voice echoed in hour head as he pointed his gun at John now.
"Or (y/n)?", he unlocked his gun and pointed it back at your shaking frame.

Oh well, oh well.
Finally another chapter!

I actually planned on ending the story with this chapter but it's getting longer than I thought and I don't want to make you wait even more (I'm stuck at the ending so yeah 😩)
I hope you like it is far and I promise to not take months for the next chapter again haha.

Thank you all for the nice comments and votes ❤