Elephant's Memory (Sherlock BBC)

The Great Game part 7: Bloodbath

Disclaimer: WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS TORTURE, VARIOUS DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD, STABBING, AND A SLIT THROAT. THIS CHAPTER IS RATED R AND SHOULD NOT (I REPEAT, NOT) BE READ BY WATTPAD MEMBERS UNDER THE AGE OF SIXTEEN, WATTPAD MEMBERS OF A WEAK STOMACH, OR MEMBERS WITH PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEMS TRIGGERED BY VIOLENCE OR ANY OF THE AFOREMENTIONED CONTENTS. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Thank you.

Clara Evangeline woke up on a hard, concrete floor. She was very sore; the assholes who had kidnapped her hadn't even treated her nicely. They had half-heartedly tossed her onto the floor without much real thought about it. Her hands were tied behind her, and her feet were loosely bound, but a silken rope of some sort pulled her feet and head back so that she looked like a bow. There was the sound of crinkling plastic in the background, and on the floor beneath her. Clara couldn't see where it was coming from, it was simply too dark.

"Hello?" She coughed out. Her throat was dry; she'd been unconscious for a while and she was dehydrated. A moment later, a droplet of water fell into her hair; that was unusual. Was the roof open to the elements? No, she couldn't hear the wind. Was it storming outside? She didn't hear rain. Had a pipe burst above? She turned onto her side with a thud, and some of the water fell onto her face, and, with some manoeuvring, into her mouth. It tasted clean.

She swallowed a few more drops of water and tried to speak again, a bit stronger. "Hello?" There was no reply, and the room just echoed. She let her head fall back to the floor, and winced.

"I know what you've done!" she continued. "I know what you did. But I was meant to know, wasn't I?" The plastic ruffled again. "You wanted me to know and suffer because I can't stop you from trying to kill me and those I love." She stared up into the darkness. "All I could really ever remember of you was your eyes. You didn't think that I would remember, did you? I'm the one that you're coming out of the shadows for." Silence. "You're a coward." Clara concluded. "You hide in the shadows and the smoke and behind mirrors and you hurt people without ever being seen." She closed her eyes momentarily- "You're a damned coward, and I hope you burn in hell for it!" -and then she heard it. The screaming.

Sudden footsteps hurried towards her; two firm sets of hands quickly undid her bonds. Before she could try to wriggle away, to run, her wrists were enclosed in wide, heavy, metal bracelets. Shackles. With a sharp cry, she was yanked to her feet by the wrists, and shrieked with pain as she felt her muscles in her right arm strain. Her feet were free, but it didn't help her much; she was being held off of the ground and the balls of her feet were just dancing on the surface of the concrete. The screaming got louder... and closer... it was mere yards away. Water dripped intermittently onto her head.

"Mary." Clara said, tears springing to her eyes, and suddenly, anger took over. There was a rustling of chains, and pleas for help, and pained weeping. "WHY ARE YOU PICKING ON THE CHILD! COWARD!" She yelled. The screaming stopped, replaced by only the weeping and carrying on of the teenager. There was the sound of manacles clasping, and then the lights went on.

"Agh!" Clara winced, blinded by the brilliant lights. She blinked several times, trying to see in the light.

"Clara!?!"Came an agonised cry. Clara blinked several times to adjust to the light.

The room around her was coated in plastic - taped to the floor to walk on, walls of clear plastic twenty feet high. They were in some sort of warehouse. Several bright lamps illuminated the space. Clara was chained to one of the support beams in the rafters; one end of the chain was connected to Clara and the other to a metal loop imbedded in the floor. On the other side of the room, Mary was also chained up. Her situation was much different. Three steel hoops were fashioned together in what could only be described as a giant time turner from the Harry Potter movies, just like the one from Clara's memories. Mary was in the middle, her arms and legs shackled to the innermost hoop, equidistant from each other. Two other hoops were around her; this would allow someone to turn her in any direction they wished. Mary herself looked alright; her head had been shaved, and she was a bit scuffed up from fighting for her freedom, but she otherwise seemed healthy. And traumatised.