Sherlock Holmes And 007

Chapter Five

*This Chapter contains material that is detailing content that may not be appropriate for a young audience*

My kidnapping last year was difficult. My therapist struggled to help me cope with it. But the files and evidence show triggered the PTSD, and I returned.

I'm tied to a chair. The men in matching suits guarded me in the backroom of the warehouse. Some had guns. Others just held a lit cigar.

"What are we supposed to do with her" one asked.

"Guard her" the man by the door responded.

"So we have been for the past sixteen hours" .

"Its our job"

"Well we minus well have something to do to pass the time"

"Like what" another asked. He was the young timid one.

The one by the door, who had been giving me weird looks the entire time then stepped forward. He set his gun on the table and took off his suit jacket.

"Leave us, wait out side you'll get your turn".

My heart then dropped into my stomach. My breathing grew heavy.

"No no no!!" I yelled in terror.

I then felt a gag being tied to my head, muffling my shrieks. I couldn't help but cry. He untied me from the chair and forced me to the back table In the corner of the room. Tieing me on the table, I kicked and tried my best but it was useless.
My tank top made its way to the floor as he undressed. I blacked out after he unbuckled my belt and brought my jeans down to my knees. It was painful and freaking out but more stress on me. I can only recall few moments, it's mostly a blur.
I remember some guys coming in and going out when they were done. I can remember the sound of my panic and the panting noises we both made. I remember my head hitting the table, the pushing and pure stigma it gave me. And the most horrible thing I remember is, I remember the feeling of each one of them.
I woke up later if it was hours, or days, I didn't know. I was still on the aluminum table. The bindings were gone, but they left burns on my wrists and ankles. I immediately whipped the tears from my eyes. I pulled my pants up and put my bra on. While searching for my tank top, I noticed his gun was still on the wooden table by the door.
I grabbed it and we about to leave the room when I herd gun shots. I ducked down under the table. Where I found my top in a bundle lying against the wall. I slipped it on. The gun fire seeced and I slowly sneaked out of the back room.

"Who do you work for!!" I herd someone yell. I recognized the voice.

"Sherlock" I whispered.

Peering around the corner I saw them, the Consulters back facing me. I then pointed the gun....and fired.

You know the rest of the story. He died and I didn't tell anyone what really happened out of pure shame. But reliving all this just was too much.

"Amy are you ok" Sherlock asked.

"I...." I was about to respond saying I was feeling ill, But right then my head met the table and I rolled out of my seat and on to the floor. And I passed out.