His Return and Her Fall ((Parent!Lock))

Chapter Eight - The Remaining

"You are  a Holmes-Watson," John says sternly, holding onto Hamish's shoulders and looking him dead in the eye. "You do not give up. You never give up." The cold wind beat against them as the sun rose, the school teasing the young lad of his sister-less side.  

"You go in there," John says, pointing to the school, "And you learn the most amazing things you can. If you ever need your Papa or myself, call. You know where your emergency phone is in your bag. Okay?" he asks, Hamish looking to his feet and letting out a shaken sigh. "Hamish, please trust Papa and I to handle this, okay?" he asks again, not getting a response from the boy.  

John kneels before him now, letting go of his shoulders and looking slightly up to him. "Hamish, if you would like, I will sit in class with you and help with the lesson and make sure that no one stares at you."  

"They'll stare more when they see you there," he pesters, looking to his father and glaring. Hamish was never like this. He was never defensive of his personal space, coming from a hugs and kisses family, and would never say no to his own father.   

"You know what I'll do then?"  

"What?"  

"I'll scare them off. I'm a big great bear, haven't you known?"  

Hamish looks to him, confused of his words. Papa did call him Great Bear sometimes, but that was when the door was closed and the tele was on. He nods, smiling a bit. "Fine, then. You can sit with me."  

"Good," John says with a struggle to get to his feet again. "Let's go inside and sit. The bell is about to ring anyways."  

Hamish smiles, grabbing his father's hand and leading him into the school, passed by many children in the red and grey uniforms required at his level. They spread away from the two like Moses parting the Red Sea, watching eyes and scared faces filled to the brim with worry darting about past them. 

It was on the news in the morning, according to Mycroft who at least cared enough to call and tell them. He was more adjacent of the family, but would drop a hello in the creepiest way possible when not working. John looks to the rushing children, seeing the terror and sorrow in their young faces. It seemed everyone knew. It was discomforting, but slightly the opposing side when to came to Mr. Collins.

"Misha, John," he says, stopping them in the hallway, looking to the kids walking past. "How are you this morning? Well rested, I would assume not so. Please, come with me." Mr. Collins, a well dressed man in a black suit and red stripped tie and grey hair, blue eyes, was a caring man, may it seem different to others. Spinning to turn around on the heel of his dress shoe, he makes a full 360, making a face at Hamish and then the other 180 to have his back to them.

Hamish laughs, then frowns again, the rush of a possibly dead sister looming over his young mind. They walk, John looking to his son every so often down the now empty hallways, for the bell had chimed four times, the start of the six hour day. 

They reach the door, Mr. Collins peering in and seeing everyone seated, whispering about each other. "Mr. Watson, I will be glad to get you a seat. I am teaching the class of the war." No other words were needed. John knew which war he was talking about. The war in Afghanistan, which he was a part of. With a nod, the door opens by a student's hand and they step in, Hamish taking his seat and nodding to other kids of his well being.

"I'll be fine. My dads know exactly what they're going to do," he says to the kid beside him, "I hope."

John, standing beside the teacher, nervously licks his lips and lets out a stifled sigh as Mr. Collins gives the intro, sets the board up, and directs the children to do as told. Watching his son slightly, he noticed he was being slower than the others, the teacher having nothing of it. Maybe everything would get better by the end of the day.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was a busy bee about the flat, humming and whimpering and whispering to himself, hands flying about as he does so himself, trying to configure all of the madness in his mind at the moment. With a sewn up gun wound across his side, he groans in pain and falls against the table in the kitchen, eyes wide. 

"Oh God this hurts like a bastard," he thinks to himself, to much pain coursing through him for him to speak it aloud. Plus, what was the purpose? There was no one home, and not even Ms. Hudson was there at the time. She was at the shop, getting milk and eggs for the boys. 

Knees giving in, he falls to the floor and cries out, shaking everywhere and feeling the tears form in his eyes. "Mycroft!" he yells for no reason, hoping his older brother would be of the rescue this time around. "Someone!" he shouts, gasping and crying out in pain more. 

Just before his eyes close, along with the heavy beating of his heart, he hears heavy foot steps up the steps. The door opening, then his body carelessly lifted and flung over a strong, hard shoulder. He groans, feeling the life drain from his body as he blacks out of the pain.

---

"haley.... Haley... Haley?" Lela asks, shaking her shoulder. The girl was tied up, for what felt like forever, against a metal slab, shirt torn open, leaving on her bra, and the same going for her trousers, leaving on her panties. She was freezing, face as pale as the moon and eyes as cold as the night she was drowning in of the dim room, the only light in the corner from where the light was on in the hall. 

"Haley, thank goodness you're awake. It's me, Lela Ashward. Remember?" she asks, getting a slow nod from the consulting detective's daughter. With a sigh, the ginger looks back, then to Haley. "I'm here to get you out, okay?"

Something was keeping her from staying awake, obviously. Narcotics or something like it. Whatever it was, she was drugged and hit hard by so. "Where am I?" she asks, weakly, sending chills up Lela's back. Dressed in a red sweater and black tights, she bites her lip and shake her head. 

"I can't let you know that," she says, her British accent fading into a Scottish one. "But i can tell you this. I'm not Lela Ashward. I'm Amelia Pond, and I have a friend that can save us all."

"Dalton?"

"No. Better." She fights hard with the belts, snapping one open from on her chest. "Don't you worry. He's always a bit late. Hopefully he has Starbucks to wake you up..."

"Where are my clothes?" Haley asks, jolting about as Lela, or Amelia, or whoever she was was struggling with the one around her waist. 

"He took them. Moriarty. But don't worry, I've got some for you, okay?" she asks in a hushed voice now, looking to the door every few seconds. "Just stay awake, or I will hurt you. I mean, not actually hurt you, but you get the point."

She nods slowly, her head beating loudly and her heart racing in her ears. What was going on? Who was who? Would she live? Every question was running through her mind as she sat up, her wrists still bound to the table. 

"Haley, just trust me, okay?" she asks, looking up to her and smiling a bit. "Trust me that I can get you out-"

A loud bang fills the room, glass shattering to the floor and the lost train of though from the ginger leaving Haley in awe. 

"Lela?! Lela!" she cries, pulling at the belts as the girl falls to the floor, bleeding upon the concrete as the door opens and a man stands in the light, just a figure. 

"No more of her, now is there? Same will go for you, Haley," James coos, stepping froward and turning on the light, blinding her. She shuts her eyes, looking away and slowly opening them, getting adjusted to the classroom like lighting above her. 

"Haley Jane, tsk tsk tsk. How dare you. Letting her free you? You know she's a lifeless body now, right? Her friend will be killed on sight and you will be left alone. Also, I've got a surprise for you." He says these words almost without a breath, but long and teasingly against her will. They burn into her skull. Her best friend was dead, she was going to be too. 

"What. What's the surprise?" she asks as James slowly but surely ties the belts back onto her, pushing her back down onto the table. "Tell me, now!"

"Your Daddy stopped by for tea," is all he says before leaving, laughing menacingly to himself, making her cry out. 

"Leave him be!" she screams continuously, tugging at the belts, the leather cutting into her skin and burning her. This only makes her scream more, until a man comes in with a rather large needle and grabs her jolting arm, injecting her until she passed out.