Stereotypical (BBC Sherlock)

Chapter 17 - Hostages

Ambassador Heriden shook his head slowly. "We were in France. I remember going home with Elise, my mistress. When I woke up, I was in some building and she was tied up in front of me. I think I was tied too. And there was this voice that kept saying you have a choice. One person only. You have a choice. And there was a gun. And then I woke up this morning in London with blood all over me and the gun in my hand. I don't trust the police, whoever did this could probably find me easily if I went to them."

He opened his jacket to reveal a bloodstained dress shirt and a gun in the inside pocket.

"Please, can you help me?"

Sherlock pointed at the man's arm. "That tattoo on your wrist. What is it?"

The ambassador pulled his sleeve back and showed us a tattoo of the Nevermore circle. Sherlock looked up at him.

"Why do you have that?"

"I got it..." His face blanked and then contorted in confusion. "I got it..." He stood suddenly and rushed into the kitchen, retching into the sink.

Sherlock sat back. "Seems memory wipes are possible now."

The ambassador came back and fell into the chair. He struggled to breathe for a moment and muttered an apology. "I don't remember how I got the tattoo or what it means. Do you think it's important?"

"I think it's very important. The smallest things could be the difference between life and death. Tell us what you know."

"That's it. I've told you everything."

"Have you ever been part of a secret society?"

The ambassador looked confused. "No. Why? Is that what this is?"

"Are you certain?"

"I mean there was this politically involved organization that I supported and they're barely known. But it's not secret."

"What is it called?"

"N-N..." He gagged, putting his hand over his mouth to keep it in. "Oh my god, I don't know. What's wrong with me?"

"You've been through a traumatizing event and your was most likely memory wiped. Your brain is trying to account for the trauma when it does not remember the cause."

Sliding back in the chair, the ambassador's breath escalated quickly. He looked around frantically, trying to speak. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his hands began to shake. He started to cry.

John stood quickly and knelt in front of him. "Ambassador, listen to me. I need you to look at me."

He shook his head and whimpered. John took his face in his hands and forced him to comply. "You're safe here. Breathe in. Come on, breathe. And out. In. Out. Good. Just breathe. Look around the room. Describe it for me."

"It's um," he whimpered again. "There's a skull on the mantle. And a knife on a board game. And a violin over there. There's a lot of uh... Science equipment over there. Are those fingers?" His breathing slowed again and the tears stopped as he started to describe the wallpaper and furniture.

"Look at me. You're safe here, okay? I promise."

He nodded. "Thank you."

John sat back down, looking over at me with a worried glance. Just how safe was he?

The ambassador's breath hitched suddenly and he arched up with a cry before slumping in his seat. He fell to to the floor just as John stood.

John felt for a pulse. He shook his head, eyes wide and shoulders rising and falling in a defeated shrug. "He's dead. H-How could he just be..."