Born in Black and White

Chapter 39

Sherlock slumped in his chair. He couldn't think, he could barely breathe. All he could do was feel. He recalled sharply why he never wanted to harbor sentiment in the first place. Tears were still falling down his cheeks and though his throat was raw, he continued to murmur behind his gag at the still body on the floor.

He wasn't sure how long they had been there, night had turned to day and day had waned to a sunset, he wasn't sure how many times. The room was orange and pink through the shaded window and Kairi had not moved. She was shivering more and more now, her breathing gone from rasping to desperate gasps whenever her brain could remind itself it needed oxygen, causing her lungs to spasm in desperation.

Everything hurt inside and out, he continued to yank against his restraints, weakly now, pitifully so. He was spent and never in his life had he felt so perfectly inconsequential. His sorrow, his rage all blurred together, melded into one blinding feeling that pumped through his veins and tainted his vision. For the first time in his life he felt truly, utterly hopeless.

There was no grand design to Moran's plan. It was not a race against the clock. There was no opportunity for Sherlock to prevail. This wasn't a challenge to see who could best who. This was only Moran, using every black way in his body to systematically destroy Sherlock and Kairi. He would continue his machinations until he grew bored: he would kill Sherlock and leave Kairi a lifeless husk of a human being - the possibility of it being the other way around was frightfully apparent as well.

Even Sherlock could not match his depravity. He didn't want Moran to suffer, he wanted Moran to die. Any breath that escaped that man's lips was a dagger in Kairi's heart. Sherlock would sacrifice his pride, his body, his mind - he didn't care - he would give it all to have one chance to kill Moran. He would not hesitate. He would not falter, not if it resulted in Kairi's pain. There was nothing to learn from Moran, no grand intelligence to uncover. Yes Moran was intelligent, but it was tainted by a pure sadistic evil. No one could benefit from his knowledge. Moran was a psychopath, a sadist, and he deserved to die.

Sherlock felt his vision begin to blur, his thoughts began to swim and he shook his head deliberately to keep himself awake. He took a deep breath, fighting against the roaring pain in his shoulder and he began to struggle again, groaning and murmuring to Kairi who was still motionless.

He dropped his head, breathing heavily, his vision spotting from the pain radiating through him. Moran had shot him and beat him senseless before tying him to the chair. He anticipated a broken rib or a few, possible internal bleeding, and numerous bruised organs from Moran's flying fists, striking his kidneys with precision.

He halted his breathing when he heard movement.

His head shot up and he tried to keep in the groan that wanted to escape him when his vision went fuzzy.

Kairi had moved.

Slowly, he watched her arms uncoil from around her legs. She rolled to her stomach, her legs shaking as haggard breaths escaped her lips. Her head was still low, she wasn't looking at him, but her shoulders tensed and she began to slowly crawl and pull herself across the floor in his direction.

Sherlock stayed quiet, watching her deliberate and slow movements to keep her chain from scraping against the floor. She got minutely closer, her body coiling and shaking with each movement, no doubt sore and bruised from Moran's attack. She extended the chain as far as possible, lying on the floor and shaking with uncertainty, she attempted to spread herself over the largest amount of area her tiny limbs could extend. Sherlock heaved a shuddering sigh, his eyes pooling with tears, so utterly thankful to see her move towards him.

She stretched and stretched, but it was no use. There was no way she could extend further. There was no way for her to reach Sherlock. She sagged against the weight of her failure, rolling onto her back with pitiful, silent sobs. She looked up at him with hopeless tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry." She whispered. Sherlock tried to keep her eye contact as he shook his head, not needing an apology from her. He gave her a smile and kind eyes, but she closed him out immediately. She slammed her head against the floor, grunting in pain and then heaved out a determined breath. She rolled again, back on her stomach and extended her leg out towards Sherlock this time. She was barely closer when she let out an anguished whine.