Detective Holmes

12

The next day, John woke up stiffly from sleeping in his chair. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. He didn't see Sherlock, and he started to get a little worried. He checked outside, and bodyguards were gone.

"Sherlock! Are you in my room again!?" John yelled up the stairs. No response. Sherlock would know better than to piss him off twice in a row. 

John pulled his phone out and dialed Mycroft. He picked up immediately.

"You're worried about Sherlock. Don't be. I stuck a tracker in him awhile ago. He snuck off during the night to search for the hostages. I'm looking at his tracker as we speak." Mycroft told him before John could get a word out.

"Good. Where is he right now? My leg feels fine, so I can join." John asked.

"I don't think it would be wise for you to find him. He gave us the signal not too long ago that he's been captured. They'll never detect the technology we stuck onto Sherlock before he left. Sherlock is going to say with them for a bit to see what's happening then he'll give us the signal to storm in. We have them surrounded in a warehouse." Mycroft assured him.

"Well at least tell me which warehouse so I can storm in with the others." John compromised.

"Fine. But don't get yourself caught or killed. I'll send a car your way to take you there. Just wait till you see people going in, then join them." Mycroft ended the phone call and John quickly got changed and headed downstairs.

He walked out of the flat and into the car waiting for him. He was immediately driven to the location where the hostages were. John hopped out of the car and casually walked over to a blacked out van waiting next to the building. It must be Mycroft's people waiting to ambush.

He walked up and knocked on the door. "It's John Watson." He announced.

The door slide open and about a dozen semi-automatic rifles pointed towards him. John instinctively threw his hands up. 

"What are you doing? Lower your weapons." John whispered. 

He heard one of them say something in a completely different yet familiar language, and John soon realized he knocked on the wrong door. 

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and he blacked out.

John woke up suddenly as someone was kicking him awake. He rolled over and away from the foot, looking around. He had a throbbing headache, and could feel something warm drip down his head.

"Why are you here?" He asked. The accent was thick, but John knew the man was Arabic. He heard broken English many times before, and it sounded exactly like the men they'd detain.

"I don't know. Why don't you let me leave since I came at the wrong time?" John said sarcastically. He was waiting for the kick, and he did receive it. Right in the shoulder.

"Get up. We can use you." He ordered. John rolled over and pushed himself up. He finally looked around, and he saw many men dressed in all black gear, some with masks. All carrying semi-automatic rifles. He looked over to a corner, and there was a group of people working at desks with computers. Each had a capture watching them. And then he saw Sherlock. He was lumped over in the corner, bloodied, bruised, and unconscious. It scared John that no one was even patrolling Sherlock. 

"What the hell did you do to Sherlock?" John threatened the man.

"Sherlock is incapacitated indefinitely. Now move before I shoot you." He poked harshly into John's back to get him to walk.

John reluctantly walked over to a group of men, and they strapped him down to a swivel chair.

As soon as John was secured, they popped open a box. John looked over and saw hundreds of sticky bombs. The men started to slowly stick the bomb to the chair. And then they put a torso wrap around him that had more explosives rigged to it.