Gone

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Lestrade was slight worried when Sherlock didn’t answer his phone. Sherlock always answered his phone, especially to Lestrade. So he called Mycroft, his last resort idea.

“Mycroft, its DI Lestrade.”

“Ah, yes what has my brother done now?” Mycroft’s voice was slick with just a hint of a sigh.

“He’s vanished. John was kidnapped a week ago and Sherlock almost went crazy trying to find him. Then yesterday, Sherlock disappeared as well. Nobody has seen him for over 24 hours.”

There was a very long pause before Mycroft said,

“Did he give any clues as to where John might be?”

“Somewhere in the warehouse along the Thames. There are too many for us to search alone.”

“I’ll have men out looking immediately. Thank you, Lestrade.” Mycroft hung up and Lestrade hoped that he had done enough

……

John was screaming again, fire broiling through his veins. The drugs that they had given him and Sherlock were unknown to both of them and Sherlock had already passed out again. The captors had chained John and Sherlock together, drugged them and left. Pain and exhaustion were pulling John under and he knew that Sherlock hadn’t been lucidly conscious since he first passed out. As the darkness slowing began to claim him, John heard yelling. Dragging his eyelids open, he saw a team of Mycroft’s people storming into the building and then Mycroft himself came into view.

“My…croft,” John gasped, almost surrendering to the darkness. Then he felt Mycroft’s hands on his shoulders, shaking him very lightly. John yelled in agony and Mycroft called for an ambulance. As John lost consciousness, he said,

“Get Sherlock first.” And then he was gone.

……

When Sherlock opened his eyes, he recognised the pristine whiteness as a hospital. He first thought was dull and then his mind went to John.

“John?” he croaked. “Where’s John?” His brother answered and Sherlock caught a glimpse of him over by the window.

“He’s in surgery. The doctors are trying to detoxify his bloodstream.” Sherlock gulped.

“Of course. Bleach poisoning and unknown homemade drugs are awful.” A wavering shadow-smile crossed his face and Mycroft came to sit by him.

“Sherlock, I need you to listen very carefully to me. Can you feel your left leg?”

Sherlock frowned and thought about his leg. Realising with a shock that he could feel anything from about mid-way through his thigh down, Sherlock panicked.

“Mycroft? What’s going on?” His brother remained silent; he just pulled back the bedcovers so that Sherlock could see. Sherlock only had one leg. His left leg had been amputated. Suddenly, Sherlock was shaking, trembling and tears formed in his eyes. Mycroft wrapped an arm around him but he pushed it away. The only person the detective wanted right now was John.

“Go away.”

“Sherlock…”

“No. Go play soldiers with Lestrade or start a war or something. I don’t want you. Go away.” Sherlock knew that his words stung but his brother was more than capable of dealing with it. As requested, Mycroft left the room and Sherlock was left to his thoughts. He considered life without a leg. Running would be much more difficult and people would treat him differently. John would treat him differently and that is what Sherlock feared the most. He didn’t want John’s opinion of him to change but he knew that it would. He loved John.

About 40 minutes later, two nurses wheeled a bed containing John into the room. Immediately alert, Sherlock asked if he was alright. One of the nurses looked sheepish and the other said

“He’ll survive.” Sherlock nodded slowly. He hadn’t expected much. As soon as the nurses left the room, John opened his eyes.

“Of course I’ll survive. I always do.” He looked at Sherlock with an expression of gratitude and… was it love? A single tear cut a trail down Sherlock cheek and despite the pain it was obviously causing, John leaned over and brushed it gently away.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Sherlock?”

“My left leg, John. They had to… to amputate it.” Sherlock voice was small. “Don’t think any different of me. Please.” A watery, forgiving smile appeared on John’s face.

“Sherlock.” He shook his head. “I’d never think any different of you.” The army doctor took the detective’s hand in his own and without giving his head a single thought, Sherlock grasped John’s hand, happy in the knowledge that he was there. And that he wasn’t going anywhere.