Daylight

Part 8

I had this artwork dancing around in my head as I wrote this piece.
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Bi6W6CECEAADxK7.jpg  This site wouldn't accept this link so you'll have to copy and paste.

     Sherlock paced his small room incessantly.  After they fed him, he’d been brought back and cuffed as usual.  John, he thought, would be here soon!

     Jim had gloated over the grainy video a bit longer replaying it for Sherlock a few more times, and he found he couldn’t tear his gaze away.  His heart broke again each time he thought of what Jim had torn away from John.  He absorbed every nuance of John’s movements as he touched the little boy’s hair, as he gripped the woman’s waist. 

     Jim hinted that his people were currently intercepting John’s plane in Canada at that very moment.  “He’ll be here tomorrow, Sherlock.  I’ve got a special place to keep him, just like I keep you.”

     “I’ll do whatever you want, Jim,” Sherlock said pleadingly.  “Let him go and I’ll help you.”  He began thinking of ways to convince the madman he’d behave and do his bidding. 

     “Do you know what your little friend has cost me, Sherlock?  No, I think I’ll hold on to him.  You’ll do so much better with an incentive, I think,” Jim said.  “I rather like your solider.  I might have another use for him as well.”

     “Don’t touch him!” Sherlock said desperately.  “I’ll solve whatever you want.  Just leave him alone."  He tried thinking of something, anything that might placate Jim.  "The woman who murdered the strip club owner is Diane Scott, an employee. “

     “Oh, very nice.  See, it’s already working,” Jim crooned.  “You just keep doing your thing, and I’ll keep away from your John.  I might even let you have visits.”  Jim seemed to find this amusing and left the room laughing into his collar like he had a delicious secret.

     Sherlock remembered that Mycroft had held John’s parents and sister over his head in order to get him to wear the collar and stay with him at Baker Street.  At the time, Sherlock had been delighted at how effective that method worked and how quickly John had bent to his will.  Sentiment, he’d thought then, such a weakness.  Everyone had their pressure points and now John was his.  It frightened him to think of how much panic he felt over John’s well-being.  Now he could understand John’s dread and worry for his family.  He felt the same worry for John.  It humbled him to think that John might ever forgive him. 

     Sherlock thought about the burning hatred he felt for Moriarty and knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.  Forgive Jim?  No, never.  How then, could he expect John to absolve him of his sins?  Could he ask him to?   Sherlock’s heart hammered fiercely at the thought of meeting John’s cold glare.  His guilt crashed down on him.  He deserved John’s contempt not his forgiveness. 

     Jim’s man escorted him back to his room.  Apparently, he’d met his "doing bad things" quota for today and could rest from his efforts.  The second he got to his room, he began pacing.  His food tray sat untouched on the floor as he strode back and forth on his leash.  Geoff came in to collect the tray and shook his head.  “Eat or I strap you down and force you,” he grunted at Sherlock.

     “I can’t eat.  I’ll vomit it all up.  Leave it and I’ll eat it later,” he said huffily.  “Just leave it.”  The man nodded and left.  Sherlock knew Jim had his room under surveillance, and he couldn’t flush the food down the toilet. So, he sat down and pulled the tray toward him.  He shoveled food in and chewed.  While he chewed, he thought about how his reunion with John might play out.  He reviewed the scene over and over in his mind.  He knew all of John’s reactions and could predict what John might tell him in a hundred ways.  But, John had always surprised him; he’d always been unpredictable and never boring.  “I’m sorry,” he said aloud to the empty room.  “I’m so, so sorry,” he said and finished his dinner.

 *     *     *    *   

       Jim’s men boarded the plane a few minutes after Trevor left and John steeled himself for what they might do to him next.  Unlocking the cuffs, they hauled him off the plane, and took him to the waiting car.  They drove a short distance to wait on the tarmac for their private jet to be cleared for takeoff . 

     A man and a woman had been sent to fetch him.  Both carried pistols under their jackets.  The man, a serene, muscle-bound hulk, sat in the driver’s seat quietly.

     The woman, a cherry haired Amazon, told him she’d have no problem twisting his dick off if he so much looked at her wrong.  John believed her.  So, he sat still and waited.  She looked wired, and John suspected she might be on speed with the way she twitched and moved constantly.  She’d fed him a peanut butter sandwich that she'd pulled out of a bag on the floor.  His rumbling belly thanked her, but the dry sandwich tasted terrible and afterward sat inside him in a lump.  They’d given him a bottle of water and he’d drunk it in one gulp.

     “I have to piss,” he said a short time later and the man opened the car door and nodded toward the outside.  They expected him to just piss in the car park.  So, he stood outside the car and pulled himself out.  He sent a warm stream of urine onto the asphalt and thought, so much for dignity.  His life in the collar with Sherlock would have at least had dignity. 

     After another eight hour flight John finally set foot in his native country.  The private jet touched down and he felt relieved to be on solid ground again.  He’d stayed awake through most of the last flight worrying about himself and wondering what Tara and Tommy were doing. He imagined them both upset about the sudden way he left them. What did they think of him now, and would Tara ever forgive him?  He’d wept a few times, brushing away tears of frustration, anger and sadness.  He missed them terribly.  But now, he needed to stay strong in order to fight his way out and possibly get back to them.  He slept during the car ride from the airport to Moriarty’s warehouse and woke up just as they arrived.  He found himself in an underground garage.  He’d been handcuffed the whole way back.  His captors pulled him out of the car and stood him on his feet.  He felt exhausted and ready to collapse from stress.  He hoped they just threw him in some cell and let him sleep.

     His hopes flew away on hideous crow’s wings, when Moriarty stepped out of the shadows and said, “Hiiiee.  Welcome home.”

     John watched warily as the man walked closer, seemingly oblivious to the anger building up inside him.  He would murder the man if he could.   If he weren’t flanked by Jim’s muscle, he’d charge Jim and take his chances with the collar.  He’d convinced himself that Trevor had told him the truth regarding his collar.  He had nothing to lose either way. So, John stayed calm.  With that small sliver of hope, he’d wait.

     “I hope you had a nice flight,” Jim said stopping a few feet away.  “I’d like to tell you I’m happy to see you, but I don’t think you’d believe me.  We had quite a time tracking you down.  I never would have thought of you as a Wild West, New Mexico kind of guy.  But, Mycroft came through and did all my work for me.  And, Trevor is a mate of mine, you see. He owes me.”

     “Go to hell,” John said calmly.  He was tired. He wanted to stop playing endless games.

     Jim snapped his head up at that.  He took one step forward and slapped John hard across the face.  “You speak to me like that again, and I’ll make you sorry.”

     John bit back another reply and forced himself to look at the tip of Jim’s shoes.  They were brown Oxford loafers, very expensive by the look of them.  He wanted to hawk a gob of spit on them but refrained.  Instead he waited.

       “Take him to his room,” Jim said. 

     His guards marched him into the warehouse and down a hallway.  They opened a door and pushed him into a plain white room.  He didn’t know it, but it resembled Sherlock’s.  Cherry-hair locked a cuff around his ankle that granted him access to a bed, sink and toilet.  He sighed and sank down on the hard bunk, curled up and closed his eyes.  He hoped they’d let him sleep for a while.