Daylight

Part 9

     John woke up in his room disoriented and thirsty.  He had a headache, probably a result of so much stress and fear.  He got off the bunk almost tripping over his ankle cuff.  He’d forgotten it was there and hobbled over to the sink.  He gulped mouthfuls of tap water until his stomach felt full with it.  Then, he lifted the lid off the toilet and let out a sigh of relief as he took a long piss.  A proper toilet he thought grudgingly, but how lovely he got to share his bedroom with it.  Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers.  He’d been held in worse dumps than this and lived to tell about it.  He washed his hands and ran some water over his face.  He noticed there was no mirror but he had a toothbrush and toothpaste in a cup.  Why not, he concluded and brushed his teeth for something to do. 

     After finishing, he went back to the bed and sat on it cross legged.  This new collar fit a bit more snug than the other one and he ran a finger between it and his neck.  Fucking thing, he thought.  He could feel the small bumps that held charges resting inside under the leather.  His fingertips brushed over the embossed initials JM on the side.  Now, Moriarty thought he could own him.  When had he become so necessary to madmen?  What was it about him that attracted the insane ones?  Maybe he shouldn’t delve too deep into the whys of his situation and just concentrate on getting out of it.

     About an hour later a different man came in bearing a tray of food.  On it was a bowl of oatmeal, two pieces of dry toast and a cup of milk.  John was hungry.  The last food had been the peanut butter sandwich and that felt like an eternity ago.  The man glared at him, placed the tray on the ground and pushed it toward him.  He looked very put out.  In fact, Geoff as Sherlock had dubbed him, now had two idiots to take care of and he felt very resentful indeed of his newest babysitting duty.  He grunted at John’s, “Thank you,” and shut the door.

     John tucked in and ate everything.  He didn’t worry about drugging or poison food because what the hell could he do about it anyway?  When he was done, he pushed the tray back toward the door and sat back on the bed to wait.  They’d come for him eventually

*     *     *     *    *

     Sherlock sat at his computer monitors and watched John.  After being brought in for the day’s work, he’d been greeted by the sight of his friend sitting on his bed in his room. A new camera had been installed in John’s room and Sherlock could watch him in black and white as he sat on the bed.  Of course Moriarty had others watching him as well, but he wanted Sherlock to be able to see John at all times through a live feed.  John looked bored.  Sherlock could relate.

     It took all his effort to concentrate on the day’s workload and not keep staring at John who simply sat on his bunk.  He wanted to give Jim nothing to punish either of them for so he solved each complicated case or puzzle quickly and effectively.  He tried not to think about the misery he caused to others or even the lives he might save if he did not do as he was bid.  He simply performed without feeling.  If he messed up, John might suffer.

      But, in the afternoon, he’d been given a fairly routine case to solve.  A rich woman needed to disappear from the clutches of her brutal, abusive husband.  Normally, Sherlock would have no problem helping someone like her leave a bad relationship, but the woman wanted not only to escape, but to murder her husband so she could inherit all his wealth.  She needed Jim’s help to pull it off and not get caught.  She’d promised half of her husband’s considerable fortune to Jim if he could help her get away with it. 

     This was well within Sherlock’s range of abilities.  He’d give her an airtight alibi, arrange the clues so even an idiot like Anderson could decipher them, and even pin the murder on an unsuspecting household servant.  Done.  However, the husband was one of Mycroft’s top men.  Sherlock had met him once while doing a case for his brother.  While he couldn’t justify the man’s treatment of his wife, he’d been an excellent agent.  One of Mycroft’s most trusted allies.

      Sherlock began to suspect the wife may be lying about her husband’s mistreatment to justify her own greed.  The beginnings of a plan began to form and he thought he might be able to send a message to Mycroft somehow without Moriarty knowing what he was doing until it was too late.  He put his plan into action, and within twenty-four hours, he knew his brother would know his exact location.  He and John would both be freed. 

     Just as he planted the last clue that would guarantee his freedom, the door opened into John’s room and Jim entered.