Because of Me (mystrade)

Because of Me

Coming into consciousness is a strange feeling; all your limbs feel like lead, your head is fuzzy and your eyes can hardly focus.

That is how Greg Lestrade feels right now. He is tied to a chair somehow, arms fastened together by the wrists behind his back and legs tied to either leg of the chair. There is a sticky ooze trickling down his face from his temple. Blood, Greg assumes.

Greg softly groans as he tries to lift his head, the motion causing a wave of pain to erupt between his eyes and down his neck.

"Well well, looks like sleeping beauty has finally woken up again." A voice in the shadows startles Greg, making him whip his head up, causing another wave of pain, to which he suppresses a groan; never show weakness to the enemy, thought Greg.

Now that Greg can focus slightly, he takes in his surroundings. He's in a warehouse of some sort, the walls are slick with grime and a high roof. It's dark all around apart from one long jet of bulbs streaming light from directly above Greg's head.

Lestrade then notices the pain. Pain that radiates from everywhere in his body; his head, arms, torso, legs, even his feet throb for some reason. Then the events from last night flood back to him; the beatings; the yelling; the questions. The questions were all about someone, who though....Mycroft.

Greg had been kidnapped for information on Mycroft Holmes.

"So, are you ready to give up? Give in and tell us what you know about the poof?" Greg felt himself get angrier. Who was this guy to be able to call Mycroft fucking Holmes a poof? He set his jaw defiantly, clenching his fists to keep his frustration down.

"Was last night not enough? You actually want to get beaten more, all because of some poncy snob?" The owner of the slithering voice comes out of the shadows. A tall, well built man comes into view, his face set in a mask of disgust and a sneer permanently etched on his face. He vaguely remembers the man's name to be "Necrolass".

Greg remains silent.

But that's when the first strike comes, crashing down on his face like an unexpected wind billows into your bones. Greg can't help the grunt of surprise and pain, his whole face ignites with a burning sensation of overwhelming agony.

"Now tell me. About. Mycroft. Holmes" Each word was accentuated with another hit; one to the nose, another to the stomach and the last to the cheek.

By this time, Greg can feel the hot liquid flowing down his face, covering his mouth and filling his sense of taste and smell with copper from his own blood.

He spits out the red assailant, "No."

His petulance earns him another blow.

Greg hears metal clink against metal. He catches sight of the chains just as they hit his stomach. He doubles over, trying to catch his breath.

"Who does he work for?"

Greg shakes his head.

Another hit; more blood spews out Greg's mouth.

More questions are asked, to which Greg remains silent, taking hit after hit, never saying a word.

He knows Mycroft is coming for him. He knows.

............

"Have the team on stand by. Await my signal to get him out of there." Mycroft is standing outside, just a few streets away from the warehouse in which Greg is being held.

He scrubs his hands over his face. What the hell was he going to do? Greg's captor is a known murderer, wanted in several countries, he'd have no qualms about killing Greg.