Sherlock Holmes (
howdull) wrote in
fossilised2016-11-06 04:25 pm
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For John Watson
[Sherlock is still finding pieces of the melted laptop in the carpet.
It had actually been quite an ingenious booby trap to be devised by a fourteen year old boy with only household chemicals to work with but, as Sherlock surmised, rather overkill to keep his mother from finding his extensive porn collection. Not one of their more illustrious cases, but it had been quite entertaining to watch both the boy and mother's faces as he revealed that he did know the how and why. He lost interest after the mother started shouting and John started shouting and the whole thing turned tedious.
He rather thinks John won't actually be doing a full write-up of this one on his blog.
It's been two days since their last case and he's beginning to get more than a little antsy. Lestrade has sent him nothing, just a boring hit and run that he refused to even leave the flat for, and nobody interesting has appeared through the blog. Said blog he is currently scrolling through on John's laptop, having borrowed it again.
He did ask, it's not his fault John hadn't been in the room at the time.]
Bored, John.
[He doesn't even know if his flatmate is even in, but that's hardly a necessity for him to actually speak to John. Frustrated, he throws the laptop across the room to hit the wall, where it summarily breaks. Which is where he can be found whenever John appears, sulking amidst pieces of laptop, both from the melted one of their last case and John's poor broken one.]
It had actually been quite an ingenious booby trap to be devised by a fourteen year old boy with only household chemicals to work with but, as Sherlock surmised, rather overkill to keep his mother from finding his extensive porn collection. Not one of their more illustrious cases, but it had been quite entertaining to watch both the boy and mother's faces as he revealed that he did know the how and why. He lost interest after the mother started shouting and John started shouting and the whole thing turned tedious.
He rather thinks John won't actually be doing a full write-up of this one on his blog.
It's been two days since their last case and he's beginning to get more than a little antsy. Lestrade has sent him nothing, just a boring hit and run that he refused to even leave the flat for, and nobody interesting has appeared through the blog. Said blog he is currently scrolling through on John's laptop, having borrowed it again.
He did ask, it's not his fault John hadn't been in the room at the time.]
Bored, John.
[He doesn't even know if his flatmate is even in, but that's hardly a necessity for him to actually speak to John. Frustrated, he throws the laptop across the room to hit the wall, where it summarily breaks. Which is where he can be found whenever John appears, sulking amidst pieces of laptop, both from the melted one of their last case and John's poor broken one.]
no subject
You think I'm just going to tell you who I am so you can go to the police all nice and neat and tidy? You can call me Harry.
[It's a stroke of cruelty that she knows full well will hurt, with the venomous way she spits the name out at him.]
no subject
Unfortunately, Jake is in danger here, too.]
Okay. Do you want to tell me what I have to do to get Sherlock back?
cw: homophobic slurs
[The hand holding the gun relaxes just a little bit so that the barrel isn't pressed so close to Jake's head and her voice changes a little. More informal, like keeping herself to proper sentences is a lot of work. Sherlock would probably say this indicates a low level of education. Jake's eyes dart sideways, a silent plea for some explanation as to what the hell his life has become in the last hour.]
Simple. You find where he is within three days and you can have him back, at least for now. S'a... what d'they call it? A temporary reprieve, 'cos in the end you're gonna have nothing at all.
no subject
Is that what you called my sister while you strangled her?
[If it is, the Alphabet Woman is going to be pressing hard at John's general principle to never hit a woman in anger.]
no subject
She smiles and there's something vicious and feral about it, like her sanity may not be completely all there. But it's clear Sherlock was right, she had enjoyed it.]
You think I said anything to her? I waited 'til she was asleep, didn't want her perving on me like a fucking sicko. Oi, kid, take a left, head down to the Thames. We're getting out soon.
no subject
Do I get a clue for Sherlock? I'm not a detective like he is.
no subject
[Her face has gone oddly blank, almost shell-shocked.]
I've got a question I need answerin'. You get it right, and I'll send you a clue tomorrow by post. Deal?
[The streets down towards the Thames are quieter. Warehouse district streets that usually only get busy from midnight onwards as traders prepare for the upcoming day.]
no subject
A text would be faster. And I don't want a piece of his body you've cut off as a 'clue.'
cw: homophobic slurs
[It's a dead end now, too close to the Thames, so Jake pulls up and keeps his hands on the steering wheel.]
no subject
I want a clue. Deal.
no subject
Okay. You've got eleven minutes and fifteen seconds to answer my question.
[She levels the gun into the car without preamble and pulls the trigger, firing directly into Jake's stomach. His eyes widen and he coughs, a splatter of blood hitting the wheel.]
Time starts now.
no subject
[John jerks around, but his movements are halt and he gasps as the jostling of his broken ribs brings a prickle of hot tears to his eyes. He tries to ignore it, forcing himself through the pain.]
Chair back. Lower it as far as it'll go, Jake, and pull your knees up.
[He going to try to pull off his jacket if the Alphabet Woman will let him and get pressure on the young man's wound. It's excruciating, and John can't help a few pained noises that escape his lips. Is this the question? How does he deal with a bullet wound? There's cold fury in his tone and in his gaze as he grits his teeth and fights through.]
Ask your question or get the hell out of here so I can call an ambulance.
no subject
If he's still alive at eleven minutes and fifteen seconds you can call an ambulance, I want to see what you can do, Captain.
[Jake lets out a low and shuddering moan as shaking fingers find the seat control and ratchet it backwards, though he can't quite get his knees up for the steering wheel.]
Feel-- feel really weird, John. S'that really your name? Jesus, feel like-- like m'in a Liam Neeson film. This... s'this a dream?
no subject
Yep. That's my name. Tell me about the cello, Jake. Why'd you choose it?
[He tries to keep his voice calm and soothing, but his breathing is harsh from his own pain. John first slides his hand under Jake, under his shirt, if he can, to feel for an exit wound. Things will be both more and less difficult if that bullet didn't come out the other side.]
no subject
Jake's back is already slippery with blood and the seat has a neat hole in it where the bullet exited and hit the dense material of the chair. Jake hisses when he feels fingers probing around the wound, but the full pain hasn't set in yet, he just feels weirdly numb and a bit cold.]
'Cause I was a dumb kid. [He fights to keep focus. He has no idea if John is even a good guy any more, but he's the best chance Jake has.] I thought it was just a really big guitar, same sort of shape, and I thought-- bigger's better, right? I was-- so disappointed when my teacher didn't show me any riffs. But then I heard-- fuck-- I heard Dvorak's Concerto in B minor and I fell in love. Kinda-- fucking dumb, right? Whoever heard of a cellist getting the chicks?
no subject
Probably the cellists with wives, hmm?
[The rags are stuffed under Jake, and John folds his jacket a few times before placing it over Jake's wound. He grabs one of the young man's hands and places it on the jacket.]
This is gonna hurt, Jake. I'm sorry. [And he presses down flat with his own hand over Jake's before leaning down and over. His voice is low, insistent.] It's gonna be okay. We'll get you through this. [It drops to something even quieter as he gets down near Jake's cheek, as if to kiss him.]
I'm going to put the car in reverse. I want you to hit the accelerator with your foot in five seconds. I'll steer. [If Jake can't get his legs up, they might as well try it this way. John draws back, volume increasing once more.] I promise we'll get you out of this, Jake. You'll have a good story for the chicks, yeah?
no subject
He has no idea if he manages to actually reply (he doesn't, all that comes out is a harsh gasp), but he shifts his foot onto the accelerator to show that he's heard. Five seconds is really hard to count.
One... two... three... two?... two... three...
It's actually eight seconds later when Jake slams his foot down on the accelerator, placing what trust he has left in John.]
no subject
It occurs to him very suddenly that he is not a stunt driver, he hasn't driven in months, and this might well have been a terrible idea because the woman might start shooting at him. Well. There's not much to be done about it now. They are committed.
Admittedly, he does feel just a little bit like James Bond right now. And that's really cool. John gives himself a mental slap. Not the time.]
Stay with me, Jake. We're gonna pull you through this. If you've got a phone, dial 9-9-9, if you can.
[Where's the nearest hospital? Where's the nearest clinic? Traffic at this hour is going to be madness, and the person in the driver's seat can't drive.]
no subject
The nearest hospital is probably the Royal London Hospital on Whitechapel Road, perhaps ten minutes fast drive from here with no traffic or in an ambulance that can swerve around the traffic. But John is right, traffic around here will be bad at this time of the day, and she might easily catch up if she decides to give chase.
Jake fumbles for his pocket but he's far too out of it, blood already soaking through the jacket and onto his hand.]
Tired. M'really-- tired.
no subject
I'm located on Oxford Street in a beat up blue Toyota hatchback. We're near the Thames at... [He searches for the cross street and gives it to the operator.] Abdominal gunshot wound, full penetration. Victim has been bleeding for at least three minutes already. He's going into shock. I need an ambulance immediately.
no subject
[She goes on giving him details he'll already know, calm and soothing and patient, just as all emergency line operators are trained to be in times like this. She assures him the ambulance is on the way, just stay on the line.]
Jn? [That's almost a name, mumbled by Jake.] Don' want to die without-- knowing what the fuck was goin' on? She killed-- you said sister? Are you-- spy?
no subject
Yes. The car's stationary, just in an alley off the main road. Thank you.
[To Jake as he turns his full attention to putting pressure on the wound:]
You're not gonna die, Jake. I need you to keep talking. Keep awake, okay? I'm just an Army doctor. I think that woman was the wife of one of the men under my command, but I've never met her. She killed my sister this morning, blew up my flat, and kidnapped my best mate. Hell of a story to tell a chick, right?
Hahaha oh god all in one day, poor John
You're like-- James Bond and she's-- didn' think shit like this happened in real life.
[People wanting revenge from the war and all that, it was like something out of a detective novel.]
You lied about-- not got heart problem, do you? Did you-- did you know she'd get in, did you--? Shit, my Mum's gonna kill me, m'supp'sed to babysit tonight.
It's been a rough not-even 24 hours... plus he escaped the hospital and got arrested
We'll deal with your mum once we've got you in care. She can kill me, instead. You've had enough near-death experiences for the day, mate.
[He can hear the distant wail of sirens.]
Hear that? Help's coming. Just a little longer.
no subject
You the one that called it in? Are you hurt anywhere?
[He starts snapping on latex gloves, calm but efficient.]
Are you a relative? Friend?
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PLEASE PRETEND I SAID SHEPHERD'S BUSH NOT BAKER STREET UP THERE gdi brain
NEVER
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