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nickelsandcoatsTitle: I’ve Shattered into a Thousand Pieces (We’ll Piece You Back Together Again) 4/? || at Ao3
Author: Sarah/![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nickelsandcoats
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,680 for this part
Pairings: Sherlock/John/Sarah, established relationship
Warnings: angsty. Graphic depiction of torture.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: This is John Watson, broken.
Notes: Forourdramaqueen's prompt here at my shuffle meme post.
Forourdramaqueen, who asked for song #69, which was, "Not Broken” by the GooGoo Dolls, from their album Something for the Rest of Us. I HIGHLY recommend you listen to this song before you read this story. :)
part i || part ii || part iii
Heed the new warnings, folks.
Time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.
John blinked, and he was in Lestrade’s office again, his mobile in the inspector’s hand. Lestrade bit the inside of his lip and said, “Not much to to go on, the bastard. He’s good.”
“It’s got to be somewhere with no windows; there’s no natural light in there. So either a basement or an interior room somewhere. Likely an abandoned building. But that’s all I can get from the picture.”
Lestrade looked at him with a hint of admiration in his steady, calming gaze. “I know this is the wrong time to say this, but it looks like he’s rubbing off on you.”
John glared at him as he accepted his mobile back. “I have thirty-five minutes before that bastard calls again, and I want to have a good lead on where he’s got them by then. I have to find them, Lestrade, and I have to find them quickly before he--”
“Before he what?”
“Before he sends them to me in pieces.”
“Jesus Christ.” Lestrade sank down in his chair and covered his eyes for a moment before scrubbing his hand over his face and meeting John’s eyes. “Right. Let me get that photo sent around, see if anyone can recognise where they are.”
Just as John handed his mobile back over, it chimed. New email. With a flick of his eyes for permission, Lestrade opened it. “It’s a link,” he said, typing it into his computer. John stood and went around the desk to watch over Lestrade’s shoulder. The site was black, but as they watched, it suddenly flashed into life as a black and white image flickered into being. Lestrade instantly pressed a few keys as the image solidified. “It’s a recording program,” he told John. “I can make sure we have a copy of whatever this is.”
They both inhaled sharply. Sherlock and Sarah were strapped down on two separate tables, stripped naked and blindfolded and gagged. Sarah was still; Sherlock was pulling at his bonds. John’s eyes hardened as Moriarty stepped into view.
“That’s him. Moriarty.” John said through clenched teeth.
“Hello, puppy! Thought I’d give you and the good DI a little preview of what’s to come. After all, anticipation makes everything sweeter, don’t you think?” He gestured over his shoulder and there was a scraping noise as a third table was dragged into view. Lestrade huffed out a shocked breath as he took in the instruments laid out in precise rows on it. John tried not to see, not to let himself imagine what could be done with the various scalpels, knives, electrodes, the axe oh dear God, the mallets and bottles of unidentified fluids that sat there, burning themselves into his corneas.
John swallowed thickly, knuckles going white where they gripped the back of Lestrade’s chair. He had seen things just as bad in Afghanistan, but these tools looked somewhat more menacing in their pristine condition. The harsh lighting shone on the blades and John’s stomach rolled.
“Now do you see?” Moriarty asked, smile a rictus of glee and anticipation. “Do you see what you’ll have to choose? Best be thinking about it, puppy. I’ll see you soon. Ciao!”
The screen went dark again.
Lestrade looked at John, whose eyes were hard and dangerous. “John—”
“I need to make a call,” John said tightly. “And then I’ll be back. I want everything you and your team can give me. I know I shouldn’t ask that of you, but…”
“Stop right there. There is very little my team or I would not do for either of you. You’re a part of this team, John, you and Sherlock both.”
John nodded, jaw tight. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Lestrade gave a small nod in return and strode out of his office, shouting for Sally and the rest of his team. John snuck out, unnoticed, and went outside, standing in full view of one of the Yard’s CCTV cameras. He pulled out his mobile and, staring straight into the camera, dialled a number he had made Sherlock give him after the incident at the pool.
Mycroft answered on the second ring.
John didn’t even let him finish his greeting before he was talking so quickly only a Holmes could have got half of what he was saying. “Sherlock and Sarah were kidnapped by Moriarty; Sarah after 11 PM last night and Sherlock just over an hour ago.”
“What do you have?”
“A few texts and a video.”
“I take it Inspector Lestrade is assisting?”
“Yes, and it will stay that way.”
“Very well. Stay there. I will be there in ten minutes for a briefing. I need to know and see everything you have, Doctor Watson.” The line went dead, and John went back inside, heading straight for the toilets. He went in, shut and locked the door, and allowed himself one minute to fall apart and another minute to gather himself before heading back to Lestrade’s office.
He opened the door and walked onto the floor, which immediately went into chaos.
“He just sent another link, this time to my email,” Lestrade said as he grabbed John’s elbow and all but dragged him to the nearest computer. “We’ve not opened it yet—we were waiting on you to come back.”
“Mycroft will be here in less than ten minutes,” John said, sitting down heavily in the desk chair. The screen in front of him had the same ominous black background as the video feed had. The cursor blinked next to the web address. John took a deep breath and pressed enter.
A single message floated into view.
I got bored, sorry.
:)
The message disappeared, and a single still image replaced it.
John’s eyes closed for just an instant before he forced them back open, desperate to get a clue, any clue of where they might be held.
Several of the police officers ran from the room, but even the thick walls couldn’t keep out the sound of their vomiting in the hall.
Lestrade looked away from the screen, huffed a breath or two, and looked back, resolutely keeping his eyes off the image on the screen to press a few buttons to take a screencap.
Mycroft walked into the room at that moment, unruffled and smooth, umbrella hanging from his arm. He caught sight of what was on the screen and blanched.
“Is that—”
For the first time since they’d met, John heard Mycroft fail to complete a sentence. “It is,” John said gently, so gently, a core of steel behind his voice that said, don’t you dare look away he needs you she needs you I need you and you need to see so you will fight with everything you have in your power to take this sick bastard down.
Mycroft didn’t look away.
The image disappeared and was replaced with a new message.
Fifteen minutes, puppy. Better be thinking about what you’d like to happen.
:D
Mycroft pulled out his mobile and spoke into it, ordering whomever it was on the other end to trace the address of that site and triangulate the texts John had on his mobile.
“You have fifteen minutes to report, and I want to have something before then. Every moment counts, is that clear? Good.” Mycroft rang off and looked at John and Lestrade. “Tell me everything.”
And so they did.
Precisely fifteen minutes after Moriarty’s last message, John’s mobile buzzed again with a new email and a new website address.
Lestrade typed it into the computer, and they all crowded around waiting for the site to load.
Moriarty’s grinning face appeared as he stood between Sherlock and Sarah, practically vibrating with glee.
“Hello, puppy and his little friends! I know the Yard has a microphone, go get one, there’s a good inspector. Go on, I’ll wait.”
Lestrade motioned to one of his sergeants, who returned moments later with a mic that he plugged in.
Mycroft immediately started speaking the second the mic was turned on. “Release my brother and Doctor Sawyer and there—”
“Oh no, no, no, no!” Moriarty sang. “No one but our dear Doctor Watson gets to speak to me.” Moriarty dug his fingers into Sherlock’s back and drug them downwards. “Oooh, scalpels are so much fun! Did you have as much fun when you could still operate, Doctor?”
John’s fingers clenched on the edge of the desk. “Leave him alone. Leave her alone. If it’s me you want, then it’s me you’ll get. What do you want?”
“I want you to make a choice, Doctor, of who lives and who dies. Not yet, obviously, have to get a little fun out of this, but soon. But for now, you get to decide who gets to have their foot broken. Every bone.” Moriarty picked up the mallet and hefted it, pondering its weight. “I’ll even let you choose which foot. But don’t think you’ll get to make too many more decisions like that. I’m feeling generous since it;s your first time.”
John lowered his head. Sherlock needed to run after criminals, but Sarah, oh god, Sarah. He’d never be able to look either of them in the eye after this. How do you make a choice like this?
“Clock’s ticking, puppy!”
“Sarah. Oh God, Sarah, I’m sorry, I can’t, I don’t, Oh God forgive me—”
Moriarty swung the mallet down on Sarah’s right foot. The crunch was audible, but John forced his eyes to stay open. Her screams were high and thin as the dull thud of the mallet sounded again and again. Sherlock’s hands were clenching and unclenching helplessly.
When he was done, Moriarty turned back to the camera. “The only words I want to hear from you, Doctor, are the answers to my questions. Or I won’t give you a choice anymore.”
He looked over his shoulder at Sarah, whose face was streaked with the tears that had leaked under her blindfold. “One hour, puppy.”
The screen went dark.
part v
Author: Sarah/
nickelsandcoatsRating: R
Word Count: 1,680 for this part
Pairings: Sherlock/John/Sarah, established relationship
Warnings: angsty. Graphic depiction of torture.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: This is John Watson, broken.
Notes: For
ourdramaqueen's prompt here at my shuffle meme post. For
ourdramaqueen, who asked for song #69, which was, "Not Broken” by the GooGoo Dolls, from their album Something for the Rest of Us. I HIGHLY recommend you listen to this song before you read this story. :)part i || part ii || part iii
Heed the new warnings, folks.
Time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.
John blinked, and he was in Lestrade’s office again, his mobile in the inspector’s hand. Lestrade bit the inside of his lip and said, “Not much to to go on, the bastard. He’s good.”
“It’s got to be somewhere with no windows; there’s no natural light in there. So either a basement or an interior room somewhere. Likely an abandoned building. But that’s all I can get from the picture.”
Lestrade looked at him with a hint of admiration in his steady, calming gaze. “I know this is the wrong time to say this, but it looks like he’s rubbing off on you.”
John glared at him as he accepted his mobile back. “I have thirty-five minutes before that bastard calls again, and I want to have a good lead on where he’s got them by then. I have to find them, Lestrade, and I have to find them quickly before he--”
“Before he what?”
“Before he sends them to me in pieces.”
“Jesus Christ.” Lestrade sank down in his chair and covered his eyes for a moment before scrubbing his hand over his face and meeting John’s eyes. “Right. Let me get that photo sent around, see if anyone can recognise where they are.”
Just as John handed his mobile back over, it chimed. New email. With a flick of his eyes for permission, Lestrade opened it. “It’s a link,” he said, typing it into his computer. John stood and went around the desk to watch over Lestrade’s shoulder. The site was black, but as they watched, it suddenly flashed into life as a black and white image flickered into being. Lestrade instantly pressed a few keys as the image solidified. “It’s a recording program,” he told John. “I can make sure we have a copy of whatever this is.”
They both inhaled sharply. Sherlock and Sarah were strapped down on two separate tables, stripped naked and blindfolded and gagged. Sarah was still; Sherlock was pulling at his bonds. John’s eyes hardened as Moriarty stepped into view.
“That’s him. Moriarty.” John said through clenched teeth.
“Hello, puppy! Thought I’d give you and the good DI a little preview of what’s to come. After all, anticipation makes everything sweeter, don’t you think?” He gestured over his shoulder and there was a scraping noise as a third table was dragged into view. Lestrade huffed out a shocked breath as he took in the instruments laid out in precise rows on it. John tried not to see, not to let himself imagine what could be done with the various scalpels, knives, electrodes, the axe oh dear God, the mallets and bottles of unidentified fluids that sat there, burning themselves into his corneas.
John swallowed thickly, knuckles going white where they gripped the back of Lestrade’s chair. He had seen things just as bad in Afghanistan, but these tools looked somewhat more menacing in their pristine condition. The harsh lighting shone on the blades and John’s stomach rolled.
“Now do you see?” Moriarty asked, smile a rictus of glee and anticipation. “Do you see what you’ll have to choose? Best be thinking about it, puppy. I’ll see you soon. Ciao!”
The screen went dark again.
Lestrade looked at John, whose eyes were hard and dangerous. “John—”
“I need to make a call,” John said tightly. “And then I’ll be back. I want everything you and your team can give me. I know I shouldn’t ask that of you, but…”
“Stop right there. There is very little my team or I would not do for either of you. You’re a part of this team, John, you and Sherlock both.”
John nodded, jaw tight. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Lestrade gave a small nod in return and strode out of his office, shouting for Sally and the rest of his team. John snuck out, unnoticed, and went outside, standing in full view of one of the Yard’s CCTV cameras. He pulled out his mobile and, staring straight into the camera, dialled a number he had made Sherlock give him after the incident at the pool.
Mycroft answered on the second ring.
John didn’t even let him finish his greeting before he was talking so quickly only a Holmes could have got half of what he was saying. “Sherlock and Sarah were kidnapped by Moriarty; Sarah after 11 PM last night and Sherlock just over an hour ago.”
“What do you have?”
“A few texts and a video.”
“I take it Inspector Lestrade is assisting?”
“Yes, and it will stay that way.”
“Very well. Stay there. I will be there in ten minutes for a briefing. I need to know and see everything you have, Doctor Watson.” The line went dead, and John went back inside, heading straight for the toilets. He went in, shut and locked the door, and allowed himself one minute to fall apart and another minute to gather himself before heading back to Lestrade’s office.
He opened the door and walked onto the floor, which immediately went into chaos.
“He just sent another link, this time to my email,” Lestrade said as he grabbed John’s elbow and all but dragged him to the nearest computer. “We’ve not opened it yet—we were waiting on you to come back.”
“Mycroft will be here in less than ten minutes,” John said, sitting down heavily in the desk chair. The screen in front of him had the same ominous black background as the video feed had. The cursor blinked next to the web address. John took a deep breath and pressed enter.
A single message floated into view.
I got bored, sorry.
:)
The message disappeared, and a single still image replaced it.
John’s eyes closed for just an instant before he forced them back open, desperate to get a clue, any clue of where they might be held.
Several of the police officers ran from the room, but even the thick walls couldn’t keep out the sound of their vomiting in the hall.
Lestrade looked away from the screen, huffed a breath or two, and looked back, resolutely keeping his eyes off the image on the screen to press a few buttons to take a screencap.
Mycroft walked into the room at that moment, unruffled and smooth, umbrella hanging from his arm. He caught sight of what was on the screen and blanched.
“Is that—”
For the first time since they’d met, John heard Mycroft fail to complete a sentence. “It is,” John said gently, so gently, a core of steel behind his voice that said, don’t you dare look away he needs you she needs you I need you and you need to see so you will fight with everything you have in your power to take this sick bastard down.
Mycroft didn’t look away.
The image disappeared and was replaced with a new message.
Fifteen minutes, puppy. Better be thinking about what you’d like to happen.
:D
Mycroft pulled out his mobile and spoke into it, ordering whomever it was on the other end to trace the address of that site and triangulate the texts John had on his mobile.
“You have fifteen minutes to report, and I want to have something before then. Every moment counts, is that clear? Good.” Mycroft rang off and looked at John and Lestrade. “Tell me everything.”
And so they did.
Precisely fifteen minutes after Moriarty’s last message, John’s mobile buzzed again with a new email and a new website address.
Lestrade typed it into the computer, and they all crowded around waiting for the site to load.
Moriarty’s grinning face appeared as he stood between Sherlock and Sarah, practically vibrating with glee.
“Hello, puppy and his little friends! I know the Yard has a microphone, go get one, there’s a good inspector. Go on, I’ll wait.”
Lestrade motioned to one of his sergeants, who returned moments later with a mic that he plugged in.
Mycroft immediately started speaking the second the mic was turned on. “Release my brother and Doctor Sawyer and there—”
“Oh no, no, no, no!” Moriarty sang. “No one but our dear Doctor Watson gets to speak to me.” Moriarty dug his fingers into Sherlock’s back and drug them downwards. “Oooh, scalpels are so much fun! Did you have as much fun when you could still operate, Doctor?”
John’s fingers clenched on the edge of the desk. “Leave him alone. Leave her alone. If it’s me you want, then it’s me you’ll get. What do you want?”
“I want you to make a choice, Doctor, of who lives and who dies. Not yet, obviously, have to get a little fun out of this, but soon. But for now, you get to decide who gets to have their foot broken. Every bone.” Moriarty picked up the mallet and hefted it, pondering its weight. “I’ll even let you choose which foot. But don’t think you’ll get to make too many more decisions like that. I’m feeling generous since it;s your first time.”
John lowered his head. Sherlock needed to run after criminals, but Sarah, oh god, Sarah. He’d never be able to look either of them in the eye after this. How do you make a choice like this?
“Clock’s ticking, puppy!”
“Sarah. Oh God, Sarah, I’m sorry, I can’t, I don’t, Oh God forgive me—”
Moriarty swung the mallet down on Sarah’s right foot. The crunch was audible, but John forced his eyes to stay open. Her screams were high and thin as the dull thud of the mallet sounded again and again. Sherlock’s hands were clenching and unclenching helplessly.
When he was done, Moriarty turned back to the camera. “The only words I want to hear from you, Doctor, are the answers to my questions. Or I won’t give you a choice anymore.”
He looked over his shoulder at Sarah, whose face was streaked with the tears that had leaked under her blindfold. “One hour, puppy.”
The screen went dark.
part v
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-11-12 07:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-15 03:30 am (UTC)The angst will continue in the next part or two, but I do promise a hopeful ending, if not a happy one. :)
no subject
Date: 2011-11-15 05:18 am (UTC)