Heroes Don't Exist
Chapter Six
John was exhilarated as he ran back down Bakers Street, heading to the flat. As soon as he got through the door, he was calling for Sherlock, all the anger he had felt a few minutes ago gone. It's over! It's actually over! He dashed up the stairs, still calling his friend's name and checking each room, eventually coming to the conclusion that Sherlock wasn't there. He paused for breath, surprised that Sherlock had left in the time he had been away. Where had he gone? John had literally been gone for only a few minutes! Sherlock hadn't left the flat in so long, why has he chosen to go out now?
A feeling of unease gripped him, and John took out his phone and quickly called Sherlock's number. He waited as the other man's phone rang but there was no answer. With an angry tut, he cancelled the call.
Where the hell are you, Sherlock?
After a moment, John took up his phone again and this time called Mycroft. Of course. Mycroft would know where Sherlock was, he hadn't taken his eyes off of Sherlock since the attack. Of course he'll know...
John waited three rings before Mycroft answered. "Yes, my dear Doctor Watson?"
"Mycroft, Sherlock isn't at the flat. I went home to tell him the news about O'Donnell and the flat was empty. Mrs Hudson is away this week visiting friends, so he was on his own. I don't know where he is!"
"Call him then, John."
John gritted his teeth. "I tried to call him, Mycroft! No answer!"
Mycroft couldn't hide the concern in his voice when he replied, though he did his best to try.
"Don't worry, John. He'll be fine. He's probably out there looking for you. Forget his mobile, no doubt.."
John swallowed hard.
"But he never forgets his phone, Mycroft..."
Again, Mycroft spoke over him. "Please listen to me, there is nothing to fear, John. Why don't you come and join us here? Maybe Sherlock will contact one of us on your journey? We could do with a doctor here. I'll send a car to pick you up..."
"But, Mycroft, you said you have O'Donnell so its all over, right?"
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"Mycroft?"
"Well, it's not exactly over, John. Not yet. We have O'Donnell trapped but it's not quite as simply as I might have suggested. Come to the warehouse and I'll explain everything. Car should be with you now."
And then: he cancelled the call.
John shook his head, not liking any of this one bit. What was this suddenly about a warehouse? So O'Donnell was still free? How can Mycroft have not ensured this was done? And where the hell was Sherlock?
He looked around at the sound of a car pulling up close by, on the opposite side of the road, and frowned. That was quick. So someone had been watching their flat... so why hadn't they noticed Sherlock leave?
John crossed the road the where the driver was waiting. As he walked, he tried Sherlock's number again.
Just in case.
xxx
Mycroft was pacing up and down the industrial estate in Guildford, in the section Lestrade and his team had cordoned off, at the front of the warehouse. They had surrounded the entire building but other than that, and plenty of talk, nothing else had occurred. Mycroft had listened as Lestrade had attempted to negotiate with that Irish scum bag, the slime that had dared to touch his little brother. The man had agreed to release two of the hostages if the police did their part and backed off, which Lestrade had irritatingly agreed to. And now, they were just waiting. Mycroft wasn't allowed to take over, that had been made very clear. He wasn't even allowed to bring the army in! If he had, this whole sorry affair would have been over in a few very explosive moments. But as it was, this was pure frustration for Mycroft. He just wanted it over. As he watched Lestrade directing new reinforcements to surround the warehouse again, and where to stand, for what felt like the hundredth time, his frustration boiled over.
He marched over to Lestrade, who was standing with Anderson, discussing a map of the warehouse and deciding their next move.
"Detective Inspector," Mycroft snapped, not very politely. "There doesn't seem to be any action happening. The criminals are in THERE, as my people found out for you. Why are you sitting, waiting? What, pray, are you waiting for exactly?" A pause. "Christmas, perhaps?"
Lestrade frowned but didn't bite. He knew Mycroft was fighting his emotions and he did understand, even if the man didn't know how to show them properly.
"As you know, Mr Holmes, they have hostages in there. We have to be delicate about this."
Mycroft glared back at him. "Do I have to remind you what that creature did to my brother?"
The inspector pursed his lips together. "I'm well aware, Mycroft. Sherlock is my friend, remember? You and John aren't the only two people on Earth who care about him. But I'm not risking six innocent lives so you can get your revenge, understood?"
Mycroft stepped closely up to Lestrade, and lifted his head. "You could be replaced, Detective Inspector. Very easily."
There was a very tense silence between them before Lestrade stepped up to meet him, and hissed: "Just you try it."
They stared at each other, both refusing to back down.
Thankfully, their attentions were drawn elsewhere when a black Mercedes pulled up alongside them and John got out quickly and rushed over, completely unaware of the tension still in the air. "What have I missed?"
Mycroft cleared his throat. "Absolutely nothing." He snapped.
Lestrade ignored him.
"Two of the hostages were just released." Lestrade updated John, moving away from Mycroft, indicating to his team that the latest newcomer had been expected. "There's four more still in there though. We need to get them out."
Mycroft moved forward to join them. "John, have you heard from Sherlock?"
John frowned. "No, haven't you?
Mycroft shook his head, resisting the desire to point out the obvious.
John bristled. "I was expecting you to have someone on him at ALL time! You always do. Especially since what happened to him... Why did that change?"
Mycroft had the good graces to look uncomfortable. "It appears, I'm sorry to say, that he gave my men what is commonly known as 'the slip'.."
John took a step toward him, seeing red instantly. "They lost him? Who are these people, Mycroft? Amateurs?"
Mycroft hesitated, his lips twitching. "Well, they are employed by the British government, John. I'm sure they have been called worse..."
John balled his hands into fists. "You think this is funny? " He hissed. "Your brother was raped two weeks ago and now you've LOST him?"
They were interrupted by the noise of Lestrade's mobile phone ringing. Lestrade quickly indicated to his officers to listen in on the call, Anderson moving the closest and giving his superior the thumbs up, telling him they were ready. Lestrade answered the call.
"Lestrade here."
"Hullo there, Detective Inspector!" O'Donnell's harsh Irish accent could be heard over theloud speaker, and John instantly cringed. He hated the sound of that voice. "Well, so? I did something for you, didn't I? I let those two morons go."
Lestrade nodded. "Yes, you did. Thank you for that, Joseph. But now we need to talk about the other hostages and organising their release too.."
O'Donnell laughed. "Oh no, no! That's not how it works, Mr Lestrade! I give you something, you give me something. That's how this here thing is going to work..."
Lestrade frowned at Mycroft. "Okay then, O'Donnell. What is it you want?"
A pause. And then: "I want an appointment with my doctor. Send John Watson in here to join us. Make sure he's alone, and unarmed. Then I'll let the hostages go free, all of them."
Lestrade took a deep breath. "I'm not sending a civilian in there alone, O'Donnell. That's not going to happen.."
O'Donnell laughed. "Whatever else he may be, we both know that the wry doctor is no civilian. You be a good pig and send him in here, now, or I'll shoot each of these bastards here in the head, one by one. And you can explain to their families why they had to die. Then I'll blow myself up before you can take me, so it will all be for nothing, you follow me? So, detective, what's it goin' to be? One man, or four? What matters more?"
And at that, the call was cut off.
There was a damning silence in the area as they all looked as one toward John, waiting for his reaction. Not one person spoke.
John shrugged his shoulders, finally letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding in. With an even longer sigh, he muttered, "Well, I don't have any choice, do I?"
Mycroft held up his hand. "John, I must sincerely advise against you..."
"I didn't ask you for advice, Mycroft."
Lestrade moved in front of John quickly, blocking his way.
"I'm not letting you go in there, Doctor Watson. He'll kill you."
"Well, it's not your decision either, is it, Greg?"
Mycroft joined in. "John, I must agree with the inspector on this one occasion...There are many other means at our disposal of dealing with this..."
John gestured furiously. "And what happens to the hostages in your plan, Mycroft? They don't walk out of there alive, do they?" He closed his eyes. "Is that okay with you, because its not me, To just let those people in there die? I can't, I won't do it."
Lestrade cut in when he saw Mycroft wasn't going to respond immediately. "Of course it's not okay," he snapped, throwing Mycroft a cold look. "We're all on the same page as you there. But we need to do this the right way, John. The sensible way. This is why we have procedures to follow to make sure these things don't end badly. We can get those people away AND keep you safe. Christ, you know what he'll do to you if you give him the chance!"
John shrugged. "Yeah I do; thanks, Lestrade! I got a front row seat last time, remember? I know what he's capable of. Damn it! If Sherlock was here, he'd go in there and you know it.."
"We don't even know where Sherlock is!" Lestrade exclaimed. "We can't exactly ask him his opinion, can we? But I bet he wouldn't be too happy to see you going flying in there with no plan, trying to be a hero!
"John." Mycroft cut in softly, noting that John was about to lose it big time. "It's for Sherlock's sake I'm telling you not to go. I don't think it's a good idea to take such a risk...You are not thinking clearly."
John waved a hand. "Okay, that's enough from both of you! I'm going. I'm not discussing this any more. I'm not letting those people die because of me and that's all there is to it." He threw his revolver on the ground. "This happened because I was weak and didn't do something when I should have. I could have stopped him! Not this time." He then turned and walked away from them, heading for the front entrance to the opposing grey building before him.
Lestrade and Mycroft watched him go helplessly, having to allow John his wish to go on in alone, despite their inhibitions. It was clear they both felt the same way about John's decision, but what could they do? It was clear to both of them that John's resolution to put himself into harms way was about his own guilt. Nothing they could have said or done would have stopped him.
Lestrade stuck his hands deep in his pockets, and shook his head at Mycroft as he watched John enter the warehouse, and disappear, closing the door behind him.
"Why do we constantly give this bastard exactly what he wants?" He muttered.
Mycroft didn't reply.
John made his way slowly through the dark and damp warehouse, trying to swallow his fear as he walked. That dread within him escalated with every step he took. He could tell that the warehouse had been abandoned for decades, probably since it had been closed down in the seventies. The building was derelict and clearly should have been demolished a long time ago. The perfect hideout for O'Donnell and his gang, John reasoned. He knew there was no escape for any of them – no matter what O'Donnell had planned. Mycroft would never let him walk away from there, not after what he'd done. And that gave John comfort as he walked on, to his own uncertain destiny.
He turned down another corridor, going even deeper in the darkness. He had to feel the walls either side of him to assist his way. He could see next to nothing in front of him, couldn't hear anything either, expect for the clanging noise of pipes close by. It made him feel even more nervous.
He finally could go no further and steeled himself before calling out: "Hello? Is anyone there?"
That hated Irish accent responded to him at once, and he sounded close:
"Keep walking, John. We're all waiting for you."
John took a deep breath and made his way further down that dark corridor until he finally could see a light flickering in the distance. He felt a mixture of relief and dismay – relief that the anticipation was nearly done and dismay that whatever was facing him was so close. He swallowed hard, chewed on his lower lip, and headed straight for that light. He soon arrived at a door and, with a grimace, pushed the door open.
He was grabbed by his shirt as soon as the door was open and dragged inside. He found himself thrown against a wall and pinned there while he was searched for weapons or any wire or radio. When nothing as found, a voice said softly, "Nothing, boss," and then the hands were gone, and he was released. He took a moment but once he'd turned back away from the wall, he was faced with five guns all pointing straight at his face.
O'Donnell lowered his own gun and moved closer, a reptilian smile on his face.
"Hey John, thanks for comin'. Good to see yer."
John glared back at him. "What is this about, O'Donnell? You know how many police are out there? You're not going to walk away from this. None of you are."
O'Donnell raised an eyebrow. "Is that right?" He pushed back his trench coat and showed the bomb he was wired up to. He smiled knowingly. "You think I'm worried about any of the pigs out there? Even Mycroft Holmes? He's not pulling the strings around here."
John smirked. "Mycroft is always pulling the strings. He could destroy this whole factory with one phone call. And he'd do it too, if he thought you'd get away. Nothing matters more than Sherlock. If you think me getting in here would make a difference, you are going to be so disappointed."
"You're here to play your part, John."
John frowned. "Fine! You've got me. Why do you need anyone else? Let these other people go."
"John," O'Donnell chuckled. "They're only still here to convince YOU to come in. Job done. Don't need them now."
"So, you'll let them all go?" John whispered, feeling a spark of hope.
"Sure..." And O'Donnell gestured to his men.
They turned as one and opened fire, shooting each of the hostages in turn. All four of them crumpled to the ground, not even having a chance to cry out, dead before they hit the ground. John stared, horrified, not quite believing what O'Donnell had done right before his eyes. Two of his men hung back, checking the bodies to ensure they were all dead. One turned and vomited onto the ground, hanging his head and wiping his eyes. Another grunt gave the distressed man a cold look. "Pull yourself together. You're getting paid a nice wage for this."
The man shook his head. "I didn't sign up for this." He muttered. "Not murder."
O'Donnell stepped forward without hesitation, and shot the man in the back of the head and he fell, just as the others had. The rest of the gang looked startled to see one of their own so ruthlessly executed but quickly recovered, showing no other reaction.
John, meanwhile, shook his head in disgust. "You're sick."
The Irishman smiled. "Can't be doin' with cowards, doctor, and that man was a yellow-bellied piece of shit. Believe me, I did him a favour..." And he kicked out at the dead man's leg. "Forget him. We've got more important things to discuss, anyway.."
John gritted his teeth as he glared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Your friends outside, Mr Lestrade, Mr Holmes, et al. They made things very easy for me. And I heard Mycroft Holmes was the smart one..." He gestured to one of his men, and he walked to the far wall and hit on the wall, only for a door to slide open, revealing a hidden exit, and beyond it, a small dark passage. The grunt bundled in a figure, their arms tied behind their back and a hood over their head, blocking their sight and keeping their identity a secret from John. He swallowed hard, that dread now at its greatest.
"What is this...?" He whispered, not wanting to hear the answer.
"Your boys falling for that old trick outside was the perfect game, and enabled us to get this fool inside, the reason this is all happening." He crossed the small room, to where the figure, slightly trembling, was hunched against the wall. "It all worked like a dream, doctor. Now let's get this show on the road..."
And he tore off the hood.
John made forward but was grabbed and held back by one of the men behind him.
Sherlock blinked his eyes furiously, trying to adjust. He shook his head to clear it, and whispered John's name, desperate for John to keep his calm. As he was roughly forced to his knees, his horror at seeing his rapist again was evident as he trembled as he stared at him, swallowing hard.
O'Donnell laughed loudly at John, who swore at him. He tried to get free with all his might, his only desire being to get to Sherlock.
"It was so nice of you to leave Sherlock alone like that, doctor." O'Donnell was saying, running a hand through Sherlock's hair. It was all the terrified man could do not to freak out at that touch as O'Donnell continued to address John. "You gave my men just the chance they needed."
John flinched at his words, realising he should have gone with his instincts. Too late now.
"Don't touch him, you fucking arsehole!"
O'Donnell paused, and smiled cruelly.
"Language, doctor.."
He left Sherlock's side, pulled up a chair in front of John and indicated for him to sit down.
"It's time to finish it."
TBC