He slowly turned about, leaning heavily on the table for balance as he surveyed the newcomers to the room. A group of ten men, varying ages, nationality, social standing.. it was hard to deduce much more than superficial factors in his addled state, but he could immediately tell one and only one unifying factor amongst them. They were all major players in the sex trafficking ring, all of them known to the police but too clever to get caught. Lestrade and his ilk would give their right arms to put even one of these men behind bars, and now Sherlock had them all. Except he didn’t.. they had him, and he wasn’t even sure what the connection was between them and Sebastian Moran yet. Where exactly did Sherlock factor into all this anyway?
Sebastian gave an answer as though he’d been reading Sherlock’s thoughts, and he did it with barely restrained glee lacing every syllable. “These fine gentleman are your new employers. I trust you’ll work for them with as much enthusiasm as you’ve been working for the illustrious police force all these years. It’ll be like a home away from home I imagine.. certainly the same amount of arse kissing at least, but the work might vary a little from what you’re used to. Or maybe not.. I’ve heard rumours about you and your doctor friend.”
Sherlock felt his jaw go slack as realisation hit him harder than the slap to his face had minutes ago. He’d been boxing champion at university even, but nobody had hit /this/ hard. Bile rose in his throat, he was going to be sick..
"Oh don’t look so glum, it’s really not all that bad. Certainly much better than you deserve. You upset a lot of people when you dismantled Moriarties network you know? It’s just a shame that you weren’t a bit more thorough eh?" The sharp shooter pulled an I phone out of his jacket pocket then, checking the time quickly, and gave Sherlock the most disparaging smile as he turned on his heel to leave.
"Well this is goodbye from me Mister Holmes. I would say until we meet again but.. well.. the life expectancy of your average bed slave doesn’t commit much promise to that statement coming true. Adios then."
Sherlock watched him leave with widened, fearful eyes, frozen like a deer in the headlights. The bouncer remained behind, and flexed his muscled ominously when he noticed Sherlock make a jerky motion forward as though to follow Sebastian out. He was trapped, it was eleven on one and he couldn’t even /think/ his way out of this one. His brain felt like molasses, trickling half formed plans so slowly it was painful, and none of them were even viable whilst he was physically feeble.
He turned his gaze to the gathered semi circle of quietly leering traffickers, pleading with them to reveal it had all been some elaborate joke. Maybe some kind of set up by Anderson and Sally to prove that he wasn’t invincible, to teach him a lesson that he needed them on his side. No such thing happened. Instead one of them, a sallow skinned, swarthy man even taller than Sherlock, stepped forward into his personal space and proceeded to rake over every inch of him with eyes and hands both, weighing him up like a piece of meat. His accent was russian, Sherlock noted dumbly as he uselessly batted at the mans hands groping his buttocks through his jeans.
"You’re a pretty boy, is good we like them pretty, like girls but always tight!" He slapped Sherlocks arse while laughing in a gravelly, licentious tone that made the hair on the back of Sherlocks neck rise. What the hell made this guy think that he could grope anywhere he pleases? It was repulsive!
Re: Complications Part 5
Sebastian gave an answer as though he’d been reading Sherlock’s thoughts, and he did it with barely restrained glee lacing every syllable. “These fine gentleman are your new employers. I trust you’ll work for them with as much enthusiasm as you’ve been working for the illustrious police force all these years. It’ll be like a home away from home I imagine.. certainly the same amount of arse kissing at least, but the work might vary a little from what you’re used to. Or maybe not.. I’ve heard rumours about you and your doctor friend.”
Sherlock felt his jaw go slack as realisation hit him harder than the slap to his face had minutes ago. He’d been boxing champion at university even, but nobody had hit /this/ hard. Bile rose in his throat, he was going to be sick..
"Oh don’t look so glum, it’s really not all that bad. Certainly much better than you deserve. You upset a lot of people when you dismantled Moriarties network you know? It’s just a shame that you weren’t a bit more thorough eh?" The sharp shooter pulled an I phone out of his jacket pocket then, checking the time quickly, and gave Sherlock the most disparaging smile as he turned on his heel to leave.
"Well this is goodbye from me Mister Holmes. I would say until we meet again but.. well.. the life expectancy of your average bed slave doesn’t commit much promise to that statement coming true. Adios then."
Sherlock watched him leave with widened, fearful eyes, frozen like a deer in the headlights. The bouncer remained behind, and flexed his muscled ominously when he noticed Sherlock make a jerky motion forward as though to follow Sebastian out. He was trapped, it was eleven on one and he couldn’t even /think/ his way out of this one. His brain felt like molasses, trickling half formed plans so slowly it was painful, and none of them were even viable whilst he was physically feeble.
He turned his gaze to the gathered semi circle of quietly leering traffickers, pleading with them to reveal it had all been some elaborate joke. Maybe some kind of set up by Anderson and Sally to prove that he wasn’t invincible, to teach him a lesson that he needed them on his side. No such thing happened. Instead one of them, a sallow skinned, swarthy man even taller than Sherlock, stepped forward into his personal space and proceeded to rake over every inch of him with eyes and hands both, weighing him up like a piece of meat. His accent was russian, Sherlock noted dumbly as he uselessly batted at the mans hands groping his buttocks through his jeans.
"You’re a pretty boy, is good we like them pretty, like girls but always tight!" He slapped Sherlocks arse while laughing in a gravelly, licentious tone that made the hair on the back of Sherlocks neck rise. What the hell made this guy think that he could grope anywhere he pleases? It was repulsive!