All hopes of escape had been dashed the moment Sherlock realised he was being taken out of the club via the back entrance. The route went through the cellar, where shelves stacked full of spirits stood silent sentinel, and were only ever disturbed by the few bar staff who used the room. Sherlock wouldn't be surprised if even they were in on this abduction either, so even if someone happened to need a refill right now it probably wouldn't help his case all that much. The bastards had planned everything out with expert precision, perfect to the last detail, and quickly all avenues of escape were closing their doors one by one. It seemed as though the very walls were closing in. Sherlock had never felt so trapped in all his years so far, and he'd been in some tight spots.
They paused only to unlock a heavy duty padlock which was holding the service doors closed, and the detective, in an oddly poetic moment, thought that the sound of chains slithering to the stone floor were rather symbolic of his near future. He didn't have long to amuse himself over cruel ironies however, as he was given a rough shove from behind to keep walking, and was ushered quickly towards a large silver Audi which was waiting in the yard. Three cars in all were waiting with engines already running, and as he was bundled into the Audi he realised that even during the car journey he was to be escorted under the highest security measures. Really the military would have been proud of the precautions these lowlifes had taken. He had to give credit where credit was due.
To his dismay it was the Russian bloke for whom he was fast learning to loathe who got in beside him, leering as the driver smoothly pulled away and into the slow moving London traffic. Sherlock didn't doubt that each of his new 'employers' were as despicable as each other, but so far the man on his right was the only one to have touched him, and for that he gained a special place on Sherlock's revenge list. He could only hope he would live long enough to see the people on that very exclusive list brought to justice.
Nobody spoke a word during the journey, leaving Sherlock free to attempt mentally mapping out the route, for which he was grateful. He knew London like the back of his hand, and there wasn't anywhere they could take him that would disorient his sense of direction should he have the opportunity to leave. Unfortunately for him.. they weren't stopping. After an hours driving, Sherlock had to admit that they had passed way beyond the territory with which he was so intimately familiar. He was lost. Of course it would be easy to find out where he was if he could get hold of a gps phone, or hell.. even a street name, but he'd already lost yet another edge he would otherwise have held over his captors. They were stripping his claws one by one, metaphorically speaking, and the defencelessness left him with a distinct sense of prevailing anxiety, so unfamiliar to his normally emotionless front. Fear.. he didn't care for it.
Finally, after what seemed an age (only made longer by trying and failing to ignore the hand caressing the inside of his thigh), the cars all pulled over as one. They were on a dark country lane, seemingly in the middle of nowhere without a building in sight. Too puzzled to resist, Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled from the car and again marched forcibly ahead of his bouncer friend. His eyes darted swiftly around, roving the ground and surrounding area for clues as to his whereabouts. If he knew that these men intended to murder him outright, then it would seem that a field far out in the country would be a damn good place to do it, but that wasn't their intention at all, and Sherlock had to admit he was little intrigued. There must be something about this particular field they were currently tramping through that was out of the ordinary.
Ahhh of course.. clever. Who would think to look into an old abandoned cow shed? For that matter who would want to?
Re: Complications Part 7
They paused only to unlock a heavy duty padlock which was holding the service doors closed, and the detective, in an oddly poetic moment, thought that the sound of chains slithering to the stone floor were rather symbolic of his near future. He didn't have long to amuse himself over cruel ironies however, as he was given a rough shove from behind to keep walking, and was ushered quickly towards a large silver Audi which was waiting in the yard. Three cars in all were waiting with engines already running, and as he was bundled into the Audi he realised that even during the car journey he was to be escorted under the highest security measures. Really the military would have been proud of the precautions these lowlifes had taken. He had to give credit where credit was due.
To his dismay it was the Russian bloke for whom he was fast learning to loathe who got in beside him, leering as the driver smoothly pulled away and into the slow moving London traffic. Sherlock didn't doubt that each of his new 'employers' were as despicable as each other, but so far the man on his right was the only one to have touched him, and for that he gained a special place on Sherlock's revenge list. He could only hope he would live long enough to see the people on that very exclusive list brought to justice.
Nobody spoke a word during the journey, leaving Sherlock free to attempt mentally mapping out the route, for which he was grateful. He knew London like the back of his hand, and there wasn't anywhere they could take him that would disorient his sense of direction should he have the opportunity to leave. Unfortunately for him.. they weren't stopping. After an hours driving, Sherlock had to admit that they had passed way beyond the territory with which he was so intimately familiar. He was lost. Of course it would be easy to find out where he was if he could get hold of a gps phone, or hell.. even a street name, but he'd already lost yet another edge he would otherwise have held over his captors. They were stripping his claws one by one, metaphorically speaking, and the defencelessness left him with a distinct sense of prevailing anxiety, so unfamiliar to his normally emotionless front. Fear.. he didn't care for it.
Finally, after what seemed an age (only made longer by trying and failing to ignore the hand caressing the inside of his thigh), the cars all pulled over as one. They were on a dark country lane, seemingly in the middle of nowhere without a building in sight. Too puzzled to resist, Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled from the car and again marched forcibly ahead of his bouncer friend. His eyes darted swiftly around, roving the ground and surrounding area for clues as to his whereabouts. If he knew that these men intended to murder him outright, then it would seem that a field far out in the country would be a damn good place to do it, but that wasn't their intention at all, and Sherlock had to admit he was little intrigued. There must be something about this particular field they were currently tramping through that was out of the ordinary.
Ahhh of course.. clever. Who would think to look into an old abandoned cow shed? For that matter who would want to?