Sherlock thought he might go mad if he heard one.. thud.. more.. thud.. THUD!
"SHUT THE FUCK UP SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO THINK IN HERE!"
The steady sound of what he presumed must be a tennis ball being bounced off the wall of the cell next door came to an abrupt stop, and Sherlock could have sung the praises of any number of deities were it not for the renewed headache his shout had left him with. He could understand that there wasn't much to do when you were locked in a cell for most of the day, but really some people lived to be annoying. Even mutual captivity couldn't inspire Sherlock to conjure any great amount of sympathy for the guy who was, to put it in words John would use, 'getting on his tits'.
Harriet had jumped at his sudden outburst, and was staring wild eyed his way in delirium, having been dozing off before. Sherlock rubbed his face in both palms, clearly irritated, mostly at himself for being a dick if truth be told.
"Sorry, I just.. I'm feeling pretty tense and that stupid noise wasn't helping." He'd been coiled tightly like a spring for the past few hours, waiting for the inevitable sound of footsteps in the hallway that was sure to announce the arrival of his own personal hell. Sherlock had thought for sure they would be keen to exact revenge sooner rather than later, and he knew that /they knew/ he was awake by now. He'd clocked all the security camera's dotted around the cell block, and two were pointing directly at his cell. What were they waiting for?
He sprang to his feet and began pacing up and down, shaking with agitation and mumbling under his breath. "Why aren't they coming what could be holding them up? Unlikely they've been ratted out, would have heard police sirens, not so far underground that it would disguise the sound. No commotion from the door guards either, they would have legged it if something was going on.. not busted then."
Sherlock turned on his heel, gesticulating in the air with his hands as he tried to fathom a reason for the unnecessarily painful delay, when his cell mate halted his progress with a firm hand on his shoulder. He wheeled around on her and snarled like a feral dog. "Where are they! You've been here long enough to know what makes these men tick, where do they get off on leaving me with my fucking over-active imagination?!"
The short, gaunt women leaned away from him, obviously taken aback by the fury in his blue grey eyes, but she was ultimately a healer above all else. She knew deep down that Sherlock's anger was borne of fear... in fact she could see what he was getting at. Better to get it over with when you knew what fate held in store. She was almost motherly then when she guided a shaking Sherlock to his makeshift bed, and with firm pressure got him to sit with her, where she could hug him tight and make soothing noises as she felt him take in a deep, shuddering breath.
Sherlock breathed deep, in through his nose and out through his mouth, ignoring the tears threatening to overspill. His cell mate might be a healer like John, but she wasn't John, and now wasn't the time to go all sentimental and start to really miss his steadfast flatmate.
His head was buried against her shoulder as she rocked him gently, and he breathed in the comforting scent of cinnamon which seemed to cling to her chestnut hair. Calm.. lock it away, revisit it later, sentiment was a weakness...
"When I get out, I'll find a way to take you with me. I'll get all of us out of this place. I know people.. powerful people, who could help. I just.. wish something would happen. I need to be /doing something/ in order to formulate an escape plan, not waiting around in this shit hole cell with nothing to go on. I need.."
They both stilled, ears pricked as they caught the faint echo of a voice from beyond a locked door somewhere beyond their vision, further down along the long row of cages. Footsteps, getting louder, a beeping sound as either a key card or activation code granted access, and the whirring of an electronic lock opening. Creaking as the door was pushed open, and the voices were clearer now. Russian, and a voice he faintly remembered belonging to the blonde man who's ribs he'd punched earlier.
Re: Complications Part 10
Sherlock thought he might go mad if he heard one.. thud.. more.. thud.. THUD!
"SHUT THE FUCK UP SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO THINK IN HERE!"
The steady sound of what he presumed must be a tennis ball being bounced off the wall of the cell next door came to an abrupt stop, and Sherlock could have sung the praises of any number of deities were it not for the renewed headache his shout had left him with. He could understand that there wasn't much to do when you were locked in a cell for most of the day, but really some people lived to be annoying. Even mutual captivity couldn't inspire Sherlock to conjure any great amount of sympathy for the guy who was, to put it in words John would use, 'getting on his tits'.
Harriet had jumped at his sudden outburst, and was staring wild eyed his way in delirium, having been dozing off before. Sherlock rubbed his face in both palms, clearly irritated, mostly at himself for being a dick if truth be told.
"Sorry, I just.. I'm feeling pretty tense and that stupid noise wasn't helping." He'd been coiled tightly like a spring for the past few hours, waiting for the inevitable sound of footsteps in the hallway that was sure to announce the arrival of his own personal hell. Sherlock had thought for sure they would be keen to exact revenge sooner rather than later, and he knew that /they knew/ he was awake by now. He'd clocked all the security camera's dotted around the cell block, and two were pointing directly at his cell. What were they waiting for?
He sprang to his feet and began pacing up and down, shaking with agitation and mumbling under his breath. "Why aren't they coming what could be holding them up? Unlikely they've been ratted out, would have heard police sirens, not so far underground that it would disguise the sound. No commotion from the door guards either, they would have legged it if something was going on.. not busted then."
Sherlock turned on his heel, gesticulating in the air with his hands as he tried to fathom a reason for the unnecessarily painful delay, when his cell mate halted his progress with a firm hand on his shoulder. He wheeled around on her and snarled like a feral dog. "Where are they! You've been here long enough to know what makes these men tick, where do they get off on leaving me with my fucking over-active imagination?!"
The short, gaunt women leaned away from him, obviously taken aback by the fury in his blue grey eyes, but she was ultimately a healer above all else. She knew deep down that Sherlock's anger was borne of fear... in fact she could see what he was getting at. Better to get it over with when you knew what fate held in store. She was almost motherly then when she guided a shaking Sherlock to his makeshift bed, and with firm pressure got him to sit with her, where she could hug him tight and make soothing noises as she felt him take in a deep, shuddering breath.
Sherlock breathed deep, in through his nose and out through his mouth, ignoring the tears threatening to overspill. His cell mate might be a healer like John, but she wasn't John, and now wasn't the time to go all sentimental and start to really miss his steadfast flatmate.
His head was buried against her shoulder as she rocked him gently, and he breathed in the comforting scent of cinnamon which seemed to cling to her chestnut hair. Calm.. lock it away, revisit it later, sentiment was a weakness...
"When I get out, I'll find a way to take you with me. I'll get all of us out of this place. I know people.. powerful people, who could help. I just.. wish something would happen. I need to be /doing something/ in order to formulate an escape plan, not waiting around in this shit hole cell with nothing to go on. I need.."
They both stilled, ears pricked as they caught the faint echo of a voice from beyond a locked door somewhere beyond their vision, further down along the long row of cages. Footsteps, getting louder, a beeping sound as either a key card or activation code granted access, and the whirring of an electronic lock opening. Creaking as the door was pushed open, and the voices were clearer now. Russian, and a voice he faintly remembered belonging to the blonde man who's ribs he'd punched earlier.