A Problem Form The Past [BBC Sherlock Fanfiction]

When Sherlock woke up, the first thing he noticed was the headache in his head. The next was the ropes around his wrists, elbows, ankles and hips. All of it was secured with the duct tape. There was a cloth in his mouths. He tried to listen, but there was nothing he could hear, so he opened his eyes. But there was darkness around him.

Sherlock shivered. It was cold, especially since there was summer outside. The feeling got even amplified by the side effect of halothane used on him.

Sherlock hoped that there was at least some light, and his eyes are going to adjust to it. But as we waited minutes, there were no changes. He wondered if that is the reason, why they did not use a blindfold.

He was also without the coat, meaning that he had none of his usual tools for escape.

He was waiting there for what seems to him like days, but his intern clock told him it was just over three hours since he awoke. He did not know how long was he unconscious.

The light blared to life, and Sherlock had to close his eyes. It was painful. He could hear a door open and one pair of steps coming closer. He could hear the phone taking a picture, and the person starting to walk away. The doors closed and the lights turned off.

Sherlock cursed the gag right now. If he would be able to talk, as least he could find out what is going on. It looked like he was a hostage, but to pressure who? Mycroft? Then these people really did not know, who they are dealing with.

He was bored. No data for him to work with. He simply sat there, hoping that whoever they are pressuring is going to do something soon.

It was another three hours, when he heard the doors opening. There was just the light from the hall now. The same hall that Sherlock could now hear gunshots from.

A man came closer, and Sherlock could feel the knife on his neck. It was annoying. The person was waiting for something or more likely somebody.

Sherlock could see another man coming into the room. But since the light was behind him, he could still only see silhouette. But it was familiar...

"Well, well, well, if it isn't The Captain." It was said with such fleer, that Sherlock for the first time got uncomfortable with the situation. The person behind him did not seem to know any restrain.

"And be so nice to put the gun down, will you. You wouldn't want anything to happen, right?"

"He is not involved in this, Tristan." Sherlock relaxed when he recognized the voice of John Watson. But that did not explain what he was doing here.

John slowly moved down, and put his gun on the ground, standing back up. Sherlock noticed he did not try to make any quick movements.

"He is your pet." the person named Tristan said with the sneer. "You know how the game works."

John looked around. Sherlock was happy that his eyes got used to the dark. He looked up, and looked at Tristan's face. About 20 years older than John, alcoholic, former military.

Tristan then gave oeillade to Sherlock. "But I have to say, your taste is as exquisite as ever."

The next moment, John was grabbing the hand with the knife. A second later it fell, and John sidestepped, throwing Tristan to the ground. Sherlock could hear a thump the click of the handcuffs behind him.

John then came closer to him, his hands looking at the small cut on the neck, and then he went and started to untie the fabric around his face.

"Are you alright?" John asked as he looked at his face.

"Me, fine." Sherlock said, as he tried to look behind.

John laughed as he started moving to the back and started cutting through the ropes and duct tape. "You could at least wait until I untie you."

It was done in a couple of minutes. Then Sherlock could stand up and stretched. He also looked behind, seeing his captor unconscious, handcuffed to the pipe.

"Can we go?" John said. He looked a little uncomfortable here. He took back his gun.

Sherlock just nodded and followed him outside. He noticed dozens of guards lying there. At the first floor, they looked like they were subdued. But as they went a floor higher, they looked like they were just asleep. There was a trace of a smell in the air, like a sweet alcohol.

"Diethyl ether?" Sherlock asked as he kneeled next to somebody.

"Yes, and I used all of it, so I think it is better is we simply move from here as quickly as possible." John said, his hands in his pockets.

"Where did you even get it?" Sherlock asked, but he let John lead him away from there.

"There is a good chemist's laboratory on Baker street." John pointed out.

They made their way out. As soon as they were a good distance away, John started to call Lestrade.

But just as the phone call connected, there was an explosion behind them. Sherlock jumped, not being prepared for it. Sure diethyl ether was flammable, but there were just traces left.

He glanced at John, who looked like he was not surprised at all. He could hear panicking Lestrade from the phone.

"We are fine." said John on the phone. "A place Sherlock was kept in just exploded." He paused for a moment. "We are both fine. Let me give you the coordinates."

He ended the call, turning away and starting to walk. Sherlock used his advantage in height to catch up to him.

"You have questions." John said, mirroring their first case.

Sherlock looked at the tense lines of his face. "Yet you don't want to talk about it."

John sagged, as he stopped. "I just hoped that this part of my life is buried underground. Deep underground."

Sherlock looked at his actions, the face, movements of the eyes. "Would it be better for me to just deduce it?"

"Oh, yes." John said. He smiled at Sherlock and Sherlock noticed as he smiled back. "But you need to shower. And eat something, I am sure they gave you nothing. You also look dehydrated."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but they made their way back to the Baker Street.