The Devil in Devon Part Three
The Devil in Devon
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some violence
Character(s): John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade
Summary: Sequel to "Promise to the Living". Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Lestrade investigate the devil's reappearance in Devon County after 160 years. What they find out places their lives- and John and Mycroft's relationship- in jeopardy.
Status: WIP
Part One Part Two Part Three
When John woke up, his first thought was that he'd been unconscious for a long time. His muscles felt limp and heavy and his mind was foggy. A muted throbbing in his left temple advised that if he weren't so drugged up, he'd have the headache from hell.
One thing he did feel acutely was nausea. Breathing deeply through his nose, he tried to calm his roiling stomach, but to no avail. When saliva flooded his mouth and his jaw started shaking, John struggled to turn partway over and avoid asphyxiating himself.
Fucking Russian doctors….
An emesis bowl appeared suddenly beneath his chin, a split-second before he was violently sick. When there was nothing left to bring up, he collapsed back onto the bed and groaned without sparing a glance for his attendant. He heard water running somewhere to his left, followed by a cool, wet cloth being applied to his sweaty face.
"I'm sorry to see you so ill," a woman said. "Those two were a little heavy-handed with the drugs."
Her voice was warm and made slightly husky by an Eastern European accent. John turned his head on the pillow and saw Elena gazing down at him. Behind her stood a variety of machines, all of them connected to John via electrodes that covered his chest. He observed that the IV was still present, as well as the restraints.
"Thanks," he rasped. "For cleaning me up, that is. The rest of your hospitality is shit." To illustrate his point, he tugged at the leather wrist cuffs. Their metal fastenings clanged noisily against the bed rails.
The corner of her mouth twitched. "If I said the worst was over, I'd be lying."
John grimaced. "At least you're honest. I don't suppose this is the part where I finally learn why I'm here?"
"You're an important part of Sergei's plan."
"Which is?"
"All in good time," she said, echoing her colleague. Regarding him thoughtfully, she added, "You must really mean a lot to Mycroft."
John opened his mouth to ask what she meant by that comment. Then something occurred to him. "You called him Mycroft."
Her eyes narrowed. "Isn't that his name?"
"Your friend, boss, whoever that bloke is, called him Mycroft Holmes. You speak about him a lot less formally."
Elena's face assumed the same expression Sherlock's did whenever John walked into the flat and smelled something burning: anxious and furtive. When the door opened, she looked visibly relieved and repeated, "All in good time, John."
Frustrated, he stared past her and saw Sergei enter the room, followed by Dr. Malikov.
"Hello, John," the former said, beaming like a hotel manager greeting a favorite guest. "How do you feel?"
"Like some insane Russians kidnapped me, tied me up, and shot me full of drugs."
Sergei laughed. "Good to know that you're fine."
His glib façade grated on John's already-exhausted nerves. "I am FAR from fine. I want to know why I'm here. And don't fucking tell me 'All in good time.'"
Malikov, who eyed their prisoner warily, muttered something in Russian. Sergei shook his head in reply before saying, "I knew you were important to Mycroft Holmes, but I never predicted this result. I'm quite surprised."
John stiffened at this second reference to Mycroft's regard for him. "What are you talking about?"
"Are you a fan of American history?"
"Not particularly."
"Then you're probably unaware that in 1931, powerful men struggled for control of the New York underworld. Young men like Lucky Luciano and Frank Costello rose up against the Old Guard, slaughtering them and ushering in a prosperous new era. Apparently their counterparts in other American cities followed their example. It was called the 'Night of the Sicilian Vespers'. On a single September night, many senior Mafiosi vanished and were, probably correctly, assumed murdered."
"What's that got to do with Mycroft? Or me?"
Sergei's expression hardened. "A similar purge occurred last night. One that targeted so-called 'enemies of the government.'"
John frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Key personnel in organizations I have dealings with -Black Cell, X7, Amerika- disappeared. I would bet everything I've worked for that these unfortunate men and women are currently unhappy guests of your government, trying to convince Mycroft Holmes that they had nothing to do with your abduction."
John wasn't prepared to believe everything the Russian told him, but something about this announcement rang true. Mycroft would move heaven and earth to find him, regardless of how many bones- or necks- had to be broken. Strong emotions- pride and love- surged through him, allowing him to feel something other than anger or fear for the first time since his capture.
"Well, I reckon you'd better release me then. Because if he doesn't get you, your 'associates' will. They can't be happy about this disaster you've brought on them."
"I agree. Your release will have to be sooner than anticipated. Which means that your program must be accelerated." Sergei regarded him thoughtfully. "Tell me: are you and Mr. Holmes lovers?"
"What?"
"I'd always assumed you were merely a close companion of his younger brother's, but there's a look that comes into your eyes whenever his name is mentioned. And he's definitely taking your disappearance very personally." He beamed. "You were selected because of your military background, John, but this is even better. No way we can fail now."
John tried to sit up, grimacing as the cuffs pinched his flesh. Staring pointedly at Elena's gold ring, he snapped, "That U-shaped symbol means something, doesn't it? You people are responsible for those 'footprints' that appeared north of here. You knew that they would attract Mycroft's attention."
Sergei looked impressed. "Very good. You're correct on all counts. We just didn't expect him to come personally. We thought you'd arrive in Devon alone, since you've been conducting investigations on his behalf for months."
"So why bother with me if he's here? You could have killed him yourselves."
"True. But not without running the risk of retaliation from his associates. We need a- how do you say it- fall guy. You're doing us a favour, John."
"I'm not going to help you, so you might as well kill me now."
"Don't be silly. We're investing a lot in you over the next two days." He nodded toward his colleague. "Dr. Malikov is going to commence the drug therapy now. The rest of the program will follow while you're in a medically-induced stasis. As a soldier, you already harbour an ingrained obedience to a higher authority, so you'll progress much faster than any of our other subjects."
"What other subjects?"
"We've sent assassins after Mycroft Holmes before. None of them were successful. But I have every confidence that you will be." He took a step backward, nodded at Elena, and said, "I will check on you later."
The blonde woman gave John another enigmatic stare before following her associate out of the room. Despite his mounting anxiety, he wondered what her role was in this entire operation. She'd referred to Mycroft with more familiarity than Sergei did. Was there significance there?
When the door closed with an ominous click, Malikov went to a medicine cart beside the heart monitor, opened a drawer, and took out three pre-filled syringes. John wanted to ask what was in them, but knew he'd never get an answer.
His righteous fury was dissipating, only to be replaced by fear. Whatever was in those vials wouldn't be lethal. But considering what Sergei's plans for him were, he wondered whether death wouldn't be preferable.
Maybe you were right, Mycroft. Caring is not always an advantage…. But I couldn't help it where you were concerned.
Malikov donned latex gloves and approached. Yelling would be futile, and getting away was impossible. John was forced to lie there, using a stoic exterior to hide his terror as the stone-faced doctor poked the first needle into his IV port.
******
John wished he could remember what exactly had been done to him.
He didn't feel any different, aside from sore muscles and bruised limbs. Sergei explained that during the 'programming', he had convulsed and thrashed in his restraints. "You fought admirably, John. But I'm pleased to say that we achieved our goal. Tomorrow you'll be returned to your friends and your… to Mycroft Holmes."
Dr. Nevo sneered. John would have given anything for a free limb to plant in the man's face.
"And then what?" he demanded.
"You'll simply await activation."
So that was it. He'd been altered mentally. Programmed, just like they'd said, to be a sleeper agent. What was the trigger that they'd chosen to ensure Mycroft's destruction? An innocuous word? A carefully timed letter or phone call?
Icy horror gripped him. How could he ever be alone with Mycroft, or even see him again, now that he'd become a ticking time bomb? Tears pricked his eyes, but he forced them back, refusing to let them see him break down.
As he surveyed the eager, satisfied faces of his captors, John wondered desperately if he could provoke them into killing him somehow, before he could harm the person he loved. But since there was little chance of that happening, he resolved to disappear at the first available opportunity after they released him.
Like Sherlock had.
And there was little chance of his ever coming back.
Part Four
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some violence
Character(s): John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade
Summary: Sequel to "Promise to the Living". Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Lestrade investigate the devil's reappearance in Devon County after 160 years. What they find out places their lives- and John and Mycroft's relationship- in jeopardy.
Status: WIP
Part One Part Two Part Three
When John woke up, his first thought was that he'd been unconscious for a long time. His muscles felt limp and heavy and his mind was foggy. A muted throbbing in his left temple advised that if he weren't so drugged up, he'd have the headache from hell.
One thing he did feel acutely was nausea. Breathing deeply through his nose, he tried to calm his roiling stomach, but to no avail. When saliva flooded his mouth and his jaw started shaking, John struggled to turn partway over and avoid asphyxiating himself.
Fucking Russian doctors….
An emesis bowl appeared suddenly beneath his chin, a split-second before he was violently sick. When there was nothing left to bring up, he collapsed back onto the bed and groaned without sparing a glance for his attendant. He heard water running somewhere to his left, followed by a cool, wet cloth being applied to his sweaty face.
"I'm sorry to see you so ill," a woman said. "Those two were a little heavy-handed with the drugs."
Her voice was warm and made slightly husky by an Eastern European accent. John turned his head on the pillow and saw Elena gazing down at him. Behind her stood a variety of machines, all of them connected to John via electrodes that covered his chest. He observed that the IV was still present, as well as the restraints.
"Thanks," he rasped. "For cleaning me up, that is. The rest of your hospitality is shit." To illustrate his point, he tugged at the leather wrist cuffs. Their metal fastenings clanged noisily against the bed rails.
The corner of her mouth twitched. "If I said the worst was over, I'd be lying."
John grimaced. "At least you're honest. I don't suppose this is the part where I finally learn why I'm here?"
"You're an important part of Sergei's plan."
"Which is?"
"All in good time," she said, echoing her colleague. Regarding him thoughtfully, she added, "You must really mean a lot to Mycroft."
John opened his mouth to ask what she meant by that comment. Then something occurred to him. "You called him Mycroft."
Her eyes narrowed. "Isn't that his name?"
"Your friend, boss, whoever that bloke is, called him Mycroft Holmes. You speak about him a lot less formally."
Elena's face assumed the same expression Sherlock's did whenever John walked into the flat and smelled something burning: anxious and furtive. When the door opened, she looked visibly relieved and repeated, "All in good time, John."
Frustrated, he stared past her and saw Sergei enter the room, followed by Dr. Malikov.
"Hello, John," the former said, beaming like a hotel manager greeting a favorite guest. "How do you feel?"
"Like some insane Russians kidnapped me, tied me up, and shot me full of drugs."
Sergei laughed. "Good to know that you're fine."
His glib façade grated on John's already-exhausted nerves. "I am FAR from fine. I want to know why I'm here. And don't fucking tell me 'All in good time.'"
Malikov, who eyed their prisoner warily, muttered something in Russian. Sergei shook his head in reply before saying, "I knew you were important to Mycroft Holmes, but I never predicted this result. I'm quite surprised."
John stiffened at this second reference to Mycroft's regard for him. "What are you talking about?"
"Are you a fan of American history?"
"Not particularly."
"Then you're probably unaware that in 1931, powerful men struggled for control of the New York underworld. Young men like Lucky Luciano and Frank Costello rose up against the Old Guard, slaughtering them and ushering in a prosperous new era. Apparently their counterparts in other American cities followed their example. It was called the 'Night of the Sicilian Vespers'. On a single September night, many senior Mafiosi vanished and were, probably correctly, assumed murdered."
"What's that got to do with Mycroft? Or me?"
Sergei's expression hardened. "A similar purge occurred last night. One that targeted so-called 'enemies of the government.'"
John frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Key personnel in organizations I have dealings with -Black Cell, X7, Amerika- disappeared. I would bet everything I've worked for that these unfortunate men and women are currently unhappy guests of your government, trying to convince Mycroft Holmes that they had nothing to do with your abduction."
John wasn't prepared to believe everything the Russian told him, but something about this announcement rang true. Mycroft would move heaven and earth to find him, regardless of how many bones- or necks- had to be broken. Strong emotions- pride and love- surged through him, allowing him to feel something other than anger or fear for the first time since his capture.
"Well, I reckon you'd better release me then. Because if he doesn't get you, your 'associates' will. They can't be happy about this disaster you've brought on them."
"I agree. Your release will have to be sooner than anticipated. Which means that your program must be accelerated." Sergei regarded him thoughtfully. "Tell me: are you and Mr. Holmes lovers?"
"What?"
"I'd always assumed you were merely a close companion of his younger brother's, but there's a look that comes into your eyes whenever his name is mentioned. And he's definitely taking your disappearance very personally." He beamed. "You were selected because of your military background, John, but this is even better. No way we can fail now."
John tried to sit up, grimacing as the cuffs pinched his flesh. Staring pointedly at Elena's gold ring, he snapped, "That U-shaped symbol means something, doesn't it? You people are responsible for those 'footprints' that appeared north of here. You knew that they would attract Mycroft's attention."
Sergei looked impressed. "Very good. You're correct on all counts. We just didn't expect him to come personally. We thought you'd arrive in Devon alone, since you've been conducting investigations on his behalf for months."
"So why bother with me if he's here? You could have killed him yourselves."
"True. But not without running the risk of retaliation from his associates. We need a- how do you say it- fall guy. You're doing us a favour, John."
"I'm not going to help you, so you might as well kill me now."
"Don't be silly. We're investing a lot in you over the next two days." He nodded toward his colleague. "Dr. Malikov is going to commence the drug therapy now. The rest of the program will follow while you're in a medically-induced stasis. As a soldier, you already harbour an ingrained obedience to a higher authority, so you'll progress much faster than any of our other subjects."
"What other subjects?"
"We've sent assassins after Mycroft Holmes before. None of them were successful. But I have every confidence that you will be." He took a step backward, nodded at Elena, and said, "I will check on you later."
The blonde woman gave John another enigmatic stare before following her associate out of the room. Despite his mounting anxiety, he wondered what her role was in this entire operation. She'd referred to Mycroft with more familiarity than Sergei did. Was there significance there?
When the door closed with an ominous click, Malikov went to a medicine cart beside the heart monitor, opened a drawer, and took out three pre-filled syringes. John wanted to ask what was in them, but knew he'd never get an answer.
His righteous fury was dissipating, only to be replaced by fear. Whatever was in those vials wouldn't be lethal. But considering what Sergei's plans for him were, he wondered whether death wouldn't be preferable.
Maybe you were right, Mycroft. Caring is not always an advantage…. But I couldn't help it where you were concerned.
Malikov donned latex gloves and approached. Yelling would be futile, and getting away was impossible. John was forced to lie there, using a stoic exterior to hide his terror as the stone-faced doctor poked the first needle into his IV port.
******
John wished he could remember what exactly had been done to him.
He didn't feel any different, aside from sore muscles and bruised limbs. Sergei explained that during the 'programming', he had convulsed and thrashed in his restraints. "You fought admirably, John. But I'm pleased to say that we achieved our goal. Tomorrow you'll be returned to your friends and your… to Mycroft Holmes."
Dr. Nevo sneered. John would have given anything for a free limb to plant in the man's face.
"And then what?" he demanded.
"You'll simply await activation."
So that was it. He'd been altered mentally. Programmed, just like they'd said, to be a sleeper agent. What was the trigger that they'd chosen to ensure Mycroft's destruction? An innocuous word? A carefully timed letter or phone call?
Icy horror gripped him. How could he ever be alone with Mycroft, or even see him again, now that he'd become a ticking time bomb? Tears pricked his eyes, but he forced them back, refusing to let them see him break down.
As he surveyed the eager, satisfied faces of his captors, John wondered desperately if he could provoke them into killing him somehow, before he could harm the person he loved. But since there was little chance of that happening, he resolved to disappear at the first available opportunity after they released him.
Like Sherlock had.
And there was little chance of his ever coming back.
Part Four