[Sherlock had been watching out for Joan since the beginning. Growing more proud of her as she pieced together bits and scraps of inconclusive evidence that he hadn't had time to destroy. It was enough to keep her busy, which was good in a way. It made his work much more dangerous and he'd had a few near-misses escaping her notice. At one point, he'd even dressed as a beggar woman on the street to give her a false lead to give himself enough of a head start to get out of town before it's too late.
In Amsterdam, he'd found reports of one of Moriarty's assassins closing in on Joan's location. Digging a bit deeper, he found the headquarters of said assassins was in New Jersey in an abandoned factory warehouse. Because of the proximity between the warehouse and his old apartment with Joan Watson (less than an hour of travel time), he'd rushed a little more than usual in acting. He hadn't taken all of the precautions he usually would have and it was too late before he realised he was walking right into a trap.
He'd taken down three men before he was tied up on a chair and interrogated. It was around six hours of hell, but they eventually got called away for another business and left him alone there to die slowly from starvation - he'd corrected them and said dehydration would kill him sooner than starvation and that had earned him a pistol whip across the face.
He'd passed out for a couple of hours, then woke up parched and hungry to a dark, empty warehouse. So they really did leave him for dead. Good for him that the whole lot is stupid enough to do that. He leans back in his chair and works against the restraints on his wrists first. Rope, cheap, the same stuff you can buy in bulk at Home Depot. 3/4" diameter, so it's just thick enough to be clumsy at holding knots. He chuckles at that, thinking about how incredibly stupid these men are as kidnappers.
He's almost gotten the knot completely worked out when he hears something. Metal creaking, door hinges as one of the doors opens. He holds his breath and tilts his head down, trying to see through the darkness. A sliver of light comes in from the southeast, just enough to alert him that it's daylight outside.
Footsteps. He can tell from the cadence that the person approaching is wearing high-heels. Fashionable more than functional, but good quality so not easily broken. A woman, between 5'1" and 5'4" in height, plus three inches of heel. Careful steps. She's done this before. It's a familiar rhythm. Joan. He feels equal parts relief and distress. It's not safe for her to see him. He's not finished with his mission yet.]
no subject
In Amsterdam, he'd found reports of one of Moriarty's assassins closing in on Joan's location. Digging a bit deeper, he found the headquarters of said assassins was in New Jersey in an abandoned factory warehouse. Because of the proximity between the warehouse and his old apartment with Joan Watson (less than an hour of travel time), he'd rushed a little more than usual in acting. He hadn't taken all of the precautions he usually would have and it was too late before he realised he was walking right into a trap.
He'd taken down three men before he was tied up on a chair and interrogated. It was around six hours of hell, but they eventually got called away for another business and left him alone there to die slowly from starvation - he'd corrected them and said dehydration would kill him sooner than starvation and that had earned him a pistol whip across the face.
He'd passed out for a couple of hours, then woke up parched and hungry to a dark, empty warehouse. So they really did leave him for dead. Good for him that the whole lot is stupid enough to do that. He leans back in his chair and works against the restraints on his wrists first. Rope, cheap, the same stuff you can buy in bulk at Home Depot. 3/4" diameter, so it's just thick enough to be clumsy at holding knots. He chuckles at that, thinking about how incredibly stupid these men are as kidnappers.
He's almost gotten the knot completely worked out when he hears something. Metal creaking, door hinges as one of the doors opens. He holds his breath and tilts his head down, trying to see through the darkness. A sliver of light comes in from the southeast, just enough to alert him that it's daylight outside.
Footsteps. He can tell from the cadence that the person approaching is wearing high-heels. Fashionable more than functional, but good quality so not easily broken. A woman, between 5'1" and 5'4" in height, plus three inches of heel. Careful steps. She's done this before. It's a familiar rhythm. Joan. He feels equal parts relief and distress. It's not safe for her to see him. He's not finished with his mission yet.]