The world came back by degrees. For a moment, Sherlock was aware of only pain, thick, pounding, vicious pain in the left side of his face. He would be shocked if his eye socket wasn’t fractured, he knew it would be a brilliant black at the very least. A nice addition to his concussion.
Super soldiers could hit with tremendous force. He would remember that.
Pain exploded as he attempted to lift his head, enough to make him hiss aloud. Sherlock found he was able to rest his head against a wall of concrete behind him, and that helped. He was bound to a chair by an amateur, still able to move enough to work himself free with time and patience. When he tried to open his eyes, he found only his right could manage it. The left was swollen shut.
He gazed into the darkness with his one good eye, trying to discern what he could without moving his head. Warehouse. No signs of outside life while it was no doubt early evening, which meant this was one of the abandoned blocks on the lower east end... smart. The captain wasn’t going to kill him, but beating London’s famous detective would reflect rather poorly on him.
They wouldn’t be interrupted here.
“... I commend your choice of location.” Sherlock finally spoke, though his voice was faint with pain, stripped of arrogance. “A body here would not be discovered for months... and even then would probably be taken for that of a junkie and ignored. They would not be wrong... but you guessed that already.”
His good eye slid shut as he momentarily faltered under the pain. He could feel his mobile in his pocket, the warmth indicating it was on and desperately searching for a wireless signal. John was prone to searching for his GPS, and would likely come running if he saw the signal’s origin. He’d suspect him of raiding a heroin den. Again.
“I was not planted, Captain. Put any human being in front of me and I could do the same. I know it felt personal, but it wasn’t. You won’t believe that, they never do...”
The thought broke cleanly in two as a sudden flash of green light blinded them both, the windows shattering outward. The metal door blasted off its hinges, crumpling in on itself in its haste to move aside. A thin, towering figure strode evenly through the malestrom, a sort of green energy sparking near its hands.
The moment he stepped into the light, it all ceased, pale blue eyes staring at the scene with confusion. He was not unlike Sherlock in physique, tall, pale, gaunt, raven-black hair. But there was more, so much more. Sherlock’s good eye had blown wide, staring at the man before him with a mixture of interest and genuine horror.
some old enemy turned not quite good
he tries to be for your sake
that doesn’t what he’s done
The trickster turned his gaze from the detective to the captain, his face a mixture of relief and annoyance. Like he’d just been frightened half to death for nothing.
“You only ever call for backup when you are genuinely dying. Forgive me, but this looks handled.”
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