Scarred for Life

                                    

                                          

Molly, Lestrade, and I were bound for the warehouse, with myself driving, Molly in the passenger seat, and Lestrade in the backseat. I was starting to get excited. We had left for the warehouse a day early so that we could save John as soon as possible. 
                          
I heard my phone's text alert noise, and asked Molly to see what it was. 
                          
"It's a photograph." Molly said. She gasped in horror and held her hand to her mouth, "Jesus Christ.." and held the phone out for me to see.
                          
I darted my head sideways to see a picture of John lying on the ground of a small, closet sized room. His eyes were closed. He looked unconscious or even dead. And his body lay in an unnatural position. The most horrific part of the picture was what they had done to him. His shirt was gone and seemingly hundreds of whip lashes marked his back, stomach, chest, and even one on his face. Basically, every visible part of his body was covered in blood and the scars from the many lashes he had received. They had severely tortured him, and possibly even killed him. I was hoping they were simply holding him hostage, but it looked as though more was going on. 
                          
In the brief time that I was able to look at the picture. I saw the tortured man's expression, one of complete misery and pain. Why was John being punished because of me?
                          
I had to look away from this sad picture and start driving again. Tears started to cloud my vision, so I blinked and released the tears. They came rolling down my cheeks and fell into my lap. 
                          
How could they do this to John? What had he ever done to deserve this horrible torture? These are the questions that were going through my mind when Molly said, "They texted you again, they said, 'We had some fun with Johnny Boy today, hope it doesn't scar him for life.' " Molly read aloud, emphasizing the word, "scar." 
                          
The text and the photograph made me absolutely furious. I made up my mind: I was going to kill the people who did this to John if it was the last thing I did.
                          
It was about 8:00 P.M. and we were almost to the warehouse. I was looking forward to two things: saving my friend and killing his captors.
                          
"Sherlock, we need to stop," Lestrade told me.
                          
"No way. We're going to the warehouse." I told him dismissively.
                          
"We can't!" Molly cried.
                          
"And why is that?" I asked coldly.
                          
"They'll kill John!" She retorted angrily.
                          
I had forgotten about this little fact. I had let my anger get the better of me. I stopped at an inn and we went to sleep.
                          
John would have to spend one more night a kidnapped man.

                          
I woke up the next day and immediately woke Molly and Lestrade. We jumped into the car and drove the short way to the warehouse.
                          
I slowly opened the metal door to the warehouse, not really knowing what to expect. 
                          
Lestrade stayed in the largest part of the warehouse. If anyone besides John showed up, Lestrade had promised to shoot them.
                          
Molly and I started searching for John. I immediately noticed a trail of blood leading from the room we had started in to a door at the end of a long, narrow hallway. We followed it and opened the door that it lead to. We found poor John, lying on the cold, hard ground. Just by looking at the poor doctor, I could tell that he was in terrible condition. It seemed that after the photo had been taken, he had been beaten even more. He was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns. John was also very, very skinny, and using my quick deduction, I concluded that he was also dehydrated. The shackles around his bruised wrists and ankles were now too big.
                          
They had starved him.
                          
I asked Molly to try to wake him while I went to find him some water. Since I didn't want the first face John saw after his capture to be the face of a friend who had betrayed him, and led to his kidnapping, I left my friend in the caring hands of Molly Hooper.