donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2016-07-15 08:56 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2016-07-15 08:56 pm
His Dismal Den
Title: His Dismal Den
Fandom/Warning/Rating: Sherlock BBC, cursing, rated PG-13
Word Count: 200 words
Summary: John finds himself in a bit of a pickle.
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
watsons_woes JWP#15. Title and quote from "The Spider and The Fly" by Mary Howitt
John regained consciousness suddenly and took in his surroundings. Plain cement walls and ceiling. Cold metal table under him. Numerous hospital grade straps immobilizing him. Were those electrodes? Shite. This was bad, this was very bad.
Breathe. Just breathe. Okay, high, small windows with angled light so probably a basement. No ambient noise so either the room was soundproofed or the area of the building he was in was empty and there was no nearby traffic. Despite the bright light directly overhead he could see a camera off to the side, recording him.
Maybe he could free his hand? Cut or loosen the straps somehow and-
There was the crackle of an intercom engaging and then John heard:
"'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the spider to the fly;
''Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.'"
Moriarty.
"Now's your line, Johnny boy! No? Well, I suppose it doesn't matter, we both know how this will end. Now that you're in my little parlor you'll never be coming out again!"
Shite. He was so fucked.
Fandom/Warning/Rating: Sherlock BBC, cursing, rated PG-13
Word Count: 200 words
Summary: John finds himself in a bit of a pickle.
Author's Note: Written for
watsons_woes JWP#15. Title and quote from "The Spider and The Fly" by Mary HowittJohn regained consciousness suddenly and took in his surroundings. Plain cement walls and ceiling. Cold metal table under him. Numerous hospital grade straps immobilizing him. Were those electrodes? Shite. This was bad, this was very bad.
Breathe. Just breathe. Okay, high, small windows with angled light so probably a basement. No ambient noise so either the room was soundproofed or the area of the building he was in was empty and there was no nearby traffic. Despite the bright light directly overhead he could see a camera off to the side, recording him.
Maybe he could free his hand? Cut or loosen the straps somehow and-
There was the crackle of an intercom engaging and then John heard:
"'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the spider to the fly;
''Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.'"
Moriarty.
"Now's your line, Johnny boy! No? Well, I suppose it doesn't matter, we both know how this will end. Now that you're in my little parlor you'll never be coming out again!"
Shite. He was so fucked.
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I'm sure John will get out of this alive, one way or another, but . . . to quote a Disney-straight-to-video, "You be surprised what you can live through."
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*cackles maniacally*
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