Chapter Text
"Your services in this time of need will be greatly appreciated." The Colonel smiled with the same strength as a cellophane window, extending his hand across the desk for the Captain to shake.
With a tight returned smile, John Watson met Colonel Baine's hand halfway, shaking firmly. "I'll always do what's needed in order to serve my country."
"An admirable quality, Captain," Baine assured, his smile strengthening marginally. "Most men in your position wouldn't even think about a second tour of duty. Do I detect a hunger for a promotion? Major John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fussiliers." Settling in his plush office chair, as if savoring it while he still could, Baine's eyes wrinkled. "Has quite the ring to it."
John did little more than shrug. "Perhaps." He certainly wouldn't mind the increase in pay grade.
Legs crossing at the ankle, Baine sighed with his hands folded and resting low on his gut. "Still, Watson," he went on, as if he'd never stopped, "you will do good to keep yourself from getting shot at out there. A man with your talents could do better than a bunker in the middle of the desert."
With the same tight smile, John thought to himself that the idea of wasting away in some private practice in Bristol would be enough to make him die of boredom. "Doesn't get much more exciting, though, does it?"
-
"Are we sure about this?"
"Certainly," came the simple retort from behind the scientific journal, mop of dark curly hair just visible to the agitated ex-cop.
"Well, maybe you're sure about it," corrected the former. "An army base? In Afghanistan? Surely we could wait until he's on leave. Much easier to infiltrate." The hum of the airborne private jet established a chord of uneasiness to their conversation.
With an absent wave, the mop of hair behind the journal gestured at the mouse-like young woman seated next to him.
Clearing her throat, 'mouse-woman' clarified. "We've got an in with two of the Lieutenants in the area, and a guarantee of an inconspicuous transport" she assured. "It's as close as we're going to get with the time we have."
Brow furrowed, the grey-haired man shook his head. "It's risky. We're bound to get found out. These army chaps aren't exactly lacking in security."
"Leave it to me," drawled the bored-sounding young man, still buried in his journal. "Colonel Baines is a high priority case."
"You mean high paying," scoffed the older gentleman.
Bringing the journal down to rest in his lap so he could look at the man across the aisle from him with heavy disdain, the young man's eyes shone with brilliant light that didn't match his grimacing lips. "This reeks of something bigger. We're not dealing with chump change, no, no! This is going to be big." With a smirk, he raised his journal back up, deeming the conversation closed.
Giving up, the older man leaned back in his seat, slipping on his noise-cancelling headphones and attempting to will away the rest of the insanely long flight with the dulcet tones of The Smiths.
-
John Watson never dreamt when he slept; not anymore. He'd seen too many things for his brain to convert into images for while he was sleeping, and John believed he was better off because of it. The horrors, the flashes of inconceivable phenomena, and the trauma were all much easier to ignore if he didn't have to revisit them when he closed his eyes. Avoiding the whole mess of sleep and dreaming entirely, John had taken up insomnia most evenings. He pressed forward with a strange vividness through his days despite the lack of rest, confusing his friends and his superiors with his focus paired with heavy bags under his eyes. But even when he did succumb and sleep overcame him, he was never visited by dreams.
Tonight was one of the nights when John decided sleep was superfluous, instead fancying a walk around the base. The desert aroma of dryness and sand (which, believe it or not, has a very distinct smell) swirled around him as he paced, his standard issue uniform snug on his shoulders but appropriately fitted everywhere else. It was just past one in the morning, and nearly all of the lights throughout the camp were extinguished, signs that John was truly in the minority with his sleepless behaviors.
He could be back in London starting up his own practice if he wanted to. He had the experience, the certification, and the skills. And instead he was out here in the desert, patching up soldiers and dodging bullets. Something was definitely wrong with him.
Boots scuffing up the dirt path, John's eyes scanned the base before noticing something odd: a shiny-new Jeep parked out in front of the Colonel's quarters that definitely did not look like it was army issued at all, and a strange thing to see in the arid Afghanistan climate. John paused mid-pace, looking around him for any signs of visitors and finding himself alone. None of the lights were on inside the bunker, causing John's alertness to spike. This was not adding up.
Part of him wondered if he should alert somebody, seek out help. But of course, instead, John found himself approaching the Colonel's quarters without too much deliberation. Yep, definitely something wrong with him.
Proceeding with caution, John inched his way towards mysteriously darkened building. The Colonel often has visitors from those higher up in command, but to date none had found it necessary to call at such a ridiculous hour of the night. And few of his guests deemed it necessary to confer in complete darkness.
John saw before he had made it to the door that the door was ajar, but just before he could push it open to peer inside, his heart leaped up to his throat when he heard voices.
"If you're so concerned, perhaps you should keep watch," snapped a velvet-low baritone voice.
"No, no," came another voice, sounding defeated but clearly not the one in charge. "Molly will manage. Won't you?'
There was a pause before a woman's voice responded, clearly the aforementioned Molly, just above a whisper. "Yeah, sure, I can manage."
"Then let's stop wasting time," growled the lower man's voice.
Hand migrating carefully to rest on the handle of his gun, secure in its holster, John crouched down and moved over to the window, ducked below the line of sight and chancing a quick peek in.
The sight was definitely one he had never happened upon before, which is one for the books, to be sure.
Three people were congregated around the cot with the Colonel fast asleep on it, the two men arranging themselves to either sit or lay down around him, and the woman holding what looked like an ornate metallic briefcase. John ducked out of sight again for a split second before chancing another look, lingering this time. The woman with the briefcase had opened it up and placed it on the ground, extracting what looked like plastic tubes used to administer IV medication from inside the briefcase. The inside of the briefcase was not simply an empty carrying case, but looked like a fully operational machine of some variety with LED display and curious looking gears and compartments exposed.
The two men, one excessively tall and lanky with dark curly hair and the other slightly shorter with grey hair and wrinkled skin, each accepted one of the leads offered by the woman dealing with the briefcase-machine and injected the leads into their veins at the inner elbow. John's brow furrowed as the woman, Molly, took the third lead and delicately exposed the underside of Colonel Baine's arm and injected the lead. The colonel winced but did not stir. They must have already sedated him with something, John reasoned.
Nothing about the operation unfolding before him put John at ease in the slightest, and he ducked out of sight once again, lest any of the three people inside see him spying. He'd noticed both men had guns at their hips, less than assuring.
"Get on with it," came the impatient baritone voice that seemed to be in charge; John guessed that it belonged to the man with the curly dark hair, but without seeing couldn't be sure. After a short silence, John heart a curious hissing noise begin just inside, and after forcing himself to count to ten he chanced another glance inside. Both of the men were now passed out, the grey-haired man leaning back against the side of the cot, and the dark-haired man lying flat on the floor slightly further from Baine. The woman was seated next to the machine in the middle of the mess, awake and looking around twitchy-like.
Before John had a chance to duck back down, the woman's gaze - Molly, he reminded himself uselessly - landed right on John at the window. John crouched out of sight a moment too late, cursing himself silently.
"Who's there," she called out, voice shaking. Unused to covert operation, then, John reasoned. He could easily incapacitate her. But he had no idea what in the world that machine was, or what it was doing... Were they drugging the colonel for some reason? What sort of drugging was done en masse with the participation of the druggers?
Drawing his weapon, John stood and spun towards the ajar door in a fluid motion, nudging the door open with his boot and training his sight on the woman. "Hands in the air," he muttered, shouting unnecessary in such close quarters.
Molly's eyes widened in shock, hands shooting up and standing as quick as a flash. "Don't shoot." Her voice was quiet and awkwardly high-pitched, the terror swallowing her eyes as her pupils dilated.
John remained steady, his eyes locked on the woman at the end of his gun's sight. "What are you doing to the Colonel," he shot out, eyes darting to the strange briefcase open on the floor in front of Molly.
"N-Nothing," the woman stammered, unsure of herself.
The steady captain simply narrowed his eyes at her.
Shaking her head to dissuade any ideas John might have about shooting first and asking questions later, Molly went on. "Okay, well, not nothing... but we're not hurting him," she insisted. "I'll tell you what's going on, just... please don't point that gun at me?" Her eyes were pleading, limbs shaking, not a malicious bone in her body from the looks of it. She was positively terrified.
Perhaps she was telling the truth, but John was still reticent to follow blindly. Still... He lowered his gun, the hand holding it hanging at his side rather than holstering it. He wasn't completely sold. "Start talking."
Clearly Molly was not the type that would endure well under interrogation scenarios. As soon as she had lowered her hands, she spilled. "W-We suspect Colonel Baine is involved in... less than legal activities. We've been hired by an outside contractor to investigate."
"Investigate?" John's brow furrowed in confusion and curiosity. "What does that have to do with... with that thing and... and those?" He gestured in turn to the strange briefcase and the leads extending from it.
"Dream manipulation," she blurted out without hesitation. "We're... basically looking for the answers in his head."
He must have heard that wrong. "...Excuse me, what?!"
As if it helped any, Molly just repeated herself. "Dream manipulation."
"Yeah, you said that already, and... that doesn't really make any sense." John eyes stayed locked on the mousy-looking woman. She was yanking his leg, surely.
Molly pressed on, kneeling down on the floor beside the briefcase. "This is a Portable Automated Somnacin IntraVenous Device. A PASIV." She pointed out the five-letter abbreviation engraved in the stainless steel on the inside corner of the briefcase. The strange machine was still hissing oddly, high-pitched and incessant, definitely different from the hum a standard IV gave off. "It delivers Somnacin to the dreamers, which enables dream sharing." She cleared her throat, taking a deep breath after talking so quickly. "It's all... quite difficult to explain -"
"Wake them up," John snapped. Whatever Molly was going on about this dream sharing, John wasn't having any of it. Dream sharing? Mind control, more like it. "Right now," he added to make his point.
With an almost apologetic frown, Molly shook her head. "I can't. The Somnacin... if I interrupt it in the middle of a shared dream experience, it'll-"
"I don't really care. Wake them up." John raised his gun to point it at Molly again, eliciting something like a squeak from the mousey woman whose arms shot up in a flash as she stood again.
"No, no, I can't! I... I can go in and tell them to wake up or something, but... but I can't just shut it off!" Molly's eyes were wide and pleading, and John, despite himself, was inclined to believe her.
Rather than lower his gun this time, John thought for a moment, keeping this quiet, jumpy woman in his aim. "...Go in, like... hook yourself up and fall asleep and... dream with them?"
Molly visibly swallowed a lump in her throat before nodding.
"Not a chance," he asserted. Like hell he was allowing this conspirator to dope up on some dreaming drug while he sat around while the Colonel's thoughts were fresh for the picking. There was something deeply wrong about all of this...
"What do you want me to do, then?!" Molly's hands were still above her head, her voice hissing at what she probably perceived as the unfairness of this situation.
Pursing his lips and licking them for half a moment, John reluctantly lowered his gun a foot or two so it was no longer pointing at Molly. "Tell me what the hell is going on. This dream sharing... They're... in his head, right now?" He gestured blankly with his right hand at the two men comatose beside the Colonel, keeping a firm grip on his gun with his left hand, pointing it at the ground.
Taking in a deep, steadying breath, hesitantly lowering her hands, Molly's eyes remained fixed on John, twitching back and forth between the gun and his eyes. "...Basically, yes. The subject, er, the Colonel, is dreaming right now, but what we do is provide a kind of, um, mold for the dream to happen inside, and the subject sort of fills it up with his thoughts and ideas and memories. It can be temperamental-"
"Great, okay," John sighed, shaking his head, eyes still narrow and confused, since most everything coming out of Molly's mouth sounded like scientific gibberish. Or baking instructions. "Care to tell me why the hell you chose Colonel Baine for your lab rat?"
Molly winced slightly at John's dismissal of her explanation, but her gaze never left John. "You could let me finish what I'm saying, for one thing," she shot back with an unexpected (on John's behalf) surge of irritation.
John took a deep breath and holstered his gun to placate the smallish woman. He held up his empty palms in a sign of temporary truce.
Molly cleared her throat and continued, voice much more level now that the gun was put away. "Colonel Baine is suspected of espionage."
Understandably shocked by Molly's accusation, John's eyes widened in disbelief. "Excuse me?!"
"He's suspected of disclosing sensitive information to militant groups in the area," she elaborated, expression appropriately shame-faced for John's benefit. "But there is no conclusive proof. So... that's where we come in."
Shaking his head, John found himself slow to jump on board with this 'Colonel-Baine-is-a-traitor' bandwagon Molly was driving. "I don't believe you," he muttered. Not Colonel Baine. He was the man that had convinced John to serve his second tour of duty, an upstanding member of the regiment, to say the least. Firm in his direction, but never overbearing or autocratic. Why on Earth would he do anything like that?
"I'm sorry," she muttered, shaking her head. "But all signs point to the Colonel selling government secrets."
"And how the hell do some... dream-weavers get proof of something like that," John demanded, hardly aware that his fists were clenched.
Clearly the woman before him wasn't exactly enjoying telling John about the dark secrets his commanding officer lived with, but she pressed on. "We've constructed a replication of the meeting place we think the Colonel usually uses to meet with the enemy informants. All it takes is watching what he does and catching him in the act, so to speak."
John's brow furrowed, lips tightening in a straight line. "That's... this is..." This was so wrong, so invasive of privacy - God, not just privacy, one's own thoughts! - that John's stomach was twisted in knots thinking about it. "You're going to read a man's thoughts to convict him of espionage?!"
"No," Molly clarified, and for whatever reason she seemed unable to hold back a small smile. "Just his dreams."
Moral conscience snapping against him like a rubber band, John's gun was back out of it's holster immediately, pointed once again at Molly. "I'm only going to say this once. Wake. Them up. Now. I've had enough of this."
The exasperated but desperate groan Molly let out as she raised her hands once more caused her whole chest to concave with its force, shoulders hunching in despair. "PLEASE don't point that at me! I've told you! I can't!"
"Wake. Them. Up."
The moment drew itself a moment longer than reality allowed for, frozen in John's consciousness, oblivious of everything except for the trembling woman before him. Would he actually pull the trigger on her? Was she actually any threat? Was she telling the truth about the Colonel?
A sudden low baritone voice cut through John's thoughts. "You'll want to put that down, Captain."
In John's momentary reverie, he hadn't noticed that the continual hissing from the PASIV had ended. In addition, he had failed to register a tall, lanky figure stand smoothly and point a gun directly at John's head. His gaze turned to him now, taking in the completely awake and frightfully still man who had a hand gun aimed squarely at John's temple. Aside from the long, draping coat and the dark mop of curls on top of his head, John didn't have much of a chance to take in much more about this man before the attacker clicked off the safety on his pistol.
"In your own time. But quite quickly."
Knowing full well he was out of other options, John slowly raised his free hand up in surrender, slowly crouching down with his gaze fixed on the tall man as he lowered the gun down to the floor, setting it down carefully.
"Wise choice," drawled the black-haired man, his voice identified by John as the one belonging to the man John had guessed was in charge of their team. Satisfied now that the army captain was unarmed, he clicked back on the safety, holstered his gun, and turned his attention to the plastic lead still in his arm, removing the tube and pressing a fingertip to the pinprick in the same instant. Molly took the lead without a word, coiling it up as her gaze lingered on the man's long-fingered hand.
"Who the hell is this," came a voice from the floor, and John's gaze snapped over to the third member of this strange team, grey-haired and removing his own lead as he spoke, looking up at John quizzically.
"Doesn't matter," snapped out the man in charge, going over to the Colonel and busying himself with the lead attached to the commanding officer's arm, removing it expertly and quickly. "We need to move quickly."
"Hold up," John got in just barely as Molly began gathering up the three leads and packing them away inside the briefcase-thing - she had called it the PASIV, John remembered. "Are you... you're just leaving?!"
Quirking up an eyebrow at John, the tall man seemed to be confused for half a moment that John was still there. "He'll be waking up. If you're smart, which I doubt, you'll be leaving as well. Lestrade," he snapped at the grey-haired man who was now standing and still had his gaze fixed on John in confusion. "We don't have time."
John looked over at Molly incredulously, who simply shrugged helplessly at him as she closed up the PASIV, picking it up. "No, hold on!"
His insistence caused at least Molly and the man called Lestrade to look up at John and pause what they were doing, but the third simply pursed his lips. "Get out of our way, or I'll make you move," he threatened, hand moving again towards his gun.
But he wasn't letting them leave without the answer he wanted. "Did he do it, then? That was the whole point, wasn't it? Has he been selling secrets?"
There was a moment of confusion while Molly winced and the man in charge turned to look at her with irritation. "I told you to keep watch, not to chat up anyone with a uniform that showed up," he muttered, and John was insulted that this brooding fellow had the nerve to act like John wasn't even there anymore.
"I wasn't chatting him up, I was keeping him from trying to wake you up too soon," she insisted, indignant.
"We need to get out of here," Lestrade muttered.
"Has Colonel Baine been selling secrets?!" John insisted, his shoulders square and gaze fixed on the man in control of what was going on, the only one whose name he hadn't quite caught. Great, an enigma of a man, just what John needed right now.
Apparently the enigma wasn't feeling too chatty at the moment, brow furrowed with impatience. "This is ridiculous. We need to leave before-"
"Hands in the air! All of you!"
Their conflict had been summarily interrupted by a now quite-awake Colonel who had taken hold of the gun at his bedside table and was now pointing it in turn at the three intruders, sitting up in bed. He had heavy bags under his eyes as if he hadn't been sleeping just now, nerves appropriately jumpy as he took stock of the strangers.
Everyone obediently did as the colonel asked, everyone's hands above their heads. John caught Lestrade exchanging furtive looks with each other that John couldn't decipher, his own hands also raised just to be safe.
"Watson," Baine snapped, standing up properly and eyes narrow. "The devil are you doing here?" The colonel had his gun trained on Molly but his gaze was fixed on John.
Lowering his hands carefully, he cleared his throat. "I heard commotion in here and came to investigate," he explained levelly.
Taking in a shaky deep breath, his aim shaky and oddly uneven for a marksman like Baine, the colonel turned his gaze once more to each of the three strangers. "You... You were... I saw you in..." His expression was slowly changing from one of suspicion to shock and close to terror. "What the blazes is going on here?!"
"We should be asking the same thing," Lestrade interjected coolly, hands still raised. "How long have you been selling secrets to al Quada operatives?"
The dawning of realization on the colonel's face was all the answer John needed. The slow decay of his doubt and confusion began combusting in his brain, jumping into overdrive, shaking his head. "Colonel... you didn't...?"
"Shut your face," snapped Baine at the hesitant captain, actually turning his gun to him as causing John's hands to jump back above his head. "You have no right to judge me, Watson," he spat out, as if the captain's very name disgusted him.
"What I'm curious about," broke in the low baritone voice of the strange team's leader, "is how carefully organized it all seems. This smells of something much bigger than one Colonel selling secrets to the first buyer." Boldly, the tall man had lowered his hands, folding them behind his back as his eyes danced all over the figure of the shaky colonel. "You've had some help," he concluded.
Baine's gaze snapped to the man as he spoke, visibly swallowing a lump down his throat. His usual calm composure was clearly gone now that his secret was out, and he seemed an entirely different man to John. "Yeah, I did," he muttered, gun still trained on John.
"Who from," John broke in, prompting the stranger to glance over at John quizzically as John took control, his own hands lowering. "Who the hell would play match-maker with militant terrorists and a snake-in-the-grass like you?" The venom in his voice was heavy and strong, even taking a step forward towards the colonel.
And even after that display, Baine had the goddamn nerve to smirk at John. "Feeling betrayed, Watson? The man you thought was a king isn't everything you thought he was?" The colonel's gun remained trained on John, but it was still shaky with the man's nerves despite his moment of bravura, his voice growing more angry as he went on. "How does it feel, learning everything you value is actually a piece of shit dressed up in 'queen and country'?"
Out of the corner of his eyes, John saw Molly practically hiccup from her nerves; clearly today hadn't been a good day for her.
"Who's been helping you, Baine," snapped the impatient leader, gaze drifting momentarily over to Lestrade and tilting his head in Baine's direction fractionally, almost so quick John missed it.
"Like I'd tell you," Baine hissed, glaring at the tall stranger and turning the gun's aim towards him. "You'd have to kill me first, and then you'd have a right job of getting me to tell then, hm?"
The cool smirk that answered Baine's taunt was bone-chilling. "You have no idea."
Before the colonel could react, Lestrade took his own pistol out of his holster and, being closest to Baine, needed only to dart forward a step before he summarily whacked the colonel upside the back of the head with the butt of his gun. The colonel barely had a chance to cry out in surprise before his gaze rolled back into his head and he crumpled to the floor. Molly squeaked and jumped back a step to prevent being fallen on.
"That should handle it," Lestrade muttered, holstering his gun and tossing a little grin in the stranger's direction.
"Wait a minute," John protested, looking between Lestrade and the other man in disbelief. "How do you expect to find out how he's been getting help if he's knocked out?!"
"We don't need to," asserted the tall stranger as he took a moment to straighten his coat. "We already got a name. I was stalling for time until he was appropriately distracted so Lestrade could incapacitate him. An interrogation was the perfect solution." He glanced up at John for a moment, tossing him a proud smirk.
John's mouth gaped open for half a moment before he caught himself and snapped his mouth shut. "That's brilliant."
For the split second that their gazes connected, John caught a look of disbelief in the strange blue-grey-ish eyes before the expression turned to one of trained emptiness. "Was it?"
"Yes, of course it was," John insisted, looking back at the knocked out colonel in amazement. His heart was still pounding from the excitement of this scuffle, and he couldn't help but smile. "Really amazing."
John seemed to have somehow tapped into the one thing that could cause this tall stranger to be stricken speechless, simply turning away from John and slipping his hands into his pocket, looking down at the crumpled colonel.
"We haven't the foggiest what it means, though," Lestrade noted, as if to keep the conversation going despite it's derailment. "The name - I've never heard of him before."
"Moriarty," muttered the dark-haired man, who was now stooping down over the colonel, picking up his wrist gingerly as he inspected his... fingernails? John watched with curiosity as the curious man picked away at the man, eyes moving quickly and faster than any average man could register information with.
"Moriarty?" Molly questioned, seeming now to be in control of her nerves enough by now to speak again, looking to Lestrade with tight features.
Nodding, Lestrade watched the man who was now pulling something out of the colonel's pocket, examining it. "Yes. I've never heard it before..."
Without any sign that he was nearly finished, the stranger stood abruptly, stowing away the piece of paper he'd extracted. "I've got everything I need," he announced, turning his gaze to Lestrade. "We should get moving. No doubt the good doctor here isn't the only insomniac in this base."
Starting, John's eyes widened. "I never said I was a doctor."
"You didn't have to. It's obvious if one spends longer than five seconds looking at you." Tightening his lips, he looked John over once more before adding, "Perhaps less. Three seconds would be more than ample."
"How-?!"
"It's irrelevant and not at all pertinent at the moment," asserted the strange, strange man that somehow was able to not only enter people's dreams but read their minds while they were awake. "What's important now is whether you are coming with us."
"Wait, what?!" Lestrade butted in with wide eyes, taking a step forward as Molly's jaw dropped in the background. "We can't bring him with us - I don't have anything prepared. No identification, no money, nothing!"
"You want me to come with you?" Rather than reacting as boldly as Lestrade had, John's gaze didn't leave the stranger, eyebrow quirked. "Me?" Strangely enough, his surprise didn't stem from his implication of going AWOL and engaging in doubtless illegal and morally dubious activities, but more than it was directed at him. Why would somebody like John merit coming along on something like this?
"Your skill set as both a soldier and a doctor would be invaluable, and you've demonstrated a rock solid nerve. I also suspect your opinion towards the army in general is waning after your experience with Colonel Baine just now."
A strange lump was forming in John's throat as he stared at the tall, enigmatic fellow that was essentially inviting him away on a grand adventure the likes of which John couldn't begin to fathom. "I don't even know your name," he countered uselessly.
The small smile that bordered on the level of a smirk tossed his direction charmed John despite himself. "Sherlock Holmes," he announced grandly, the strange name fitting him to a tee.
Smiling bemusedly, John shook his head. "And why should I come with you lot? Dream sharing... this can't be legal."
Sherlock's eyes shone with promise, and the lump in John's throat settled somewhere in his chest, swelling and filling him with warmth. "Incredibly dangerous. And the man standing before me entered his superior officer's quarters when he hadn't the faintest what lay inside, gun brandished and blood pumping. You'll be coming along, naturally."