Safehouse

jwatson-md:

John had barely spoken since leaving the hospital.

Upon discharge (in the Chelsea area. Turns out Moran had decided to torture them in Chelsea, closer to home than he thought), John had been carted off by a flash-looking black car with a sharp-suited babysitter in the backseat. Could only mean one thing - Mycroft taking charge.

He had been taken through some formal explanation of the facts, then reunited with his wife. Then had seen an introduction to a very passive state. John had become completely devoid of emotion, spending the majority of his recovery time in the sitting area of the house Mycroft had holed them up in. Watching the television without an ounce of emotion in his expression, only a face drained of any colour and red-ringed eyes.

Though robbed of his voice, too many thoughts harassed John’s mind all at once - day and night. He’d prayed for a miracle, and there it was. On the telly screen, practically laughing at him. The news, the mindnumbing news, had shook him to his core, devasting him with an explosion of strong changes - and leaving him depleted and empty. Only a ticking brain inside a broken body, staring at the grainy face of the man he thought was his best friend.

Once again John was silent infront of the television screen, watching an endless stream of newscast repeats. Sitting back, his elbow propped on the arm of the couch and the side of his face sunk into his palm. His leg cast out in front of him and a pair of crutches leant against the wall.

What a complete and utter mug.

True to Mary’s word, a car arrived within minutes of her last text. The driver immediately opening the door for the very lost Frankie and motioning her inside. She speant the entire journey clutching her handbag in silence, not daring ask for fear of an answer. The whole thing had that classified feel about it, which just made the unknown feel all that more threatening.

When the car finally pulled up, the driver let Frankie out and lead her down the driveway of what looked to be an ordinary house. Though when she glanced about the street, she couldn’t for the life of her name the area. It took half an hour to drive there, for god’s sake.

The driver, for some reason, had a key to this house and let himself in, leading Frankie into the kitchen area. Where he sat her down, assured her that her things had already been brought over, and that he would bring her sister to meet her. As the man left the room, Frankie could only clasp her hands together across the table surface and stare with a perplexed frown.