trashchildren | For Joan

Beard doesn't see what makes her stop at first, but when he does, it sends a chill down his spine. When she opens it and looks up at him, he takes a step back, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Have you called the cops?" he asks immediately. Beard is a problem-solver, but this is far above his pay-grade, not to mention his comfort level.

"They said they couldn't do anything until he was gone for 24 hours," she says, her tone bitter.

She stands up and pulls off her gloves, bundling them together inside out and tucking them back into her pocket, then pulls out her phone. She takes pictures of the bag and the cup from several angles, then turns on the flashlight and starts scanning the ground. "There are tire tracks here," she says, taking pictures of the tracks in the alley then closeups of the tire tread.

She sends the pictures to Sherlock along with brief descriptions. Then she calls Scotland Yard.

"Look, I have evidence that he was kidnapped," she says to the person who they palm her off on. "Yes, I'm sure. No, I...are you kidding me right now? Connect me to Lieutenant Smith. Yes, Smith. I'm a consultant, I've worked with him for...yes. Yes. What? Joan Watson. Watson. Yes, I...with Sherlock...yes, Sherlock Holmes. No...no I need to talk to him now. No, I can't wait, this is...hello? Hello? FUCK!"

Joan only barely keeps herself from smashing her phone on the ground. She turns away from Beard and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, then another, trying to get her emotions under control.

Her phone dings and she looks down at the text Sherlock has sent her.

Opel Vivaro van, likely 2017

Beard hates feeling helpless, and he's feeling that double right now. Not only does he not know how to help Ted, he doesn't know how to comfort Joan either.

He hovers right behind her, heart breaking for her, but also feeling much the same anger and frustration and fear. He gives her a moment to gather herself.

"What do we do now?"

Joan texts Sherlock back.

S.Y. not helping. Everyone?

A second later he responds.

On it.

Joan takes a deep breath, then turns to face Beard.

"Sherlock is going to contact a group of hackers we work with to see if they can get vehicle records for the type of van that left these tracks. In the meantime we should probably ask around. See if we can get a color and any information on who might have been driving. We can also ask local businesses if we can see their security tapes."

Edited 2021-07-03 22:12 (UTC)

"Rebecca might be able to help," he points out. If not with contacts, then certainly with money. "I should call her and let her know anyway..." He pauses, unsure. "Should we keep it quiet? Will media help or hurt?"

This will definitely get in the news at some point, but maybe it's better if it doesn't until they've actually found him.

"Hurt," she answers immediately. "No media. We don't know who has him or why. If..." Her voice catches as images of Ted's dead body flood her mind. She takes a breath.

"If he's still alive, we don't want to chance spooking his kidnappers." If they panic they might cut (literally) and run.

"Rebecca might help. No one else should know."

"He's still alive," Beard answers immediately, and without a shred of doubt in his voice. The kind of conviction you get from working with someone like Ted for years. "He's strong. And you're right, we're going to find him."

His certainty gives her hope and steels her courage. She lifts her chin and nods.

"We are," she affirms.

She looks out at the street and at the little market across the street. "Think they'd have a camera?"

"Let's ask," Beard answers. He feels better if he's doing something useful, and he wouldn't really know where to start without Joan, probably wouldn't have noticed the coffee to begin with, so he's glad he can assist her.

The shop does have a camera that faces the alley. It's old, recording the footage onto well worn VHS tape, so the images are washed out and jittery. But as they watch, they see a white van drive into the alley. They fast forward a bit, watching the alley, hoping they see someone come out, but they don't.

They see Ted.

He's carrying a cup of coffee and a bag of pastries, the same cup and bag they found in the alley. He stops and seems to talk to someone. Then he walks into the alley.

And never comes out.

Joan's heart is thudding in her chest, but she stays calm. She looks at the timestamp on the image. 7:14am Sunday morning.

"Over 24 hours," she says.

Edited 2021-07-03 23:01 (UTC)

Beard actually grabs Joan's arm. Sure, Ted, go up to an unmarked windowless van in the middle of London. The problem exactly with Ted trusting easy. Even if his insight usually saved him from getting involved with bad people, clearly it didn't help this time.

"Alright so... How do we follow this?"

There's no way to see the registration. And they probably don't have access to CCTV and all that without the cops. But Ted's phone wasn't in the alley, so it probably went with the van for at least a while.

It's startling to see Ted walk right into danger, and Joan doesn't blame Beard for his reaction. She puts her hand over his, both offering and seeking comfort, knowing that Ted is so important to both of them.

"We go to Scotland Yard," she says, taking the VHS tape and slipping it in her bag. "And we raise hell."

Joan texts Sherlock what they found out, and that they're on their way to Scotland Yard. He texts back that he'll meet them there.

"Text Rebecca," Joan tells Beard as they head out of the market. "She's got money and influence, and we need all the help we can get."

She flags down a cab and climbs in, waiting for Beard to follow.

"Scotland Yard," she tells the driver. "Please hurry."

Beard nods and does so, requesting her to come there immediately too. He doesn't tell her the full story through text, just makes sure she knows it's about Ted missing and that they need to convince some people to take them seriously.

Once she texts back that she's on the way, he leans forward in the cab and places his hands over his mouth for a moment, trying to process.

He looks back at Joan, probably worried like hell, but barely showing it now.

He sits back and then gently places a hand on her shoulder. Ready to turn into a proper side-hug if she leans into it.

Beard doesn't hug people that much, but they're both missing Ted, the person most likely to dole out hugs, and he thinks they both probably need it. Besides, there's a limit to how much he can do for Ted, but at least he can make sure his girlfriend feels the same support he's always given Ted over the years.

Joan is looking out the window, trying to order her thoughts, to plan out exactly who they would talk to, exactly what they would say, exactly what sorts of blockades will be thrown in their way and how to go over them.

Then Beard puts his hand on her shoulder, and she looks over at him, meeting his eyes. He's so kind, and has been such an incredible, steadfast friend to Ted, and now to her.

She leans into the touch, letting him put his arm around her and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I appreciate you," she says softly, the use of Ted's phrasing absolutely intentional.

"Likewise," Beard answers quietly, solemnly rubbing her arm as he's got his around her.

If Ted was taken and if it's as bad as it seems, then they're all probably going to need to be support people for a while. Ted will need it, when they get him back.

She stays leaning against him the whole way to Scotland Yard, allowing herself the comfort, because chances are this is going to be a fight in one way or another, and she might as well gather her strength, because she's going to need it.

They all converge on Scotland Yard at the same time, Joan and Beard, Sherlock, and Rebecca. Joan briefly fills Sherlock and Rebecca in on what they know, particularly what's on the tape. Rebecca looks horrified and like she's about to be sick. Sherlock has his jaw set, an expression of sublimated fury Joan recognizes, common in circumstances of kidnapping, which Sherlock abhors.

Together they burst into the Yard, and cut a swath through underlings until the lieutenant Joan and Sherlock have worked with appears. At that point Joan gives them the tape and the photographs, and Sherlock provides a list of people who own that van in white and live within a certain distance. The lieutenant has little choice but to trigger an official investigation, which quickly traces Ted's phone. It can only trace it to a neighborhood, but within that neighborhood was a man who owned this sort of white van. Turner Chapman even had a record stemming from a violent fight over football.

At this point the Yard stops dicking around. They call in the SWAT team, and Joan and company race to meet them down the street from the house. When they get there Joan goes up to the leader of the team.

"I'm going in with you."

"Ma'am..."

"That wasn't a question. I am going in. I'm a trained doctor, and I know the victim. God knows what he's been through, but when you find him, I will be there."

The man looks her up and down. Then calls over another member.

"Get her a bulletproof vest."

They surround the house, Joan following one of the rear team members. They look in and identify a male in the house as Turner Chapman. At the signal they burst in and the man is quickly neutralized. The team fans out, searching the house for Ted, calling "CLEAR" at each empty room.

"Where is he!" they demand of Turner, but the man only laughs maniacally.

Edited 2021-07-04 05:14 (UTC)

Ted is in a pretty bad state at this point. Between the hypothermia and the concussion, his brain hasn't exactly been working great. He's got no concept of how much time has passed, his only method of measurement being how many times the man's visited him. And even that's started to become a blur.

Still, he does hear the commotion upstairs. He just has trouble figuring out what it means.

He raises his head a little, looking up. Everything hurts, but at this point it's become nothing but background noise against the cold and the shivering, at least until the next time the man comes downstairs.

That's not just that guy, though, right...? There's more people.

Ted wants to yell, but he doesn't think he has it in him.

The SWAT team goes upstairs, still finding empty room after empty room. Joan is in the kitchen, trying to think. Where is he? Where would this man keep him?

She's looking at the floor and sees a small puddle of water at the base of a china cabinet that was completely empty of china. Joan frowns and goes up to it, crouching to look at the floor.

There's a footprint with half of it obscured under the cabinet.

"Help!" she calls to the SWAT member stationed downstairs. He runs into the kitchen to see her using all her strength to slide the cabinet over. He helps her, and together they uncover a door.

The SWAT member opens the door and starts down the stairs, gun in one hand and flashlight in the other. Joan follows.

When the flashlight sweeps over the crumpled form of Ted chained to the pipe, Joan gasps in shock and races down the stairs and is on her knees in front of him in seconds.

"Ted! Oh god..." She throws a glance at the SWAT member over her shoulder. "Call an ambulance, NOW."

There's a light, and footsteps, and Ted shrinks back a little, expecting another bucket, for the cold water to crash into him, and he's not entirely convinced he's going to make it through the next beating.

It doesn't come, though. He takes a moment to focus, and thinks he might be hallucinating.

Except it's not going away, not changing.

"Joan?"

His voice is raspy and weak, and he's confused to see her here, but somehow not that surprised.

The SWAT guy races upstairs to call the ambulance. At the top of the stairs is a light switch, and he turns it on, flooding the basement with light. Joan gasps anew at the condition Ted is in.

"It's me," she says, gently taking his free hand and tenderly touching his swollen face. "I'm here. You're safe. We're going to get you out of here."

"I knew you'd come..."

He tries to squeeze her hand, but it's pretty weak, barely perceptible. But now that little speck of hope that he's been trying to keep alive inside him is rekindled, slowly growing.

Just how bad of a condition he's in probably isn't even really visible. Beyond his confused and fatigued behavior, the slight smell of vomit, his pale and cold skin, there's only a couple bruises on his face, and a split lip.

Most of the harm lies hidden under his clothes. It's probably impossible to tell how many times he's been kicked by counting the bruises, as they all must bleed into each other by now. Who knows how many of his ribs are fractured. Here's just hoping the rest of his bones aren't. And even if he had the energy to stand, he probably shouldn't with the state of the leg where the man stomped on his ankle.

"I'm so sorry this happened," she says, having to swallow down a lump in her throat and resist the tears welling in her eyes. It hurts so badly to see him this way. She gently presses her fingers to his neck to feel for his pulse. It's rapid and weak, and his skin is so cold. Fuck, he's in shock.

Another SWAT member comes down the stairs. "Jesus," he breathes when he sees Ted.

Joan barks orders over her shoulder. "Go find blankets. Quick."

The ambulance is coming, but it might not come quickly enough. She has to get him warm immediately.

She pulls out her lockpick and makes quick work of the handcuff, moaning in distress at how mangled the skin on his wrist is.

"Ted, I need to take these wet clothes off you right away," she says, starting to pull up his sweater, trying to do it as carefully as possible, knowing that it will probably hurt him.

Ted doesn't reply, just lets her do it. She's here now, it's going to be okay. She'll look after him.

He lifts his arms as much as he can to let her pull the sweater off, but takes a sharp breath as it tugs against a sore spot on his side. You'd think he'd be too numb at this point to feel that sharp a pain, but nope, it still cuts through.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs to him at that sharp breath, her heart aching. "I'm so sorry." She eases the sweater off of him gently and tosses it to the side and quickly unbuttons his shirt. When she peels it away from his freezing cold skin she sucks in a breath herself at the reveal of the massive bruises to his side. "Fuck," she whispers. This is bad. This is really bad.

She can't linger, can't fall apart, he needs her to keep it together. She unbuckles his belt and begins to peel his sopping wet pants off as well.

He knows what she's doing, even if he isn't entirely conscious as to why, so he makes a Herculean effort to lift himself off the ground enough for her to pull his pants off him too. He grits his teeth against the pain of the leg, knowing that it's coming.

"He hit my head.." he says quietly, partly to explain what happened, partly because... that might be relevant? Right? It didn't break the skin, so there wouldn't be any blood to betray it, but the headache is one of the sources of pain he can actually single out.

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