Disclaimer: I do not, own Sherlock , it belongs to the BBC and the magnificent Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. The original Sherlock Holmes is of course a creation of the brilliant Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. All credit must go to them for the characters. Even though they don't belong to me, I still like to take them out and play with them once in a while… problem is, I don't always play nice…

A/N: Re-edited - 9/7/15

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

- Prologue -

He sits on a cold metal chair, arms twisted and tied awkwardly behind his back. The latest blow to the head has made his vision blur slightly and he does what he can to keep the blood from dripping into his eyes.

"TELL ME!"

He can see that the man before him is quickly losing patience. He keeps his head down, doing what little he can to protect himself, as another round of punches connects with his face and chest. Despite all this, the battered figure remains silent.

"You're really starting to piss me off!"

He hears a slight scrape of metal, as his captor once again picks up the electric baton from the floor. He hears the crackle of electricity and tries to quickly force all the thoughts from his mind. He knows what is about to happen, and while being mentally absent from his body doesn't stop the pain, it does help. His thoughts are so far away; he doesn't even notice the heavy door open and the second man walk in.

"Getting anywhere?"

"Not a thing!" He can hear the anger clearly in the younger man's voice and just a little bit of fear. "He's not even talking anymore, hasn't said a single thing in over two bloody hours!"

The second man turns to face him, and he gets his first look at this new adversary. Mid 30's, tall, dark hair, wears an expensive suit and holds his head up high. This must be the one in charge, the man responsible for him being in this god forsaken hell hole. He is the one who is also likely to blame for the two bodies found earlier…

"You don't want to talk? That's ok; we'll just have to move on to plan B," the suited man says, before turning his attention towards his tormentor. "Give me ten minutes to set up, and then bring him down to the storage room."

The young man turns to his superior with a slight look of regret and gives a curt nod. The suited man loosens his tie and begins to walk away from the bruised and bleeding form, but then stops momentarily to consider his young associate.

"Don't worry Jatz, it'll be fun. In the meantime, feel free take out some of your frustrations on our friend here."

The two men share a quick look, before the elder turns swiftly and exits the room. The door slams loudly behind him.

Jatz slowly turns to his prisoner once more, the baton in his hand now fully charged.

"With pleasure."