He’d been unconscious when they brought him here, and the shackles on his wrists were far to tight, already cutting into his flesh before he started fighting against them.
"Hello?" John called out, trying to see if he'd been frisked for his lockpicks before being chained to the wall. "Is anybody there?"
There was no response, and his lockpicks were gone, as well as his shoes and jacket, leaving him barefoot in just his shirt and jeans. John gave the shackles one last tug before settling back against the wall to wait for either his captors to come and give him some clue as to why he was here, or Sherlock to find him, whichever came first.
He found out why he was there when three masked men came into the room. The first roughly removed the shackles, holding him at gunpoint while the second man strapped a bomb onto him. The third threw a large jacket on him, careful of the bomb but not of the sounds on his wrists.
The second man shoved an earpiece into his ear. "You'll play your part if you know what's good for you, soldier boy," the first man hissed, shoving John out of what he now realized was a changing stall in a pool.
Sherlock was in the main room of the building, next to the pool. John didn't even have a chance to reassure his...whatever Sherlock was to him, before the voice started speaking into his ear for him to repeat.
He didn’t know how his day had gone this wrong so quickly as he watched the hope leave his eyes and despair take its place without being able to say a word.