The next part is easy. Simon waits until his planted man steps forward out of the coffee line and declares that he is a paramedic on break.
They load John into the bus and turn on the sirens. Simon leaves a crowd of concerned onlookers behind in the rearview mirror. Three blocks later, they turn off the sirens. Two more blocks and they pull into the storage facility.
Simon had planned everything meticulously. Money made miracles happen. He found a paramedic with a gambling problem and flashed a few hundred quid around. Simon procured the truck and the man played the part like a professional. Once they wheeled John into the storage building, he walked away.
The owner of the storage lot was a middle-aged woman who was running the family business. She didn’t even blink when he offered her a cool grand to shut the facility down an hour early (for ‘maintenance’) and hand him the keys. Simon told her it was for a local community meeting that was having trouble finding space. He was pretty sure she thought it was a homosexual support group by the end of it.
Not far off, per se.
Simon wrestles John off the gurney and on to a solid metal chair that has been bolted to the floor inside his rented unit. John is heavier than he is, and he struggles a bit. John will be left with bruises, after all is said and done, in the very least.
Once Simon has him seated, he begins the process of restraining him. Nylon rope goes around his ankles and the legs of his chair. His arms are bound behind him, the rope wound in and out of the struts of the back rest.
Once finished, Simon reaches into John’s pants pocket. He has to feel around a bit until he finds the cell phone. He makes a mental note of how… well toned John is and he’s also glad that he had the forethought to tie him down. He’s not entirely convinced he could’ve taken the man in hand to hand combat.
He slides open the lock on the mobile (no password) and opens the messages. He finds the thread marked ‘Sherlock’ and composes a message.
<Join us for a cuppa. No rush. -SM>
Simon sends the first message, then opens the camera and takes a quick snapshot of John. He adds it into the message thread and sends that too.
He tucks the phone into John’s shirt pocket and grins. Such fun. His professor would have been proud. Simon takes out the gun that has been in his coat pocket since that morning and polishes it with his sleeve. Then, he grips the barrel in his hand and takes a swing. When it connects with John’s face, he hears a crack.
“Time for rounds, Doctor Watson!”