I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK


The room was dark and smelt of bleach and stale water. His head pounded and his body felt heavy and lethargic. He was in a chair. Small, made of industrial iron, with holes in the back and in the seat. Suddenly his train of thought spun away from him with a rapidity that made him gasp. Drugged. Definitely drugged. He tried to recall the events that led up to this point but the details were fuzzy. He tried to run a mental list of all the substances he knew would cause the particular sensations that he was experiencing but his brain refused to co-operate. Random facts and memories ran havoc through his usually meticulous thought processes. He felt a surge of annoyance. Suddenly the darkness was rent with a vertical white line of light. He blinked three times quickly allowing his vision to acclimatize to the light, forcing himself to be ready to analyze whatever came through that light. For a long while nothing happened. The line of light remained just the same width and height. Then his vision began to go blurry and his mental alertness further deteriorated. When he could no longer form a coherent thought the line widened and a dark figure strode in as if walking in slow motion. He knew it was just a trick of the mind but he could no longer hold onto any clear thought. There was a prick in his arm and a pat on the face with a gloved hand. Then the figure retreated and the line of light disappeared.


"John!" Sherlock called his eyes fixed in the telescope.

"Hmmm," John answered from his arm chair and turned a page.

"John!" Sherlock called sounding more frustrated at John's lack of enthusiasm.

"I said hmmm," John called back, then paused, "What do you want Sherlock?"

"I need you to come, take my phone out and text Lestrade," Sherlock said quickly, "I solved the case."

John sighed and got up. He made his way over to the tall slim detective and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out the phone, thumbed up the message app and waited.

"Well?" he asked, "What do I type?"

"Tell him the wife did it," Sherlock said not looking at john, "Check her cleaning solutions." John nodded and sent the text. Then he placed the phone back in Sherlock's pocket. He had just made it back to his arm chair when there was a knock on the door of their flat.

"Good morning boys," Mrs. Hudson came bustling in.

"Do come in Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said sarcastically from the kitchen table.

"Thank you dear," Mrs. Hudson said oblivious to Sherlock's tone. She had a package in her hand.

"This came for you Sherlock," she said.

"Give it to John," Sherlock replied. John smiled and took the package from her.

"Who is it from?" he asked turning over the small brown paper wrapped box in his hand. There was no stamp just a small white card taped onto one side of it with the word 'Sherlock Holmes' typed on it.

"A very nice young man gave it to me," she said, "He said it was from your brother."

Sherlock gave a snort and waved his hand dismissively.

"Throw it in the fire John," he said.

"Sherlock!" both John and Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

"What?" Sherlock exclaimed back this time looking up at them.

John sighed and began to open the box.

"It could be important," he said in reply to Sherlock's annoyed look.

"Probably not," Sherlock retorted, "It is most likely some little thing he wants me to do so that he won't have to do it. And he will claim that it is national importance…"

"Sherlock," john said quietly, interrupting the consulting detective's rant.

"What?" Sherlock asked seeing the change in John's face from being amusingly annoyed to serious.

"What?" he asked getting up and making his way over to his army doctor. John held the box out to him.

In it was a vial of blood. Next to it was a note. Sherlock reached in and took the note out.

"Blood, they say, is thicker than water," he read in a scary monotone, "How thick is your blood Sherlock Holmes?"

"What does that mean Sherlock?" John asked. But Sherlock didn't answer. He snatched up the vial and strode quickly to the kitchen table.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Shut up John and let me work," Sherlock screamed at him. John flinched a bit as Sherlock glared at him, his face a contorted mask of rage. But then John caught a glimpse of something in the detective's eyes. Fear.

"Alright then," said quietly. The relief in Sherlock's eyes told John that he was right on the mark. Sherlock was scared. He picked up the paper and sat back in his chair.

"Will he be alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked softly to John.

"Mrs. Hudson, get out!" Sherlock screamed from the kitchen.

"I watch him," John whispered hurriedly, "Go ahead." She nodded back to him and left as quietly as she could.

An hour later Sherlock came back from the kitchen with the vial in one hand and on the other there was band aid. John took that all in as Sherlock sat in his chair and drew his legs up. His arms rested in his knees, holding out the vial and his band aid finger. John didn't rush him.

"It's Mycroft's" Sherlock said dully.

"The blood?" John asked carefully.

"Of course the blood John," Sherlock snapped, "I ran a test. It's definitely his."

"SO someone sent you a vial of your brother's blood," John stated, "Why?"

Sherlock opened his mouth then closed it back.

"I don't know," he said finally, "I…"

"And how did they get it?" John mused, "I mean, come on. Mycroft's got to have the best security in the kingdom. I mean he is the British government. How in the world could someone take his blood?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said in a smaller voice. His hand closed tighter around the vial.

"Could it be that this is all his doing?" John asked, "I mean like a new tactic to get your cooperation for something?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Not like this," he said gesturing with the vial, "He hates needles. Used to faint when he was younger at the sight of them. He would never…" Sherlock trailed off.

John sat silently, not knowing what to say.

"So what now?" John asked.

Suddenly a phone rang. They both jumped and looked around. There wasn't any telltale light.

"Where?" John asked. Sherlock pounced on the box, flipped it over and slid out a phone.

"Huh," John said.

"It's a text," Sherlock said and pressed the read button.

John came to stand beside him. Sherlock brought the phone down so that John could see the screen.

'Tick Tock. Tick Tock. So moves the hands of the Clock. You pressed the button and now you must play. Your brother's life is the prize in hand."