Sherlock paced around in the darkness for what seemed like hours. His bare feet circled over the cool cement surface silently. The detective was bored to death. He needed something to work on. His stomach rumbled but he ignored it and fidgeted around with his shirt. He breathed in deeply and tried to smell the air but there was no particular scent for Sherlock to deduce from. Without his sense of sight, smell, and hearing, Sherlock was unable to tell anything. He huffed and sat down again but his mind would not stop buzzing. The same questions circled inside him over and over again. Sherlock scratched his arm where he usually had his nicotine patches on. He craved for stimulation. He needed something strong. The last thing he wanted was to be cooped up in a dark, quiet cell. He couldn't tell how long he could last in here without going mad.

Is that what they want from me? Do they want to drive me mad?

Sherlock considered the possibility and wondered what their tactics were. If that really was their goal, Sherlock had to make sure to keep his composure as long as possible. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Solar system…yes what did John say about that?

Sherlock tried to recall random memories he had deleted from his hard drive to keep himself busy. It was a difficult task and he needed to concentrate hard. He didn't know what he going to do with all this rubbish information but at least it would keep him intact for a while.

When John arrived at the New Scotland Yard, Mycroft Holmes was already in Lestrade's office. It was very rare for Mycroft to come out of his comfort zone and visit other people's work place. The moment he saw the tall elder Holmes standing in front of Lestrade's desk, John knew that something had gone gravely wrong. Lestrade kneaded his forehead with his index finger and thumb. There was a laptop on top of his desk, with the screen facing toward Mycroft and John. The officer gestured at it.

"It's last night's surveillance camera footage from Bart's." John pulled up a chair for himself and Mycroft and the two sunk into it as they stared at the screen intently. The screen showed an overview of an all too familiar lab at Bart's where Sherlock usually did his experiments. Sherlock seemed to be completely endorsed in whatever he was doing. The consulting detective moved about the lab briskly and fetched a couple of equipment once a while but other than that, he was hunched over the counter, working silently. The time showed that it was 11:15pm.

"Fast forward to 12:13." Lestrade grumbled. John did as he was told. Sherlock was still sitting at the counter, looking into a microscope, but suddenly, Sherlock lifted his head from the lens and reached toward the next blood sample to his left when he suddenly swayed violently to the side. Sherlock grabbed the edge of the counter with a start and shook his head. He slid reluctantly off his stool and stood up to reach for the object he was seeking for but his knees buckled and his tall figure collapse onto the floor. Sherlock's fingers twitched a little but other than that, he seemed to have passed out. John swallowed hard and stole a quick glance toward Mycroft. Mycroft stared at the screen with a cool expression but his eyes were pinned to the screen. He was probably trying to deduce what has happened just like how Sherlock did all the time.

"Nicotine patches." Mycroft mumbled. John and Lestrade exchanged confused glances. Sherlock was lying still on the floor for a few minutes before one of the hospital cleaning staffs came into the scene. The man jumped when he saw Sherlock unconscious on the floor. He kneeled beside him and shook Sherlock. Seeing that he wasn't responding, he dashed out of the room and after a few seconds, came back with several other doctors and nurses. They lifted Sherlock up and carried him out of the room. The last person to leave the lab turned off the lights and the screen was suddenly enveloped in darkness.

"The hospital records show that he was hospitalized immediately in room 213 but there's no sign of him. He disappeared. We checked the other camera footages but they seem to be hacked. Sherlock wasn't caught in any other cameras after that." Lestrade explained and closed the laptop with a sigh.

"What were those people then? Did you question them?" John gestured at the computer, indicting the medical staffs that had escorted Sherlock from the lab.

"They don't exist…we questioned some of the staffs at St. Bart's and Molly too…but no one recognized any of the people that appeared in the footage. They were outsiders."

"So that was all just a clever skit?" John asked with an astounded look on his face.

"They probably knew that were going to find this footage." Mycroft said with a sigh. "I asked Anthea to do a quick physical check on all of these men. But I doubt we would find any matches in our database."

"And how long would that check-up take?" Lestrade asked.

"It'll take about a day or two." John leaned back in his chair and tried to make sense of what was going on. Lestrade opened his drawer and pulled out Sherlock's mobile phone from out of it. He placed it on the table.

"All we could find was this in the lab." John stared at it. He took it and opened Sherlock's text inbox. The mail that John had sent last night was still in the unread folder.

"John, I want you to bring some of the nicotine patch samples to Anderson. He will do a substance check on it to see if he could provide us with any leads." Lestrade instructed firmly. John nodded and stood up immediately.

Sherlock heard the door slid open but he didn't see any sign of light leaking in. The cell entrance must be double sealed to make sure that no light came inside the room. Sherlock wondered why they cared so much about such things. The intruder approached Sherlock with steady footings.

They must have night vision goggles on.

Sherlock sat up and waited patiently. He sensed a figure crouching down right in front of him. A gloved hand cupped Sherlock's face gently. It lifted his chin, and examined his eyelids. Then, Sherlock felt the cool surface of a stethoscope slide under his shirt and rest over his chest. Sherlock breathed in deeply and exhaled. The examiner seemed satisfied with this and drew the cold instrument away from Sherlock's skin. There was a rustling noise and the sound of water swishing inside something. Sherlock pricked his ears up. A hard object was pressed into Sherlock's hand. He grasped it hesitantly and realized it was a water bottle. He drew it up to his nose and sniffed at it. It was odor less.

"Don't worry, it's just water." A woman's voice said coolly. It was emotionless but it was like music to Sherlock's ears after long hours of complete silence. He didn't reply. He just drew the bottle up to his lips and tipped some of the contents into his mouth. It wasn't until then that he realized he was incredibly thirsty. He emptied half of the bottle and returned it to the woman. He leaned back against the wall and stared into the darkness where he guessed where the woman's face would be. There was another rustling noise and Sherlock felt a cotton swab his harm again. He closed his eyes and waited for the injection to take place. He expected to be anesthetized again and embraced for the unpleasant draining sensation he experienced just a few hours ago. His eyes shot wide open when he realized that he was wrong. A jolt of warmth ran up his arm and spread through his chest. His lungs felt like they were shrinking. His insides lurched and Sherlock had to grit his teeth to keep himself from shuddering. His legs kicked weakly. He was injected a hallucinogen. The familiar hands patted Sherlock's cheeks and the figure shuffled away, leaving Sherlock in an unwelcomed pool of ecstasy.

Sherlock slid to the cool floor. He closed his eyes. Suddenly, a sweet smell bloomed all around him and white lights danced around his vision. He grasped the floor, expecting it to be cold and hard but realized it was soft and warm. Someone was murmuring in his ears. Sherlock didn't know what it was saying but it seemed to be asking him a question. He nodded weakly in reply.

Who am I talking to? John?

He felt something or someone touch his back. It stroked the skin between his shoulder blades tenderly. Sherlock took a deep breath.

You're drugged.

He reminded himself firmly. The fingers started to massage his back and relax his sore, tensed muscles. Sherlock squirmed on his stomach and tried to lift himself up but his muscles were useless. He collapsed helplessly to the ground and passed out.

When Sherlock woke up again he was greeted with the blindingly powerful lights instead of the cool darkness. He let out a gurgled yelp and shut his eyes tightly. He tried to jerk his head away like he did before but his head was restrained tightly. A small spark of frustration erupted inside Sherlock and he tugged violently at the restraints. He gritted his teeth and pried at his arms but only found pain sear up his wrist as the metal rubbed sharply against his skin. The hallucinogen had worn off completely and every single sensation around him was so sharp that it almost hurt him. The dull heat from the overhead lights pricked at his exposed skin. The back of his eyes ached and thudded dully against his skull. For a moment, Sherlock's thoughts warped back to the beginning.

Where am I? How did I end up like this? What is the last thing I remember doing?

Then, Sherlock stopped himself.

Déjà vu

He shuddered at the thought. From the state of his hunger, he was probably held in custody here for more than 24 hours. Yet, he couldn't remember much about the events that took place in the last few hours.

John and the others should be getting worried by now.

Sherlock's curiosity craved for some kind of visual stimulation. For the past few hours, he was either kept in complete darkness or was forced to keep his eyes shut. He was sick of it. If only he could see what was around him, he would be able to make more sense of what was going on around here. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. Opening his eyes even slightly made his head pound but he blinked back the tears and shifted his eyes as far as he could to his right to avoid directly looking into the lights He was disappointed to see only white cushioned walls and nothing else. It was clean, no stains, no indents, no nothing. Unable to bear the pain any longer, he closed his eyes. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple. Sherlock was far from panicking but he was getting a bit unnerved by the situation. Unable to gather any data, Sherlock's imagination was starting to run wild. He knew that none of the details he imagined were based on facts but it still worried him. Where they going to kill him, starve him, interrogate him?

"What do you want?" for the first time in a long time, Sherlock spoke. His voice was firmer than he imagined and he felt reassured by it. He realized that speaking out loud helped him calm down. "What do you want from me?" he asked in a louder voice this time. No reply came. He didn't expect any so he just stayed still and tried to count the seconds again. But as soon as his nerve was calming down, the tormenting screeching erupted again. Sherlock groaned when he first noticed the noise and tried to block it by counting the seconds by whispering it under his breath, but his mouth began to dry up as the familiar squeezing sensation bloomed in his head. Sherlock winced and braced himself for the nosebleed. Blood ran freely from both of his nostrils. Sherlock grasped the edge of the metallic board and fought the nausea but the water he had drunk earlier was already welling up. He feared of choking so he spat them out, dirtying the front of his shirt.

"Stop," He gurgled but the screech only got louder and louder. His ears seared. "Stop," He growled but his voice was drowned by the strange noise. Sherlock opened his eyes but closed it with a start. Now his eyes felt like they were being squeezed. Sherlock couched up some more bile and tried to lift his head from the board. He tensed every muscle in his neck and shoulders but it didn't budge. Out of frustration and confusion, he scraped at the metallic board with his short nails. When he thought he was going to pass out, the noise stopped abruptly. Sherlock was panting wildly as sweat tricked down his flushed cheeks. However, his moment of rest didn't last long. As soon as he caught his breath, the noise began again. Instead of gradually becoming loud, it suddenly erupted, making Sherlock jump in surprise. His wrists banged against the metal and sent a jolt of pain up his bones. Sherlock started gagging and he made strange choking noise although he didn't want to. Though his eyes were closed tightly, white spots erupted in front of him. It frightened him for no reason. Wanting it to go away, he opened them. He closed them immediately. Then the sound stopped. He was engulfed in complete silence again.

I don't know how long I can last in here. I have to get out of here.

For the first time, Sherlock realized that waiting for help was just going to lead him to destruction. He had to somehow solve the problem by himself.

But how?

Before he could answer the question, the torture began again. Sherlock for the first time, Sherlock screamed at the top of his voice but he couldn't hear himself for the screech was deafeningly loud.

Sherlock's captors repeated the process several times until the tall man stopped reacting. His fingers still twitched in agony whenever they played the noise and he was bleeding freely but he had coughed up all his inside and he was so exhausted that he stopped retching. The front of his shirt was damp with vomit and sweat. In one word, he was he was in a completely debilitated state. His chest rose and sank arduously when they left him at peace and silence but it became shallow when they played the music. Although he screamed and groaned in some occasions, the examiners all marveled at how well Sherlock Holmes was taking this. The other test subjects had completely broken down by now, begging and screaming nonsense, but Sherlock Holmes seemed to be completely aware of what was happening to him.

She felt a bit sorry for Sherlock Holmes but at the same time, fascinated by his inhumanely fit mental state. He was battered physically but mentally, not at all. She took signaled the staff with her eyes and walked out of the observation room.

The noise still hurt him but Sherlock was relieved that he had vomited all his insides out. The dizziness wasn't as agonizing anymore and the exhaustion was more welcoming than he had imagined. His breathing was raspy and his nose was completely clotted with blood. He barely registered the door slide open and his heart skipped a beat. He strained his ears and tried to look as less groggy as possible. He wanted to show his captors that he was still intact. A towel wiped away the grime and acid on his face and the examiner quickly took his pulse and opened his mouth. Sherlock wondered what she was looking for. Then, surprisingly the restraints around his arms, chest, abdomen, and head were being undone. His upper body was completely free and he wasn't even drugged. If he wanted to, he could probably pounce at his captor and strangle her or bit her, but he had forgotten that he was completely boneless from the long hours of torture and hunger. He had lost more blood than he had imagined. He turned his head to the side and opened his eyes. He saw a white lab coat.

"So you are a doctor." He muttered weakly and swiveled his eyes upward but he couldn't see the captor's face because the light shined too brightly above her head. Sherlock smirked weakly at this.

Of course, nothing was that easy.

He closed his eyes as he felt the hands lift his arms up and pull off his shirt. Sherlock lied still with his upper body naked. He was too weak to move his limbs. The doctor wiped his sweat drenched body and face gently. Then, it tugged a fresh shirt onto him. As soon as he was fully dressed again, the hand gently enveloped Sherlock's right cheek. Sherlock wondered why she kept on touching him like that before he passed out.

She was planning on sedating him but he seemed to have passed out of exhaustion so she pocketed the injection back and watched as her assistant advanced toward her. They undid the rest of Sherlock's restraints and dragged him out of the room and to the second cell. They placed the limp body back into the dark cell. She did a quick check up on him again before she closed the door behind her. She turned to her assistant as soon as she went out into the corridor.

"He's still in phase1. I think we need to go a little harder on him."

Anderson tapped the box of nicotine patches that Sherlock had consumed a few days ago and sighed. The patches were coated with a substance Anderson had never seen or heard of before, but after a thorough research with Sergeant Donovan, he reached to an unexpected conclusion.

"They came from Indiana."

"What?" John, Mycroft and Lestrade said simultaneously. Sergeant Donovan folded her arms and glanced at Anderson. The officer sighed again and handed the box back to John.

"I think that name rings a bell to you, doesn't it John?" John Watson flashed a look of confusion but after a few seconds, his eyes brightened up as he connected two and two together.

"You mean, Liberty Indiana?" John breathed. His heart skipped a beat with anticipation and confusion. Anderson nodded.

"I only found it out by chance because of the Baskerville case from a few months ago. If it weren't for that we wouldn't have been able to make the connection. I contacted them immediately and they confirmed that it was one of their research product. A type of powerful sedative that can be induced through skin contact…"

"Jesus," Lestrade breathed. Mycroft frowned intently.

"And what is a product from a research facility in Indiana doing in Sherlock's flat?" He asked. Anderson shook his head.

"Dunno. But I asked them to give me a list of organization that they distribute this product to. We should be receiving the list any moment now by mail…" Anderson typed in something into his laptop. "There." He turned summoned a document file from the mail and showed it to the others. There was a 4 page long list of various organizations. John gulped.

"Okay…where are we going to start from?"

When Sherlock came round again, he was careful not to open his eyes immediately. He checked for any prickling sensation on his skin to see if the overhead light was staring glaring down at him. Confirming that he didn't feel any, he moved his arms and realized that they weren't restrained. He was greeted with the familiar cool surface of the concrete floor in a dark cell. He opened his eyes slowly but found only darkness. He still felt fatigued so he stayed still several more minutes before he carefully lifted himself up. He felt dizzy and dehydrated so he just leaned against the soft wall.

How am I supposed to get out of here? Who was that woman? Obviously, she's not working alone and this must be some kind of a facility…but what kind of facility? A medical facility, an asylum, a research facility?

Sherlock realized that by now someone clever enough would have realized that something was wrong with his nicotine patches and started to check them up. He hoped someone would find something out from it. It was the only evidence Sherlock had.

And I have to do my own research here as well.

Just then, the door slid open and he heard a pair of high heels approach him. His lips curved upward just very slightly so only he could register it. The figure crouched in front of him just like it did before.

Improvise as you dig for information.

He told himself. He widened his eyes and reached forward toward the woman. He knew that the woman can see him through her night vision goggles so he made sure his expressions showed the right emotions. He grasped at the gloved hands and squeezed them tightly. He didn't say a word. He just stared straight ahead of him with wide intense look in his eyes. He mumbled something under his breath. He made sure it didn't make much sense. The woman shushed at him gently and wrapped her hands around Sherlock's shivering clammy one. She leaned closer to Sherlock. Sherlock tensed his shoulders and let out a whimper. Not too loud but not too weak. He tried to lean in closer to smell her. Any type of perfume, shampoo, any sign of cosmetics would help him get a broad image of what she is like. He was disappointed when all he could smell was a faint stench of iodine.

A scientist, a doctor…I already know that, dammit. Give me something else.

He decided to go for the direct approach. He reached forward around the area where he guessed was her face. He wanted to see how she looked like. Did she wear glasses? Lip stick? But before the hands could reach her, the gloved hands gently grabbed his wrist and pulled it down. Then, she reached up to his face and examined his eyes, mouth, and throat. Then, she gave him a bottle of water. Sherlock was thirsty but he shook his head weakly and pushed it back toward her. He knew he was going to reverse it all out any time soon. The woman took the bottle back gingerly. She stood up but Sherlock grabbed at her ankle and tugged. She almost tripped over it. Sherlock groaned and looked upward begging. It was pathetic, he knew that, but it was all part of the act. She crouched down back to his side and pulled him closer to embrace him. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise. He didn't expect the woman to get this close to him. He tensed his shoulder muscles. The woman leaned forward and pressed he lips gently in his ears and whispered,

"I know what you're trying to do Mr. Holmes." Then, she slid back away from him and strode out of the room briskly. Her heels clucked and echoed coldly in the dark cell. Sherlock ground his teeth in frustration.

Well that went perfectly smoothly.

He leaned back against the padded wall with a huff.


A/N

Yep, it's a pretty sick story!

I never tried anything like this before but yeah, I decided it was worth venturing out to.

I've been taking it rather easily up to here but from the next chapter, it's going to be pretty gory so be careful if you tend to be squeemish with that sort of stuff!