COLD HEART - Chapter Three

He'd checked anywhere and everywhere that Sherlock might be. First had been new Scotland Yard; Lestrade had been confused and annoyed, asking John why he was there again, and then a little worried when he heard about the missing Sherlock. Wandering the streets, he'd asked at the corner shops, even found one of the drug dealers - none of them had seen Sherlock for a while, definitely not yesterday. The air felt cold and he was huffing a little; he went on a last, desperate errand, the Diogenes club - but no sign of him. Then he found his way to Mycroft's office, heaving a nervous sigh of relief when the door was opened and he was gestured inside.

"You haven't found him, I trust?" he asked, and John could detect the flicker of worry through his cold façade. Shaking his head, he sunk into a chair, staring at a pile of paperwork behind Mycroft, on the desk. The brother moved across the room, sitting down in a chair almost opposite John. "It's not unusual for him to disappear, however, I'm surprised at it now, considering the … circumstances." he examined his fingernails a moment and John felt like grinding his teeth in fury. The man was the British government. It would not be hard to organise a silent search, but no… he glanced up as Mycroft stood again, apparently deep in thought, and picked up a few sheets of paper off his desk.

"I've just received a fascinating report, John." he commented, as if talking about the weather. He looked up, that faint smile that John found so irritated just dancing around on his face. "It's from a small group of scientists in a laboratory near Croydon, of all places." John's insides felt like they'd turned to a heavy block of ice at the term 'scientist', but he kept his impassive face on, from his army times he found it easy to regulate expressions. "They are claiming to have found a dragon." his voice reflected amusement and something John just couldn't place a finger on, but right now he was more focused on the chunk of ice now floating around his ankles. No no no no…

"I ordered images, of course. They should be coming through any moment-" his phone beeped and he slid it out. "now."

*P*A*G*E*B*R*E*A*K*

He considered throwing himself against the plastic, but from the thickness he could see, he imagined he'd have more luck trying to carve his way out of it. Sliding the nails of a paw gently down it, not even a curl of plastic came away. So, no-go. Sherlock turned in a stiff circle, like a cat, laying down, twisting his head inward to resume gnawing on the rope around his wings that felt like a bungee cord, it was so rubbery. His deadly sharp teeth were making a frustratingly small amount of progress against the cord, but it was helping him think, as well as stay conscious. At least one thing had pleased John; since he'd been transforming, food had been a much bigger necessity, as flying burned up energy like fire and left him needing sustenance. Right now his stomach felt like it was writhing in hunger, his tongue curling from desperation for a drink.

He must've been there all the night, unconscious, but eternally grateful that he hadn't transformed back, as he did in death and sleep. Maybe the trauma, or the drug, or - irrelevant. He filed that away for later, focusing on the important things. He mustn't sleep, no matter what, because being discovered would be bad in an unending number of ways, and also because he wasn't sure quite how well he'd cope with changing back in his current state.

Then he realised that there was a shape approaching him, holding a metal bowl that was filled with water, incautiously, as if thinking he was asleep. So he stilled himself, and waited…

*P*A*G*E*B*R*E*A*K*

"Interesting." John's heart was hammering violently in his throat. "They knocked it out with an elephant tranquiliser… would you like a look?" John held out a hand he hoped wasn't shaking to take the iPhone, and flicked through the photos, swallowing and nervously licking his lips. It was undoubtedly Sherlock, although taken on a blurry camera; that red-and-gold body, eyes closed, hands… paws? Clenched and face screwed up in the unconsciousness. He handed it back. "It looks very real." he noted, cursing the shake in his voice, and Mycroft smirked. He typed a quick message and then pocketed the phone. "They'll bring it in to London tomorrow morning. I've informed them to keep it alive. We need to study it before we dissect it, of course. Well, John-" Mycroft didn't seem to notice the stricken look on John's face, eyes wide and pupils tiny. "-I'll keep an eye out for my brother, in the meantime, take care." he waited until John had left, zombie-like, then pulled out his phone again and sent off another text.

Put it in Sherlock's room. - MH