They were in another room, at first glance almost as bare as the other one. Sherlock was standing very still, looking around with quick little jerks of his head and frowning.

"What is it?" Sally said, squinting. There wasn't any door she could see.

"I don't know…" he mused. "I expected more than this."

"Maybe it's back down there," she said, indicating the hole in the floor. The slight glow filtering through was the only source of light in this room here. He shook his head.

"Unlikely. Search for another trapdoor."

She sighed and began to look around, ignoring the ceiling because he was staring up at it and the chances were she wouldn't be able to see that far even if she looked. Instead she got down into a crouch and began to look at the floor instead.

It got harder as she moved further away from the light source, until she was feeling with her fingertips for hinges. There was a pricking at the back of her spine that crawled along her skin like ants. This place wasn't right; it was scaring her, and it was too quiet.

"So," she said, coughing. Her throat was too dry, and it occurred to her that if they didn't find some water soon they might be in trouble. "What's this game then?"

Sherlock took a second to reply, and for a little there was only the sound of creaking boards. "I don't know. It seems like some sort of maze built into a building that's old, recently renovated, but I need more data if I'm going to assess the situation properly."

Jesus, he sounded just like a robot. "So you don't know?" He remained stubbornly silent, so she rolled her eyes and went back to feeling along the floor. Just as she was about to turn around and tell him it was hopeless her fingers hit something metal, and she pushed the second trapdoor down with a triumphant shout. Sherlock rushed over and gave a grudging nod.

"Well done Donovan."

She accepted it was the only praise she was going to get and glanced through the gap, but couldn't see anything. Still, she figured they weren't going to be killed just yet, so the drop wasn't going to be too long; she slid through without asking him first, landing with a thump and looking around. The floor was metal, and it clanged underneath her, but before she could shout up for him not to follow he'd already joined her, and they were trapped.

It was a cage. At least, it bore resemblance to one – the walls all around them were dull iron, and then the one directly in front of them consisted of bars, close enough together to ensure that nothing short of a small cat would be able to get through. Behind the bars was the rest of the room, completely empty. Sherlock cursed and she looked back up at the ceiling, but the trapdoor was too far away for her to reach. As she watched it swung shut automatically and there was a harsh click. Locked in.

She began to panic a little, but kept her breathing steady – she was a police officer, she knew how to stay in control. At least there was light coming from the far end of the room, a small circle of some kind set into the wall.

Sherlock slammed his hands against the bars with a snarl, and the clanging echoed with her heavy breathing. The room didn't seem larger than the last, but the metal made it colder.

"Moriarty!" Sherlock snarled. "Moriarty, show your face! Speak to me!"

The clangs faded into silence and there was no response. Sally sighed and rested her head on the cold metal; this was a bad day – she was sure she could feel her headache returning with a vengeance.

"We'll have to work it out," Sherlock said, pacing up and down and making her dizzy. "We have to work out what he wants."

"Right," she said dully, sinking to the floor. He stopped moving and looked at her.

"What?"

"Nothing. Only, what if he what he wants is to leave us here to starve to death?"

She almost heard the cogs in his brain start to whir, and when he spoke it was with the calm reassurance of an insufferably arrogant man who thinks he knows everything.

"Not Moriarty's style," he stated, going back to pacing. "Not nearly elaborate enough."

"I'm glad you think so," she snapped, wrapping her hands around the bars and staring into the distance. There was a pause in the scuffling above her, and then Sherlock sat next to her, stiffly and awkwardly. She shifted away, more out of principle than anything else.

"I'm sorry," he said. Her head snapped up, curls bouncing over her forehead. She could see from the way he was squinting at her that this distance was the worst for both of them, just out of her range of good vision and just into his range of bad.

"You're never sorry."

"No-one deserves Moriarty. He's a spider."

"Guess we're the flies."

He nodded. They sat in silence for a little – Sherlock seemed to be thinking, his head tipped back against he bars and his hands propped under his chin. She let him think, and did a little of it herself, although she doubted it was as productive. She thought about a cup of tea and her stomach growled slightly. If Sherlock heard he didn't mention it.

"So," she said eventually. "You and John."

He twitched and came out of the reverie. "Mmm. Although not for much longer."

Her first reaction was to hit him, because John was a fairly sweet bloke who did not deserve to be messed around. Her second was one of concern – the drop in his tone told her something was wrong.

He looked upset.

"What do you mean?" There was no point in asking him if he was alright, because he'd just shut up like a clam and refuse to say anything, but give him a point to explain to the idiots of the world and he'd probably go on for hours.

"Well. I cheated on him."

She blinked. "Really? You dick."

He glared, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. "A bit hypocritical, aren't we?"

"Anderson's marriage was on the rocks – they'd turned it into something open. His wife knew what we were doing, and she was down in the south doing the exact same with her boyfriend." It felt good to tell him he was wrong – a sort of savage pleasure that spread to her fingers and toes.

"Oh."

"Who're you cheating on him with? Is it that girl from the morgue? She's all over you."

He laughed. "Molly? Really Donovan, you are obtuse." If it hadn't been for the hitch in his voice she would have bit back, but she waited. "Just now. I…I kissed someone else. That's cheating." He added something that might have been 'according to the internet' under his breath.

She took a second to work out what he was saying. "You're saying John will think you were cheating because you kissed me?"

He looked at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course."

"A kiss in which you were drugged up on god knows what and mistook me for him?"

"Yes."

"Where I promptly poked you in the eye and yelled at you to get off?"

"Stop it!" he said, trembling, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Stop tormenting me!"

She was shocked to see him go to pieces – so shocked she didn't even remark that he made his living out of tormenting people at the station.

"Torment?"

"Well it's all gone now, isn't it?" he choked out. "All because of you, someone, to be honest, I didn't want to kiss, if it had been someone I meant to kiss it might have been better but losing him because of that is just pointless…"

She groaned. "I'm trying to tell you, Sherlock, that that doesn't count as cheating and I don't think John is going to break up with you because of it."

He stopped shaking immediately and raised his head. "But I kissed someone else, and the general consensus is that it is a breach of trust between John and I."

She gingerly touched his shoulder, and when he didn't flinch away pressed down in what she hoped was reassurance. "You're new to this whole relationship thing aren't you?"

He hesitated, clinging onto his pride a second longer, then gave in and nodded miserably. "I tried so hard, but I don't understand everything yet. There are things that aren't just chemical."

"It's not cheating," she said. "I'll vouch for you if it goes that far. Now I'm not saying go and kiss random people in the street and it'll be fine, but in this particular case you're blameless. Alright?"

He nodded, and she removed her hand. The air of prickliness was back around him again, he'd wrapped a cloak over his shoulders, but he didn't start pacing a second time. They sat quietly side by side, waiting, and she smiled sadly at the idea of the consulting detective being reduced to asking ordinary, idiotic strangers how to behave because he was so desperate not to lose his doctor.


Thanks for reading. Reviews welcome!

To be continued.