Author's Note: There aren't actually tombs in London like this. This is all completely fictional. But enjoy it anyway!

The Tombs Under Us

"Tedious, huh?" John chuckled.

"Yes, very. I honestly don't know how you ever kept a girlfriend," Sherlock pointed out.

"I didn't," he was almost angry.

"Exactly," Sherlock smiled down on him and he let go and sat in his chair, letting out a huff doing so. John was about to say something, but Sherlock cut him short, "And don't tell me those were my fault, they were yours," he stated.

"How so?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Because you weren't actually interested. It was obvious that you were too wrapped up in me to date anyone else. Besides, with your life, there really isn't room for anyone else but me," Sherlock stated, void of emotion, he was just deducing.

"Mhm. So what's you're saying is that you were jealous," John chuckled softly and crossed his arms over his chest as Sherlock tried to protest, "Oh, they were just for a case?" Sherlock nodded, his curls bouncing and he flopped on the couch.

"By the way, can we get a case now? I'm terribly bored," he complained.

"You never will change, doesn't matter if you've been through torture or you were on a murder spree, you never will change," John shook his head. Sherlock shrugged as much as he could, laying down and all.

"Did you expect me to?" he asked, matter of factly. John shrugged and pulled out his cell, texting Lestrade. But when there wasn't an answer in the next half hour, John and Sherlock began to worry. Well, John worried while Sherlock thought he could already be on a case.

"I'm going down to the Yard, if you care for him at all, you'll join me," John said, and he was grabbing his coat. Sherlock decided he would follow. He did care about Lestrade, just not the way he cared for John. Sherlock wouldn't die if Lestrade did, but he would at least mourn the loss of a colleague.

"What do you mean he's not home or answering any calls? How long has he been missing?" John was questioning Sally while Sherlock was stuck with Anderson in his ear.

Sally was frazzled while Anderson was just being a dick, "I knew you were alive, by the way," he started.

"Shut up, Anderson." And he walked up behind John and put a hand to his shoulder, "Don't worry, John. We'll find him," Hopefully. Sherlock honestly didn't know. He wanted to believe that Lestrade was okay, but he wouldn't have gone without a fight.

"Give me the address to his flat," John demanded. Sally was about to protest or maybe say she didn't know, "I don't care what rules we're breaking, you want him found, don't you?" John asked her. she flattened her lips and nodded briefly.

She wrote it down on a small piece of paper, "Don't mess anything up, Freak," she handed Sherlock the address, knowing he would be the one to look through things.

The carbide there was silent, thinking about where Lestrade could have gone. And if he was taken, who would take him? Of course, these was John's thoughts, Sherlock didn't think a thing of it until he could get more data.

But once they reached the slightly messy flat, Sherlock didn't even walk through the door completely before he left again. John followed and Sherlock analyzed the data he had collected. Lestrade was taken, but for what purpose? Does he know something that most don't? is this another villain trying to get to Sherlock or John? Or both?

John saw Sherlock's eyes go wild and he closed them in thought. Sherlock couldn't find a bloody thing. He hated to say this, but they would have to wait until someone else disappeared. He told John as much and he simply nodded. "You aren't going to question me, this time?"

"I believe in you. always did, always will." He nodded and Sherlock hailed a cab. John didn't hear the address, but from the route they were taking, they were going to the morgue. But what for? Molly.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I don't know. I wish I did, but if you find some things that need analyzing I'm always here," she smiled sadly and Sherlock nodded. He was starting to worry, just a little now. He left Molly alone again, to her cadavers.

Line Break

Molly was just minding her own business, cutting up things as she always did, and she was starting to like doing it. It relieved her stress, somehow. Stress, reminds me of Sherlock. Then again, everything reminds me of that arse… but he has John. She sighed as she heard a voice behind her.

"Molly," it whispered. She couldn't tell if it was male or female, but her impulse to find out was not going to rule her head. So she decided to ignore whoever it was, and if they really wanted to talk to her, they would approach her. after all, that was how all the horror movies started. With the blond walking into something stupid, I will not be that blond…

But the voice persisted, "Molly… Molly Hooper…" then she heard a giggle, still, she couldn't tell if it was male or female.

She turned around to try to see of anyone was in the room, "Whoever you are, leave me alone, I have work to do," she demanded. Thy giggled again, and she was leaning towards a woman, but the whispers sounded more male.

She had no idea. "Come and play Molly Hooper…" And she had to drop the things she was holding before they fell to the floor. Images flashed through her mind and she had no idea what they were. It looked as though it was a cave, but it had hallways and bones, human bones. "Come and play…" and there were suddenly fingers in her hair.

Why had she let it down today? It was so long it reached her bum as she was ripped back, she gritted her teeth and closed her eyes to start to yell at someone but she suddenly couldn't breathe.

She woke with a huge sodding head ache and there was dust in the air, and as she looked down, there were bones under her feet. She was breathing dead people's dust, yum…

They were everywhere, she couldn't even see the floor, except for where it met the stone wall. It was dirt and she coughed so that she could breathe properly. She looked around herself, and it was mostly dark, but she could see because there was a torch that barely lit the room she was put in.

She whimpered and sat against the wall, throwing back bones so that she could sit. She thought about this, and it didn't seem logical. None of it did, this has to be a nightmare. Yes, that's what this was, and she would soon be awake, back in her flat.

She tried to hope, but this was so strange. Why had she just passed out and now was here. Even if this was a dream, what is this place? "Molly?" that voice was familiar…

Sherlock had resorted to the last thing he wanted to. He needed to find Lestrade and therefore he had to call Mycroft to see if he had anything. Ugh…

But then, as he held the phone in his hands, Mycroft called him, he answered, "Mycroft," and they said in unison, "Where's Lestrade?" Sherlock shook his head, "I thought he was with you, maybe."

"Me? Wha-, oh please. I thought he'd be with you on a case or something."

"Well, I can't find him, no one can. I even asked Sally," Sherlock complained. John just sat, in his chair, trusting Sherlock's ability to find his friend. Friend? Yes, I think he and Lestrade are close… at one point I was sure they were extremely close. I was so naïve…

"Well, dear brother, it looks as though Lestrade has given you another case, except with this one, it's serious," Mycroft said.

"And the other ones weren't?" he heard Mycroft sigh and hang up. "Retched sodding brother!" he almost threw his phone again. John tried to talk to him and he instead threw the phone at John. He caught it, but threw it back.

Sherlock let it hit his chest and fall to the floor. He had his head hung and his curls were over his face, so John couldn't see his eyes, "Sherlock?" he now felt sorry.

But Sherlock wouldn't throw a fit over a phone. No, this was something different. He heard nothing from Sherlock but shallow breathing as Sherlock plunged himself into his mind palace. So deep, that the outside world was gone to him.

His eyes were squeezed shut and he was running around every corner, searching for an answer he knew he would never find. But he searched, turning over everything. he ran faster and sometimes he walked.

John was worried, he heard Sherlock panting lightly, then he was fine. John took his pulse, slower than usual, and he was barely breathing. What was he doing? After a few more minutes of this, John panicked and called Mycroft, "He's not moving! He won't speak and he's barely fucking alive!" John was yelling.

"John, he's gone deep into his mind palace, looking for an answer that isn't there, you need to get him out," Mycroft explained.

"And just how the hell do I do that?!" John yelled angrily, but he was worried and Mycroft could hear this.

"John, you love him, do you not?" John mumbled a yes, "Tell him that, and if that doesn't work, then I don't know," he admitted and then he hung up.

John knew this wouldn't work, he'd seen men freeze like this before, letting their body become a shell as they slowly died on the inside. So he tried it, as he laid his hands on Sherlock's, "Sherlock," John started, "I love you," he whispered into those curls.

He twitched, but it didn't work. "Sherlock," he warned, "If you don't come back to me, I'll leave you. I won't come back, because you didn't come back," John promised.

Sherlock twitched again, and now he was shaking. He was being pushed out the gates, and now he was just standing there, unsure of what to do. Then he heard John speaking to him and he followed this voice. He followed his John to the world again.

He was still lost as John continued, "Come on, we have to do this together, love, or it will definitely fail. Sherlock, I love you," he tried again. When Sherlock's eyes fluttered open, he hugged his detective.

Sherlock's arms wrapped around his soldier, "John?" the blond hummed, "I'm sorry, I lost myself in… my mind palace, I tried to find something, but it wasn't working. But I heard you, and I love you, too." He snuggled into John's neck and John's arms hung around Sherlock's neck as he looked into the eyes of that detective he would do anything for.

Sherlock's phone chimed again, and he let go of John to pick it up. It said it was from Lestrade but: Sherlock, this is Sally, I found Lestrade's phone, but I still can't find him… -L

He almost crushed this phone, and John decided he would just take it for good and slipped in into his pocket. Sherlock didn't protest, but he would definitely have to dig for that later. As John was pulled into another hug, he noticed that the bandages were gone. But he didn't dare test if his ribs were healed by now.

He still hugged him, but not as tight as he would normally hug people. "John, I'm fine, they're healed," almost as if he knew what John was thinking about. But he practically did, and John squeezed Sherlock. Sherlock's phone chimed once more as it was another text from 'Lestrade'.

Sherlock, Sally again, where is Molly? –L

What?!- SH

Molly Hooper, she's not there, wasn't she here when you were? She just left her wok unfinished, that's not like her… Sherlock?-L

John let him read the texts and send one, but he took the phone again, as Sherlock was getting even more pissed by the second, "They're targeting the people that anyone would think don't matter, but do, and a great deal. John," he gripped the soldier's shoulders tightly, "I have to find them. if I don't, I won't be able to live with myself," he threatened.

John saw the hurt and the worry and the anger, and decided to make his detective sit down, "Sherlock, they will be found, I promise. Do you know how I know?" John asked and Sherlock hummed as he looked up at the soldier above him, "Because I know you will find something to go on," John assured the burnet.

"Le-Lestrade? She struggled, "Gregory?" she asked again, and reached out as someone grabbed her arm and yanked her forward.

"Molly? Dear God, I thought I was alone. Do you know who brought us here? Or, where we are even?" Molly shook her head as she tried to place her finger on it. This place was painfully familiar. Was this…? She looked around again, and recognized the way the wall was chipped.

"Did you ever go to a rave in uni?" she asked as she stood and took the torch from the wall. She looked around the corner, and surely, there was a door, but it was locked. Greg was confused, "I came to a rave once, here while in uni, it was fun, until the police caught us," she chuckled, then coughed.

"Never thought you were the partying type, Ms. Hooper," Greg flattered her. he couldn't help but to flirt, he was surely going to die and Molly was gorgeous, Gregory had been admiring her and her work for quite some time now, but he knew she wouldn't want him.

"Oh, that was years ago, though. Whoever brought us here, they wanted me to remember this. Either that, or they thought it would be funny. Well, it's not!" she shouted as she banged on the door.

She placed the torch where it was originally and cleared another spot, this time bigger, where Greg and her sat, in the dirt and they leaned against each other. Shoulder to shoulder, just wondering what the hell they were doing here.

Molly would have started crying, but she had someone here with her, and she wasn't alone, and she was just now noticing how much she and him had in common. There was little they didn't agree on, like the fact that death was certain at this point.

They just hoped that Sherlock and John were searching for them. that was when the lock turned in the door and they heard someone scream at someone, demanded they be let go of. She stumbled and as they closed the door on her, she screamed in frustration, "You stupid bloody prick! Give me my phone!" but she knew it was a lost cause.

"Anthea?" Greg stood and Molly followed, not sure who this was, but she was beautiful. She had huge bouncy curls that were a dark rich brown and her blouse and skirt hugged her tight and gave her hips the most attention.

"Lestrade? Molly?" how does she know Molly's name? "Oh, that's right you don't know me. I work for Mycroft, Sherlock's elder. I admire your work, it's amazing," Molly blushed and Anthea shook Greg, "Where the hell am I?" she asked.

Gregory shrugged as Molly answered, "Well, I'm pretty sure this was the tomb that was most popular for college kids to rave at. I did once, but that was a while ago. Anyway, if that's the case, I know my way out, but that door is the only one," she pointed to the bolted door in front of them.

"That's a lost cause, it's got three men guarding it," Anthea pointed out. Molly and Greg gave her confused looks, "Yes, they drugged me, but I recovered faster, and I was already inside this maze, so they didn't think it would do any harm. They were right, I have no fucking clue where we are," she admitted. "And those bastards took my phone!" she yelled at the door.

"So, whoever this is, they're rich? Or at least, know some people who owe them favors?" Greg wondered. Anthea nodded and her curls bounced about her chest. Gregory wasn't Sherlock, but he wasn't stupid, either. He had solved some pretty confusing cases as well.

But this one was the worst of all. Even now, he doubted Sherlock's ability to find them. "What I want to know is where all the bones came from," Molly looked around her. she kicked a few out of their spot and sat down again.

She suddenly felt sad for all those people that would never rest easy, because of all the things that happened down here, all the parties, all the stowaways. All three looked around once more and they decided this was a tomb, but it had been disturbed.

All the bones had been scattered instead of in their coffins, or cubbies, as it seemed to be. from the variation of sizes, everyone was here. Male, female, and children. She almost cried again, but controlled herself.

"So, how did they get you? I thought you were always with Mycroft?" Greg asked Anthea.

"I was going home, as I told John, I have loads of free time and Mycroft lets me do whatever. Although, I think getting kidnapped won't get me promotable status," she joked.

"Molly?" they both asked her.

"I was working, and I was almost finished, but this voice whispered my name, and I don't know if it was either male or female, but that was all I heard and then someone grabbed me and I woke up here," she told them.

"Whispers?" Greg was astonished, "Did they ask you to 'come out and play'?" Gregory asked the little dirt blond. She nodded and Anthea's eyes widened.

"'Come out and play'? and your first and last name?" they both nodded and they realized that they were dealing with a psychopath as their captor. They would have said it was Moriarty, but it didn't sound like him, and Sherlock killed him years ago, literally.

It wasn't Irene, because she just wanted to live, therefore, no interest in capturing people. Then who the hell could be so bloody clever and insane? Would they even live to find out?

Y'all should tell me what you think! As in friggin' give me reviews! Please?... :)