A/N: Thanking everyone for the interest. / For some reason the site isn't allowing me to edit this properly, so no paragraphs here. / It's really odd that I wrote the first two chapters without a single line of dialogue. (I couldn't, I guess.) Only in writing this one have I noticed that. -csf

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'John, can you hear me?' Sherlock's words were slowly seeping into the other man's spirit, rousing him.

The blond man lying in the spring bed looked confused as he took in the surroundings, having finally woken up. 'How in the world did we get here, Sherlock?' he defined as his first question. No "what happened?" or "where are we?". He didn't ask those questions anymore, hanging around Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, the only one in the world.

'Mycroft.'

'Oh', John admitted. He should have known. The only reason to wake up in a different setting after being gassed unsuspectingly at tea time was Mycroft Holmes - other than medical reasons, poisonings side-effects, and over the top attempted kidnappings from enemies. 'Why?'

Sherlock pursed his lips before answering as honestly as he could: 'I still don't know. He'll make contact in the next fourteen hours, John.'

The doctor struggled through his cramped muscles to sit up. 'And you're sure this isn't just a safety exercise like they do for fires? A simulation of some sort?'

'I'm quite sure this is real, John', Sherlock allowed a smirk to the sleepy man.

'What did they use to knock us out?'

'No clue.'

The doctor raised an eyebrow. 'Side effects?'

'None pronounced so far. How about you?'

'I'll be fine just as soon as I take some paracetamol for the... headache.'

Sherlock noticed John changed the end of his sentence on the last second. Only one reason for a doctor to lie over his physical condition. He knows it's chronic and there's not much he can do about it. Enemy rifle bullets can do that to you.

'I'll try to find you some, John', Sherlock volunteered, hoping to be successful, 'for your headache.'

'Cheers... Have you eaten anything, Sherlock? I can fix us both something.' He got up without waiting for a reply, walking over to the small kitchen area to inspect the cabinets' contents.

'John, there's no hurry, just rest some more.'

'No need', he insisted, moving with a jittery energy that worried his friend. It was the energy of a man evading thoughts of physical discomfort. Hopefully time could improve on his condition, Sherlock thought. Being imprisoned with a cranky John Watson would be worse for Sherlock than being left in the extreme dangers of London.

'We can't step outside', Sherlock told him.

'Figured as much. Anyway, Sherlock, where are we?' John asked at last, turning around holding a couple of cans and facing the detective.

'The Alps. Maybe on the Austrian part, but that's just a guess for now', the detective defended himself as if he could be blamed for an incomplete deduction. No need, John was already looking at him with his usual admiration. All John could see outside the windows were scrawny trees and tons of snow.

'And how long till we are told when we can go back?'

'I wouldn't hurry too much, John.'

'Hanging around you is always full of surprises, Sherlock.'

'I try.' Sherlock actually smiled, softly, behind his friend's back.

'So why do you think they extracted us from Baker Street?'

Sherlock stopped short. 'You called it an extraction.'

'Yeah, I was an Army Captain, remember? I recognise the terms and know this sort of procedure.'

'Right... I don't know why, John. I will figure it out, though.'

'You must have been made aware of this type of scenario', John insisted. 'For how many days are there provisions for us in here?'

Sherlock frowned, taking a seat back in the rocking chair. Its swaying movement upset his thinking, he'd soon find out. Like a man who can't find a comfortable spot anywhere.

'It should last us two days, John.'

The former captain frowned. 'I've never seen this type of scenario for two days. I expect it must have been sudden and they'll need to replenish the stock soon. That was... unorganised.'

Sherlock cleared: 'It was meant for four days, John. You were added here as an extra.'

'Heck, four days of food can last up to eight days for you and Mycroft knows that! We may be here for a week, doing little to nothing.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Unless we leave, John.'

In front of him, John smirked as well. He was in for the plan.