Thanks for the reviews and of the follows! You guys are awesome!

Sorry for the LONG wait. I've been super busy with school and life, blah, blah, blah. Anyways, this chapter's a bit short but I'm going to try my best to update it a bit more consistently/frequently.

:)

John was lying very still on the cold floor, his breathing was coming out in ragged gasps and his rib cage cried painfully with every breath. His eyes fluttered as he went in and out of consciousness, trying to regain control of himself and deduce the damage done. At least three broken ribs for sure, several gashes on his face, one over his right eye was bleeding quite heavily, bloody nose, and a split lip, John deduced. At least it's nothing life threatening. Not yet anyways, he thought to himself with dark amusement.

He vaguely wondered what Moran had meant about Sherlock, about his 'stunt' that he'd pulled off.

Later, he thought to himself. Right now I need to try to get out of here.

He painfully reached his arms out in front of him and tried crawling to the nearest wall. He nearly cried out from the horrible pain in his rib cage area. He tried again and managed to make to the wall and sit up, leaning against it and letting a not too quiet groan escape his lips. He gently brushed the blood oozing from the gash over his right eye and wiped it on his dirt and blood stained pajamas, taking short, painful gasps of breath.

John slowly looked above him, his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, and saw that the ceiling was very high, which helped to prove that he was indeed in an abandoned warehouse. He looked around for anything to help him escape and noticed, with a start, that there was a small, boarded up window on the wall to the right of him. His heartbeat quickened as he thought of escaping. But, John's logical mind reasoned, how do you expect to pry off wood from a window, climb through the window, and crawl to god knows where and how far in order to get help? The faint hope that had quickly blossomed in John's mind was slowly fading away as he realized the impossibility what he was thinking of doing. Moran and his henchmen could be back at any minute. He shivered to think what they'd do if they caught him trying to escape. Do you think you'll be any better off if you don't try? John battled back and forth for a brief moment before he tried to pull himself to his feet. He was shaky and the pain was nearly unbearable, but he did it as he stood with his hands on the wall to steady himself. He gradually stumbled to the front of the window, all the while he edged along the wall in order to keep his balance.

The top of the window came to about the top of John's head and the bottom to John's chest. It was heavily boarded with wood by large nails and it looked like someone had done quite a poor job; no doubt the handy work of one of Moran's dull henchmen. A wry smile tugged at the edge of John's mouth. I can do this, he thought to himself; the hope was back.

He then began trying to pry the wood off of the window, board by board. His hands and fingers started to bleed before long and each board he pried off brought a wave of pain through his battered body; but he kept pulling and tugging on the boards, even though the pain threatened to pull him to unconsciousness with each passing minute. He only had two boards left to pry off, covering the lower half of the window which let in a pleasant blue glow from the moon above, when he faintly heard footsteps outside the steel door across the room.

A sense of dread swelled up within him and he let out a groan as he desperately tried to pry off the remaining boards. The footsteps were getting louder and now he could hear muffled voices. He didn't hear Moran's voice and then he made out the two henchmen's voices; they sounded like they were arguing.

One more board left.

"No, he said to pay Watson a visit first and then go pick up the sniper rifle",John could faintly make out one of the henchmen's voices.

"No, no, no," The other one said, "he told us to get him the rifle and then pay Watson a visit."

It sounded like the two henchmen were arguing right outside his door. Keep arguing, you idiots, John thought to himself; he needed all the time he could get.

He was sweating profusely and his body was screaming with what felt like daggers racing through his body. He almost had the last board off, just one more side to pry loose.

Suddenly the voices stopped, and the familiar grinding sound of the steel door opening filled the room. The two henchmen slowly walked into the room, holding menacing looking chains and rope, only to find a pile of wooden boards littered on the floor and a cool breeze drifting through the open window.

:)