Thanks for all the follows and favs! A special thanks to Reading Ella for suggesting that I do an outline. It made me realize a flaw in the timing, so apologies if the timeline seems a bit wonky. Keep reviewing, I didn't realize how encouraging it was to get feedback. I tried to make this chapter a bit longer since I didn't update on my customary Friday. As always, I don't own Sherlock and thanks for reading!
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Chapter 4
Sherlock tried to straighten himself closer to the beam he was leaning against. It was painful to sit up but it made breathing a little less difficult. His mind was racing but he was quietly trying to save his strength. He hated feeling weak. God, especially in front of Sally. He remembered feeling his ribs crack as Ed kicked him violently, but the fall must have been what jostled his insides enough to puncture his lung. The escaped air in his chest cavity was making it nearly impossible to get a full swallow of oxygen and the frigid cold wasn't helping either.
He watched Sally pace back and forth, all her true emotions masked by toughness and anger, same as he hid his with knowledge and uncaring. He needed to figure out how to get them out of there. Sherlock Holmes himself was out of his depth without technology and felt like a true idiot. Without a phone, he had no way of reaching John or Lestrade. He hadn't even told John or Mrs. Hudsen he was going out! Idiot, he thought. Simpleton. Ordinary!
His wave of personal insults was interrupted. "Well! Oh wise one..." Sally paused, tapping her foot. "Do you mind sharing with me whatever it is that you've figured out!"
"Yes of corse." He began, taking in as deep a breath he could before beginning. "Reynolds hadn't killed for a while. Why would he need to? It was his psychotic outlet for stress. After he moved up in the company he couldn't risk getting his hands dirty. Seven years ago, he started feeling guilty, that is why Ed Somers was left to die. He had the bruising around his neck that matched multiple other murders seven years ago but Reynolds must have stopped before Somers was dead, since he died of dehydration, trapped in the abandoned warehouse. Reynolds was going mad with guilt so he told someone he thought he could trust, someone he thought of as the son he never had... He may have even left him the company."
"Eli Jameson?" Sally questions.
"Precisely!" Sherlock seemed triumphant that Sally was getting it. "Two nights ago at the murder scene we didn't know the victim's name yet, tonight we did and I saw Eli's locker. Reynolds obviously doesn't want to kill anymore, since he waited for me to say his name before attacking us. He hates himself for killing Eli. But knew it had to be done. Eli was stronger than he anticipated though, that's why Eli was found face down with a bullet hole in the back of his head. Reynolds didn't want to see the life ooze out of him. He didn't enjoy it anymore." Sherlock paused, taking in sharp breathes and hoping Sally didn't notice. "He is seriously underestimating John and Lestrade if he thinks we are going to die down here."
Sally shrugged "Ed Somers died of dehydration, we're going to die of chill." She rubbed her arms to build up some friction.
They were both quiet for a little before Sally continued. "Do you really think Greg and John have noticed we're missing?"
Sherlock was sure that John noticed, but unsure if he thought Sherlock was in trouble or if he was just being a tit to piss him off. "Oh yeah!" He lied to reassure her. It seemed to work.
"It's bloody freezing!" Sally exclaimed trying to stay active to keep warm. Sherlock was cold too but knew that he couldn't exert himself by moving around.
"Come" he commanded and shuffled a little to the side so there was room next to him.
"Oh please." Sally rolled her eyes and kept pacing.
"Sally." Sherlock motioned again. "It's only logical, you've done so well tonight, don't start being an idiot now."
She looked at him crossly then relented and sat down, pressing her side into his. He lifted his elbow so she could slip her arm under his. Sherlock smelled good she mused to herself. She had never been that close to the freak before and soon his warmth started to take the chill off.
"Thanks." She mumbled.
He grunted softly and nodded and they were quiet again for a while.
Sally was starting to get sleepy but jerked herself awake. Sherlock and her both could have concussions, it would be silly to sleep at all. Looking over she saw that Sherlock's eyes were closed as well with his head resting on the pillar behind him. She nudged him. "Sherlock... hey, wake up!" She pushed again before he woke and looked at her questioningly. "You could have a concussion, no resting your eyes."
"Concussions are boring." He sighed. Even that killed. His breathing was beginning to be a problem. He tried to take in a deep breath but his chest was just too bloody tight.
Sally saw him flinch. "Are you okay Freak?"
"Don't call me that." He exclaimed breathily. "Would you want me to call you 'slag with daddy issues'."
"I'm not a slag!" She replied angrily.
"I'm not a freak!" He yelled back. Taking in short breaths. He didn't mind the nickname so much. It was almost endearing but he didn't want her to worry about him. So he was putting up his customary wall of sarcasm and anger. Pushing her away, he decided to just focus on breathing. In and out, in and out again.
It was silent except for their breathing and the occasional cricket chirping. She didn't want to be close to him right now but she also didn't want to leave the warmth he was providing beside her.
Sally shifted next to him lifting her head from the pillar just for a moment. In the dark Sherlock noticed a small mark left on the cement. Looking closer he noticed a different sheen to some of her tight curls.
"You are hurt!" He started to get angry again, removing her arm from his, he got to his knees and started to fuss over her. "Why did you lie to me!" Sally tried to brush him off.
"I'm fine." She gritted her teeth and tried to push his hands away so he grabbed her wrists tightly and pulled her close to him.
"Let, me, look at it." He pronunciated, holding her firmly until she nodded and settled. She sat there brooding while Sherlock gently poked around her injury. "It clotted well, but you lost a lot of blood and you need stitches."
"Well done doctor Holmes, I think maybe we'll skip the stitches and focus on how you haven't been breathing right for the last four hours." Sally was glad to finally get that out. "I don't want to watch you suffocate then freeze to death, alone in this hell hole!"
"You'd rather freeze to death with company" he smiled slightly. "That could be the nicest thing you've ever said AT me." Sherlock's breathing hitched and started a small coughing fit.
Sally held his shoulder back as comfortingly as she knew how, and after he had finished she added. "Don't think too much of it." He collapsed back against their cold back rest and noticed Sally shivering.
The cold was getting to Sherlock too so he pulled his coat in tighter, ignoring the pain in his side, and motioned for Sally to squeeze in next to him again. "Come now, Donovan."
She pushed up next to him again.
"Is it okay if I have my arm around you?" He asked innocently, then quickly added, "it helps the lungs expand better.
"Yep." And together they settled in again, this time stretching their legs out in front of them. "Sherlock?"
"Hm?"
"What happened while I was out?"
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Next chapter you all get to figure out how they got there! Sally might explain some of her 'daddy issues' and poor Sherlock might have to admit he's not alright. Please, please R&R!
