Minutes passed, and then an hour. Sherlock had spent a good deal of it muttering things to himself. John had gathered a great deal of useful information about the man's habits and personal traits. But John was getting tired and as fascinating as Sherlock was there was only so much interest that could be drawn from watching someone prodding severed fingers. Sherlock hadn't moved from the spot in front the counter in the whole hour he had been there and John was seriously considering just making a break for it. The lights were out but for a tiny spotlight pointed directly at the object of the Big person's experiments. John doubted the man would notice if he crept across the counter and onto the floor. There was almost certainly another entrance to the wall somewhere in the house. And it would be better than sitting in a breadbox that could be opened at any time.
John nodded to himself, his mind made up. He would have to be very careful, but he was positive he could make a discrete escape. It was a bit easier to go unnoticed if one was six inches tall, he told himself and took a deep breath and crawled back through the crack in the breadbox and slipping behind a jumbled box of cutlery that smelled like it has been used for everything but eating with. His heart was pounding in his ears. There was something intensely appealing about the danger of the job, a mix of anxiety and adrenaline, the possibilities of being caught and the relief that came with not being discovered.
A clattering sound made John start and press himself even closer to the wooden box a cold sweat creeping up his spine. There was only about a foot in big people's measurements between himself and the end of the counter. Unfortunately, that was a lot of distance for short legs to traverse and there was absolutely no cover. Peering around the box he observed that the bigger man had knocked over a tray of scalpels and was bent over retrieving them, cursing silently. This was John's chance if any to escape. Counting to three in his head he sucked in a breath before sprinting towards the edge of the counter and simultaneously reaching for his grappling hook. Which he suddenly realized did not seem to be attached to his person. Damn, he must not have unhooked it from the shelf. He realized his situation was even worse, seeing as he could not slow down and the edge of the counter was fast approaching.
At the last minute he managed to wheel to the right tumbling into an open drawer of dusty petri dishes and scraps of paper on which were scrawled incoherent notes. A bead of sweat dripped from his brow. How loud had his tumble been? Would the other man have heard, or was he too busy with the project on the table. John was too scared to move. Outside of the drawer everything had gone silent. There were no more shuffles, or scribbling of a pen on paper. The air was heavy with the sounds of John's own breath, which was inaudible to Big people anyways due to his size, but it didn't help the situation in his head much. His heart nearly stopped when footsteps began to work their way slowly towards the drawer.
A thin pale hand stained visibly with chemicals crept into the drawer and John's mind went into overdrive, he scuffled back as fast as his body would let him until he was pressed against the very back of the drawer. The fingers crept through the drawer brushing gently over John's torso in the process. He bit back a whimper of fear. Dammit, he would never get used to this Job. The fingers landed on a tube of some unknown substance that was letting off a bitter corrosive odor, even with its stopper in place. The tube was grasped and the hand was withdrawn and John was left panting to catch his breath. His vision was swimming. He managed to stand up. Never in his time as a Blogger had he ever been touched by a Big person before. He had had calls that were as close as this one many a time, but never before had he ever made contact. It wouldn't deter his work. But he was having trouble standing. Was it because Sherlock was a Big person, or something else.
As John caught his breath Sherlock shuffled about outside the drawer and then spoke to himself.
"That should do it for this tonight, I'll check again tomorrow morning." Then the sound of fading footsteps and the soft sound of a violin began to filter in from the living room. Never had John run faster to get back to his hole behind the fridge , He didn't even bother looking for his grappling hook, he just ran and leapt across surfaces, taking the long way back. When he found himself once again safe in his sanctuary in the wall he curled up in his old blanket and cried. He had learned a lot while hiding in the breadbox, but blogging would wait until tomorrow.
AN: Thank you for all the wonderful support so far. I want to dedicate this chapter to Hughesish who drew me some wonderful fanart of scenes from this fic. The link to which will be on my profile. Thank you so much! I was a bit nervous about this chapter, I am a bad judge of my own writing. I hope you all liked it. I may go back and edit this a bit. But I wanted to get an update out for you.
