YES! We have reached chapter four, people! Yep, it's official!
ANYWAY! This is a danger chapter. Or, it is now. It is now officially coined a 'danger chapter'.
It didn't really need to be a danger chapter, but I needed to have a filler chapter while a ponder weather to convert this to a Doctor Who crossover or not. Any you lot aren't exactly helping! A little review and suggestion would be nice. The people who have reviewed, here are some imaginary teapots. Thank you! But I really need to know, otherwise I will stop the story until I have sufficient evidence from you lot about which one I should do.
Now you will read the 999 word chapter. Enjoy!
Sherlock and John walked along the tree line, back to the side of the house. They leant against the wall while they caught their breath, although they weren't out of breath to start with.
"John, I miss Jacaranda."
John looked up at his tall friend. Sherlock was not the sort of person to outwardly admit that he missed something. Then again, Sherlock was not the sort of person to randomly fall in love. Especially with trees. But then again, who was he to say Sherlock was heartless?
John decided he would distract Sherlock from his new-found love by getting into the house and setting the traps and cameras they had brought with them. He looked to his left, along the side of the large building, and spotted the door they had been heading to. It was about 7 meters away, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was, he hadn't noticed the camera placed directly above it. He cursed himself for being so un-observant. Even Anderson would have spotted that.
But if it was so obvious, why hadn't Sherlock pointed it out?
"Sherlock, you know that camera over there…" John pointed at the camera in question, and Sherlock nodded his head.
"… why didn't you point it out to me?"
"Because I wanted to see how long it would take for you to notice. It was an experiment."
"So when did you notice it?"
"I noticed it two minutes ago."
"So it's not just me being unobservant?"
"It appears not."
John frowned.
"You're being awfully honest. Are you feeling okay?"
"Sure." And to prove his point, Sherlock clutched at his head and fell to the ground.
"Sherlock! What's wrong?" John shouted at him.
Sherlock had his eyes clamped shut, and he was holding his head with a death-like grip. He was curled in on himself, protecting his important organs in his moment of weakness. He was unresponsive.
"Sherlock! Tell me what's wrong!" John pleaded. He was frantic now. Sherlock had just collapsed and he had no idea what to do.
John put his hand on Sherlock's tensed shoulder, trying to comfort him. His medic instincts came back to him in a flash, and he knew what to do.
"Sherlock. You need to breath."
Sherlock started breathing again. At first it was quite laboured, but he soon got his breathing under control with the help of John. He hadn't noticed that he had stopped breathing, but John's panicked voice brought him back to his senses. He slowly relaxed his muscles, and carefully, tentatively, removed his hands from his head. His hands were shaking as he slowly uncurled from his position and the ground, and gratefully accepted John's outstretched hand. He looked at John, his smile unsteady but none the less, still a true smile.
"Thank you."
John smiled, relief plastered across his face like a child's papier-mâché.
"Are you allright now?"
"Yes."
"What was that? Will it happen again?"
"It was the drug. It… disagrees with my system."
"Sherlock." John said in his warning tone that meant 'You
will tell me the truth or there will be trouble'. "Have you been taking?"
"No." Sherlock said, looking into John's eyes to prove his honesty.
"I believe you. Will it happen again?"
"Possibly, but it is unlikely. My brain tried to fight the drug, but it couldn't. I'm... worried. The drug is like nothing I've ever taken, and the symptoms don't match anything I've heard of."
John pondered over this. Sherlock was right; the drug was unlike anything he had heard of before. Maybe it was something new. He shuddered. What he didn't need right now was being used as a new drug development experiment. Think what Lestrade would say!
Sherlock suddenly turned back at John.
"That, however, does not solve our current predicament."
John realised he had rather forgotten what this 'predicament' was. He decided to tell Sherlock so.
"Which is…?"
"How do we get into the house?"
John turned to survey the house. They did appear to be outside it. He looked around. There didn't appear to be a door in the immediate vincity. But, he spied a door about 7 meters to his left, and went to walk towards it when Sherlock pulled him back.
"Whu?"
"John. We need to focus. In the time that we have been talking, fighting the effects of the drugs, and talking, you seem to have forgotten everything that has previously happened."
"I have?"
"Yes."
"Prove it."
Sherlock sighed. "The fact that you want me to prove it proves it."
John gave him The Dreaded Confused Face. Sherlock sighed at his lack of understanding. He started his monologue of rapid-speech. If John didn't understand, at least he would be sufficiently impressed to shut up.
"Okay. So, you ask me to prove it because you're insecure. Sceptical. Unbelieving, even. If you could remember what had happened, you would have told me something that had happened in order to prove me wrong- out of spite more than anything else. However, you offered up no such information; therefore you don't have the information to give. Therefore, you have forgotten."
"Um…"
Sherlock linked his arm in John, and dragged him off, away from the original plan, which was to enter the house's back door.
"Come on, no time like the present!" he said briskly, as he dragged John towards a small window. The window was one of those windows that pantries in the cellar had, the sort that was small and offered little or no light, and was barely, or never, locked. He gestured at it, because John was looking about in a fond and dazed sort of way. Sherlock knelt down and pulled at the edges of the window, opening it from the outside. The cold, wet soil could be felt through his thin trousers, but he didn't mind. John's expression went quickly to one of slight horror, as he realised what Sherlock was implying.
How on earth were they going to fit through that tiny window?