John and Sherlock spent the rest of the night, and most of the day trying to track down the thief/murder suspect. John was about to collapse by the time that he managed to convince Sherlock
that they should give up on finding the map. John was too tired to worry much about the prospect of the thief breaking in and trying to murder him again by the time they got back to the hotel; In fact
he hadn't even though of it until Sherlock brought it up.
In a moment of human insight that was unusual for him, Sherlock suggested that John try and get some sleep there while he tried to find a new hotel on the other side of town.
Although John had learned very quickly that these acts of kindness were rarely simply for the sake of being kind, he was too tired to protest.
It wasn't until housekeeping woke him up the next morning that he realized his mistake.
John tried checking many of the usual places for any sign of Sherlock, and he eventually resorted to going to the local police department, who didn't have
any idea of what to do if they didn't know where to look.
By the time he stopped looking, it was well beyond nightfall, and John was being to get the horrible sinking feeling that the next time he saw Sherlock, it would be in the morgue. As he was trying
to cope with this idea, John heard something scratching on the door, and the unmistakable sound of tumblers being forced into place.
somewhere deep down inside of him, John hoped it would be Sherlock, despite the fact he'd taken his room key with him, John wouldn't put it past him
to either have lost it or have decided to test a theory about how the thief opened the door.
However his common sense and growing panic, and oddly, rage caused him to get out the military issue hand gun he kept in his luggage, and aim it at the door.
When the final tumbler was forced into place, the door swung open. It didn't take long for John to recognize the man in the room next to him, it was very hard to miss his
scar. John disengaged the safety, and aimed it at the man's head.
"You know, I could kill you right where you stand, and I could probably get away with it too" John said. Although his body shook a little with anger, his aim remained steady,
he knew that if he fired right now, he couldn't miss; but the man standing in the doorway (who had slowly raised his hands into the air at John's urging)
narrowed his eyes, just a hint of irritation and anger flaring in them.
"Then why have you not?" he asked
"Because you're going to answer one very simple question"
"And what would that be?"
"What The HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO SHERLOCK?!"
-
Sherlock moaned a little as he started to regain consciousness. His first impression was the collection of bruises that were starting to form
on key points of his body, and of the aching in his limbs and the pounding in his head. When he opened his eyes, he immediately began analyzing the situation; although everything was dim and blurred, he could
tell that his wrists had been bound, judging by the sound of water swishing back and forth, as well as the echo, he knew he was in the sewers, judging by the lack of
street noise coming from above it was probably an isolated section. In an attempt to try to fight off the last dregs of whatever he'd been drugged with, Sherlock groggily shook his head.
When his vision finally cleared there was a skull floating in front of his face.
He glared at it, but he wasn't at all afraid or impressed.
He did, however recoil a little at the stench, which resembled an unsavory mixture of rotting flesh and feces, he noted that he appeared to be upside down.
"ah it is awake" a voice said.
Sherlock craned his neck and was slightly surprised to see that the killer apparently had mottled purple skin.
The ugly creature grinned and lightly kicked the skull in front of his face so that the disgusting sludge splashed him in the face, barely avoiding his mouth and going up his nose; as well as cause the skull to bob.
"Say hello to your little friend"
