They walked for around 20 minutes till they couldn't hear the scratching of the mutated rats. The rushing water had also reduced from waves to small ripples, slithering down the tunnel with them. Finally, Sherlock called out for a break and they both leaned back on the wall, legs splayed out before them.
Sherlock glanced at Alex's shoulder and his back, which was now torn with cuts and scratches. He let out a sigh and held out his hand. "Give me the bandages," he said.
Alex looked at him warily. Sherlock gave another sigh. "Just give me the bandages," he said. Alex reached for his pocket, but his mouth opened for a question.
"Your shoulder," he indicated his head to the bleeding wound, "it's going to get infected if you don't bandage it,"
The retort seemed to melt from Alex's lips as he handed him a roll of white bandages, giving off a slight glow in the darkness as Sherlock slowly unwrapped it. He had bandaged a lot cuts and injuries before but this seemed different. He could sense that Alex was tense, as if he was scared that Sherlock was going to slash out at him or something.
"I'm not going to kill you so relax your muscles before I really have to sedate you to bandage this cut," he said curtly.
"I'm not nervous," Alex snapped, moving his arm away.
"You are," Sherlock concluded, "your muscles are contracted and you are constantly bitting your lips. When I first asked you about the bandages you looked confused as if you do not know what I was referring to. Of course you're nervous, you're scared of me, aren't you?"
Alex turned to face him, face red like he was ready to spout some kind of reason to defend himself.
Sherlock sighed, "Just let me bandage your arm. I can't do it if you're all tensed up."
Alex reluctantly gave his arm to him. Sherlock started to clean the wound, expecting some sign of pain but Alex's face remained impassive. Quite brave, he thought to himself, he must have had wounds worse than this.
The tunnel was silent for a while as he wrapped the cloth around and around Alex's arm until all was left was a wad of white bandage, almost like an arm band.
"I still don't get why you get to boss me around when you're only four years older than me," Alex murmured, arms crossed.
Sherlock felt a smirk play at his lips. "That's because I am more intelligent than you," he replied stiffly, "Also because I am still older than you, and it the world, the younger must listen to the older."
"Is it because you're wiser," Alex said sarcastically, "because you don't look very wise to me."
Sherlock looked away and Alex followed his gaze. Seeing that Sherlock was staring at nothing, he then glanced back at Sherlock.
"Hey, you're smiling!" He said.
"No I'm not," Sherlock replied but the smile still reached his lips. He let out a laugh he hadn't had for weeks, "Ok, fine, I'm smiling. But I'm still older than you,"
"Doesn't make you any wiser,"
"Quite right, you know, some people don't really act wise at all even if they reach 60. Made too many mistakes in hiding the body," he said.
"Hiding the body?" Alex asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, middle aged woman, his ex-wife, murdered her on the day she went home, had a grudge on her ever since the day they divorced." He waved him off.
Alex sat there, considering this.
Sherlock continued to stare into space. He listened to the drip drip of water somewhere nearby and the flowing water below. Here they are, stuck in some sewer tunnel, with no lead of finding the cure, and both of them injured. The pain in his leg was starting to get to him now, sending shocks discomfort every time he puts pressure on it. The idea of Jim starting all this does not help lighten the problem they have now.
"We should probabl-" he began but was abruptly cut off by an agonizing stab through his brain when he tried to stand. Black spots appeared in front of him, blinking out the lights as he felt the darkness close in around the edges of his vision. He let out a cry of pain and clutched his head, squeezing his eyes shut as fresh tears sprang up.
The shots of pain felt like lightning, running through his mind, paralyzing his whole body as he leaned on the wall heavily. Suddenly, he saw a dark shadow, an outline of his older brother, in front of him, just standing there, unmoving.
"Mycroft?" he asked cautiously. Mycroft, just stood in front of him.
"Mycroft?" he asked again, this time suspicious. His older brother just stood there, his face darkened so Sherlock couldn't see his expression. Then, he started shaking his head. He was disappointed in him. Stupid little brother. Slowly, he turned away to face the other way.
"No, Mycroft, please don't go!" He cried but Mycroft paid no heed and started walking away.
"Mycroft, please, don't leave me here, I tried, I tried my best, please Mycroft, please," he pleaded.
Mycroft kept on walking. Sherlock bit his lip till he tasted blood and balled his fists until his nails cut into his skin, drawing bleeds of red liquid. "I tried," he murmured silently, "I tried, I tried my best, please…. just don't leave me here…"
Yet despite all his pleading, there was no answer, as the figure of Mycroft, slowly melt into nothing.
Hey guys, Izzy here. For your information, Sherlock is hallucinating towards the end of the chapter. And thanks for all the favorites and follows, next chapter will be in Alex's POV. I might add some of Sherlock's POV too.
