The Separation

The first thing John became aware of when he woke up was the pounding in his head. He winced as he realised he was lying face down on a cold stone floor. Taking a mental check to see if he had any pain, the doctor slowly hauled himself up into a sitting position. He looked around; noting the bare brick walls. It seemed he was in a basement.

"Fuck..." John murmured as he rubbed his neck, the puncture wound from the needle throbbing and probably bruised.

He instantly thought of Sherlock, wondering where the man was and whether he'd fared better than John had.

Now that his head had cleared slightly, John tried to take in his surroundings more thoroughly. It was the smell that caught his attention, something hanging thick in the air. It smelt a lot like what John suspected was staining the floor.

Blood.

Not his though, old blood that spelt out just what danger John might be in.

A light-fixture in the ceiling was the only light source for the basement room and the brightness of bulb was hurting John's aching eyes. There was no furniture in the room and the only thing that broke up the four walls was a heavy looking door that was more than likely bolted from the other side.

John reached into his pockets but his phone and gun had been taken.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, think Watson, come on," John muttered to himself, wincing as he turned his head too quickly and felt a sting in his neck muscles. After a minute or two he calmed down enough to check himself over more thoroughly; adrenaline possibly masking any major injuries.

"Fuck!" he gasped as he smacked his head off the ceiling when standing up, having to hunch as he rubbed the back of his head.

So, vision was still slightly impaired, depth perception was definitely off.

Sighing heavily, he began examining the door, giving it a shove with his shoulder.

"Well then, it seems that one of the lovebirds is awake, try and settle down though, wouldn't want to cause a fuss, would you? It might make things worse."

The voice was unfamiliar to John, a female voice. Before he could even think of a response, a Polaroid picture slid under the door. Picking it up, dread crawled through John and seated itself deep into his stomach.

"Doesn't look very well, does he? That ankle looks painful, might even lose it if he leaves it too long, that would be a shame now, wouldn't it?" the female voice almost cooed through the door. Rage bubbled past the dread and John almost roared as he banged on the door.

"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you! Don't touch him! Don't you dare!"

Sherlock's eyes opened slowly, most of his body aching. The fall hadn't been far but he'd landed on his left ankle if the searing pain was anything to go by. He looked down at himself. Broken then, if the bone that was sticking out through his flesh was anything to go by. Blood had already soaked his sock and the bottom of his trouser leg; which had been rolled up by someone.

Sherlock knew to move it wouldn't do much good and so he stayed still, trying to learn what he could. He could tell by the wall colours and the ceiling plaster pattern that he was in one of the hotel rooms. It had been stripped of its furniture and there was no carpet, only the bare floorboards. However, the walls were evidently sound proofed, quite professionally as well.

Despite his pain, his thoughts were with John, almost sure the man would have been taken as well.

If only he'd listened, why hadn't John just listened?

"It seems you were having a bit of a lovers tiff, weren't you, hm?"

Sherlock looked up as he heard the voice, watching the male walking out of the bathroom, evidently having just cleaned his hands.

"Something about a case and faking it," Gordon said as he walked calmly over to Sherlock, looking down at him, "I thought the name was familiar when you arrived and so I did some research on you, a 'consulting detective' and his 'partner' in our humble hotel."

Sherlock watched the man carefully. Gordon's demeanour was drastically different, now eerily calm and collected.

"I thought I'd hit the jackpot really, such a well known, public eye couple, and you were all mine," Gordon cooed and chuckled to himself, moving over to the window, looking out of the curtains for a moment.

"Pursuing us was foolish, surely you must have seen that. We were faking our relationship, we were here investigating you, you must have seen our past record for solved crimes. You're not that much of an idiot, why not simply go to ground?" Sherlock asked.

Gordon smiled and turned back to the detective, putting on a pair of rubber gloves and sliding a meat cleaver out from under one of the floorboards.

"Because it was my research of you that made me see that simply 'going to ground' wouldn't work," he replied, running his finger gently over the large blade, "and I was tempted. I'll admit, you were too much to pass up, so in love, so lustful, so passionate-"

"Faking it, all of it, I just told you that," Sherlock interjected, frowning when Gordon threw his head back and laughed.

"Oh Mr Holmes, I'll be quite disappointed if you believe that. I've faked my own feelings for years, something your little John Watson and I seem to have in common."

Shaking his head, Sherlock swallowed thickly, bile rising in his throat.

"Now is not the time, not the time for this, shut up shut up shut up," he thought to himself, pushing back emotion and drawing out the sociopathic nature he'd previously convinced himself was all he had.

"Where is he? Obviously you've kept us apart to heighten emotional distress, insight panic, decay logic. If you intended to kill us, you'd have had ample opportunity while I was unconscious. You took photos of me, to send to John no doubt, thus he must be in a fit enough state to react to them. Where is he? And why are you holding us? Sick pleasure and psychopathic fantasy doesn't quite mould to you, jealousy is motive for the killings but not for the extended torture," Sherlock rattled off, keeping his eyes on the other man.

Gordon knelt down by him and stroked the flat edge of the knife across Sherlock's face, the cool metal sticking to the pale, clammy flesh.

"Now now, Mr Holmes, let's not spoil the surprise, hm?"

A/N: Oh god I know this has taken forever, I'm a terrible person I know! So many things have gotten in the way of writing this, including my own procrastination and laziness. Please forgive me! Have some angst! Yay for angst! Also, I know it's really short, but I hope it's satisfying anyway? Don't hate me xx