Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters…obviously-.-
WARNING: IF YOU DON'T LIKE YAOI, THEN I SUGGEST YOU GO ELSEWHERE :)
Author's note: My. Back. Hurts! *cries* Hey there again! :D First, again, sorry for late chapter D: but I had a project due last Friday and since my other group members were so useful (I'm being sarcastic) I had to do most of it myself. So anyway, thank you guys so much for the nice reviews! And I know there are many other people who are just reading, and that's fine, but I really would like to know what you guys think! Even if you tell me it sucks! c: Other than that, here you go another chapter!
John woke up a quarter past two in the morning, feeling no less light-headed than before. Darkness surrounded him to the point where closing or opening his eyes made no difference. The cold air that brushed past him caused shivers crawl under his skin. He could feel his clothing had changed. Surprisingly, his hands and feet were not tied down, which he couldn't tell was good or bad. He felt around and felt jeans and a cotton shirt on him. He moved on the chair he found himself, and the sharp pain that shot throughout his back and ribs suggested he'd been sitting there unconscious for about a whole day or two.
John glanced around but still could not make anything in the darkness. He placed his hands on the sides of the chair and pushed himself up. He swore, his face crumpled in pain. The pain in his incision was agonizing, but he had to get out of there.
John held onto the chair while covering his abdomen with the other arm. He squinted his eyes to adapt his eyes to the darkness, but there was no change. He held a hand out, toward nothingness, and started walking slowly.
Apparently, there was nothing else in the room other than a door and the chair. John took the door knob on his hand and turned it hesitantly.
The door opened and revealed a seemingly never-ending hallway with many doors on the sides. The hallway was dark too, but a window next to one of the doors to his left, let the moonshine in and the shadows of a tree outside the window danced around the circle of dim light.
John continued walking down the hall and inspected each door. They were all the same, had the same carvings and every detail seemed a perfect copy from the other. They were all a dark brown color and made of mahogany wood. The smooth wood was cool to the touch. He tried opening each of the doors but all were locked.
John turned to a second corridor and followed the wall, extending one hand in front of him and another touching the wall as he walked. This corridor did not have any light and was pitch black, which made John want to punch the wall in frustration. He wondered if anyone was looking for him. If anybody had actually noticed he was gone. Surely someone would notice, but then again he didn't feel he was entirely there at all.
John considered sitting on the floor and gain his breath, but his eye caught a glimpse of light and he stood still. There, at the end of the corridor, was a door with light coming right under it.
He walked towards the door and stopped before it, trying to imagine what could be on the other side, and opened it slowly.
The room's walls were painted a light blue color with white lines running across the ceiling. No windows, as expected, and the floor was covered in paper, blank paper spreading all over the ground. A small, dim light protruded over a cardboard box in the middle of the room.
John approached the box cautiously and tried to look what was inside from afar but the lids were raised so it was impossible to see. Still, John noticed something move inside the box, and then a soft grunt followed, a child's. John reached the middle of the room and peered inside the box.
A newborn baby, judging by the size, was wrapped in a light brown, dirty sweater and inside the cardboard box. It was grunting softly and his small fists waved above its face. John saw the hospital bracelet on the baby's wrist, too big for him, reading: 'Watson-Holmes'.
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