A/N: I know it's short, but the cliffhanger has to happen, or else it wouldn't be so big. Bear with me and review. Toodle Pip! Amelie x


He was on his own. He had been abandoned. The only person he could ever care for in the world had gone. Curled up underneath a policeman's desk, blind and vulnerable, Sherlock Holmes wept.

John couldn't breathe and his eyes were unfocussed. He was in agony from the sociopath's cruel words, though he knew he shouldn't be surprised to know that there were no feelings inside the detective. Then he realised what he had done – he had left a sightless man in a room he had no knowledge of, shocked and disorientated. He had to get Sherlock home, even if John didn't follow.

He was becoming more aware of his surroundings, as the sides of the desk slowly started closing in on him, crushing him, stopping him from being able to think. He had to escape the cage. He threw himself out of the gap in the sides, hitting the wall with an unimaginable force and gasping in pain. Sherlock had to get out of the room and find John, explain himself, and get his calm influence back. He stumbled along the walls, gaining numerous bruises where he had hit objects lining the edges of the room. Finally he came to the door and leapt out into the corridor, slamming into the other side. He fumbled his way along, speeding steadily until he was nearly jogging, when suddenly he tripped over something on the floor and went flying. Everything went black.

Crashing and banging was bringing John slowly out of my reverie, breaking him from the heavy trance of torture. It was getting closer and he hesitantly brought his head up from between his legs, but he couldn't focus on anything. Then, with a yelp, there was a sharp kick to his side, and someone was careening into the air above him. Everything came crisply into focus when the person hit the ground and crumpled; it was Sherlock.

"Oh, God! Sherlock!" John cried, rushing over to the battered form of his flatmate. The man was unconscious, and bruised, and it was obvious he had been crying. All thoughts of his own pain vanished and he was scooping Sherlock into his arms and running out of the office, calling over his shoulder. "Lestrade! Come to Baker's Street with the stuff we need!" He rushed out onto the street, hailing a cab and trying to revive the man, but no cab would stop and Sherlock wouldn't wake up. Then an inconspicuous black car pulled smoothly to a stop. Of course it would be Mycroft. John didn't have a choice, so got in, and they pulled out into the traffic.

"Mng… John…" Sherlock started to wake up, rolling his head from side to side. Then his eyes opened and he stared up into John's face. "John!" Burying himself in the short man's stomach, he let out a scream. "John!" It couldn't be. He looked up once more, and it was true. He could see again.