DISCLAIMER: The show, the characters and so on and so forth all belong to the lovely BBC.

Warnings: Violence and slash, none of it NSFW explicit - I don't think so, anyway. Johnlock, no longer lightly but actually quite heavily implied Mystrade.

I GIVE YOU RESCUE.

There's a second, a split second, where the world slows down around John and he is entirely still. He recognises the feeling from his army days: the moment before the battle, the calm before the storm. It's just long enough for him to push all of his fear deep down inside himself before reality hits in an explosion of awareness and adrenaline.

And then he's moving, running low and fast down the street towards the Say No building, the Association members at his heels. He spares a second to admire their professionalism – they're whisper-silent apart from the unavoidable noises of feet on the ground and clothing in the wind – but after that, all of his attention is focused on the buildings and his surroundings and anywhere else that could possibly be hiding Say No members. Claude had told him that there would be no danger from the party, but John knows better than most how even the best-laid plans go awry, so he keeps an eye out anyway.

He finds that the layout of the grounds is essentially the same as those of the building that he was taken to, for all that they're different places. Barriers. Guard booths. Courtyard. Black vans. He mentally makes note of them as he passes them by.

True to Claude's words, the guard booths are empty as he runs past and as he approaches the building, he can see that the place is utterly dark and utterly silent. It terrifies him and reassures him in equal measures. He tries to let only the reassurance show on his face as he slows to a jog and then a walk, finally stopping before the front door. The Association members gather around, entirely silent. John sees pure fear etched over more than one of their faces, but a particularly brave one amongst their ranks reaches forward and gently pushes the door open.

It gives without a sound, and then they're all pouring inside.

The corridor they find themselves in is as dark and quiet as the outside has led them to expect. John stands just inside, letting the others pass him by and putting away his gun, replacing it with a torch. He switches it on, peering down the beam. A second later, his light is joined by the rest of the team's and they begin to advance slowly down the corridor. Without a word, they all draw close to each other as they move.

John would put good money on the chance that there is not a single person in their contingent who is not scared out of his wits.

Anyone in their right mind would be, though, he thinks. Certain stories have been circling about what the Say No party does to the people it captures ever since the takeover and John himself is not reassured by his own experience, limited as it is. In his heart of hearts he's almost expecting some kind of Room 101 getup, but he's reassured by the fact that if that is the case, he'll probably be okay. After all, there's not that much left they can do to him that hasn't already been done.

With that cheerful thought, they round the corner to see a staircase. John breathes an inaudible sigh of relief. If all goes to according to plan, all they need to do is descend to the bottom floor and escort the prisoners up. Claude has assured him that the rooms containing the prisoners will be open. Since Claude also told him that the opening system for the rooms runs on the same one that opens the doors to the outside, and they breached the building's exterior with little more than a slight push to the front door, John is thankfully inclined to believe him. Although he's really wondering exactly what they needed to talk to him for, if they knew so much about the building in the first place.

The echoes of his team's footsteps sound even louder as they all descend the stairs to the basement floor and it grates on John's nerves. When they hit the final flight, he flexes his fingers around the torch and draws his gun out of his pocket again. Although everything that Claude told him in that coffee shop has turned out to be right so far, he'd be a fool to let his guard down this far into the game.

The door to the bottom floor opens silently onto a plain corridor. John's nerves are screaming at him to freeze, run away, hide, anything – but the rest of his team are hanging back and John can almost smell the fear in the air so he takes it upon himself to be the first to step through the doorway.

Nothing. No explosion of light, no party members pouring out of doorways, no piercing alarm. Just the plain corridor lined with plain doors, still silent, still dark. John feels a little of the tension drain from his shoulders and walks on further into the corridor with more confidence, hearing the Association members start to follow him. He reaches the first door on the left, puts his gun away again and curls his fingers around the handle. Around him, his companions are fanning out down the corridor but he doesn't pay the much attention until he realises that his heart is beating triple-time, his hand hasn't moved on the handle and none of the rest of the team are moving either.

He looks up and flashes his torch down the corridor, keeping his other hand on the door. The Association members are spread all the way down the corridor in exactly the same position as him: hands on handles, unmoving. This time, when he scans the faces, there is not a single one that doesn't register fear.

He smiles, but it's strained. He knows exactly how they're feeling. So for the first time that night, he speaks to them, although his voice sounds hoarse in the semi-darkness of the torchlight.

'Christ, I'm scared. I don't want to open this thing. God knows what's on the other side.'

There's a high-pitched giggle from the other end of the corridor and he sees a few faces relax by degrees. John realises that for all that this operation has every appearance of a well-organized, professional mission, these people are all just that at heart – people. In the best of ways, nothing special. Nothing amazing. So, scared to death. Just like me.

'Look, let's get this over and done with quickly. Open on three, yeah? We'll do it together.'

On the third beat of silence, the sound of doors opening echoes down the corridor and John bursts through the door in front of him. His torch beam sweeps the room, highlighting dark, wild hair and long spindly limbs and for the faintest of seconds an illogical hope swells unbearably inside him but the figure lying splayed out on the floor in front of him moves and groans and he realises it's a woman.

He crouches over her and puts his torch in his mouth so he can do a proper check of her state of health. He finds no bruises, lacerations or broken limbs, although like Lestrade, she's underfed to the point of emaciation. As he works, he becomes conscious of her eyes on him, but he keeps his expression schooled and his examination clinical. When he's satisfied himself that she's not in any danger, he stands up, pulling the torch out of his mouth, and offers her his hand. She flinches for a second before accepting it gingerly, and pulling herself to her feet. Good news for once, John thinks, and smiles: she's swaying a little, but she can stand. She'll be fine.

'Look, we haven't got much time,' he starts, 'so I'll be brief. We're getting you out of here. We'll be taking you to a safe place where we'll update you on everything that's been going on since you've been taken. How long have you been here? Can you tell me your name?'

'…Mary. I was taken in March.' She blinks, and her face crumples momentarily before straightening out again. John might be fooled that she's okay, but her voice is suspiciously detached when she asks, 'Do you… do you know what they did with Lisbeth?'

John has to swallow down the lump in his throat. Lisbeth. This girl's Sherlock Holmes?

'No. No, I'm very sorry. But, hey, there are other people with me helping the other prisoners. She might be there. Just come with me.'

He keeps her hand and leads her out into the corridor, pleased to see that she moves strongly enough considering what's happened to her. The corridor is filled with a babble of voices: some emotional, some explaining. John hears one couple in tears down the end and when he swings his torch that way, he sees two men embracing. He smiles. For once, he is able to feel just purely and simply happy for them.

He sweeps the rest of the corridor with his torch slowly, giving Mary enough time to dissect faces and figures. Her intake of breath and the way her hand slackens out of his grip tells him everything he needs to know.

'See her?'

In the dim light, her smile is radiant and her eyes are distant.

'Yes… oh, god, yes! I never thought I was going to see her again! Oh, God, Lisbeth! LISBETH!'

A short blonde woman close to the end of the corridor turns in the torchlight and John has to suppress a grin at the way her jaw just drops. Mary spares a second to turn and peck him quickly on the cheek before dashing down the corridor. John watches her go and smiles, touching his cheek gently, and then relaxes against the corridor wall until he realises someone is calling his name.

'Dr Watson? Dr Watson!'

Alarmed, he starts down the corridor, sweeping his torch from side to side. But he only manages a few steps before he has to stop because in the shaking torchlight, he sees none other than Mycroft Holmes, whose hand is wrapped around an unconscious Gregory Lestrade's.

Christ. I've done it. I've actually done it. Found Lestrade and Mycroft.

John feels an overwhelming bubble of happiness rise in his chest as he kneels down in front of them to gently check Mycroft's vitals. Mycroft stares at him the whole time like he's some kind of miracle and John thinks cheekily that he could almost get used to that. When he's done, he doesn't fight the massive grin that spreads across his face as he looks the other man in the eye and says,

'Good to see you, Mycroft.'

Mycroft seems incapable of speech and it's only moving over to check on Lestrade that stops John from really, really appreciating the moment. Because it's funny to think of Mycroft being dumbstruck by John's presence but the reality of the situation is brought painfully home by Lestrade's state. The circles under the man's eyes look like they've been engraved there, his breathing and heartbeat are rapid and he's so very thin; thinner even than when John last saw him, and he was already concerned about Lestrade's health back then. John doesn't think Lestrade is in any immediate danger but he's overcome by the sudden urge to get him out of the building - get them all out the building – as soon as possible, just in case. The place feels like poison.

All business, he hooks his arms under Lestrade's unconscious form and then looks Mycroft dead in the eye.

'Can you walk?'

Mycroft nods and climbs unsteadily to his feet and John has to look away because god, Mycroft is almost as thin and Christ, last time they met Sherlock made that diet joke and it's not at all funny anymore. Not at all.

But they're safe now, he reassures himself. That's what matters. Gently, he hefts Lestrade into his arms and then calls down the corridor.

'Is everyone ready to move?'

There are murmurs of assent all the way down so with Mycroft at his elbow, John leads the way out.

Next time: In which Mycroft is brought up to speed with a side order of Mystrade.

Please, as always, don't hesitate to message me with any complaints or issues. I'm also grateful to everyone who leaves comments; your reviews, especially ones with constructive criticism, are invaluable to helping me improve my work and inspiring me to keep going even when it's ten to one in the morning.