Sherlock's phone rang, but he didn't hear it, being too focused on the particulates under his microscope.
"He's not answering." Lestrade said, letting the phone down from his ear and pressing the end call button.
"Try again then." Jayden answered. "He's bound to hear eventually."
Lestrade nodded and tried again, putting it on speaker phone. Jayden paced as the phone rang, getting faster and faster the more frustrated he got.
The ringing stopped and a low voice came over the line.
"Lestrade?"
"Yeah it's me, listen-" Lestrade started, but Sherlock cut him off.
"Jayden's with you?"
"Yeah, now-" Again Lestrade was interrupted.
"Did Mrs. Turner know any-"
"Will you just shut up for a moment!?" Lestrade's voice rose uncharacteristically, instantly quieting Sherlock. Lestrade sighed. "Did you get it?"
"Did I get what?" Sherlock asked.
Lestrade growled in frustration.
"Give me a second, I'll send it to you." he said. "And don't you dare hang up on me."
"Why? What's going on?"
"You'll see. Just wait a moment, will you?"
Lestrade messed with his phone, struggling to send the video.
"Never learned this in training." He muttered.
Watching Lestrade's irritation increase, Jayden held out his hand.
"Give it to me." he said.
Lestrade glanced over at him, then gave him the phone. With in a few seconds, the video was sent.
"I got it." Sherlock said.
Lestrade heard an small intake of air as Sherlock opened the message. Not missing a beat, Lestrade took the phone off speaker phone and held it up to his ear. He gestured for Jayden to leave the room. Jayden frowned, but nodded, doing as he was told.
"You alright?" Lestrade asked.
Sherlock stared at the picture on his phone.
It depicted John, tied to a chair, his head drooping towards his chest. He was blindfolded and gagged, though Sherlock suspected that even if he did try to speak, it wouldn't have made much sense. Blood dripped from a head wound, marring the surface just below the hair line. Though Sherlock knew head wounds were always messy, he was still inclined to believe that one of this severity couldn't not cause a concussion. Blood laced John's shoulder, the same one that had been shot in Afghanistan, and bruises mottled his entire body. It would take John weeks to recover, possibly months. That's if he wasn't already gone.
Not just a picture. Sherlock's frayed mind managed to process. A video.
He pressed play, half way hoping it would give him some sort of a lead.
Sherlock's shoulders sagged as John Watson's chest heaved up and down, breaths audibly strained.
He's alive. The knowledge alone gave Sherlock great relief, but as the video implanted itself in his mind, another fact became obvious. He might not be for long.
Something caught in his chest, and it felt as though pressure were building up.
He's still in there. He's still being hurt and- We have to get him out.
Lestrade waited anxiously for Sherlock to answer him, but all was silent.
"Sherlock? You still there?" he asked, for what felt like the hundredth time, but was actually only the third.
After a moment, Lestrade heard a short cough, then a deep voice came across the line.
"Yes." The Consulting Detective's voice sounded detached, disturbingly so.
"You alright?" Lestrade asked.
"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock snapped, finally showing some emotion, be it irritation.
Lestrade frowned. While Sherlock seemed to be responding normally, he couldn't help but notice the lack of conviction behind Sherlock's verbal bullets.
"Sherlock,"Lestrade said gently,
"I'm fine, alright? Or-" Sherlock breathed out, trying to dispel the growing tension inside of him. "Or I will be. Just don't worry about it. I'll have Mycroft try to track the mobile the text was sent from, and we'll have the location of the kidnappers when the sent the text, then I'll analyze the video, see if I can gather anything about their location, then I- I-"
Sherlock's mind ran blank, going back into the inward state of panic he had been in before. The sensation of being torn apart from the inside out was jarred into his mind and wrenched into his body. Pain and fear seemed to radiate from his very core. His breaths came out in small gasps, and his grip on the phone tightened.
"Sherlock, Sherlock, calm down. It's going to be alright." Lestrade said. "Where are you?"
"Bart's." Sherlock said. There was a slight tremor in his voice, but it was enough.
"Alright, stay where you are. I'm coming to get you. We'll work things out from there, alright?"
"Okay..."
Sherlock's immediate agreement concerned Lestrade, as it showed just how muddled and clouded his mind was.
"Alright." Lestrade said. "I'll be there soon."
Lestrade pressed the end call button, and walked out of the room. He looked to the left, where Jayden leaning against the wall, surfing the web on his phone.
"Come on." Lestrade grabbed Jayden's shoulder and pulled him down the hallway.
"Where we going?" Jayden asked.
"Bart's." Lestrade said.
The car drive was a tense, silent one.
Lestrade growled at the traffic, and resisted the urge to turn on his siren and lights just to clear the way.
You never could convince me of that sociopath bit. Lestrade thought. You better be alright, you idiot.
Lestrade and Jayden got out of the car and walked into Bart's.
"Morgue or lab?" Jayden asked.
"He's in the lab," Lestrade answered.
Jayden started walking towards the lab, but Lestrade grabbed his shoulders and swung him around to a different direction.
"But you're going to go visit Molly." Lestrade said.
"Why?" Jayden frowned.
"Just go."
"No. Tell me why." Jayden said.
"Because your brother is a proud man, and he hates being seen like this." Lestrade hissed.
"And what exactly is 'like this'?"
"He'll show you when he wants to." Lestrade said. "Now go."
Jayden stalked off, heading towards the morgue.
Lestrade slipped into the lab, closing the door quietly behind him. It wasn't hard to locate Sherlock, who was sitting against the wall with his knees bent up towards his chest, elbows resting on top of them, and his face in his palms.
It was dark, all but one light had been turned out. Sherlock's gaze flickered up towards Lestrade.
"Sherlock?"
"I've fixed it, Lestrade. Don't worry." Sherlock said, his voice strangely empty. "It won't happen again."
"There's nothing wrong with being upset." Lestrade said. "You're allowed to be worried. He's your best friend."
"There's where you're wrong." Sherlock said. "Currently, he has the status of victim. When he is back, he will regain the status of 'friend'. But for now, he is of no more significance than anyone else."
"Sherlock..."
"You know what I can do." Sherlock's head shot up, his piercing blue eyes giving Lestrade a look sharper than ice. "I can't turn it off, that's true. But you know better than anyone else that I can change it when I need to."
"I know you can do it." Lestrade's voice was resigned, and for once you could tell his words were well thought out. "But I don't like what it turns you into. It scares me actually."
"Why?" The word, though formed as a question, was more akin to an accusation. More clearly described, it felt like the cold metal of a dagger resting against your throat.
All words died on the inspector's tongue, and for a brief moment he just stood there. Finally, he managed to utter,
"I don't know." He said. "I don't have a good reason." Lestrade sighed and shifted his weight to a more comfortable position, rapidly adapting to Sherlock's not new- but regressed attitude. "I know I can't stop you from doing anything. I know that nothing I say will change your mind once you have it made up. But just hear me out, alright?"
After a moment's hesitation, Sherlock's head dipped in a slight nod, signaling his willingness.
"I don't know what you're going through," Lestrade began, "I can't read your mind, and I don't know what to do. But I'm doing the best I can to help, and no amount of insults, dismissals, or otherwise verbal attacks are going to stop me. I don't know how your mind works. This might just be your method of coping, and that's alright. But if you choose to do that, if you choose to lock your emotions in that room, that cellar, could you do me a favor?"
Sherlock paused, not having expected this turn in the conversation. Again, his head lowered, but this time, it did not raise again.
"Leave the lights on." Lestrade said.
Lestrade sensed some confusion in the air as the consulting detective looked up, returning his gaze.
"Sherlock," Lestrade said, "Make sure you don't delete the key to that room. Because when you do that... thing, you don't just change it, you change you."
After a moment's consideration, Sherlock spoke.
"Okay."
A/N: Okay, so the reason I was so slow for this update is because I've actually written a lot more, and I realized that I needed to split it up between chapters. So, here you go, I hope you like it. Please tell me what you think, I'd love to know if there's anything I can improve. Oh, and just in case I wasn't clear enough (I think I was, but just in case,) the "it" referenced by Lestrade and Sherlock was the way Sherlock processes emotions, as well as the emotions themselves.