Chapter 25
In which it didn't sound promising

Genre
Suspense, horror

Thanks to a pounding headache and disorientation, Sherlock had no idea where he was until he recognised the small, dimly-lit bedroom. He was at the house, on the bedroom floor, propped up against the side of Sherlock's bed.

'Sorry about the headache, Mycroft's men weren't exactly gentle.' John was kneeling on the floor next to him. Mycroft's men? Ah, he remembered now, the chase through the woods, then being cornered and clubbed over the back of the head. That wasn't Mycroft's usual style…

Sherlock heard the familiar sound of Lestrade's rubber-soled shoes clomping up the staircase. A sound he should have been familiar with as he had at times spent weeks listening for it in the hopes of a reprieve from boredom. He certainly wasn't bored now. The door creaked open and the harsh light from the hallway filtered in. 'Morning, sunshine.' Lestrade grimaced as he came in and sat down next to John.

'Wh-' Sherlock tried to sit up, but John placed a steady hand on his shoulder as he winced at the pain in the back of his head.

'I think you should stay laid down for a while,' John gave him a small smile. 'Lestrade, did you call The Director?'

'Yeah, he's on his way.'

'Who's The Director?' Sherlock frowned at both of them

John laughed 'Don't you know? When I say Director, I mean The Director.'

'So who is that?' Sherlock yelled. Both John and Lestrade laughed. This somehow unsettled Sherlock, because neither of them were acting weirdly besides the whole "Director" thing. He couldn't tell if he was hallucinating or not. Sherlock put his head in his hands and growled. 'Who the HELL is The Director?' he hissed at both of them.

John and Lestrade exchanged a worried glance. 'I'll be right back,' John stood up and walked out into the hallway; emerging a few moments later with a syringe in hand. 'Ok, just relax Sherlock, keep your eyes on me.'

John was probably trying to hide the fact that Lestrade was edging behind Sherlock. But it was kind of working, the liquid-filled syringe held in John's hand was demanding attention. Suddenly Lestrade grabbed him, and after a few seconds of struggling and Sherlock snarling like a feral animal, Lestrade had the younger man effectively restrained. 'What are you doing? What is that?' Neither of them answered him.

Clear liquid, clear liquid… what could that be..? Sherlock ran through a million possibilities in his head.

water, insulin, about six different types of hallucinogen, Hydrochloric acid, Nitric acid, Sodium hydroxide, Sulfuric acid, painkillers, around three different illegal drugs, turpentine, nail polish remover, countless different poisons…

It didn't sound promising.

'Don't move, this is just to calm you down a bit,' John's voice had gone monotone again. Sherlock broke out into a cold sweat.

"We suspected drugs, but we couldn't find anything of the sort."

John knelt down in front of him and grabbed Sherlock's forearm, rolling up the sleeve and positioning the needle close to the skin. Sherlock tried to pull away in vain.

'Stop! John, please! STOP IT!'