You're part of a machine; you are not a human being.

Ah! We're nearing the end, dear readers! We've got a few more chapters before this comes to an end. Anyway, onward!

Celestial Glowhead – Thanks for the kind words and well wishes ^^ Your comments always make my day! I adore how much you like my stories. Thank you again!

Sherlock was pacing back and forth in the debriefing room at SHIELD's London headquarters. Coulson sat at the opposite side of the table, watching patiently. "He was there," Sherlock sneered. "I spoke to him, we found his notes. He didn't know who I was – he doesn't even know who he is! And SIP has him again! How long is this going to take?" He turned on Coulson. "When will SHIELD finally become useful?"

Coulson gave a longsuffering sigh. "I'd say SHIELD has been pretty useful over the years." If looks could kill Coulson would have been dead many times over.

An agent came bursting through the door and both men turned to look. "Sir, we have a match," she said. By the time Coulson got to his feet Sherlock was out the door, Coulson stayed a few paces behind, walking alongside the other agent. "Watson was spotted just twenty minutes from here. But he's not alone. It would seem Director Walton is with him."

Coulson offered a quick 'thank you' and rushed to catch up with Sherlock. "You're gonna need your uniform."

Sherlock didn't even bother looking at Coulson. "There isn't time."

"Yes there is. I don't want you getting yourself killed, you understand?"

"The uniform won't keep me from getting shot, Coulson, and there isn't time!"

Coulson grabbed Sherlock's shoulder, causing the detective to stop and turn. "This isn't a negotiation. I know the suit doesn't provide as much protection as you need right now, but it's what we have and it will stop a couple of things. We don't know what state John is in right now and we don't need him killing you on his conscience, understood?"

Sherlock glared. "If I wear it no on interferes."

"Unless required. No other agents will engage unless directly ordered by me."

There was a tense pause, but Sherlock eventually conceded. "Fine," he snapped.

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When SHIELD arrived on the scene the police were already there. Of course two people with an obvious and quite frightening amount of weapons would attract attention as well as a few phone calls to the police. Luckily there weren't many civilians watching on. The rain had caused them to seek the indoors. So there wasn't a need to worry about civilian casualties.

Lestrade recognized the vans as soon as they pulled up. He hurried over to the nearest one and Sherlock got out. "Sherlock!" Lestrade stopped in front of the detective. "What's going on?" He looked over his shoulder at John and Director Walton. "We've tried talking to him but he won't respond. We haven't approached yet, obviously, given the weapons the woman has, but—"

Sherlock walked past the DI. "Get your officers out of here, Lestrade."

Greg paused. "What?"

"I said get them out of here. We don't know what direction this is going to take. We don't need you to get involved."

"Sherlock, what's going on? Last time I heard anything about John was when we found that basement a couple months ago." He risked a glance over at John. "What was going on in there?"

"Experimentation." Sherlock turned to face the DI. "Lestrade, you need to leave. We don't know what's going to happen."

"Like hell I'm leaving! John's my friend too and you can't keep leaving me in the dark like this!"

Even Sherlock knew there was no winning this argument. "Fine. But send your officers back and stay out of the way." Lestrade nodded, knowing this was the best he was going to get. He walked off, getting his officers out of the way of SHIELD.

Sherlock began walking towards John and Walton. "Cora Walton!" Walton looked over at the detective.

"A tactical SHIELD uniform? Really?" She laughed. "You've stooped low, Holmes."

"If you leave John with us we'll let SIP walk away," Sherlock said, getting right to business. "We'll stop pursuing you. Until you cause another catastrophe, that is."

Walton raised an eyebrow. "A catastrophe? Like the one at Brighton?" She looked at John. "Your friend here has a lot of potential. All we wanted to do was unlock it. We went a little far on that, I'll admit. All of my best agents are dead because of him. Impressive, but unforgivable. Luckily he's pretty much a ticking time bomb at this point. Our drug was revolutionary, but it wasn't quite what we intended. My one regret is that we didn't have all of Zola's notes. If we had then perhaps we would've gotten our perfect Winter Soldier." Sherlock clenched his fists. "But you know what? You live, you learn."

Walton reached into her pocket and pulled out a syringe. "You know, he's just a little too problematic for me. In fact, I think the drug's the cause. One of my scientists gave him a dose larger than usual and then the whole Brighton massacre happened." She fiddled with the concoction in her hand. "Wanna see what happens when you give him even more than that? I do. I suppose the hope is it overloads him and he dies. But that would be a shame, wouldn't it?" She shrugged. "Though I guess it's for his own good – who would want to live with the knowledge they killed all their friends?"

"So that's your plan? Get him to kill me?"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself. He'll be killing more than just you." She looked over at the SHIELD agents taking their positions. "Well, let's get this over with. I want to watch, but this weather is atrocious. Better get a move on then." She plunged the syringe into John's neck. Even if no one else could, Sherlock saw the look of pain in John's eyes. "Kill him," Walton hissed, "and kill any SHIELD agents you can manage. You know what? Go nuts." She gave John a bit of a push before sending Sherlock a smug look and walking to a safe distance, hand on her gun.

From what Sherlock could tell, John had no gun on him. Good. However, the number of knives hidden on him was somewhat unnerving. John began to walk forward and Sherlock raised a hand. "John, look at me. You know who I am." John made no indication that he did. Sherlock stepped back a bit as John continued to approach. "This is entirely SIP, this isn't you."

Once John was within arm's length Sherlock prepared to move. But John stopped and stared at the detective. "John, you know who I am." Out of nowhere, John attacked. Sherlock took the hit and went sprawling across the asphalt. John stepped closer and stood over the detective. Sherlock held his broken nose tenderly and stared up at his friend. "Don't do this, John," he said softly.

John glowered and raised his fist. Sherlock barely managed to roll out of the way in time. John tore up the asphalt where Sherlock's head would have been. Sherlock jumped to his feet and faced his friend. There wasn't even a sign of recognition in his eyes. Sherlock held out his hands. "You know who I am. John, listen to me—" John kicked Sherlock straight in the gut, sending him flying. As soon as he stopped skidding, Sherlock rolled over and immediately threw up. That was…painful. Not good.

Sherlock stumbled to his feet, hand wrapped around his torso and doubled over. "John, this isn't you," he coughed. His vision was blurring and he shook his head, clearing it temporarily. "You know that, don't you? Deep down, you know this is wrong." John halted. "You're my friend."

"I don't have friends."

"Hm. I wonder why?"

John blinked. Sherlock stood up a bit straighter. "You remember, don't you? You know me." Slowly, Sherlock began to get closer. "You are John Hamish Watson, not this thing SIP's created."

John screwed his eyes shut and grabbed his head. "Shut up!" he yelled. But Sherlock persisted.

"They've manipulated you, they're controlling you, it's all SIP! It's Walton!"

John's gaze snapped back up and Sherlock halted. They stared for a few moments before John slowly turned. Walton was leaning up against the van, watching the fight. John headed right for her. Walton's casual leaning quickly dissipated and she stood straight up, hand gripping her gun in fear. John's pace got quicker and Walton drew her weapon. "Agent, you haven't completed your mission." John didn't slow down. Walton fired but, of course, John didn't stop. Quickly becoming very afraid, she scrambled for the car door. John beat her there and he gripped the handle. Sherlock could hear the sound of creaking and cracking metal from where he was. John let go and the door handle was completely deformed. Walton wouldn't be able to get in through there.

Walton burst into a sprint, trying to get to the next door. John grabbed her arm and the SIP director let out a scream. John twisted her arm, resulting in a loud crack. Walton screamed again, louder this time. John pulled her closer and pulled out his knife. Walton glared at the mutant, streaks of tears and rain falling down her face. "You can't do this! You follow my orders! I made you!"

John pulled Walton closer and she cried out. "No you didn't," he hissed. "No one made me." With that, he drove the knife into her abdomen.

Walton made no sound, simply opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. John twisted the weapon and Walton let out a whimper. John gave it one last movement before pulling it out. Walton fell to the ground like a ragdoll.

Everyone watched on, not daring to make a move. John slowly turned back around, facing Sherlock. John began to stumble towards his friend. Sherlock nodded, raising a hand in innocence. "You know who I am, don't you?" John blinked hard, shaking his head. "They tried to make you forget, but you didn't. You couldn't." Sherlock began to walk forward (more of a shuffle, really, his torso wasn't in good shape). "You wrote me a note, do you remember that?" He grimaced as he jostled his wounds. Sherlock stopped and John met him in the middle, staring the detective down. "You wrote me a note – you broke free of SIP's control." He let out a breath of a laugh. "You called me, remember? You broke free of their control twice before, you can do it again."

John shook his head, grimacing. "Stop it!" He swung, catching Sherlock's jaw. The detective quickly fell to the ground. John put his head in his hands, panting. Sherlock waved off the SHIELD agents who raised their weapons. He stumbled back to his feet and gently prodded his face. Miraculously, his jaw wasn't broken. Not that it didn't hurt like the devil. "My name is Sherlock Holmes," he mumbled through his injuries, "and you are John Watson."

John hit his friend again. Sherlock didn't try to get up this time. "I said shut up!" John knelt down right next to Sherlock, taking the detective's collar in his hands and pounding mercilessly. "Shut! Up!" He accented each syllable with another hit. Sherlock limply reached up and grabbed John's shoulder. John halted, breathing heavily and staring down at the man he was beating.

"Listen to me," Sherlock barely managed to get out. He swallowed and his face contorted in pain. "This isn't you. John…Please." Slowly, John's fist began to lower. "Please..." Sherlock coughed, "come back."

John's grip on Sherlock's suit slackened and the cloth slipped from his fingers. Sherlock's head fell into the pavement, but the detective made no sound – he only grimaced in pain. John sat back on his knees, staring at his friend.

"…Sherlock?"

Sherlock did his best to look at his friend. It hurt to move, blood was obscuring his vision, and his face was already swelling, but he caught a glimpse of John. He looked…confused… "You…I…" Sherlock slowly and painfully tried to get to at least his knees. John's bloodied hands shook as he stared down at them. Sherlock dragged himself closer to his friend.

The detective reached up, grabbing his friend's arm. John's gaze snapped over to Sherlock. Sherlock never wanted to see John so scared ever again. "John…" Sherlock wanted to get closer, but he was in too much pain to move. John looked down at his friend with a little less emotion than before. Sherlock swallowed. Suddenly, he felt a searing pain in his gut. He gasped and looked down. A knife was hilt deep in his abdomen. Sherlock's eyes snapped back up to John. He was blank-faced once again. "J—" John pushed a little harder and Sherlock cut himself off with a gasp. Sherlock grasped at John's arm in desperation.

There was the sound of a weapon firing and John flinched. It wasn't a bullet, but a dart in his skin. He stared at the dart imbedded in his shoulder and his vision blurred. John swayed and collapsed to the ground. Sherlock lost his grip of his friend and his arms fell to his sides. The detective bit back each wave of pain and nausea that erupted from his abdomen. Through the pouring rain Sherlock heard the SHIELD agents closing in. The first person to reach him, however, was not a SHIELD agent.

Lestrade skidded to a halt next to the consulting detective. "Oh my god, Sherlock!" Greg knelt down next to the younger man and his hands hovered over the knife still stuck inside Sherlock's abdomen. Sherlock's eyelids flicked closed. "Oh no, you aren't doing that to me. Sherlock." Greg tapped Sherlock's face. "Hey, stay awake you hear?" He became a little more aggressive. "Sherlock!" The consultant's eyes opened, just barely slits due to the swelling. "You need to stay awake, alright?"

"Inspector Lestrade!" Greg looked up and saw Coulson running over, several SHIELD medics passing him. Lestrade had the sensibility to step back and let the medics do their work. Coulson stopped next to the DI. "We're going to have to ask you to leave," Coulson said, clearly not happy about this fact.

Lestrade was quite obviously shocked by the mere idea. "Like hell I'm leaving. I'm going with them."

"We'll be taking them to SHIELD headquarters, Inspector, not—"

"Well I'm going with them, so deal." Coulson knew that even though he could still make Greg leave, there was no point in doing so.

"J'hn…"

The two of them looked down to see Sherlock reaching towards his flatmate. John was cuffed with SHIELD's power-negators and was being lifted onto a stretcher. Lestrade turned on Coulson. "Is all this really necessary?" he asked, gesturing to the SHIELD agents who were strapping John down, restraining him further.

"You saw what he just did, you tell me."

"He's unconscious!"

"We can't take any risks." Coulson watched the agents wheel the doctor away. "Look, I don't like it either but we have to be careful. And right now Sherlock's our number one priority." The two men looked back over at Sherlock. He'd been loaded onto a stretcher and the medics were working on administering oxygen and stabilizing the knife. Coulson nodded. "Alright then, let's go."

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