So everyone, I have the next chapter for you. I hope you all will like it. I'm surprised people liked the last chapter; I thought it was a bad one. Well any way that's it. Also I might upload this again because I didn't read over it for any mistakes. See ya.

John woke to the loud roar of an engine. He tried to open his eyes but they were glued shut from exhaustion. He moved lethargically backwards; he couldn't feel any of his limbs, they were numb. His breathing became quick; he wasn't sure what was wrong with him. Last thing he remembered was flying, then the briefest moment of the sky. He was trying to escape the camp; he figured something happened to him when he was trying. 'Was I caught?' he asked himself. He didn't want to go back.

He felt a rush of air and suddenly all the traces of sleep were gone and his eyes shot open. John saw the sky flying past him. He was jerked forward; his head hit a solid object and he saw the road beneath him. He started to panic again and his talons retracted and he could feel them go through flesh. "I am not going back!" John yelled as he leaned to the side making them swerved on the bike. He was willing to die than go back to get tortured again.

"John!" the driver yelled back as he tried getting them back on the road. "I'm not trying to harm you!"

The words were lost on John; he was in fight or flight mode and he wasn't going to fly from this fight. He felt the engine stop and the bike came to an abrupt halt. The back tire skidded out; John was forced forward and he held tighter on to the man. He would have been able to tear the man to shreds if he could lift his other arm but it didn't seem to be working.

The guard lifted John off the seat and tried to pry his talons from his ribcage. "John, my name is Sherlock Holmes," he said, "I'm not taking you back anywhere."

John seemed to calm down; the words sinking in. He couldn't tell if the man was lying or not. His claws went back in to their homes within his fingers. He dropped backwards to the ground. Searing pain shot through his body. He wanted to scream but the sound died before it left his throat. Hands were on his shoulder and he was brought to his feet. John backed away from Holmes and looked over his body. He lifted his fingers up to a white shirt that was turning red.

"Did you shoot me?" he asked looking back up at the curly haired man.

He watched as Sherlock shook his head before looking down the road. "If I shot you would I give you my shirt and jacket to stop the bleeding and keep you warm?" he asked; in a tone that made John feel stupid. "We need to get back on the bike."

John looked over the man; he was bleeding from his side, the gashes were about an inch long and definitely deeper. John figured that he was safe enough for him to trust. He wasn't ready to get back on the bike just yet though. "I can fly," he told him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes; John noted the change from grey to yellow. "Your wings are broken," he stated dully. "You were shot out of the air and fell in to trees. Now, we have to get going. I don't think any RA's are going to come down this road, for the most part it's vacant but we can't take the chance."

John didn't know what he was talking about. He had no clue what a RA was, or the danger they seemed to bring with them. Sherlock climbed on to the bike and started it up. John looked around and down over himself; he was dirty, his camouflaged pants were tattered, and the coat that he was given reached past his aching wings and was barely above the ground. He walked over to the strange man and hopped on the back of the bike. He figured he had two options. Be left behind to die or get caught or go along with Sherlock Holmes and hope his gut was telling him to do the right thing.

X

They were still on the road twenty minutes later. John was nodding off, every now and then his grip loosening on the other man's midsection. He was losing a lot of blood; he needed to get himself sewed up. He hoped to reach their destination soon or he wasn't going to make. He voiced his thoughts to Sherlock but he was quickly shut up. He learned quickly that Sherlock wasn't going to listen to him. John was dying and he couldn't do anything to stop it from happening.

He tightened his hold; he didn't want to fall off and cause even more damage. His head was against Sherlock's bare back, blood was staining it red. He felt different; not because of the lack of blood, the air felt different, people even felt different from inside the camp. John began to wonder if his parents knew he would turn out the way he did, on the run with a stranger that seemed to save him from the people they sent him to. He shook his head; he didn't want to think about them.

It began to rain; John told Sherlock they had to stop again. The man continued to ignore him. John just held tighter to the goose bumped skin and tried to press himself closer to the warm that was radiating off him. He could hear a strange noise coming from his chest. It sounded nothing like a normal heart; he wasn't sure what it was.

Siren's sounded off behind them; John heard Sherlock curse as he slowed down the motorbike and brought it to the side of the road. "What's happening?" John slurred. He tried to look behind him but his vision was doubled and could see nothing. "Who's here?"

"Will you shut up?" Sherlock hissed as he situated himself. "Just go with whatever I say okay?"

John dropped his head down on the back of Sherlock's shoulder and mumbled his reply. He didn't have the strength to do anything else. The rain beat down on his head and made his eyes shut.

Heavy boots hit the gravel and got closer with each step. John heard Sherlock muttering about how they were lucky that there was only one RA. John opened bleary eyes to see another man standing next to them; he looked angry and a little disturbed. "ID, both of you," the man ordered.

Sherlock leaned forward; allowing John's wound to be shown. "I have my ID sir," he stuttered. He reached in to his trouser pockets to pull it out. "My friend here doesn't."

The RA casually put his hand on the butt of his gun. John started panicking; he didn't have any ID except for his tags and he was sure that wasn't going to help him any. "Why doesn't he have his ID?" the RA asked.

Sherlock swallowed nervously. "Well," he said slowly, "we were attacked sir; by a deform. He had a gun and shot my friend and took his ID."

John's head was reeling; he was amazed how the man he was clinging could act. He almost believed him himself. The RA's hand lowered from his gun and he seemed to relax a bit. "Did you catch the deform's face?" he asked. He stepped towards John; the birdman could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He didn't want the man any closer to him than needed. The RA must have seen his worried face because he told him he wasn't going to hurt John. "If you let me take some blood and let me run it through our system then I can get your information. I can also get you guys to a hospital."

"Thank you sir," Sherlock told him.

John knew Sherlock was panicking also; his heart was getting louder, maybe it was just the adrenalin running through his veins. He made a split second decision; he used the little strength he had left; he reached out the short distance between him and the RA and grabbed a hold of his gun. He was quick enough to take it out of the holster and fire off a shot.

The RA fell to the ground lifeless with a small whole in his head. John still had the gun raised and was breathing heavily. Sherlock's eyes moved from the spot the man was just standing in to John. "Well that was a little unexpected," he stated as he got off the bike. He bent down next to the RA with a smile on his face. He sat the body up and started undressing him. "I guess I'm going to be Henry Knight 'til we get to London."

John blinked a few times; his eyes were going dry of staying open. He never actually shot a person before. He glanced down at Sherlock who was carrying the RA's clothes. "First time you ever shot someone?" Sherlock asked with a knowing look on his face.

John swallowed and nodded. He leaned down and placed the gun on the ground. His fingertips were tingling; all the fear was drained from his body. He felt alive, more than any daring escape with Jim. "Jim!" he yelped when he remembered his friend. He had to save Jim. "I need to go back."

"You said earlier that you couldn't go back," Sherlock said as he started to drag the RA's body to the side of the road. "We need to get moving soon, but first we can see if this idiot has a first aid kit in his jeep."

John wanted to protest but he needed to be patched up. He pushed thoughts of his friend to the back of his mind; he followed behind Sherlock to the back of the jeep. Sherlock pulled out a large black bag with a green star made of chains inside another star made of chains that was red. He opened the back door and ordered John to sit. "Have you ever sewn up a person before?" John asked. He watched tiredly as Sherlock rummaged through the bag.

"You have nothing to worry about," Sherlock muttered as he started to take off the blood soaked shirt wrapped around John's wound. "The bullets gone all the way through." John let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't in the clear yet but at least he didn't have to worry about getting the bullet out. He hissed in pain as Sherlock got on to cleaning his shoulder. "So," continued Sherlock, "tell me about the place you were being held."

John looked down at him with an incredulous look. "Why do you want to know about that?" he asked through gritted teeth. He didn't get a reply from the other man. "Fine," he breathed out, "it's a government based camp, or used to be a government based camp. Now I think it went off the grid; it's losing money and isn't able to feed everyone there."

"Are there more things like you?" Sherlock asked. He pulled the thread tighter as he worked across the tan skin.

"I'm not a thing," John growled. "I am a human being just like you. Just because I have wings doesn't make me any less human."

John was expecting an apology; nothing big just a small sorry and a rephrasing of the question. But instead the response he got was far from any type apology. Sherlock said, "You're not considered human."

"Are you one of those people who are against abnormalities?" John question; he wiggled trying to a further distance from the man.

"Yes," Sherlock stated bluntly, "I also carried you from a tree and am now sewing you up because I want you dead. Don't be an idiot John, use your head."

Silence overtook them; Sherlock was able to finish up the stitches and John sat there feeling like an idiot. He shouldn't have asked the question without thinking first. He decided he needed to say something. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "You're right, I'm an idiot. Also, to answer your question, yes there are others like me. They don't have wings, but other abilities."

"Your friend Jim," Sherlock started; he cut the string and ordered John to turn so he could get the back, "what abilities does he have?"

"He was part spider," John recounted. "Jim Moriarty, almost like Spiderman. I had to leave him back at the base; Jensen got him before we could escape." He shut his eyes; he has failed his friend. He could have stayed and not have been so selfish to leave someone close to him behind. If he stayed behind though he would have been tortured and Jensen would never let him even leave a cell; he didn't want that. "I have to go back and save him."

"You can't save anyone when you're like this," Sherlock stated knowingly. "Once you are healed you can go save all your friends."

John shook his head. "You don't understand," he whispered, "he said Jensen was going to kill everyone within two weeks."

"That's ridiculous," Sherlock huffed. "Why would one man kill something he created?"

"I told you he's running out of money to keep feeding everyone," John repeated. "Jim is a very smart man, he's right about everything." He felt Sherlock cut the string as he finished up. "He also wouldn't lie to me." He pushed away the thoughts of his friend during the nights he would stay awake, his eyes glowing as he spun small webs; he wasn't going to think of Jim scaring him.

Sherlock took out the gauze and started to properly wrap John's shoulder. "Whatever," he uttered, "you have faith in anyone you want."

When he was done being doctored himself John turn and told Sherlock to let him see the cut he put on his stomach. Sherlock protested but after John told him he would bleed through the shirt and if they were stopped again that would give them away. John reached forward and touched lightly around the largest cut. Sherlock leapt back making a pained noise. "Sorry, they can't retract all the way in to my fingers, they won't fit," he told him. "I'll be more careful." He looked over them; they weren't too deep. They would just need a bandage to put over them. He picked up the gauze and started to neatly wrap it around his abdomen. "It's my turn to ask questions. What's a RA?"

"Reichenbach Agents," Sherlock told him. "They work for the government as lackeys. They go all around Great Britain looking for deforms like you and me."

"Like you? You don't look like you have any deformity," John pointed out.

"I was blind for the first part of my life," he explained. "An RA came to our house and took me to jail."

John looked up at him confused. "But you're not blind now," he stated. "Why is that?"

Sherlock's head shot towards the left and his eyes narrowed. "We have to go," he announced. "You stay back here; better chance of you being spotted if you were up here." Sherlock hopped in to the driver's seat of the jeep.

John quickly pulled himself in to the backseat and shut the door. The tires squealed as Sherlock stepped on the pedal. John gripped the head rest behind him as he tried to keep himself up right and off the floor.

Eventually Sherlock slowed down. John relaxed; he laid down on his stomach in the back seat and let exhaustion take over and drag him in to sleep.

X

When John woke next he was on a dusty bed. He lifted up his head; dust filled his nose and made him sneeze. He looked around; the room was bland and gave him no clue to where he was. He used his good arm to lift himself up further so he could sit upright on the bed. He got on his feet and took small quiet steps towards the door. He pushed it open and peered outside.

The hall was empty; he could hear voice not far away though. One was Sherlock's deep baritone and the other one he could hear sounded like a woman. He figured it was safe to venture further in to the hall. There was just the door he came out of and a staircase at the other end. He walked closer to the stairs and to the top.

"John," Sherlock's voice called out.

John licked his lips nervously and started his journey down the stairs. He poked his head just around the door frame to take a cautious scan around the room. He saw Sherlock sitting in a chair and an older women standing over him like a mother. "Where am I, and how long have I've been asleep?" he asked.

"221 B, sweetie," the lady said, "my home and sometimes a safe place for Sherlock and his friends."

"Associates," Sherlock corrected her. "You've only been sleeping for a day or two." He stood from his chair and flounced over to John. "Now, you should be able to join me on a mission."

"I don't think he'll be up for that," the lady said disappointingly. "I think he wouldn't want to go on a mission of any sorts."

John looked her over; she seemed to be really worried about him. "I think I might, Miss?" he left the end open for her.

"Mrs. Hudson I think John would like to hear about my mission before he decides if he wants to join me or not," Sherlock stated in a clipped tone. John nodded in agreement. Sherlock let a sly smile cross his face. "I'm going to save your friend Jim."

John stepped back; he was surprised to hear that the other man was going to help him. "Of course I'll go," he told him.

"Until then you should stay up in the room you woke up in," Sherlock told him. He started to move around the room, picking up a few objects and putting them in his pockets. "In the mean time I'll be out."

"Wait!" John hollered before Sherlock could descend the stairs any further.

"John," Sherlock sighed, "you have to stay upstairs because Mrs. Hudson can't stop RA's from coming here. We've been lucky so far and the curtains never flutter; I can't guarantee your safety."

John let out a laugh. "I was just wondering where you were going," he stated. "I'm a little interested."

Sherlock grabbed his coat hanging on the railing and pushed his arms through the sleeves. "I'm going to collect more information, visit my associates, and hopefully find you a fake ID," he explained. "We can't have you running around London without a name and a face." Without another word Sherlock left in a flourish.

John stood in the door frame, a small smile on his face. "Do you want something to eat?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she came up behind him. "Sherlock said you should stay up in your room but I think you can eat down here just this once."

X

John was in the room for three days bored out of his mind. He wished there was more in the room than just the bed and an empty dresser. There was a closet door but it was locked. He resorted to counting the times the fan turned in ten minutes. It wasn't the most engaging thing ever but it was better than lying face first on a bed day after day.

He was given a plate of food for breakfast and dinner along with the morning paper. Mrs. Hudson would bring it up to him every day, and every day he would ask about Sherlock only to be told that he hasn't shown his face around the flat in a while. John was anxious to have him back; he wanted to get Jim as soon as he could. He spent hours thinking of different outcomes that could happen when they went after him.

John stood by the window, the curtains were drawn closed, but there was a crack that shown to the street down below. He watched as people passed by without knowing that the sweet old lady of 221 Baker street was harboring a deform. He wondered if half of them were hiding deformities themselves. He wasn't aware how the government found out about those kinds of things either; unless they were noticeable.

No one on the street seemed to care about the other people walking around them. In the papers it showed that people sold out their neighbors; they called the police to tell them there was a deform living next to them. They were rewarded for giving up those close to them. John found it disgusting how humans could do that. He wondered if the problems of England spread to any other nations. He hoped it wouldn't; he hoped that they would come and help them with their government.

He stepped away from the window and sat back down on the gray bed. The sun was going down and John was tired. He's been getting too much sleep; he would go to bed early and wake up when he had breakfast then go back to sleep 'til the afternoon. He couldn't remember any other time he was able to sleep like that. He pulled the cold pillow under his head and stuck his face in it. His eyes were about to shut when he heard his door push open.

"Sherlock, I told you he would be asleep," Mrs. Hudson's voice sounded hurried. "Leave the poor man alone."

"He's not asleep," Sherlock drawled. He flipped on the light; John turned his head and stared at the intruder. Sherlock stepped further in to the room. "How are you feeling John?"

"Better," John muttered, "shoulders still soar but my wings are healing up nicely."

"That's great," Sherlock said in a flat tone. "Now we need to start planning." He sat on the edge of the bed and started emptying his pockets. There was a brown wallet, a cell phone, and a large map. He picked up the wallet and handed it to John. "This is your new identity. If we ever get stopped you'll be referred to as Luke Venture."

John flipped open the wallet and looked over the information on the card. "Where did you get this?" he asked. Luke was the same height as John, and roughly the same weight, he was marked as normal.

"He's dead," Sherlock said uncaringly. "He has no use for it now and you do, problem solved." John stared him for a few seconds, not sure what to say. He was holding a dead man's life in his hands. "I didn't kill him," Sherlock stated.

"I never said you did," John said back quickly. They were silent for a few more seconds until John asked, "So I'm not going to exactly look like this guy and I'm not that normal looking; how am I supposed to be passed off as him?"

"Large coat, one as long as mine will cover your wings perfectly and I can easily fix this with your picture in it," Sherlock explained. "Now, on to real business." He unfolded the mad he had lying next to him. "I picked you up here; the shot came from this direction; is this where your base is?" He pointed to a drawn circle on the map. John nodded. "Okay, I can get a team of about six men to help with this, but right now I need more information on the base. Anything from security to the man you mention earlier."

"Jim?" John questioned.

"No the other person," Sherlock said, "the one that's going to kill everyone."

John's face darkened. "Jensen," he mumbled. John started telling him all about the base. He told him about what happened when someone got there and the little pills they had to take. All about the round the clock patrol of the guards and Jensen always checking up on everyone and the strict rules he had. He told him about the times they had time to go outside and the cells people were sent to when they broke the rules.

All through the explanation John had to control his emotions so he wouldn't get angry with his sorry pathetic life.

X

The next day John was woken up by Sherlock bouncing in to his room. The man threw a long dark coat over him and told him to hurry up. John barely blinked and eye before he was gone. He checked the clock; it was already twelve in the afternoon, and clambered out of bed. He was excited; he was going to save Jim. He got on the large coat as quickly as his jammed up shoulder would let him; he checked the pockets for the ID that Sherlock gave him the day before and took it out once he found it. His face was now in place of the other mans.

He shoved it back in his pocket and ran out of the room. He met up with Sherlock in the living room where he was talking to Mrs. Hudson again. Mrs. Hudson was voicing her concerns about John. She didn't think he was ready to start working his shoulder; the stitches might break she said to Sherlock.

John decided to step in. "Mrs. Hudson," he soothed, "my stitches have already fallen out. I have a hyper healing process; it all depends on what is injured. My shoulder will be fine." He didn't add that it was stiff and hurt when he moved it; she might make a bigger fuss. He turned to Sherlock who had a smug look. "Are we going?"

Sherlock clapped his hands excitably. "Of course," he said. "We need to get on the road; we have people waiting for us." He looked John over before stepping towards him. "You need to button up; people will think something is wrong with you if you're walking around with no shirt on. Oh, put these on too."

John took the shoes from him and put them on his bare feet. He said good bye to Mrs. Hudson and followed Sherlock out of the flat. There was a car parked out in front. Sherlock climbed in to the driver's seat and motioned for John to follow. John looked around once and sat in the passenger's seat. "Who's waiting for us?" he asked as Sherlock pulled off the curb.

"A few people who owe me a favor," Sherlock stated. "I called upon them to help."

John nodded. He placed his hands awkwardly in his lap. He licked his lips and looked out the window. He opened his mouth but quickly shut it. He looked over to Sherlock who was concentrating on the road.

"You have questions," Sherlock stated.

"Just one really," John said. He ran his fingers through his hair then settled it back in to his lap. "How did you know I'll be okay to do this job by today?"

Sherlock glanced at him then back towards the road. "When I was cleaning your shoulder I noticed that you had no cuts or scratches on your arms or legs," he told him.

"Well that doesn't tell you much," John told him.

Sherlock chuckled. "Yes it does," he said. "After you were shot you fell through the trees. I'm not too sure but I think that will leave a little you cut up. There were none on you at all. The only conclusion to that is you heal quicker than a normal person. I also know that you escaped so you can help fight against the government."

"How could you possibly know that?" John asked disbelievingly.

Sherlock was smiling broadly now. "The way you reacted after I told you, you weren't considered human," he said. "Also the way you talked about the base. You knew about what was happening out in the real world and nothing was being done inside the camp. You believed that you should be put in to action and you thought that Jensen was going to kill you all; so you had to get out.

"That's good," John praised. "That's amazing actually; I would have never figured that out."

"Of course you wouldn't," Sherlock said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" John asked offended.

Sherlock said, "It means you're an idiot."

A radio cackled to life. "Sherlock we're on your tail," a man said from the other side of the radio. "I have the others with me; we collected the weapons we need."

"That's good Angelo," Sherlock said in to the receiver. "Did you inform everyone what the plan was?"

"Yes everyone knows what they're supposed to do," Angelo announced.

"Good," Sherlock said and dropped the receiver.

John turned around and noticed a van following them. He turned back around and huffed. "What plan are you guys talking about?" he asked.

"It's better if you don't know it," Sherlock told him stiffly.

"Is it because I'm an idiot?" John asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Everyone's an idiot," he said, "it's nothing against you. We're can't tell you the plan or the plan will be ruined."

John took in a deep breath and crossed his arms. He decided not to say anything more. If he did he would get himself angry and then he could ruin whatever plan Sherlock had. He wouldn't want to do that either.

X

They stopped before they reached the base. Three people got out of the van behind them and walked up to their car. They opened John's door and pulled him out of the vehicle. He took off his jacket and started tying him up.

"Sherlock!" John yelled as he struggled to get free of their grips. They tied something around his mouth to stop him from making noise. They lifted him off the ground and threw him in the trunk. He groaned when his wings were smashed against the inside. Before the trunk was slammed one of the men frowned at him and muttered something to one of the others.

John tried to kick at the sides but his feet were bound. He rubbed his face against the bottom of the trunk trying to get the gag off so he could attract any ones attention. He paused and thought about it; if he attracted any attention it might be the wrong attention. He stopped struggling; he had to just relax. If he remained calm he would be able to make up his own plan.

He took in a few deep breaths through his nose. He brought out his talons and tried to cut at the ropes. He could feel them getting looser and looser and he could move his hands around more freely. Once his hands were out of their bonds he took off the gag and took in a gulp of air. He reached down to his feet and started to cut them free.

John didn't know how long it took him to get free but by the time he was free the car stopped. He smirked; finally he would be able to have the upper hand and prove to Sherlock that he wasn't an idiot. He sure did feel like one though; he should have known that a stranger wouldn't help him.

He heard muffled voices outside the trunk and prepared to attack. He held his breath and waited 'til the trunk was open. His heart leapt forward when the trunk popped open and John jumped out. He landed on the person closest to him; he started attacking the man. He was quickly pulled off but he didn't stop fighting.

"John!" Sherlock yelled in a reprimanding voice.

Everyone stopped and John turned to look at Sherlock. He saw the wreckage behind him. The base was in ruins. John let go of the man he was fighting and took a step forward. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked over the rubble.

Nothing looked as it did before John left a few days before. Only a few walls still stood; the fence around it was torn down. The yard where they hung out in had a crater inside it. Smoke was coming up from large stacks of rocks. It looked like a meteor shower occurred there.

"It looks like your friend was off," Sherlock stated when he came up beside John.

John turned to look at him slowly. He swallowed and shook himself out of his frozen state. He ran towards the base; or what used to be the base, screaming out Jim's name. He heard loud footsteps behind him but he ignored them. When he made it past the ruined fence he came to a halt. He could see more of the devastation.

Bodies laid on the ground none of them moving. Blood was covering them; John walked towards one of them and bent down to get a better look. He covered his mouth; he thought he was going to be sick to his stomach. It was his friend Sarah; she was almost torn in two. He placed his hands on her face and shut his eyes.

John stood up and started searching for any survivors. He walked around; every place he stood it felt familiar, even without the walls. He heard a feeble voice call out for help. He turned, trying to hear the voice again.

"Help," the voice called out again.

John caught a glimpse of someone lying on the ground trying to move. "I found someone!" he yelled to the others he knew were behind him. He ran over to the prone body. "Bri-Bri!"

Brian was another friend of John's. He was half shark; he also was only seven. "John!" the small boy said. He was struggling to breath; his gills were red and swollen. "Water."

"Don't worry I'll get you to water," John told him in a calm soothing voice. He put his arms under Brian and lifted him off the ground. He knew he must be by the swimming pool; all he had to do was get him to the swimming pool. "You're going to be alright."

He ran towards the direction of the pool; he hopped over the piles of stones and tried not to hurt the boy any more. He stopped once he was at the edge of the swimming pool.

There was a little bit of water left in it. John slowly climbed down in to it and lowered Brian in the water. He watched as life came back to the younger kid. He started swimming around the bottom of the pool.

"John," Sherlock said right next to him.

John jumped a little. He turned away from Brian with a smile on his face. It fell when he remembered what Sherlock was going to do. "What do you want?" he growled.

Sherlock let out a sigh. "John I told you we had a plan," he explained, "I told you we couldn't tell you because it would jeopardize the plan."

"Yes, well, what was the plan?" John asked.

"We were going to get inside the base by pretending we captured you and were taking you back," Sherlock said. "We couldn't have you liking us when we did that."

John bit his lip; he turned away from the other man. He felt even more like an idiot after that. He stood up quickly. "Hey Bri-Bri, I'm going to go look for others you just stay in here." He received a splash as an answer. He laughed despite the situation and started his search again.

He spent a few minutes checking bodies for a pulse and he found a few people still alive but needing medical attention. He left them with the others; he trusted them to help his friends. He walked up to the part of the base that was the jail cells. He felt a cold chill run through his body.

John walked forward, there was one wall standing still with the door still intact. He got closer to it and opened it. He saw Jensen sitting on a chair; blood was dripping down his forehead; all around him the walls were down. He smiled, showing off his bloody teeth, when John walked through the door.

"Mr. Watson," Jensen said. He started coughing; blood was coming out. He stood up; his legs were wobbly, and he started walking towards John. "I thought you left me for good."

"Why did you do it?" John asked as he stepped further away from the older man. Jensen looked at him in confusion. "Why did you kill everyone?"

Jensen shook his head. "I didn't kill anyone," he told him. "We were bombed last night; the government must have found out about us. I didn't see it coming." He reached out with his hand to touch John.

John batted it away easily. "Don't touch me," he snarled. "Were you going to kill us?"

"I would never kill any of you," Jensen said, "you're mine. I had such greater plans for every single one of you."

"What kind of plans?" John asked.

"I was training you guys for war," he stated. "Everyone was going to have a part; we were going to save humanity."

John shut his eyes and huffed. "By changing us in to the thing the enemy wants dead, that's smart," he said. "Where was Jim last night?"

"In a cell," Jensen said.

John turned and left the old dying man to himself. He saw Sherlock bending down next to something. He walked over to him and crouched down next to him; fearing the worst.

Sherlock was holding one end of dog tags; he was flipping them over in his hand reading the name over and over again. John reached out and tore the tags from his hands. The name that glistened off the surface was James Moriarty. There was no body in sight and he couldn't lift the huge slab of concrete to see if it was under there; he just had to assume that it was.

John clenched them in his hands, cursing himself for being too slow or too selfish. He stood straight up and put the tags around his wrist. He marched off to where they left the vehicles. He passed the others who were working on the wounded and sat down in the passenger's seat. He put his head in his hands and yelled at himself even more.

He felt someone touch his wing and flinched. "Don't touch me," he hissed.

"Your friends that are alive will be safe," Sherlock stated. "Brian the shark boy will be transported to a close associate of mine who will take care of him and will be able to make something for him to breathe water on land."

"That's great," John said; he tried to smile but he couldn't. "What are we going to do now?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "What you still want to work with me?" he asked.

"Of course," John told him. "As long as you always tell me the plan first, because if you can't trust me then I can't trust you. Then this partnership will not work out."

Sherlock smiled. "Welcome then," he said. "Our next course of action will be to take down the deform jails."

John smiled back; he was going to defeat a corrupt government and avenge his friend while doing it. He was going to have fun.

This was really hard to write. It took me about two weeks to do it. I hope it was worth everyone's wait. If you want the next chapter please tell me, if not you can tell me to curl up in to a ball and roll in to the ocean or something like that. BYE!