Hey guys. I know I'm a little late getting this up but I had some technical difficulties. My computer was dead and I didn't have my charger. So, I hope you enjoy this; it's been a long wait. See ya.

John huddled closer to the dumpster, trying to stay out of sight from anyone who passed by the mouth of the alley. It was dark, and he did his best to cover himself with his wings but he couldn't take any chances. Not with the extra RAs running around the city on the lookout for the people who were involved in the attack at the parade.

Sherlock left him about an hour earlier; he said he needed to talk with someone. John didn't ask many questions, decided it was the best not to know. He understood that Sherlock was going to need time alone and couldn't always explain himself; as long as he didn't withhold any plans from John any longer he would be fine.

John's stomach made a loud noise. He clutched it tight, it had been four days since he last ate and he wasn't sure he could make it any longer without puking up whatever was left in his gut. A small scratching sound started close to him, his eyes lit up with joy. He slowly lifted up his wing; he saw a long tail and licked his lips. His mouth was watering just thinking about the delicious meat.

He slid his talons out and leaned closer to the rat. The creature had no idea he was being hunted at the moment. The rodent was used to being close to humans, living in the city; it didn't recognize John as a threat. He saw the rat twitch and he lunged forward and captured the animal within his claws. He smiled widely and brought it to his mouth.

"You're going to eat it raw?" Sherlock's resonating voice sounded from his side.

John growled, the animalistic side of him showing just a bit. "I can eat anything you throw at me, it doesn't have to be cook or even be food," he explained. He dug his teeth in to the flesh of the rat and tore away a chunk. He chewed it for a while, savoring the first bite of a meal well deserved. He looked up at Sherlock with a pleased bloody smile. "My stomach is very strong." Bits of meat fell from his mouth and he quickly caught it. He slid the pieces back in to his mouth. Sherlock just stared at him, his mouth open slightly. The birdman chuckled. "I'm not sure if you're disgusted or intrigued."

"Why would I be disgusted?" Sherlock questioned.

John shrugged. "Even though we were all mutated some people at the base still thought it was gross for me to eat something like this," he told him. "I don't usually eat things like this, only when Jensen left me without food for days to see what would happen."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, this right here is brilliant," he gestured towards John. "If only I could get your stomach and run some tests."

"Yeah over my dead body," he laughed. He saw a twinkle of an idea in Sherlock's eye. He pointed a bloodied finger at the other man. "Don't even think of killing me in my sleep," he warned.

Sherlock held up his hands. "I wouldn't dream of it," he sang. He dropped himself next to John and rubbed his hands together. "I would start a fire, but since I don't know the pattern of the extra RA's I won't know when one might come around."

John stretched out his wing and tried to cover Sherlock the best he could. "I hope that helps," he mumbled. "I wouldn't want you to die from hypothermia."

"Now you're being irrational," Sherlock huffed.

John started to withdraw his wing as he said, "If you say so." He felt Sherlock move closer to him and he let out a laugh. "My extra appendages are very useful in cold temperatures. The feathers are thick and they keep the heat in, I don't know what I would do without them."

"You probably would be living a normal life," Sherlock stated.

John paused a moment in his barbaric eating and really thought about what life would be like if he was never sent to the camp. "You're probably right," he mumbled around a group of bones. "As far as I knew nothing was wrong with me. I had no defect; maybe a slight bit of asthma but the doctors weren't sure about it. My father probably would have pushed me to join the RAs. He wanted me to be like him, he was in the military for a while."

"Then you would be hunting me," Sherlock pointed out. "I would have killed you though."

John smothered a laugh with his hand. He was a crack shot, even if his life did go down a different path he would still be able to overpower Sherlock. He paused then in thought. He glanced over the genius. He definitely smaller than him in weight, the height could possibly be a disadvantage against him if John used his body right.

"I would win," Sherlock broke his thought process.

John looked at his face, amazed. "How in god's name did you know what I was thinking?" he questioned.

"Well," Sherlock let out, "after I said I would have killed you if you were an RA you laughed just a bit because you thought the idea was preposterous. Then you started thinking about your skills now and how they wouldn't be much different if you were you were sent off to the military instead of Jensen. You then proceeded to look at me and tried to gauge my size. You figured with my stature you could easily take me. Am I wrong?"

"You followed my thoughts precisely," John said in awe. He licked the blood off his fingers, enjoying the taste a bit too much. "I don't understand how you do it."

"That's because you fail to observe," Sherlock told him. "So many people take advantage of their sight. They just look, only seeing things on the surface; I take the time to go deeper, to see what really is being shown."

John nodded. He felt fatigue drown out all his other senses. He knew that if he slept something could happen and he could be dead so he tried to sleep as little as possible. He also felt the need to keep an eye on Sherlock. He wasn't going to lose another person because he was selfish. His hand shot for the dog tags handing around his wrist.

It felt weird without Jim in his life. He wanted to go back to the site of the bases and retrieve what was left of his friend. He wanted to give everyone there a proper burial; although he knew he couldn't go near there in case the enemy was watching the site.

"I knew this girl," Sherlock started, bringing John from his thoughts, "her name was Molly. She knew a boy named James Moriarty."

John lifted his head a little. "I bet it's the same Jim," he stated.

"I wouldn't doubt it," Sherlock told him. "She said he left when he was very young."

"What happened to Molly?" John inquired.

John heard the intake of breath Sherlock made. "She was born with an extra finger," he explained. "She was brought to a jail and executed. I was her cell mate."

John got a mischievous smile on his face. He was going to lighten the mood a little. "Did you like her?" he asked.

"What are you, twelve?" Sherlock asked. "I did not like her, I don't let emotions like that cloud my mind. Plus, how could romance form in a place like that. People were being killed every day, you had no clue if you're name was going to be called next, it was horrendous. I hope someone isn't looking for a relationship with those conditions."

John shrugged; he drew circles on the ground with his finger. "I guess you're right," he concluded. "It's just people got together in the camp. I know it is different situations but you never know where you'll find love."

"Why the sudden thought of love John?" Sherlock questioned.

John shook his wings. "I don't know," he told him, "I was just wondering. You know, I thought I should get to know you better, so I know what it might to be out with you in the field."

"And asking questions about my non-existing love life will help you with that, how?" Sherlock asked.

John rolled his eyes. "Fine, since you don't have one it will never be on my list of conversation topics with you," he said. "Also you don't have to worry about it much; I never had much of a love life either. I…" John was cut off by Sherlock's hand covering his mouth. His eyes darted around but his wings were stopping him from seeing anything. He could hear voices at the mouth of the alley.

"RAs," Sherlock whispered close to John's ear.

John nodded his head and pealed Sherlock's hand away from his mouth. "Do you think they see us?" he asked. Sherlock shook his head. He licked his lips and shut his eyes so he could hear the conversation.

"Sargent Waters want's you on Main Street," a definite female voice said.

"Why?" the other voice, male, questioned. "My orders were to take on this street."

John could hear the woman mumbled something incoherent before saying, "And my orders are to get you to that street. Anderson will be taking over here."

John was pulled back more. He was surprised by the sudden movement but managed to keep a sound from escaping his mouth. He glanced quickly over at Sherlock who held a finger to his lips. "I'm going to take a look," Sherlock whispered. He spread John's wings and leaned out to look on the other side of the dumpster.

John was thankful that it was dark and the street lamps light didn't reach as far as their hiding spot or he was sure that Sherlock would have been seen. His heart was hammering in his ears as he watched Sherlock crawl further out for a better look. John had a hand gun on him for protection; he could only imagine what the Ra's had on them.

John attached his fingers to the hem of Sherlock's jacket. He wasn't sure why but it calmed him down. A moment later Sherlock was back at his side. "What did you see?" he questioned.

"Only two people," Sherlock recapped, "they left just now. I can't see the new RA. We should be fine here; they already checked this alley earlier today."

John nodded and let out a sigh. He was relieved to know the others were gone. His legs felt cramped so he stretched them out in front of him. The cold night air nipped at them under his thin pants. He was lucky he had on boots or his feet would be frozen also. "I can't wait to attack again," he admitted. "I just want to get it over with you know. I don't want to feel excited like this but it's hard not to." He pulled his legs back up to his chest. "I can't explain it well."

Sherlock settled himself next to John again, a little closer than before. "If you need to sleep John you can," he stated. "We have the hand gun. If anyone comes you'll be the second person to know."

John tried to hide his yawn but failed. "I can't sleep," he told him. "I'll be sluggish if we have to move camp."

"No you won't," Sherlock told him. "It will be fine. Just sleep and in the morning I'll wake you up, sooner if I have to."

John stretched his wings out, making sure they weren't going stiff. He wrapped them around himself and Sherlock again. He knew if he was going to sleep he was going to keep contact with Sherlock. He felt sleep fall heavy on his shoulders, much more than before and was gracious that Sherlock was allowing him to. "Good night," he mumbled to the genius and shut his eyes.

X

John was following behind Sherlock along the full streets of London. His face was buried deep in a scarf Sherlock nicked from a shop for him. John didn't want to accept it but Sherlock forced it in to his hands, saying that he was paler. The birdman didn't resist after that, he thanked the man and wrapped it around his neck.

He did have to admit, it was warmer with the wool covering his exposed skin. He was through with the winter wind getting down in his jacket and spreading along his upper torso.

The people around him didn't take notice to the two men walking down the street, one with piercing eyes that could see anything, and the other shorter man who was large and a little lumpy. John found it comical, the way they sort of fit together in the strange world. Lumpy and The Eyeball could be their nicknames, they could save the world. He started laughing quietly.

"What are you laughing at?" Sherlock asked over his shoulder.

John had a large smile on his face. "Nothing, just a funny thought popped into my head," he told him. He shut his eyes briefly as he trailed behind and pictured Sherlock and him as comic book heroes with funny costumes. Storing the thought for later he opened his eyes. "What are we doing today anyway?" he questioned. "We've been walking around for hours."

Sherlock grabbed John's arm and pulled him in an alley. "I'm trying to trace the patterns of the RAs," he explained, "You're following me around because I can't leave you alone to wander around the city in the day because you don't know the proper way to speak to RAs."

"Why would anyone want to speak properly to them?" John asked.

"It's a rule," Sherlock told him. "I'm not a stickler for rules but if you break these ones you could be thrown in to jail, and I'm not fond of being in one of those again."

John scrunched up his face. "Well, teach me the proper way and I can wander around alone," he told him. "I'm a big boy; I can take care of myself."

"It takes a while to learn them," Sherlock stated, "there are a lot of rules. Hopefully we won't need them much longer. Soon John, London will be a battlefield."

John couldn't help the smile that formed on his face. "Here, here," he laughed. He looked out on to the street. He could picture what it would be like. Their own army would be holding back the RAs. The rebels against the country. It was going to be an experience no one would forget. No one in the world would forget that England was on the brink of being taken over and that the people rose up and fought back. It made him happy to know that he was going to be part of it all. "Could we really do it Sherlock? I mean, think about it."

"I have John," Sherlock told him. He landed his hands on John's shoulders and squeezed them. "I have thought about it the moment I got my sight back, the moment I was brought back to life after they drove me to death. I know that we can liberate England from Luther. He's nothing but a cowardly man."

John placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. All the excitement dancing around in his eyes made John's heart beat faster. "Sherlock Holmes," he whispered, "I hope you're right."

"No need for hope," Sherlock told him with a push out on to the sidewalk, "not when we have logic on our side."

John laughed and let Sherlock take the lead again. He walked with his head help a little higher than before. He would take off in flight if he knew he wasn't going to be shot. A smile over took his face and pulled the green scarf a little tighter.

X

John was drumming his fingers against the ground. He was afraid, excited, and tired all at the same time. He wanted to sleep but he couldn't, knowing that when he woke up he would be taking charge in an attack against 'The King'. He licked his lips and dropped his head back on the brick wall. He shut his eyes as he tried to keep his breathing under control. He was having his first fight jitters.

"Calm down John," Sherlock's voice broke through to John.

John rolled his head on his shoulders. "I need to do something," he mumbled. "I want to do something. Let's go do something." He opened his eyes and stared at the genius who was sitting across from him. He could see his eyes shining grey in the dark.

"You're an interesting man John Watson," Sherlock said slowly. He tilted his head to the side. "You could possibly die tomorrow."

"So could you," John pointed out. "But I think that's why you're bringing me along for the ride. If you get hit you'll have a doctor by your side."

"You should be afraid," Sherlock told him.

"I read once," John started, "that every good soldier should be afraid. I think it's a good rule to live by. But you get to choose what to be afraid of. I'm not afraid of dying. No, I have faced death. I have looked it in the eyes and it turned away. I'm afraid that we'll fail, and never get another chance. That the disease that is taking over England would soon spread around the world and everyone would be blindsided like we were."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not afraid," he told him.

"That's because you keep yourself free from emotion," John responded. "And that's why you have me. I let myself feel fear because I know it will help me in the end." He saw Sherlock smirk. He grabbed a few pebbles off the ground and started throwing them against the wall opposite him. "You don't keep yourself from emotions," he told him after a beat.

"I do my best," Sherlock spoke.

"Of course you do," John laughed. He took a few more steps before hitting the wall and turning around. "What is it like dying?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "For me it was a relief." he answered. "My heart stopped, and I fell to the ground. I wasn't willing to fight it like you."

John shut his eyes and leaned back against the wall again. "How old were you?" he questioned.

"Why the questions John?" Sherlock inquired.

"They're helping me calm down," John told him. "How old were you?" he repeated.

"Seventeen," Sherlock replied.

John tried to picture a seventeen year old Sherlock. "What happened while you were in the jail?" he asked. He wanted a picture painted in his head. Something he could remember something that drove him even more than just making England free again.

Sherlock took a slow breath in. "I was chained to the wall naked most of the day," he explained. "We were all given jobs to do. My job was to move bricks from one side of the yard to the other. 123 steps it took me, there and then 123 back. I did that until I dropped dead."

John watched in his head as a younger version of Sherlock marched back and forth with a pile of bricks. He looked tired, and sick. "I promise," he whispered. He was going to stop what was happening.

"Go to sleep," Sherlock dictated. "You'll need your rest for tomorrow."

John shook his head. "You do too," he mumbled. "Oh wait, that's another thing you don't do. Are you even human? You don't eat, you don't sleep, and you don't have emotions."

Sherlock blinked at him. "Just because I don't do those things as often as others doesn't mean I'm not human" he pointed out. "You're not fully human and you do all those things,"

"What was the last time you actually slept?" John asked. He wasn't going to give up.

"Four days ago," Sherlock answered. "I don't need to sleep though. Go to sleep, you'll stop feeling anxious, and tomorrow will come before you know."

John stood up from grimy floor and paced to the other side. Once he reached the wall he turned on his heel and repeated his actions. He was going to force exhaustion on himself.

He shut his eyes and tried to picture a calming place. He started with a beach with the wind lightly blowing and the clear ocean water going on forever. It didn't help. He needed somewhere real somewhere he's been before so he went on to his room at his parents' home. He saw his empty dark blue walls, his perfectly made bed with The Incredible Hulk on them. An overwhelming feeling that someone was going to get him took over his mind so he shook his head, erasing the image all together. He ran his hands through his hair and started on a different place. He discarded any place at the camp, there was nothing calming there. He went back a few weeks, where he was still healing from his escape. 221 B Baker Street. It may have been a little boring while he was there but it was the only place he felt truly safe for a long period of time. He could see the room he was holed up in for days. He could almost hear Mrs. Hudson moving around below him.

He finally stopped pacing back and forth. He opened his heavy eyelids and walked back to Sherlock, whose eyes were watching him closely. He dropped like a sack of potatoes back to the ground. A small smile was forming on his face as his eyes slid shut. As he drifted off to sleep he was back in the room at 221 B Baker Street.

X

It was five in the morning. London was waking up, the curfew was over. People that needed to get to work were venturing out of their homes. John was up, had been for two hours already. He was standing beside Sherlock in a room full of people. His eyes were shining as he saw all the faces of the people who were going to help.

"We have a few more hours 'til daylight," Sherlock started, "we'll use the dark for our advantage. We'll get there just at the right time for the night shift guards to feel tired and the dayshift guards to still feel a bit groggy."

John shook his head. It was amazing how the RA's ran things. The way Sherlock was explaining their mission one more time it was almost as if they were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. "What if they're ready for us?" John stepped up with his question. "You've seen what they've done with security around here, what about there? What if they upped their security there and it's guarded better than Fort Knox?"

"They won't know that we're coming," Sherlock answered. "It's highly improbable that they would. I made sure though, that I kept that in mind when I was forming the plan. Angelo, the map?" The Italian man pulled a piece of paper from his sleeve and unfolded it on the table.

John examined, it was a layout of a building. Judging by the amount of rooms and the situation they were in he knew it was the jail. He saw 'X's all over the paper and a 'W' in the corner of the building.

"On any given day there will just be the four guards, one in each guard tower," Sherlock explained. He pointed to the line connecting the four squares. "If there are more guards I estimate at least four more guards patrolling the fences. Our scouts will radio back to us the numbers. If there are more guards than I want team one to advance on all four sides and wait for the guards patrolling the ground, while team two go to the four corners and wait for the call. When the call comes, team two will continue on with the plan as you were told. Team one," he said, his eyes darting to a tall man, "when a guard is in front of you I want you to shoot them."

John listened as Sherlock explained. He waited 'til they were all going their separate ways before he asked Sherlock another question. "What team are we in?" he asked. He couldn't remember what was said about them.

Sherlock turned to him for a moment. "We're not on any team," he told him. "You'll be flying us in over the fence. We'll land on the roof and then go in through the stairwell there. I want to try to take out the warden."

"Why don't I fly everyone over?" John questioned. Then he thought about it. It was another stupid question that shouldn't be asked. "Never mind, I understand."

"See, now you're getting the hang of it," Sherlock told him with a smirk.

John let out some air and shook his head. He pushed lightly on Sherlock's shoulder and walked past him. "How did you get the weapons for over sixty men?" he asked. "You couldn't have killed that many RAs."

"I have my ways of getting what I need," Sherlock told him.

"You have enough weaponry to supply a whole army," John stated.

"Exactly," Sherlock fixed him with a pointed look. "I haven't been idle for the last three years. I've been anticipating this day for a long time."

John let a sigh escape his lips. He looked in the back, their gear was covered up. He knew they had a few machine guns, a couple of hand grenades and a few hand guns. He still didn't know how Sherlock got them but he wasn't going to complain. They were going to need everything they got to succeed on this mission.

X

John waited with bated breath for the scouts' report back. He was leaning against the car, his hands clutching the weapon he was given. His headset was over his ears so the moment one of the scouts said a word about how many people were patrolling he would hear it and instruct the teams on what to do.

The sky was getting lighter by the minute. John was starting to worry that they would lose the cover of the night. He lifted himself from the vehicle and ventured over to Sherlock who was watching the jail from the edge of the small woods. "We need to hurry," he whispered close to Sherlock. "I say when we know how many there are I fly us over. If we don't we'll lose our cover."

"You're right," Sherlock replied. "Make sure Angelo has his headset on and tell him to move the forces. We'll go now."

John nodded and ran back to Angelo. "Keep your headset on," he ordered. "Sherlock and I are going in now." Angelo nodded and turned to the men around them. John turned and walked into Sherlock. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock pushed him lightly to the side and continued to the back of the car. John watched him as he pulled something out of the back. He stalked over to John and handed him a harness. "Put this on," he demanded. He was putting one on himself.

John looked at the thing. It looked as if it when over his chest and hips. He fit his legs in the bottom part and struggled to it over his shoulders. He was lucky that it didn't have to go across his wings. "What is this?" he asked stepping up to Sherlock who was wearing the same thing.

"Hand me your clips," Sherlock told him. "It's going to make flying easier for the both of us."

John handed him the clips. He was tugged forward and stopped himself from knocking over Sherlock. "It's just a rough version but it will do now," Sherlock admitted. He picked up John's gun along with his own. "Let's go."

John shook his head. 'Now or never,' he said to himself. He grabbed a hold of Sherlock and launched in to the air. Once he leveled out Sherlock told him to let him go. The birdman hesitated before moving his hands away from him. He dropped about six inches more inches but was secured to John by the harnesses. "This is mental," John muttered.

"I count eight men outside," Sherlock told him.

"Why do we need scouts if we could just do this?" John questioned.

"You could call it an experiment," Sherlock said. "Okay, we're going to land over there."

John steered them to the spot Sherlock was pointing to. He had to admit, it was so much easier to fly without having to hold onto Sherlock. The glided in silently and landed on the roof with a light thud. "Okay, where's this door you were speaking of earlier?" he questioned.

Sherlock unclipped himself and started off. "We're in," Angelo's voice came over John's headset.

"Roger that," John said and jogged up to Sherlock who was working at a locked door. "They're past the fence and working their way to main building."

"Perfect," Sherlock mumbled.

John watched him closely as he picked the lock. He cradled his gun in his arms as he waited. Sherlock was done in seconds and pushed opened the door. John smiled as he moved forward behind Sherlock. His heart was pounding in his ears and he descended the steps one at a time. They reached a door.

He peered around Sherlock's shoulder and could see through the small window. The hall seemed to be empty but there were doors all along the walls. He pulled on Sherlock's sleeve. "Let me go first," he whispered. He opened the door slowly.

"All teams in the building," Angelo announced.

John sucked his lip in through his teeth and held it there. It was quiet. He couldn't hear anything. He signaled Sherlock to stop as he reached the first door. He slid against the wall and slowly looked inside. It was a break room of sorts but it was empty. "Sherlock," he murmured, "why is it so quiet?"

"Keep moving," Sherlock answered.

John growled lightly in his throat and moved forward. There were five floors to the jail. Sherlock told him the prisoners were kept on floor two-four and the first floor held rooms for guards and the top floor had offices. He took a step forward and heard something.

Sherlock must have heard it too because his gun was raised. John turned on the spot just in time to see a group of men burst through the emergency stairwell. He was able to get a few rounds off, hitting the first few men before jumping in to the room they were about to check. "I knew something like this was going to happen," he hissed.

"Don't worry, I got it under control," Sherlock replied.

John flipped over the desk and pulled Sherlock behind with him. They had a good advantage point, only a few men could go through one door at a time. He lifted his head and shot one man who tried for the door. "It looks like you have in under control."

He could hear gunshots from other parts of the jail. He knew the other men were having their own trouble. "Throw a grenade," Sherlock commanded.

John touched the belt of grenades on his chest. "No," he told him. "If I throw one then we can be blown to smithereens, along with the a few prisoners."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed one. "Not if you throw it right," he mumbled. He pulled the pin and tossed it out of the room.

John heard a few people yell, they couldn't get away fast enough. An explosion went off causing John to duck his head. When it was silent again he lifted his head and saw a gaping hole in the corner of the room. He could see the bodies of the guards lying there motionless. "Let's go help the others," he said standing up fully. A bullet whizzed past his head just as Sherlock pulled him down.

"They're not that stupid," Sherlock mumbled to him.

"Yes but you are," John almost yelled. "I told you not to throw that grenade." He rolled his eyes and lifted barely above the desk. Bullets started flying at him but none seemed to be hitting the target thankfully. He shot a few before dropping back down and reloading. "You can help you know."

"Push the desk forward," Sherlock told him.

John did as he was told and pushed the desk forward as far as he could. As he did so the guards were shooting at them. John shot blindly over the edge and was hoping he would get someone.

"Stop," Sherlock said. He stood slightly and shot off a few rounds before getting back under cover.

The guards weren't letting them get a chance to get any shots. "What now?" John questioned.

"How many are out there?" Sherlock asked.

John got low and looked around the side of the desk. A bullet hit the corner causing shards of wood to fly off. A few imbedded themselves in right side of John's face. He hissed in pain. He pulled back behind the desk. He pulled at a larger piece that was sticking out beneath his eye. He looked at it and threw it to the side. "I counted seven," he said through clenched teeth.

"On the count of three you run to the left and I'll run to the right. We should be able to take care of them on our own," he said. John nodded. "One…two…three."

John ran out to his left, finger on the trigger going a mile a minute. He killed three men, the bullets getting them in the head, and wounded another, a bullet through the knee and shoulder. He saw the other four men fall to the ground dead.

It was eerily quiet. John's heavy breathy was the only thing that broke the silence. He glanced over at Sherlock, who was still behind the desk. "You didn't move," he pointed out.

Sherlock stood up, changed the clip in his gun, and smiled at him. "Excellent deduction," he said a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "You were a wonderful distraction by the way."

John wanted to throttle the man but the sound of more gunfire brought him back to the situation. "We have to help the others," he grunted. He jogged down the empty side of the hallway. He ran as fast as he could down the stairs. He reached the floor where he saw a few men still fighting.

There weren't many left though. Bodies covered the floor, both uniformed and un-uniformed. John came up behind a guard and whacked him over the head with the butt of his gun. The man fell to the floor unconscious. Sherlock was by his side, firing every now and then when a guard showed up. He couldn't see any of their guys there anymore.

"Angelo you good," John asked over the radio.

"We're all clear where we are," Angelo told him. "We searched all the rooms; there are no more guards to be found."

John relayed the message to Sherlock. "Okay," he said in to the headset. "Gather up the wounded on both sides. Take away the guards weapons. Send a few up to the fifth floor; we got a few up there."

"Of course," Angelo agreed.

John ran a hand through his hair. He walked around. He knew he wasn't going to see any more guards. The other teams already took care of that. He looked through the windows of the cell doors. He could see naked men and women looking back at him with scared tired eyes. He couldn't help himself as he imagined them as Sherlock looking back at him. "Sherlock, can we get these doors open?" he called over his shoulder.

"We have to go to the warden's office for that," Sherlock told him. "Come on."

John followed him back up the stairs. "Do you think the warden will be in?" he asked. "Or do you think he was out there fighting and is already dead?"

"I think he's waiting for us," Sherlock told him. They reached the top floor and were at the last door in the hall. He turned the knob slowly; John was ready to kill himself for being so dramatic, and pushed open the door.

John flew into the room with his gun aimed in front of him. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the man sitting behind his desk. He squeezed his hands tighter on the rifle in his hand and tried to keep himself from yelling.

"Hello warden," Sherlock said casually. "We're here to take over you jail."

The warden's eyes darted over to Sherlock. "I see that," he said with a smile. "You must be Sherlock Holmes, I heard a lot about you."

"You should know quite a lot about me," Sherlock strolled closer to the desk. "I was a prisoner of yours."

John stepped forward, readjusting his gun. "What are you doing here?" he asked. He could feel Sherlock's eyes on him but he ignored them. "How could you be here?"

"Your guardian angel here doesn't seem to understand that I run this place," the warden said.

John shot a bullet above the man's head. "I have a name," he growled. "You can call me John Watson."

Realization seemed to hit the man hard. "John," the man's voice was barely above a whisper. He stood slowly. "You've grown so much."

"I would sit down Mr. Watson," Sherlock said. "He's your enemy now."

"I am not my son's enemy," Kenneth Watson told the genius.

John shook his head. "I can't believe you joined," he told him. It hurt more than John thought it would. He knew his dad would force him to join but that was different. That was a different life, it wasn't real. He shut his eyes quickly to stop the headache from starting. "Release the deforms."

Ken sat back down. "I thought you were dead," he announced. "I thought I lost my only boy. Even under these circumstances I'm happy to see you."

"Sir, if you could be quiet and do as you're told," John stated. He wasn't going to let the one man ruin what they came for. "Slowly, I don't want you trying anything." He glanced over at Sherlock. He was standing there looking as if nothing could faze him.

"There," Ken said. "I did as I was told. Are you going to shoot me now?"

"No," Sherlock cut in. "We're going to take you hostage like the others. John won't let me kill you." He stepped forward and lifted the older man out of his chair.

Ken's eyes shot to Sherlock before settling on John again. "Your mother died five years ago," he told him. "She was hit by a car coming home with the shopping."

John grimaced. "How did you know we were coming?" he asked. "Who told you?"

"A little spider wrote it in a web," Ken told him.

John went up to him and grabbed the other side as Sherlock gripped the other. "You're a coward," he hissed in his father's ear. "You hide in here and wait for your men to die."

"Actually," Sherlock started, "he was ordered to wait in here. Weren't you Mr. Watson?"

Ken ignored him. "Listen," he whispered to John, "I only joined up because I couldn't survive on my own. I thought you were dead, and your mother was killed, Harry went off the deep end and I have no idea what happened to her. You have to believe me when I say I have nothing against you people."

John let go of his father's side, lifted up his rifle and hit him upside the head. "Let's get him with the others," he said catching him before Sherlock dropped him.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked.

John looked up at him with a confused look. "Of course I'm alright," he told him. "I'm better than alright. Why wouldn't I be alright?"

"Well," Sherlock drawled, "you did just meet your father after eight years and found out that he was trying to kill people like us. Also, you just knocked him unconscious."

John weighed the words in his head. A grin was sliding on to his face. "I did," he laughed, "didn't I?"

Sherlock couldn't contain his laughter as well. "In my opinion he deserved it," he told him.

"You're right. I didn't like him much anyway" John admitted. He tried to hold his laughter in as they made their way over the mass of cheering people. He couldn't believe the sight before his eyes. He smiled as he watched the prisoners shaking hands and hugging every one of their fighters. Most of them were clothed with jackets and other various garments. "I want anyone with medical knowledge with me. We have some people to patch up!" he yelled over the roar. He fixed his headset back on his head and spoke in to it, "Angelo, get every injured man downstairs and in to the guard mess hall."

"Everyone is already there," Angelo reported.

"Good man," John said, "I'm heading there now. Find anyone with medical experience and send them down there. I'm going to need all the help I can get." He looked over at Sherlock who was watching the throng of people with his critical eyes. He wasn't sure what was going on in his head, maybe distant memories of being here himself, or if he was happy to see them free. He decided it would be best not to know. He understood that Sherlock was a peculiar man, he didn't understand much about how people normally feel, and he didn't act like other people he has ever met. Even Jim, who was a little off at times was better at showing emotion than Sherlock.

John didn't care about what Sherlock said or the lack of emotions he shown, he already knew that he was a great man. He put his life on the line to save hundreds of people's lives, and he was willing to do it again. "Sherlock," he bellowed, "come help me will ya?"

Sherlock tore his gaze away from the free prisoners. He didn't say anything; John didn't think he had too, as he walked over to him.

John felt better with him by his side. Even if the past few weeks spending hours with him alone, annoying him, and making him fret like a mother because he refused to eat or sleep, he liked the man. So far he had a lot to thank him for.

"You're not going to help are you?" he asked as they made their way to the mess hall.

"Of course not," Sherlock told him with a smirk. John chuckled quietly. "I might help get those splinters out of your face though."

John forgot about his injury. It wasn't bad in any sense of the word but now that he was reminded the dull pain came back. "You're responsible for them," he pointed out, "so it should be your responsibility to get them out."

Sherlock laughed. "Are you sure you're alright?" he repeated his question from earlier.

"Yeah," John said, "I'm perfectly fine." They were silent for a beat. "Who do you think tipped off them?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I haven't the slightest," he answered honestly.

John nodded. He guessed it was a questioned that would have to be answered another day.

So, is it bad? I don't like it much. Well, tell me what you think of it. I promise next chapter will have the point of view of an RA. It might be awhile, I'm not telling you it will be but don't be surprised if I don't get it out for another month or something. Well, drop me a review, I'll love them. BYE!