6

When Greg Lestrade came around he felt worse than ever. His right eye was swollen shut and his abdomen still hurt from the kick. So much for PC Lincoln. She wasn't even an ally, but Milton Banks was her father. Fantastic!

When he forced open his good eye he could see his two friends from the day before. They had tied him to a chair, and were looking at him expectantly.

"I'm going to tell you the security code," Greg announced but that only got the men laughing.

"Sure you will. Since you warned your friends there's no longer any need to hold it back, eh?" One of the men sneered, pointing to a body that lay motionless on the ground.

Even with his throat cut and his face beaten to pulp Greg recognised the man he had taken t-shirt and jacket from. Apparently leaving the mobile in the jacket hadn't been part of the plan.

"We are no longer interested in that code of yours. The boss told us we could have some fun with you."

"Ever heard of Pot Hitting?" the other man asked.

Greg had heard about it and paled visibly, A metal bucket would be put over the his head before someone would hit the bucket with a bat. He had seen two victims who had died from injuries inflicted by this particular form of torture. They had looked terrible, and their deaths hadn't been quick.

The men had seen his discomfort, evil grins plastered on their faces.

"Miss Banks will have some fun with you too."

"I'll go tell her he's awake," one of the men said and left.

oOo

Sherlock, John and Stacy had walked over to the ruins of the laboratory building. The single door they found hadn't been locked. They had let themselves in and quickly found stairs that led down to the basements.

Three floors down, the corridor was dimly lit not pitch black as the others above had been. As fast and as quietly as possible they continued. When they came to a junction, John peered around the corner with a tiny mirror.

"Guard in front of a room, about fifteen meters from the corner," he murmured.

Sherlock only thought about the situation for a second.

"You got a ten pound note?"

John opened his mouth but decided on closing it without asking the obvious question about what Sherlock wanted with his money. He pulled out a twenty.

"Will that do?"

Sherlock nodded, crumpled the note slightly in his hand and took John's mirror to check on the guard. When he was certain that the guard was looking the other way he placed the money on the floor, clearly visible to the guard, when he looked that way. They waited.

Only two minutes had passed when the man noticed something on the floor. He came closer but when he saw it was money he approached with his guard down.

John had him in a tight grip the moment he bend down to pick up the money and Sherlock silenced him with a few well placed blows.

"Nice one!" Stacy looked impressed.

They went towards the door the man had guarded. No sound was audible. With utmost care Sherlock opened the door and looked inside. Rows and rows of terrariums of various size were in this room. Some were occupied by spiders, others by snakes. Every single creature that was kept there was extremely venomous.

They left the room as quietly as they had entered it. The corridor ended in a large room which had some sort of pool, maybe five to ten meters, in the middle.

Dobby had started whining several yards back but now the humans smelt it too. It was some sort of bath that held acid. They all pressed a sleeve or other piece of clothing to their nose to breath through. Sherlock looked at a canister and quickly ushered them along.

The corridor continued on the other side. When the air smelt clean again Sherlock explained that some acid was in the pool for purposes unknown.

The next door led to a small changing room with a shower. Directly opposite was another door. Before Sherlock could touch the handle, Stacy touched his shoulder and pointed quietly at Dobby. The dog didn't make a sound but his raised hackles and bared teeth spoke a very clear language.

They retraced their steps and murmured to each other. Whoever was in this room needed to be questioned. They had already been in the building for fifteen minutes, and needed to find Lestrade as soon as possible. Once Mycroft's people arrived, and Sherlock was sure they were on their way, the chance of being discovered were far greater.

Stacy held back in order to provide backup. John and Sherlock, being a well-rehearsed team, went in and within seconds they had tackled a man.

Hardly any threats were necessary to convince the man that telling them where Lestrade was held was a terrific idea. He ended up unconscious and tied up in his laboratory. Sherlock would have loved to investigate right away what the venomous animals were for and what else they were doing in this facility but he knew his curiosity had to wait.

Now knowing where to find the Inspector they hurried to the end of the corridor and slowly went down another floor. The end of the stairs ended in a well-lit area with nowhere to hide. Stacy stopped both men and gestured for them to wait. With another gesture she told Dobby to check if the coast was clear. The dog pricked up its ears and sniffed the air before gently wagging its tail. A dog's way of saying all is well.

They hurried downstairs and followed another corridor, not as dark as the one they just came from, and finally found the room where Greg was supposed to be. Opposite was a niche. Stacy told Dobby to stay hidden and nodded. Without further ado they entered the room, finding it indeed occupied by Lestrade, tied to a chair, a body lying in the corner and a man who had just raised his fist to hit his prisoner. It took both Sherlock and John to tackle that man and this time the whole procedure was very noisy. Stacy went over to Lestrade.

"Hey, we're getting you out of here," she told him as gently as possible. She had a general idea how much he must he had suffered because first he shrank away from her with a whimper.

Greg was in pain but he felt gentle fingers untying him. He opened his good eye, and caught sight of a blond woman who looked familiar.

"Stacy?" he asked, his voice hardly audible.

"Yeah, it's me. And Sherlock and John. We're getting you out of here."

Suddenly Lestrade's eyes went wide. More reacting than seeing, Stacy kicked back, aiming at about that spot where the torso of an attacker would be. At the same moment she heard a scream outside of the room and a deep growl. Stacy's heavy boot connected solidly with a young woman's face who crumbled immediately unconscious to the ground.

"Sorry," Stacy told Lestrade and went outside where Dobby had sunk his teeth into the arm of a man. Stacy kicked the man in the hollow of his knee and he went down. Another serious hit, this time with her baton that she had pulled out of nowhere, and the man went still.

"Watch him," she told Dobby, and the dog sat down beside him.

Stacy went back inside the little room. Sherlock and John had finally subdued the man, and the doctor had just got up to help Lestrade.

Sherlock quickly checked on the body in the corner but that one was dead.

Lestrade was again only dressed in his briefs, and was shivering.

Sherlock shrugged out of his coat, wrapping the inspector in the rough but warm piece of clothing.

Together they left as fast as they could, dragging Lestrade along.

When they came up the first flight of stairs they saw laser-beams penetrating the corridor.

Mycroft's men had arrived.

The attack force passed them just behind that strange pool, just pausing a short moment when they saw Stacy. Sherlock hadn't mentioned her presence to his brother.

"John, I want to go back. I need to see the labs before these morons destroy everything." The doctor clearly wasn't happy but knew Sherlock would go with or without his consent. "I'll get Greg and Stacy to the stairs, than I'll follow you." Sherlock just nodded and hurried away. It took less than a minute to reach the stairs.

"We can manage," Lestrade whispered, seeing that John was desperate to go after Sherlock.

Stacy held Lestrade upright, and with Dobby in tow they began climbing the stairs.

John went off like a shot. When he neared the pool he heard a scream and a loud splash. Oh no, that was not good. Not good at all.

"Sherlock!" he shouted. John had almost reached the pool when a figure knocked into his side so hard that he stumbled. A kick followed and John disappeared into the pool too. Whoever the perpetrator was, John couldn't see him, keeping his eyes closed against the corrosive fluid.

A strong hand grabbed his arm, and pulled him upright. The pool wasn't deep and John could feel rather than see that it had been Sherlock who helped him to stand up. Thank god!

Both men climbed out of the pool quickly, already feeling a tingling sensation on their bodies as the acid began its destructive work.

"Sherlock, the shower. We need to get that stuff off our bodies as quickly as possible." The detective nodded and they ran quickly to the room in which they had seen the shower.

They saw a couple of Mycroft's men when they dashed along, one of them, upon seeing them disappearing into the shower, spoke into his radio.

Sherlock and John entered the room, and John immediately began stripping out of his soaked clothes. Sherlock followed suit but much slower. John was already in the nude when Sherlock had barely managed to take off his shoes and socks.

"What are you doing, man? That acid will burn you."

Sherlock eyes widened, and his body went rigid. Burn him. Those had been Moriarty's words way back. They still gave him the creeps.

Sherlock shook his head to chase Moriarty's image out of his head.

Suddenly John stood before him, and started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Unbuttoning your shirt, duh!"

"I can do this myself," Sherlock said.

John had no problems with that. The moment Sherlock's hands took care of the shirt buttons, he unbuckled Sherlock's belt, opened the button and unzipped him.

Sherlock produced a surprised gasp when his trousers vanished south.

Knowing the doctor would have no reservations whatsoever Sherlock quickly slapped the invading hands away, shrugged out of his shirt and pants.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

John opened and closed his mouth, thinking about a clever answer, but nothing came to his mind. Instead he grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him forward.

There was only one shower but that had to do. Before the detective could utter a protest John had shoved him under the spray for an initial cleaning. Sherlock only took a few seconds before letting John take his place. The detective had turned modestly to the wall when the spray had hit him but John didn't indulge to such inhibitions. He rubbed his skin as far as he could reach with bold strokes, turning his face into the spray.

"Second round for you," John said, pushing Sherlock back under the spray of water, already walking over to a shelf were he had discovered soap that was especially manufactured to wash off acid.

Sherlock observed John closely. That man felt really secure in his body. Being a doctor a bit of exposed skin didn't alarm him, and Sherlock guessed that privacy was the last thing on the mind of soldiers on a mission in Afghanistan.

John squished a large amount of soap into the palm of his hand, and began the washing procedure again. Sherlock looked in amazement as the doctor more or less danced naked in front of his eyes, bending and stretching while covering himself with soft white foam. John eventually stopped.

"I need help with my back. With that stupid shoulder I can't reach there properly."

Sherlock's eyes looked like saucers. John huffed, grabbed Sherlock's hand and squished a large amount of soap into his palm before turning, standing close enough that Sherlock could remain under the spray of water while being able to reach his friend's back.

Surrendering into his fate, Sherlock first started tentatively rubbing John's shoulders but eventually was quite enthusiastically rubbing soap all the way down to the small of his back. John made happy sounds as his friend's strong hands not only seemed to wash but also dug into his muscles, relaxing them in the process.

Suddenly John's eyes flew open. By accident, surely it had been accidentally, Sherlock had rubbed over his rear.

John blushed and quickly turned around, bringing in the process another part of his anatomy in contact with those clever hands. Stepping backwards John slipped and almost fell, had Sherlock not gripped him tightly and pulled John to his chest.

For a moment they stood there, the doctor and the detective, skin to skin, under the shower.

John blinked, and managed to get a grip, a weak one though, on himself.

"You can let go of me now." He licked his lips. "I think it's time we switched places. I mean, you soap I water shower..." Shit, he was babbling, and it didn't take a great detective's mind to notice.

Sherlock, who had ended up wedged in between John's body and the tiled wall, slid past his friend. Deciding this was a really good time to present John with his backside rather than his front, he grabbed the soap, and started washing.

A minute or two passed in silence, only running water and soapy hands gliding over skin could be heard.

"Shall I do your back?" John asked, his voice alarmingly high.

"Nope," Sherlock answered but handed John the bottle with the soap anyway.

"Okay!"

John filled his palm with soap, took a deep breath and began washing Sherlock's back.

God, he envied him for that beautiful skin. Yes, some scars were visible there too. Probably some from what he had endured before coming back to London. But all in all he was perfect.

They traded places one more time, and eventually turned off the shower.

On the shelf they found two towels, and towled themselves dry.