Xxxxxxx
"Dean!" Cas's strangled voice reached him and without thinking, Dean was recklessly running towards it, his heart racing, his mind going blank as he considered losing Cas again.
"Cas!" He called, leaping over branches and around thick nests of trees, he could hear branches snapping around him and the snarl of creatures awakening to his presence, but he didn't care. If he didn't get to Cas, neither of them would survive.
There was a loud growl and groan as if Cas was being kicked and then there was only quiet. Dean kept running, his breath coming quick and heavy, his arms scratched by branches and thorns.
"Cas!" He screamed, scanning around him, desperation lacing his tone. And then he saw it, a flash of white in the darkness. He latched onto it, like a moth to a flame, flashes of a similar feeling overcoming him when he'd been all alone in a dark, dangerous place. Hope when he'd only felt anger and pain and shame.
Dean slowed slightly, quietening his steps, taking out his gun. He had four silver bullets which he shoved in, he grimaced, he had to make them last long enough to rescue Cas.
He squinted, trying to see anything in the darkness. He could just about make out a large, dark figure dragging Cas across the floor, he looked human enough, though bigger than Sam. Shadows flickered around them, suggesting there were others with him, just smaller.
Cas had gone still, Dean gulped down his the unexpected rage that swelled in his chest, trying to keep his gun hand steady. He would have to work on the advantage of surprise, because that always went so well. Not that he'd been screaming Cas's name a second ago or anything.
"Hello, Dean. What a surprise to see you here." Dean twisted, his heart tearing at the sound of that voice. And sure enough, standing behind him with a particularly smug grin, was Gordon with a big old branch. Dean lifted his gun to shoot, but not before Gordon hit him forcefully round the head.
…..
"Dean..?" Cas' rough voice woke Dean up from a very sore headache. He would have rubbed it, or checked it for blood had his hands not been tied up behind him. He groaned loudly, it really was their luck to be in Purgatory for 10 seconds and already be tied up. Stiffly, he opened his eyes, coming face to face with Gordon. That was somewhat startling, but with his still dizzy head, he barely reacted other than raising his eyebrows.
"Morning, sweetie." Dean choked out, forcing a smile. Gordon just kept staring, which was uncomfortable to say the least.
"How did you get here?" Gordon finally asked, his eyebrows creasing. Dean suddenly felt penetrated; Gordon must have checked him for monster signs. Ew.
"I must have took the wrong turn." Dean smiled lopsidedly, as if considering which turn it was.
"Dean." Cas rasped from behind him and Dean realized they must be tied to a post, back to back. At least Cas was near him.
"I'd listen to your friend, if you don't co-operate, I am quite willing to force the answers out of you. We have plenty of time and I have been ever so bored." Gordon snickered, his tongue flicking over his lips, momentarily revealing his long fangs. Dean shuddered but then chuckled back.
"I've been to Hell since you died, Gordon, let me tell you there is nothing you can do that hasn't already been done." Dean stared right back into Gordon's eyes, letting him see the truth in his determined, self-assured eyes.
"What about your brother? Whatever happened to Sam? He's not dead or he'd be here." Gordon stepped back, letting Dean see where they were. They seemed to be in a cave of some sort and then he noticed the reddish colour of the rock and the soft grainy sand he was sitting on, no longer woodland. Either Gordon could fly or Purgatory was more confusing than some Canadian woods. A fire also burned near them, which seemed to show they were at the back of this cave. Cut off from any quick exit.
"He's fine. Stopped the apocalypse, actually." Dean didn't mean to tell Gordon anything but his teeth still grinded at the spite in Gordon's voice, when Dean knew Sam was innocent. Quickly, he added, "Where are we?"
That stopped Gordon, his eyes sliding behind Dean.
"Ah, yes, the apocalypse. You know, I thought I remembered your friend." Gordon looked almost eager now, like he'd hit the jackpot as he stared at Cas. Dean wanted to hit him so hard; apparently a few years in Purgatory didn't make you less of a dick.
Gordon left Dean, pacing round to kneel by Cas. Dean squirmed, not liking being this powerless while Gordon could do anything to them. He tested the ropes but he was bound tight with no room to manoeuvre, he suddenly got a flash of déjà vu when Gordon had planned to blow up Sam, he felt himself gag.
"Castiel, isn't it?" Gordon whispered behind him, a possessive whisper but also one that lead Dean to believe there were other monsters around and Gordon didn't want them knowing he had their ex-container. At least not yet.
"Gordon Walker. The vampire slayer who became a monster. I'd suggest you leave if you don't want to die." Castiel growled yet somehow remained deadpan at the same time, Dean smirked, he was a true Winchester. Still able to threaten convincingly even when tied up and weapon-less.
"I don't know about that. Do you know how many monsters fantasize about carving you up around here? Your improvised torture has been providing the latest conversation for a long time now. The amount of flesh we'd get selling you would keep us happy for a long time." Dean could hear Gordon lean closer, his raspy voice getting horribly close.
"Leave him, Gordon!" Dean shouted, his heart pounding as so many mixed emotions rushed through him.
"Oh, don't worry, Dean. You, my boy, may fetch an even more handsome price, once I've had my own fun first, of course. I should live quite well after this." Gordon stood up, his eyes gleaming, and then suddenly he was at Dean's neck. Tongue tracing his skin before a jaw full of sharp teeth plunged into him, Dean spasmed, crying out, but not being able to as blood was dragged from his neck. The pain was overwhelming, already he felt his vision blacking out, Gordon's blood splattered mouth taking up his view.
But in an instant, Gordon was back to his feet, licking his lips. His eyes trained on Dean's neck where blood was still spilling at an alarming rate. Dean sucked in a breath, and another, struggling to breathe and feeling his whole body trembling from the shock. And then a rough hand enclosed his own, and after a warm flush he could breathe easier and the blood stopped flowing so dramatically. He coughed and spluttered as he adjusted but he mentally thanked Cas a billion times.
For the first time, Dean felt a trickle of fear, they had no escape and they were helpless and they would never die and they'd be here forever, being killed by monsters. By Gordon, of all things.
"So, Dean, are you going to tell me how you got here or not?" Gordon raised an eyebrow at their hands but Cas didn't let go and Dean was grateful, he felt sick.
"Why do you even care?" Dean spat, glaring at Gordon, determined to show him that one bite wasn't enough to rattle Dean Winchester.
"Because if there's a way in, there has to be a way out." Gordon said it as if he had been waiting for this moment for an eternity and his hungry eyes showed how desperate he was to have the answer.
"There's no getting out the way we came in, I can tell you that." Dean snarled, glad to hand this news over to Gordon.
"You taste good, you know that, Dean? Pretty hard to keep myself from stopping." Gordon stepped forward but wasn't able to come any closer before a huge arm suddenly stopped him in his tracks. Dean leaned forward, trying to see into the darkness to see what was attached to this arm, which was abnormally thick and… wait.
"Leave the prisoners. Outside, now." A heavy, huge voice commanded from the dark and Gordon immediately was withdrawing from them, not even risking a glance back. Dean felt Cas shudder behind him and gripped his hand in return, trying to offer comfort, no matter how poor. But whatever it was, it was obvious Gordon was scared of it. Which did not bode well. At all.
The creature stepped forward, revealing what Dean had feared, that hadn't been an arm. It was a huge tail. A tail that looked thick enough to do fatal damage when swung or when choking. It was now wrapped around this guy's stomach and that wasn't the end of it. Beneath the tail, Dean thought he could just about glimpse a hole full of jagged, numerous teeth. An effing mouth in his stomach.
The guy was normal enough apart from that though, two normal sized eyes above a nose and a mouth (another one, because one mouth just isn't enough). And a huge body – he looked like one of those Sumo wrestlers – without a nappy.
"Dean. Castiel." The guy spoke and though his mouth (his face one) moved the sound that came out of it shouldn't have been possible. It was such a huge noise, loud and guttural and wrong coming from an almost human-looking mouth.
"Yes." Castiel spoke this time, Dean was still staring.
"I am Behemoth." The man said slowly as if unused to speaking, moving a step closer and Dean noticed how large his feet were, how long his claws were. Dean looked back up, really not liking how close this guy was getting.
"I know. We have met before and we have also met your cousin, Leviathan." Castiel acknowledged, and Dean's eyes widened, suddenly seeing the family resemblance.
The Behemoth scowled at this, stamping his foot and making the ground tremble.
"Yes, Leviathan left me, stayed with you. He is not allowed to do that, I have been bored." The Behemoth stomped again and again, completing the Sumo look. Dean decided to stay quiet, Castiel was better equipped to handle this. Dean would just get stomped on most likely.
"But we have brought Leviathan back, and hope to bring back more." Castiel said, and Dean nodded.
"More leviathan! Nothing to kill." Behemoth shook its head and Dean wondered how these creatures could really be related. Leviathans were clever, this guy was a dumbass though the way he looked, he could see them being formidable enemies. It was good they hadn't partnered up he supposed.
"Yes. Exactly, but we cannot bring more back if you keep us here." Castiel pushed and Dean saw where Cas was going. He looked up at the big guy, suddenly thankful for his lack of brain cells.
But it was not to be so easy.
"Hm. I do not trust you. Gordy says you give us lots of flesh. But I do miss Leviathan. I think. Stay there, my prisoners!" And the guy was walking off, no longer making the ground shake but his tail now slid across the floor, flicking side to side.
"Well, at least Gordy isn't here anymore." Dean smiled wanly, really not looking forward to when Behemoth came back.
"We really need to get out of here, Dean." Castiel said, his voice edging towards despair, making Dean's insides go cold.
"I know, Cas. I know."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
"So Dean and Castiel disappeared after your brother 'ganked' Dick?" The Doctor hiccupped, throwing away another book onto the "NO USE AT ALL" pile and grabbing another from the still unstably high tower he had gathered on the library floor.
"Yup. Taken alone time to a new extreme." Sam chuckled, taking another swig of whatever The Doctor had given him. It had been needed after that memory trip.
The Doctor raised an eyebrow at that, eyeing that bottle - it was so old, he couldn't remember what it was, except it had a very similar effect to alcohol. Sam laughed at his expression, shaking his head.
"You should see them, they constantly have these staring contests that's practically eye sex and Cas has no sense of personal space whatsoever which Dean just overlooks now." Sam exclaimed, trying and failing to read through the same passage of the book he'd been looking at for the last 5 minutes. Being drunk did not make it easy to read, though The Doctor seemed to be having no trouble.
"Then perhaps it will do them some good!" The Doctor chortled, finding the image of an angel falling for a human so terribly cliché, he couldn't help but laugh.
Sam laughed, full blown hysterical laughter that made him hold his stomach in pain. The Doctor smiled, he was not truly drunk, it took a lot to make a 900 year old Timelord drunk, but seeing Sam this genuinely happy made him feel like he'd just done a great deed. This man had not had enough good in his life and if he had to consume some of The Doctor's more suspicious liquids to be so then so be it.
There was a sudden beeping from his wrist and The Doctor jumped up, running round the swimming pool and down the steps. He distantly heard a splash as Sam must have accidentally fell in. He ignored it, skidding to a stop as he grabbed the screen.
He was still looking at it when Sam came hobbling down the steps, soaking wet. He glanced disapprovingly at Sam dripping on his floor before collapsing on his sofa, trying to think of solutions and absorb what he had just read.
Sam questioningly stood close, unsure about what to do, eventually he spoke up.
"Did you find something?" Sam's deep, suddenly more sober voice woke The Doctor from his thoughtful reverie. The Doctor briefly felt some remorse at the lost happy quirk to Sam's tone but it wasn't like he could keep Sam drunk forever. He looked up at Sam, and nodded.
"I think I found them," The Doctor said, carrying on as he saw Sam's face light up, "but it's not exactly just a quick fly in and back. As I suspected, I think they are in – Purgatory." It still did not flow easily for The Doctor but it wasn't something he could deny anymore.
"Okay, so we just need to find some way to get to Purgatory. Nothing is impossible; Lovecraft must have had something on it." Sam was already scheming, spurring The Doctor on.
"Nothing is impossible which is why I think we may not even need a spell, if we are lucky – maybe check that out, anyway – but looking at the TARDIS's analysis of the timey-wimey stuff, it would seem Purgatory is like a pocket dimension so while it will take more energy to get there and back, it is not impossible – not like crossing into parallel universes anyway." The Doctor spurted, spinning and running his fingers through his hair as he tried to think of where he could get the energy. It wasn't just that, of course, he would need to pinpoint the location and the time they disappeared and there was no definite chance he would be able to get back the same way. Plus the way the information the TARDIS had shown seemed to show another factor. Like a door. Something closing the way in. But it was ever so slightly ajar.
"A pocket dimension?" Sam said, looking like he was trying very hard to keep up which The Doctor admired. He was vaguely disappointed "parallel universes" hadn't caught him off-guard but maybe it was something he'd already encountered if he knew of angels and demons and such.
"Yeah, like a dimension within a dimension. They're comparatively small, reachable but separate "dimensions", and can contain different rules like magic or gravity. Some of them can even be reached through objects which are larger on the inside, like a door or like my TARDIS. Well, actually it's nothing like that, but if it helps." The Doctor shrugged, leaping down into his engine and starting to fiddle with wires and flashing his screwdriver at things.
Sam was doing a bitch face and he looked to his left with a "this guy is so crazy" look before looking down. Dean wasn't here. Which only reminded him as to why he was here and how badly he needed anyone who would help.
"Okay, anything I can do?" Sam looked over the wires and stuff, knowing Dean would have been more help in this situation.
"Get dry for one, but no, unless you're an expert in Timelord technology or have a degree in thermodynamics, I can't think of much except dusting." The Doctor murmured, while sorting out a pile of huge rubber things lying on the floor.
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not much of a duster, but I think I could use this time to gather my stuff if I'm gonna be staying."
"Great idea, I could take you if you like!" The Doctor stood up, dropping the rubber things to the floor, and about to step past Sam when Sam stopped him.
"Nah, it's alright. I have something to take care of first." Sam smiled gently at The Doctor's concerned expression.
"Sure, then. Be careful, Sam." The Doctor patted him on the back, moving away to inspect things.
Sam nodded, feeling purpose returning to his bones as he walked back up to the console. He could do this a step at a time and he would get Dean and Cas back.
"And no weapons!" The Doctor shouted behind him.
…..
The impala thrummed steadily beneath him, it had started surprisingly well once he'd managed to extract the metal gate from its front, and responded to Sam like an old friend. As he drove, he was tempted to play his own music for once but he could hear Dean in his head moaning about his poor taste, and much like a child would cuddle with their parent's favourite jacket, Sam now fiddled with Dean's tapes, popping Aerosmith in and turning the volume up.
Dream On started playing and Sam tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the tune as he drove down the long road away from Sucrocorp.
He was the only one left of their team. Bobby was finally at peace, Meg had been taken by Crowley and Dean and Castiel were trapped in Purgatory.
But he had a job to do this time, the leviathans were still at large and he was going to get Dean and Cas back. He had a lot of work to do.
And he had a new team member, a Timelord. An alien! - which he couldn't wait to explain to Dean, his expression would be a gift. And he has a time machine so not a useless alien either, and though the Doctor said he wouldn't go back in time, he was still willing to find Purgatory and save Sam's family.
Which meant Sam would have more time to deal with the Leviathans, instead of just letting someone be promoted to be the new Dick.
He just had to find a more permanent way of killing them.
Sam inhaled deeply, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter as he struggled to breathe, his chest constricting as all his muscles tensed. He felt a wash of remembered fear and confused anguish and loss all at once. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to push it back but his throat was clogging up as he remembered the last time Dean had been taken. There had been nothing he could do, there had been no purpose except killing and trying to find him anyway, he had been reduced to an animal.
He pulled the impala to a stop, swinging open the door and smashing his fist against the roof. The pain resonated through his arm and there was a slight dent to match the others but it only reminded him that Dean wasn't here to threaten him for hurting his baby nor Cas to miraculously put her back together. No Bobby to wallop him round the head and tell him to get moving.
He was alone. Again.
He slid to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees and just resting his head. He felt like a small kid again, the world was too big, too pushy, not letting him have what he wanted. But this time he didn't care about being normal or going to university, he just wanted to have his family without the world on the edge of destruction. Just once.
He sat like that for a long time, practicing breathing and trying not to think too hard and eventually he got up, back into the impala and he was driving again.
…..
Sam drove round the back of Bobby's safe house, the one they had been using most currently. He just needed to collect the latest research they had pulled up on the leviathans and any other books that could help. The Doctor's library had been extensive but not on the type of thing Sam needed. Plus he didn't have any cleaning fluids.
He parked the impala, leaving the engine running for an easy getaway and made his way to the house. It was weird returning on his own but he didn't ponder this for long, just focusing on the task at hand. It was dark out but it didn't take a second to shove the key in and turn the handle, darting into the house and closing the door behind him.
"Hey, Sam. Where you been?" Sam froze out of instinct then turned and had to stop himself from trying to crush Crowley's skull.
"Trying to clear up your mess. What are you doing here? You have everything you wanted." Sam growled, not surprised to see Crowley reclining in Bobby's armchair and sipping at his best whiskey. Did he drink anything else?
"Actually I had everything I wanted. Turns out I can't go a day before something else comes along and bites me in the arse. And like usual, it's your fault." Crowley leaned forward, eyes flashing, fingers curling into the armchair. Sam just couldn't get up the energy to care.
"Well, I'm busy, and you're not on my agenda at the moment. You sure it wasn't somebody else?" Sam turned; studying the rest of the place, making sure Crowley hadn't taken anything. The place was untouched as far as he could tell. He started taking books down from the stock Bobby had stored in every safehouse.
"It was Meg, because you and your brother are lousy blood caretakers." Crowley was suddenly in his face, still angry, but then sighed, looking at what Sam was picking up. He smirked.
"Well, you never stop thinking of the job, do you?" Sam rolled his eyes, placing the books on the floor.
"What did Meg do, Crowley?" Sam glared at him, just wishing Crowley to leave.
"Sold my blood and not to anyone. Knows what he's bloody doing, I want to wrap my hands round his scrawny neck so bad." Crowley lifted his hands, and large, metal handcuffs appeared.
"He binded you?" Sam eye's widened, his heart stuttering, the problem just got so much worse. He couldn't fight leviathans and the whole of Hell on his own. "How did this happen?"
"I told you, there is a lot of things you can do with my blood. This is a pretty obvious one. And one I do not like at all. But there is a way to break every spell, Sam." Crowley raised his conspiring eyebrows, and the handcuffs disappeared.
"Who the hell is it?" Sam exclaimed, feeling like he wanted to back in the TARDIS, he'd been able to forget just how bad his situation was with The Doctor and his timeless machine.
"Can't tell you that. The guy's not stupid. Made rules, lots and lots of them. Thorough, he is, unlike some people I know." Crowley glared, taking another long gulp of the golden liquid.
"Nothing?" Sam exhaled, weren't there any other hunters to deal with this stuff?
"Nothing, except he has friends in some despicable positions." Crowley smiled, as if to say it just gets better.
"Leviathans too?" Sam needed to sit down, instead he tilted his head upwards, taking a deep breath then took another book. One thing at a time.
"And he let you come here to tell me this?" Sam clenched his hand around the book; frustration building and making him want to hit something.
"Not exactly. He ordered me to kill you, and while under normal circumstances, it would be my pleasure you're my only hope right now," Sam raised an eyebrow, "and I'm yours."
"But you can't just disobey an order, right?" Sam frowned, bringing out the demon knife.
"No, but fortunately for you there are 6 other Sam Winchesters relatively close by."
"What? No way! You can't just go killing innocent-"
"Yes, I can! And I will do a lot worse if I have to. I am the King of Hell, Sam, and my power is under someone else's control. I suggest you do something about it." Crowley smashed Sam against the wall with his fist, his eyes blazing, losing his normally cool manner for a second.
Sam wheezed, struggling to breathe as Crowley dug his fist into his throat. Crowley slowly let him go, putting his glass on the small coffee table. Sam stood uneasily, grabbing hold of a chair, his whole body ached.
"Can't you tell me anything? How to break your spell? An actual way to kill leviathans? His plan? A rescue guide for Dean? I need anything I can get right now." Sam winced, eyeing Crowley. His demon knife was on the floor, the little good it had done him.
"I wish I could help but like I said there are rules, Sammy-boy. So while I go back to my new boss to say you're all cold and not breathing, I expect you to be brushing off the books real good. Maybe it's time to make some new friends." Crowley shrugged, and then was gone.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
"John, wake up." A horribly loud and irritating sound scratched at John's eardrums making him wince and scrunch his eyes tighter.
"John." It continued and John wished to throw something at it but that also seemed like a lot of effort so he drew a breath and tried to speak, which felt harder than usual.
"Shuddup." He grated and the sound of his voice made his head pound and he moaned, curling tightly into a ball.
"I made you a cup of tea." John instinctively felt warmer at the mention of tea; reflexively he opened his eyes and came face to face with a hotel mug, smelling of brewing gold.
He took it, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously who just smiled, which was even more suspicious.
"Good. Drink your tea and then we're leaving." Sherlock stood up from his position leaning against John's bed, shutting his laptop and looking raring to go. Not at all how John felt.
John forced himself to sit up and sipped the tea, not yet having the energy to argue. The tea felt good down his throat, soothing his sore body and slowly stopping the pounding in his head.
Sherlock appraised John for a second as if considering and then said, "you should get changed too."
John looked down and instantly made out his apparent nakedness.
"What? Sherlock!" He screamed, pulling the duvet around him and growing ever the redder. Sherlock was already gone though, which was fortunate for him, John was having one of his bad days.
…..
John, now dressed and slightly less in the mood to kill Sherlock though that feeling never completely left him, was now sitting in their rental car, driving because Sherlock had never bothered to learn.
"How are we even going to get in?" John asked, taking the road the sign pointed to as Sucrocorp.
"Mycroft was the one who sent us, he was more than willing to give us his authority to go wherever we like." Sherlock said, looking out at the road distastefully as if already mourning the absence of London.
"This isn't England anymore, how do you know that they'll accept his authority?" John was worried, Sherlock had told him what they'd discovered last night and it still freaked him out that he couldn't remember anything at all. Apparently this drug was definitely in the junk food and Sherlock had narrowed it to a few ingredients and finally deducted the fructose corn syrup to be the culprit when he'd looked up some old articles where there had been worries that it increased weight gain and contained neurotoxins years ago, pretty much fitting Sherlock's diagnosis.
"Maybe we won't have to show them." Sherlock was looking more intrigued as they moved closer to Sucrocorp and it was weird. It was absolutely quiet. There were barely any cars, an unnatural quiet that was settled over the road.
By the time they could see the building, John was itching for his gun, this was not right.
"Stop here." Sherlock said, and they slowed to a stop at a byway just before the bend into the checkpoint. They jumped out the car, John shutting the door quietly and Sherlock slamming it and running forward. John winced.
"Sherlock, slow down!" He hissed, scurrying after him.
"Do you see that, John?" Sherlock was perched behind bushes and pointing to a parking lot in front of the building. It looked slightly attacked; the car park's barrier looked as if it had been smashed through, there was a load of glass surrounding a gate/barrier thing. The actual gate had been crushed, and was now hanging precariously to the side. Not what they'd been expecting, to be brief.
"Yeah, a raid?" John suggested, really wishing he hadn't left his gun at Baker street.
"Not that, though yes, look at the building. It looks empty, I don't see any movement. In a place like this it should be bustling with activity, there should be police, crime scene tape, instead it's just quiet." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and John's stomach sank. Sherlock was right, and there were obviously people here, there were still cars in the car park. So, what was going on?
"Should I call the police?" John asked, still watching the windows, waiting to see someone do something.
"Not yet. Let's find a back entrance." Sherlock grinned, starting to look more himself; John found himself smiling before he could stop himself.
They scurried round, keeping the building in sight but taking a very round-about route to where a backdoor would hopefully be. They had to scurry very obviously behind bushes as there weren't many places to hide and John felt really exposed but whatever was happening ignored them.
Finally they came across a fire exit at the side of the building that had been left open, John looked at Sherlock but Sherlock was already strolling inside and John didn't want to stay out here any longer. He caught up, leaving the door open so they had one clear exit, and then suddenly his feet were sliding on pristine, white floors and he was surrounded by desks. Sherlock was looking at one of them when John came to a stop.
"What is it?" John said, really not liking how empty the place felt, deserted.
"Someone was forcibly removed from this chair, the seat is deeply set, the wheels on the bottom have scratched the floor. They tried to grab at the desk but were yanked away, and the edge of the desk cut them." Sherlock rubbed his fingers along the side of the desk, and John had to force down the reaction to appraise him, instead he moved past and went to the door, looking out. So there was a raid, people are being held hostage? But there are no police, the kidnappers would be monitoring outside, there'd be no way they'd be able to get in, let alone through an open fire exit. John struggled, trying to think. Mass-murderers? But this is a huge job, they wouldn't bother taking people away, they'd just kill them surely. Robbers?
In the corridor there was more emptiness but he thought he heard something.
"That sounds like…" John frowned, the thought niggling at the back of his head but he brushed it off, it couldn't be right.
"Come on, John. Stop standing around." Sherlock brushed past him, taking an immediate left as if he knew exactly where he was going. John followed, watching on all sides for both of them as Sherlock didn't seem to care about self-preservation.
The corridor looked so normal, as if they were just absurdly early and nobody was in yet but Sherlock would mutter every now and then as if seeing something John couldn't.
Sherlock suddenly turned, finger to his mouth.
"Shh." John nodded, fighting the urge to roll his eyes; he really didn't need the verbal confirmation to understand the gesture.
Slowly, Sherlock edged closer to the edge of a large glass window, and John was hearing that sound again and it was so loud and he couldn't ignore that thought this time. So when Sherlock peered round and went still, John was pretty sure he knew what he was seeing.
Sherlock glanced back and for the first time in all the time John had known him, Sherlock looked scared. John steeled himself, moving past Sherlock and taking a look himself.
What he saw made him want to throw up.
Ten people were tied up and gagged in the corner of an elite meeting room; another 8 were currently being swallowed. By other people, with large mouths coming out of their heads.
John whipped back, his heart pumping too fast and loud. He grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him away, running down the corridor and closer to their exit.
Finally he felt far away enough to speak.
"What the hell?"
Sherlock was shaking his head; he looked like he was in denial but John knew if he gave him another second, he'd adjust.
"Genetically enhanced people? A virus? I have no idea what this is." Sherlock flailed for a second, holding John's shoulders tighter than was comfortable.
"Or just monsters that are eating people. I'm calling the police." John got out his phone while Sherlock backed off, looking back the way they came.
"What is your emergency?"
"People are being killed, we're at Sucro-" John rapidly began to speak until he saw Sherlock's face.
"Put that down." John's shoulders sank, wasn't it just yesterday they had been with this guy? Steadily, John lowered the phone to the floor, careful not to disconnect the call; maybe the police would trace it.
"Sherlock, kick it over." John took that moment to turn around; Jim was standing in his usual Westwood suit, looking cockier than normal but still the same Moriarty. He wasn't holding a gun, there were no red dots yet he looked like he thought himself invincible and he was here with the People-Eating Monsters.
"Why should I?" Sherlock questioned, moving closer to the phone, leaning back. John could feel Sherlock's confidence beginning to fall off him again as he confronted something he knew.
"Or you'll get ripped to shreds, dear friend." Moriarty grinned and John's skin crawled as he felt breath on his leg, a growl resonated right next to him yet when he looked there was nothing.
Sherlock looked at John, and it was like that night all over again, except so much weirder.
Sherlock grimaced, kicking the phone over to Mori. "What is happening?"
"My plan." Moriarty picked up the phone, smiling eagerly as he turned it off. Then he was walking towards them, John couldn't help but back away as he approached, invisible dogs be damned. Sherlock stood his ground, Moriarty grinned at him as he brushed past and then he whispered his final farewell.
"You'd better start running."
Sherlock looked stumped for a minute and then he was shouting for John and sprinting away, a supernatural roar biting at their heels.
John was practically leaping down the corridor, his legs not moving fast enough as he heard the floor being torn up behind him, and as he saw stairs heading down he was practically falling down them in order to keep going. He knew Sherlock was following, and he was scared, Sherlock was slower than him and if he was taken then he didn't –
A huge pair of doors ahead of him gave him an extra boost and he burst through them, Sherlock hitting them a second later but they weren't lockable. John cursed, and kept on running, though his heart hurt and he could barely breathe. They were going to die; they had no weapons, nowhere to go.
"The lab!" Sherlock shouted behind him and John just managed to skid to a turn and fling himself at a door, pull it open, let Sherlock in and shut it again, locking it just as a huge force smashed against it. He stumbled away from the door, watching as the hinges were being crumpled and the door started to pull away from the frame.
"Sherlock..." John started, trying to think of something to say. How Sherlock had changed his life, how he wasn't a machine but a brilliant person, how he had the best times of his life with him and that he was his best friend.
"Shut up, John. We're going to be fine." And John didn't expect anything less.
And even as the door caved in and the growls intensified and he felt something stalk closer, he still believed in Sherlock.
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