Author's Note: here is another to make up for the huuggge time gap, my apologies again! remember, people without accounts on can still leave a review, so there is no excuse!
BB#

Humming, Jim walked down the stairs marked "staff only" and chuckled, shaking his head. He strolled into the loading bay's lift and hummed along to the Bach playing through his headphones, pressing the button simply marked "up". He tapped his feet on the floor of the lift as it rose quickly, the floor number rising, 1, 2, 3, 4... until it slowed to a stop on floor 17. Jim strolled out of the door to find a panting Sherlock leaning against the wall.

"hurry up Sherly, your going to be late."

"I'm... going..." he hissed and took off running again. Jim laughed and called after him

"oh, ok, I'll just be waiting in here with Seb and John then..." he shook his head laughing and walked through the door directly opposite him. Sherlock skidded to a halt and ran back after Jim.

"Could've... told... me...!"

"technically, I did." Jim laughed some more but he couldn't be heard after the door was shut. He walked down the wide corridor which then split in two. Jim knew that the one on the left led to John and Seb, and the right a surveillance room. he reached into his pocket and got out a sheet of paper with "John" then an arrow on it. he quickly added a frowning face in the O before sticking it to the wall with his chewing gum, pointing to the left. whistling a tune, Moriarty walked through the right door and sat in the surveillance room, switching on the camera's to John and Seb's room and setting up a audio so that he could speech through the mic and it would be broadcast next door. he stood, locked the door, and leaned over the mic.

"oh johnny boy!"

After the video feed with Sherlock, John hadn't been conscious much. His injuries were now far more serious: his arm was now infected and leg had gone septic, as well as now having 9 cracked or broken ribs and a missing toe. he was only conscious a few minutes at a time, and that was mainly when Seb injected adrenalin into his system to torture him. He was already being injected when he heard the call, but it would have woken him in any case. He was chained to the face wall of a film set, surrounded by bright white lights and speakers. he shivered at the sound of Moriarty's voice, but tried to answer boldly

"what is it this time?" he stared into the tiny cameras dotted around the room,

"got something else to show me?" his voice cracked as he said this, ending with a whimper. he couldn't even bear to think of the videos, he just couldn't. they hurt to much. Jim chuckled over the mic,

"why yes, I do as a matter of fact, Sherlock has come to collect you." John's heart was in his mouth but he didn't allow himself to be happy, not yet. For all he knew, Jim was just lying to upset him.

"h-how d-d-do I know you're telling the t-truth?" he could hear Moriarty chuckling over the microphone.

"why not take a look?" the TV directly in front of John lit up, but he instinctively hid his eyes; he was scared this was a trick to make him watch another of those videos, but as he heard none of the noises that now haunted him, he slowly opened his eyes. he was watching recent CCTV footage of Sherlock, in fact, if the time was correct, he was watching Sherlock right now.

Sherlock rushed along the corridor, saw the sign, and bolted left. He just ran now; his own weariness was long gone with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He almost ran into the door, he was running so fast. He smacked into it, growled in pain, then pushed himself back. "John," he called through the door. "John." Sherlock continued repeating "John, John, John," over and over, unable to stop himself.

"John, answer me, please." He was so overwhelmed by the emotions he'd been pressing down throughout this whole game, his hands were shaking on the door handle.

John had been staring speechlessly at the TV, watching Sherlock and hearing his calls at the door. most of him wanted to shout back, to tell Sherlock what had happened and how he never wanted to leave the detective's side again, but a tiny twisted corner of his mind harboured all of his fears and doubts; the videos. Had Sherlock changed while he was gone, was this all just a twisted game? he remained silent, staring at the screen.

Sherlock wrenched open the door, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment at the sight of John. He mentally shook himself and rushed forward, touching John's chin lightly with the tips of his fingers. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sherlock repeated, frantically looking over his wounds. John said nothing, he couldn't, just stared up at Sherlock, remembering and re-memorizing all of his features.

"I should've arrived quicker, I'm sorry." Sherlock took a shuddering breath before turning his attention to the chains.

"Key," he said simply. His mind was whirling with the knowledge that John was there, rendering him unable to think clearly for the moment. John slowly raised an arm to point at the wall, on which the key hung from a nail.

"Right. Yes." Sherlock spared a moment to give John an almost annoyed look.

"Don't strain yourself, you'll only do more damage." He strode across the room to grab the key, keeping an eye on John the whole time, as if he would disappear if Sherlock looked away. John chuckled softly which then turned to a raspy cough, making Sherlock raise an eyebrow.

"Something funny? I can't imagine what would be in this situation."

"just...you being...you Sherlock." John found it hard to talk because of the pain.

"Right." Sherlock's expression softened.

"Don't talk either. As much as I want to hear your voice, please don't." He set about freeing John. Now that John was relatively safe, Sherlock had trouble holding back another emotion. Pure hatred for Jim Moriarty. Ironically, it was at this point Jim decided to interrupt their little scene.

"oh, Sherly?" he sang through the microphone. The detective didn't look up from his work.

"What?" he snapped, bad mood back in place, despite John's presence.

"aren't you surprised Seb isn't around to play?"

"I beat him to John, Jim, that was the game." Sherlock moved onto another of the chains, pausing to make sure John was capable of standing first, though.

"no, I told you, you were late." Sherlock's heart almost stopped with shock. He'd missed that fact. Oh. He swallowed nervously and forced himself to keep on the task of freeing John from the chains.

"well well, is Sherly scared?"

"I don't get scared," Sherlock replied scornfully.

"you sound scared."

"I'm stressed, there's a difference." Sherlock glanced at John's face quickly, wondering whether he could tell just how frightened Sherlock was. He wouldn't be able to bear it if he got this far and then lost John.

"ah, how sweet, you are scared aren't you?" John stared up at Sherlock and smiled weakly.

"Just get on with it," he muttered. He eventually looked away from John so he could concentrate on removing the last of the chains, but it was mostly to hide his expression.

"no, no, I don't want to break this little show up, I'll find you later Sherlock, I owe it to you." You owe so much more, Sherlock hissed in his head, but was too frightened to say it aloud. He couldn't risk John any more. Instead, he simply nodded jerkily at the camera, a slight snarl curling his lip.

"bye bye Sherlock..."

"Goodbye, Jim." John shivered slightly and stared up at Sherlock, eyes wide. The detective stepped back slightly once the last of the chains fell away.

"We'll be alright," he murmured. He didn't believe his own words. They were empty, ones of comfort, and they were always said in these situations. he found them to be completely clichéd, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"we should...leave, I might...need... help." he reached out with his good arm for Sherlock, fingers splayed. Sherlock gently took hold of it and wound it around his neck to support John. He placed an arm around John's waist too, to hold him upright.

"Tell me if it's too much, and we'll find another way to find our way out." It wasn't very sensible, trying to make an escape under the nose of the enemy, especially when more danger had been promised, but John was injured. That was still the primary thought in Sherlock's brain. John's injured. Help him. Get him OUT.

"its...fine." John slowly started to hop forwards, leaning heavily on Sherlock, his face pinched in pain from his chest. Sherlock frowned, god dammit, it was hurting him to see John in this much pain.

"No, I want you to tell me if it's too bad. I'll carry you if I have to." Well, try to carry him, at least. John gave him a grimace and sped up, actually leading Sherlock now out of the room, desperate to leave. Sherlock increased his pace to keep up. He refused to let John go, partly because John needed the support physically, but also because Sherlock couldn't bear to.

"What happened to you?" he asked. He wasn't sure whether he meant it as a rhetorical question.

"huh,..you really...don't want to ….know Sherlock." He spared a moment to give John a witheringly look.

"I've spent God-knows-how-long going around London to find you, John Watson. I have a feeling that it won't do me any good to know, but I want to. That way I'll know how much hate I can allow for Moriarty." John chuckled, a few specks of blood peppering his lip,

"fine, but... I'll... tell you a... little later, okay?" he leaned against the wall for a moment, to the left of the elevator.

"Fine." Sherlock kept his grip on John's waist, watching him anxiously.

"We need to get you to St. Bart's..." he murmured.

"Sherlock, can...we take the...elevator? I..know how you... love to walk," he raised an eyebrow and grinned at Sherlock,

"but we...don't have the...time."

"I was going to suggest it anyway. I wasn't going to make you walk downstairs." Sherlock pressed the button for the elevator, then looked at John. He hesitated, then decided to give in. He drew him into a quick hug, careful not to jostle his injuries. After a brief moment, he pulled back again and acted like nothing had happened. John smiled at Sherlock and hobbled into the elevator, leaning in the corner for support. Sherlock followed him in, not able stop himself from smiling back a little. John shivered and held his lifeless arm closer to himself, wincing as he did so. Sherlock forced himself to stand still, when really he wanted to pace back and forth.

"Lift's too slow," he growled, shooting a glare at the doors.

"no Sherlock, you just...move too..."John couldn't finish, the pain of speaking was agonising. Panic flared in Sherlock's eyes. His grip on John's waist tightened in response, but he made sure not to put John in any unnecessary pain.

"Don't talk," he repeated, a pleading look on his face. John smiled grimly at Sherlock and closed his eyes, leaning on him even heavier.

"John you must stay awake," Sherlock said quietly but firmly. He wasn't a doctor, but he knew more than most people did.

"You must hold out until we arrive at St. Bart's." John looked at him blearily again and smiled; the pain had made him delirious. Sherlock spared a moment to roll his eyes.

"Honestly..." John looked up at him questioningly.

"How can you smile when you're in that state?" John merely rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, sighing dreamily. Sherlock decided that John was endearing when he was acting like this; he couldn't keep another tiny smile off of his face. when the doors of the lift opened John surged forward, pointing shakily to the stairs, the only way out, as he knew Sherlock hadn't been there before.

"Careful," Sherlock chided, pulling John back gently and holding him upright.

"Not far now." John started to hop forwards again, wheezing, until he stopped at the base of the steps. Sherlock followed him, attempting to help him up the first step, but to no avail. The stairway was narrow and he couldn't support John properly. After a few minutes John just held up a hand to catch up his breath.

"this is going... to hurt." he grinned at Sherlock then proceeded to step up two steps, on his broken leg, causing a huge splintering sound as he did so. he swung his good leg up to the top, his face contorted with pain. Sherlock wrapped both of his arms around John to hold him still.

"No," he said firmly.

"Stand still. I'm going to carry you. Don't protest; this isn't negotiable." John couldn't speak for the pain for a while and only just managed to shakily whisper. I got there, didn't I? into Sherlock's ear after they had left the building.

"For God's sake, John," Sherlock growled. He helped him towards the street. Soon he would have to take out his phone to call an ambulance, or the Scotland Yarders. Probably both. John laughed softly and rested his head back on Sherlock's shoulder; it was comforting for him. Careful to keep one arm securely around John's waist, Sherlock took his phone from his pocket with the other and began dialling.

"Be more careful in future," he told him, before turning his attention to the ringing from the other end of the call. John whispered never into Sherlock's ear but he was now so quiet Sherlock could hear him. He was right, the detective only felt John's breath in his ear. This worried him. John must be getting weaker.

"Preserve your strength," he added. When Lestrade's familiar voice picked up the phone, Sherlock couldn't have been more relieved.

"Get your least irritating officers over here at once, and an ambulance. Oh, who do you think this is? Use your brain, Lestrade, you're smart, for a detective." John laughed so quietly it could be mistaken for breathing; he was fighting for consciousness, and losing. he tried to tell Sherlock by tapping on his back, but was asleep before he could tell if the detective had noticed. Sherlock glanced at John anxiously, then panicked a bit.

"Hurry," he hissed into the phone. He managed to choke "John's injured" out before he snapped the phone shut. He couldn't distract himself with that. Carefully, he crouched and swept one arm behind John's knees so he could carry him.