Note: As always, thank you so much for your nice comments!
I've got a little announcement: The 'Sherlock and Molly Fanfic Awards' (SAMFAs) were just held (for the first of hopefully many times) and 'Molly moves on' won in the category Best Adventure (Rating K-T). I'm over the moon and want to thank everyone who nominated me and of course the genius initiators and judges of the awards!
"Do you think a gun pointed to my face scares me?" Sherlock told Miller as he quickly took in all of his opponents and examined their statures to find weaknesses he could exploit in a possible fight. The overweight old man gave away so many of them; the detective didn't know where to begin filing them away. Miller wouldn't have the ghost of a chance. If only there was a way to disarm him, and, more importantly, the fitter younger men.
"Not really. Phil tells me you are quite laid-back about your own safety. Also, it's a bit unfair, you're not armed." With that, Miller withdrew a bit. Sherlock exhaled unnoticeably. But, after a second, the old man raised his gun again and aimed it at John who had frozen mid-movement. His own half-raised gun was now hanging loosely between his fingers. The blond doctor raised an eyebrow at this but didn't seem particularly bothered.
"Well, now that you have two weapons aimed at me… That's a real game changer," he deadpanned. Sherlock, however, became slightly more concerned, quickly glancing at his friend. Phil, also threatening John with his gun and obviously enjoying the reversed roles, only showed an ugly grin. A small pause followed and everybody's attention shifted back to Piers Miller, as he was obviously the one in charge of the situation.
"Erm, I don't want to be too nosy but I'm sure I'll receive the 'you will die presently' speech soon so I think I can have this one. Who the hell is this?" Sherlock asked with a nod to the third man pointing his gun at Lestrade.
"You brought a playmate," Miller said, looking at Lestrade, "so I brought one as well. That's Sergej. Don't mind him. He's not the most responsive type. I think it's mostly due to the fact that his English is limited to ordering beverages and finding his way to the nearest train station."
"Thanks. If he somehow manages to get away we'll make sure to send the police looking for him in pubs near King's Cross."
Everyone, except for Sergej, looked at Sherlock then. Lestrade and John didn't quite manage to keep a straight face even though they were aware that Sherlock's sarcastic comment was rather misplaced in the situation. Miller and Phil, however, looked very arrogant. "You have absolutely no chance of getting out of here alive – I guess this is the start of the speech for you then - and you still make plans on catching the fleeing bandits?" Phil spat the last word. "You're unbelievable, Holmes. I never understood why all these people take every word that comes out of your mouth as prayer. Oh, it makes me sick how they admire you. Which reminds me, how's Molls? When I was leaving you she was bleeding quite a bit and-"
"How do you think all of this will work out for you?" Sherlock asked Miller, pointedly ignoring Phil. "There is a mountain of evidence proving how you performed ghastly experiments on living persons and killed them when your glorious new cancer cure didn't work. A lot of people know about it by now, you won't gain anything by killing us. Your reputation is destroyed, no matter what."
"As unfortunate as it is, you are right in one thing. I can't go on with everything here. But there are investors in the pharmaceutical industry in many countries, gentlemen. I have already collected my population sample and prepared everything. All I need to do now is take the extracted samples and specimen from the… test objects and set up a new laboratory elsewhere. There are so many governments that are less narrow-minded than the British. Just think about the opportunities, the many people who will be saved by my drug-"
"Oh, just stop it. I might vomit from this cliché of a last speech. Yes, yes, you only meant to be healing the world; we ought to be thankful and so on. Of course, you're not just doing it for the obscene amount of money you'll get when selling the final drug… Could you just get it over with and shoot us, please?"
"SHERLOCK!" John and Lestrade both screamed at the dark haired man next to them. Miller seemed unimpressed.
"Relax. We're not going to shoot you. Well not if you behave, that is. This room is sterile; I don't want a blood bath in here. Plus, I promised you would find out where my bodies are… Slowly put down your guns and turn around," Miller said. John made a grimace when the old man said 'my bodies'. He carefully lowered his hand and laid the gun down, Lestrade doing the same. When the older man nodded towards them, they did as they were told and turned. John gave Sherlock a look that said 'So, any ideas, genius?' Sherlock's answering gaze showed his 'bored' expression - maybe the doctor was not as good in reading his friend's face as he previously thought… Or maybe his 'bored' look happens to be the same as his 'not a fucking clue' look.
_.:0:._
A few minutes later, Sherlock, John and Lestrade had been led into a big room, which was, unpleasantly, much colder than the hall they had been caught in. This was obviously a huge walk-in freezer. It had no windows; plain white tiles covered the high walls and there was only one exit. Miller and the other two men had stood by the solid door, taken their coats (at which Sherlock scowled and thus showed the first emotion since they had been confronted) and sent them to the far end of the room when he unceremoniously announced, "Look around and you will find what you came for. And now, it's goodbye Mr Holmes. You know, they say freezing to death is not that bad." With that, he slowly walked out backwards, making sure to keep his gun pointed at them until he was out and Sergej shut the big door. They heard the loud 'thunk' of the lock.
They didn't have to do much looking around, as the bodies could not be missed. Big steel shelves lined three of the walls and were stacked with, well, roughly human-sized boxes. Some were made of wood, some of hard plastic, and, in a few cases, Sherlock did even recognize coffins from the photos he had scanned. More gruesomely, there were also some bodies lying out in the open, on tables in front of one of the shelves. Autopsies had already been performed on them. "I suspect we're where they stack the ones they are done with," Sherlock concluded while taking in the details of the room calmly. He took his phone out of his pocket – no signal, of course…
"So much for the obvious facts game," Lestrade said, "and, uh, if I may add one: it's damn cold!"
Faint sounds and rummaging could be heard coming from the direction of the main hall they had just been in. Miller and his accomplices were probably packing stuff and preparing to leave.
"Minus 25 degrees Celsius, to be precise," Sherlock added.
"Come on, Sherlock," John frowned, "this is not a good time to boast. So, the great consulting detective can deduce the flipping temperature in the room in which we're going to die. What the fuck are we going to do now?"
"I can't." Sherlock said, his eyes still searching the room. John shot him a questioning look, his breath starting to leave him in small shudders. "Well, at least not to the exact degree. There's a thermometer next to the door," Sherlock pointed in the general direction, "I'd say, without our coats, we'll survive for about two hours."
"So, my question remains – what the FUCK are we going to do NOW?" John steadily lost his patience. Usually not one for panicking, he started to worry that Sherlock might finally be at his wits' end.
"Erm, we could… stand closer to each other, maybe, uh… hold each other? I mean, you know, with our combined body warmth we'll survive longer until someone finds us," Lestrade suggested shyly. Both Sherlock and John turned to him with knitted brows. They said nothing and stared at him unbelievingly. "Or, we could not do that," the DI concluded, then.
The noise from outside had stopped. The other men had obviously finished gathering their probes and were at least on their way to leave, if not already gone.
"I'll pretend that Greg didn't just suggest to cuddle and search the door for weaknesses," John said and started striding over to it. Lestrade looked slightly hurt and ashamed. "Didn't you hear the sound when it closed, John? It's clearly very massive and not at all penetr-", Sherlock suddenly stopped talking and cocked his head to the side.
"The face. Finally," John exhaled. The doctor was almost violently shaking now. He knew the hypothermia would get the better of the men way before they were actually going to die. They would get slow and saggy and eventually start hallucinating. The faster they would work out a plan to escape the better.
"Excuse me, what about his face?" Lestrade was confused.
"He's got an idea."
"Hm, something like it at least," Sherlock chimed in, "if they left some drugs or chemicals in here I could try to prepare some concoction. Depending on what they have a strong acid to dissolve the inside of the lock. Or," and now Sherlock's eyes sparkled, "maybe I could induce a small explosion. If there is medical equipment in here, there should be some potassium permanganate and glycerol. If I mix them, they should at least generate a lot of heat and-"
"Really, Sherlock," John interrupted him, not fully convinced, "even if there are some chemicals in here, the conditions are less than perfect and you're not MacGyver."
"Who?" Sherlock asked, making his way to a corner of the room where a large cubic box was standing.
"Urgh, never mind," John decided to educate his friend about the TV hero later on - if there was a later on. As he didn't have a better idea, he started to help Sherlock in his search for any chemicals or implements. Even though the dark haired man had not been shaking as much as the others, John had noted Sherlock's lips starting to turn blue. They needed to be quick. The doctor felt his legs become heavier as well, the cold creeping into every muscle. Lestrade had also started to walk around the room, although he did it half-heartedly.
"Guys, look at you. John, you can't actually walk straight anymore and Sherlock, you're even paler than usual. We were trained for situations like this and the behaviour offering the highest chance to survive is just trying to stay warm and waiting for rescue."
John shook his head. It wasn't like the DI to be so, for lack of a better word, cowardly. He was very close to telling him this, but instead opted for a more diplomatic, "why do you think someone will come to free us? No one even knows we're here and the neighbourhood is deserted." Lestrade only made a tortured face and resumed scanning the room.
In the meantime, Sherlock had been erratically searching the box. His disappointed face told John enough. "No luck?" he still asked his friend.
"Only a medium sized flask."
"Well, we have the container. All we need is to find some things to mix in it."
All of a sudden, there was a noise. A loud noise. Something rattled directly in front of the door. The three men stopped all movement abruptly and turned their heads in the direction.
"What's that? Who's that?" John asked no one in particular, trying to keep his voice down. Nevertheless, Sherlock felt obliged to answer. "I don't have enough information on the acoustics of the building to suggest the identity or even the stature of the person."
John rolled his eyes at which Sherlock whispered venomously, "well, maybe it's your Scottish friend, MacSomething."
"It's MacGyver, Sherlock and he is not-"
"Guys. Stop it!" Lestrade interrupted. At that moment the door clicked open. "It's… well. Someone did know we were here."
All of them turned to see who had come in and Sherlock scowled. "Oh great, it's our Australian friend. I would have preferred MacGregor."
"If you don't want to be rescued by me you're free to stay, Holmes," David said with a wide smile. Sherlock grumbled silently and shot an accusing look towards Lestrade. So that's why he just wanted to wait. He knew there was someone coming. Always something I miss…
"What? Did you think I would just hurry and confront a violent criminal with you without a plan B. I'm not that dumb. He's the only backup, though. So, you'll have to wait for your shock blanket for a bit." Lestrade grinned and waved his hands towards the exit. "Let's get out, shall we?"