Sherlock was led by the men through the streets; none of them spoke to him so he didn't speak back. He just scanned his surroundings increasing his mental map of the city. Luckily John and Lestrade had obeyed his command to remain out of the way.

He was suddenly yanked left through a door into what mimicked an old unused warehouse. At the back was a gleaming mahogany door that couldn't have looked more out of place.
"That's the exit," a gruff voice told him "Don't try and get smart on us though. You won't escape."
"Of course not" Sherlock nodded solemnly, ignoring the glare he earned. He was taken over to a metal beam that climbed from the floor to the ceiling. Sherlock's back was pressed against it and his hands yanked behind it to be tied together with a piece of rope. Sherlock quickly tested the rope, the knots were tied together well, he wouldn't be able to untie them to free himself. He noticed one of the Tributes watching him curiously; when Sherlock looked at him he turned away and continued polishing his gun like a couple of the others were. Sherlock leaned his head backwards to gaze through a hole in the ceiling.

Lestrade just stared at John for a moment "Real. Sort of. We all thought he was dead, he wasn't lying when he said he's already had a funeral."
"If I'm the friend he lost why did he let me think he killed himself? That doesn't make any sense, what you're saying is real doesn't make sense"
"That's Sherlock" Lestrade shrugged lightly "But from what Moriarty said Sherlock faked his death to save us. Do you remember Moriarty?"
"I don't know. My head is killing me." John dragged his hands down his face "What do you think Sherlock's doing?"
"No idea."

The other Tribute was looking at Sherlock again, Sherlock was pretending not to notice but he wanted to know why.
The man obviously wasn't surprised that Sherlock was alive, so what was it then.
The man held himself in a similar way to John, ex-military, he was good with gun but obviously not that particular model, Sherlock guessed he was better at using smaller hand guns, the man was intelligent and always watching the other Tributes. He was an outsider then, he didn't normally take jobs like this, spy maybe? The man in question walked over to stand behind Sherlock and he started loosening the knots slightly.
"I work for your brother" the man murmured "There's a plan in place, but your friends need to show up first"
The man yanked the ropes, then went back to his gun. Sherlock could only hope that John was still himself enough to disobey Sherlock's orders and soon.

"We should help him." Lestrade said evening was arriving now; the sun was sinking away beneath the horizon. "God knows what he got himself into."
"I thought he didn't want our help."
"He might want it now though. If we can get him back we're more likely to leave this Arena."
"We don't even know if he's still alive or not."
"Don't you think we should find out?" Lestrade put his rucksack over his shoulder. "You've got to admit that part of you wants to see if he's managed to not get killed."
"I'm pretty sure that part of me has been Hijacked out of me."
"Not real."

Sherlock had managed to shift his hands enough to sit on the floor, which was probably more uncomfortable than standing but his legs had started aching so sitting it was. He had taken to watching each Tribute in turn, glaring at them, partially to find out everything he could about them, partially to try and unnerve them.
He was bored now. He knew the way out all he needed was Lestrade and John and everything was sorted.

John and Lestrade had walked around the edges of the city trying to finding another entrance, which wasn't about to collapse on them. They hadn't spoken for a while wanting to avoid being overheard. They couldn't exactly sneak along the streets and kill the other Tributes; the gun shots would be like a huge light up arrows revealing their location.
The main problem was finding Sherlock though, Lestrade didn't have a clue where the consulting detective could have been taken, so for now they were following a patrol group of Tributes who were walking around the city and would hopefully return to their 'secret base' soon.
John tapped Lestrade's shoulder pointing at one of the patrol Tributes who'd dropped behind the other three.
The Tribute pulled a hand gun from his back pack and attached a silencer to the muzzle; he took aim and then shot the other Tributes. John and Lestrade pressed themselves into the shadows.
"I know you're there, I work for Mycroft Holmes, I'm here to aid your escape, if you could come with me, I know where Sherlock is, the four of us can easily take down the other Tributes and exit the Arena within the hour."
John threw Lestrade curious glance, both men silently agreed to step out of their hiding place.
"Thank-you." The agent nodded gratefully "My name is agent Johnson. You don't need to know more than that, if you could follow me."

Sherlock huffed loudly; he was bored and tied to a pole. The only thing that passed any interest was the fact that Mycroft's agent was ten minutes late, he should've come back from his patrol by now.

Sherlock glanced at the door in time to see the man in question enter. He tried to avoid being seen by the others probably because he was here alone. He walked over to Sherlock and started untying the ropes.
"Get ready." he murmured. The ropes fell to the floor then the agent raised his gun and shot three Tributes with three successive shots.
Sherlock ducked out of the way, John and Lestrade appeared also with guns.

Sherlock was unarmed, which was a huge disadvantage. There were fifteen other Tributes Sherlock had seen, three had been killed on patrol and another three by Mycroft's agent now, and another five had been taken down by John and Lestrade, that left four. Surprise had been a good advantage. Sherlock grabbed his bow which was sat in the corner of the room. He grabbed an arrow and prepared to fire, John was shooting at a Tribute in front of him, and failed to notice the one coming up behind him. Sherlock took aim, bringing the bow string back to touch his lips before releasing it, it sliced through the air hitting the Tribute behind John in the temple, the woman collapsed blood quickly started pool around her corpse.
John span around seeing the arrow in the woman his eyes flicked up to Sherlock, he frowned obviously trying to decide whether Sherlock had intentionally hit her or whether he'd accidentally missed John. Sherlock turned away from him, he could see Lestrade had been shot, not badly just a deep scratch on his arm, Johnson was working on the door. Sherlock lined another arrow up catching a Tribute in the back of their leg causing them to collapse; Sherlock went over and kicked the gun away from his hand. This wasn't meant to be a mass murder; they just didn't want to be shot at or caught while they escaped. John and Lestrade had both aimed to disarm the other Tributes, Johnson had been shooting to kill.
"The door's open" Johnson called from behind. Lestrade was the first one out, and then John they were following Johnson. Sherlock reached the door; he heard the resounding bang from a gunshot. The look of horror on shock on his companion's faces suggested someone had been shot.
"Oh"
There was sudden numbness in his shoulder, and he could feel a damp patch growing out from it down his back, Sherlock's balance disappeared and he collapsed on to the floor. He was vaguely aware of John yelling at him, begging him to stay awake but he really couldn't be bothered. He would just sleep for a bit.

A/N: I apologise for this chapter and the last one, to be honest they are both rubbish, but i needed Sherlock injured and out of the Arena to set up what's to come. Please don't stop reading because of the last two chapters.