Author's Note:

Pretty sure I like this chapter far more than I should. Thank you to everyone who continue to leave reviews. I read and love each and every single one of them!

His eyes narrowed. Sherlock slid one hand into his pocket for the rock, set John against the wall gently and then moved over to the door. Someone was coming in and he planned on shoving the sharpened rock into whoever opened the gateway to freedom. The door opened slowly and he was about to rush whoever was on the other side, when he recognized the form almost immediately. "Irene?"

"Hello boys. As much as I would love to chat and catch up, we don't have much time." Irene walked into the concrete cell. She flashed a smile to Sherlock and then shifted her attention to the wounded army doctor.

John managed a soft groan as he was moved, shivering at the touch of the cold wall against his now clammy skin. A small mutter escaped his lips but he was having trouble forming words. Too difficult. It wasn't until he heard a second voice that he slowly opened his eyes. Irene. The Woman. What was she doing here? He glanced at Sherlock and took a deep, shaky breath. For a quick moment he was upset, angry. It was supposed to be his job to rescue his fiancé, not hers. The moment after that thought he realized how horribly injured and weak he was. "Sherlock." He kept his eyes on Irene. Take him first, he wanted to shout. Rescue him first.

"John needs medical attention immediately. Take him. I will cover your escape. I assume you brought more than one gun." Sherlock smirked as the gun was offered practically before he spoke and took it.

"To be honest, I just came for you but I figured you wouldn't leave without your Doctor." Irene gave a smile and moved toward the wounded man.

Sherlock was already ill tempered and he slammed her into the wall. "You will rescue him first," he growled.

Irene smirked. "If I had known threatening John would get you this close to me, I would have done it sooner."

"Cute." Sherlock said, released her and moved to the door. He checked the hallway. Still empty. "Hurry," he hissed.

Irene moved to John and helped the man to his feet gently.

The words that Irene said to his fiancé should have made him jealous but he was so focused on standing and not toppling Irene that John couldn't really care. Stand straight. Head up. He stumbled slightly and hissed, clinging tightly to Irene. "Sherlock," he managed to say. "First." John shouldn't be going first when he got Sherlock into this mess in the first place.

"A woman could not sneak by you," Aleksandr's voice echoed from upstairs, a small echo of laughter following. "You really want me to go check?"

"Shhh!" Sherlock hissed and gently closed the door gently. He backed against the wall, holstering the gun in the back of his pants and withdrawing the sharpened rock once more. He was hoping to get the drop on whoever was coming through the door and slitting their throat. Better to kill silently right now than with the pistol, that would draw more unwanted attention.

"This way Captain Watson," Irene whispered in his ear and gently tugged the wounded man toward the other corner of the wall, away from the visage of the door as much as possible. She leaned John against the wall, withdrawing her own weapon, a silenced gun.

The newest recruit, a young man with a small smirk and held himself proudly. He sauntered down the stairs. "It's quiet, boss! Probably dead," he shouted as he gently pushed the door open.

John followed obediently, leaning against the wall and glancing between Sherlock and Irene. Useless. He was useless right now. Why were they waiting around for him? They could have run off before this other man came down the stairs.

Sherlock locked eyes with Irene and made a slight motion with his head, to make sure she wouldn't shoot. As the door opened and the boy entered, he slipped in behind quickly and put his free hand over the man's the mouth and slit the throat at the same time. There was a gurgling noise as the body went limp. He checked the body and took off any weapons or useful items. Another gun, a set of keys, and a hunting knife. "I'll distract them. When it is clear, you get John the hell out of here." He left the cell, holding a pistol in each hand.

Irene frowned with narrowed eyes but stayed in place. She moved to John and helped him up off the wall. "We will need to hurry. I will probably need to carry you. I'll try not to make Sherlock jealous." She gave a smirk and went to pick up the wounded man.

John managed a small laugh. "I am a bit heavier than you." He pushed himself off the wall and stumbled into Irene. Getting too weak to walk. It was worse than he had thought. "Okay, just..." He eyed her the best he could. "None of your... things." With that he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders.

"What is taking so long?" Aleksandr let his feet fall off the coffee table as he stood up, looking toward the basement. It shouldn't be taking Lucas that long.

Sherlock looked down the hallway with a smirk. He then began running as fast as he could, hoping to tackle the Russian to the ground by the mere element of surprise.

"I have carried heavier, Doctor. I am sure you don't want to know the details." Irene smirked and despite the other man's bulk didn't seem to have any trouble. She heard the scuffle upstairs and began moving forward but waited until Sherlock gave the all clear. It wouldn't due to rush upstairs and all die together.

Aleksandr turned around just in time to feel Sherlock's body connect with his, slamming into the concrete below him with a huff. "Shit," he growled. What was going on? These two should be locked up, not out here fighting. He struggled on the ground, moving an arm in hopes of hitting the consulting detective somewhere in the side with his fist.

John grunted slightly. "Could be a bit more gentle, yeah?" His voice was slurred but he managed a smirk. His left hand gripped on to Irene's clothing as tight as possible and he let his teeth clinched together with a small growl. "Don't leave him."

Sherlock applied as much of his weight on the man below him. He ignored the struggling Russian underneath and the blows to his body. Instead, he began shooting at anyone else around, hoping to drop as many men in the room as he could.

As soon as Irene heard the gun go off, she moved up the stairs as quickly as she could with John in her arms. "I won't," she hissed, "but he so damn stubborn he won't leave until you are clear."

Two men attempted to rush forward but fell the moment bullets hit them, blood already spreading quickly across the wooden floor. Aleksandr let out a shout, reaching up to grab a gun and blindly attempt to rip it from Sherlock's hand. "You are going to regret this," he growled as he lifted a knee into Sherlock's stomach.

John watched the best he could, his head bouncing off of Irene's shoulder as he struggled to hold it up. He wanted to jump down and help his fiancé but he could barely control his legs let alone fight another human being. "Help him. I'll go." He looked at Irene, eyes wide and desperate. "Don't let him die. There isn't anybody outside. Let me go, I can make it. Help him."

Sherlock lost his grip on one gun but held on firmly to another. The blow to his stomach, caused him double over further on the Russian, rather than off. He distantly wondered if he would end up just like his father.

"So, you can try and do something stupid like run to his aide. No. Sherlock would be pissed. Once you are outside, I will come back in and help." Irene shook her and made her way to the front door.

"Give up!" Aleksandr shouted, pressing the gun against Sherlock's chest. "Give up. He is gone! You have got nothing, and you are going to die right here looking at me." He moved in an attempt to roll Sherlock on to his back, lifting the gun to slam the back of it into Sherlock's temple.

John looked over at Irene and managed to catch Aleksandr's movements over her shoulder. "No," he whispered, starting to struggle in Irene's arms. "Trouble. Go! Drop me now!"

Sherlock smirked despite the Russian getting the upper hand, and the blow coming in contact with his head. He blinked, dazed. This was it. He really was going to die like his father. As long as John made it, that was all that mattered.

With a growl of frustration, Irene dropped John unceremoniously on the floor by the door. While she turned, her gun took aim at Aleksandr and fired.

Aleksandr smirked proudly and was about to rotate to pin Sherlock to the floor before he felt a burning sensation in his side. He shouted, shoving Sherlock off of him as blood started oozing through his clothing and fingers. "No." He turned his wide eyes to Irene, coughing as blood started to fill his mouth. "No..." He dropped the gun and coughed again, blood spattering across his shirt before he went limp.

The moment John hit the floor he shouted, forcing himself to relax against the floor beneath him as pain shot through his body. The sound of a gunshot made him sit up without a care, dots swimming in front of his vision as he tried to focus on the scene several feet away from him. Blood. Sherlock was on the ground. No. No. He couldn't be dead. They had a wedding. Daughter. Flat. "Sherlock!" His voice was little more than a raspy mumble.

The gun shot went off and Sherlock was confused when the pain didn't come. He blinked in surprise and stumbled to his feet. "John, I'm fine." He brushed past Irene with a glare, picking his fiancé up gently. "You were supposed to get him out!"

"You're welcome," Irene muttered and opened the door. "A quarter of mile north of here is my vehicle." It was her turn to brush by, gun ready just in case.

John studied his fiancé through half open eyes, moving a hand to his face before relaxing against him. "Told her," he whispered. "Saved you. My idea." He swallowed hard and pressed his face against Sherlock's neck. "Alive."

"Aleksandr?" One young man, assault rifle in hand, turned the corner of the house, facing Irene. The moment he saw the woman he started firing at random.

Sherlock was about to reply to John, when he felt Irene pushing him back toward the house and heard a gun go off. It was hard to see around his fiancé, but it appeared she was shooting back at someone firing an automatic rifle. He turned, putting the army doctor down gently. He took out his remaining pistol, pushing Irene down and then firing above her.

"Keep getting rough with me like that, and I'll think you are coming on to me." Irene smirked despite the fact the clip in her gun ran out of bullets.

"Oh do shut up," Sherlock grumbled, trying to take aim carefully but it was difficult with blood from his head dripping into his vision.

The man took two bullets to his chest before he collapsed, going still almost instantly against the ground.

This was ridiculous. John was being shuffled around like nothing more than a hindrance. He lifted his gaze and felt his stomach drop. Sherlock was bleeding. Or was it because Irene was talking to his fiancé like that? Jealous. Scared. He dropped his head between his knees and groaned. "Sherlock, need to fix your head," he muttered.

"Should be half a clip left," Sherlock told Irene as he handed over the gun. He turned his attention to John. "I'm fine. Here we go my dear doctor," he murmured and once more picked his fiancé.

Irene kept in the lead, gun at the ready should anyone else happen by. When they got to the fallen body, she tucked the pistol away and took the assault rifle.

"Not fine," John muttered but hardly moved in his fiancé's arms. He was pale, clammy, and sick to his stomach. His free hand moved into his pocket, pulling out the last strip of cloth from Sherlock's shirt and pressed it feebly against the man's temple. There. Helping. "Sorry."

Sherlock gave a faint smirk to John, as he continued to follow after Irene. Quarter of a mile. He could make that, right? His head was pounding. His chest and stomach as well. He needed to get the army doctor safe then he could collapse and pass out. It was hot and dry outside, despite the night air. "I'm fine," he finally repeated even though he probably wasn't. Concussion and bruised and/or broken ribs. He would certainly be in a world of hurt tomorrow. Not to mention the damage done to his feet from all this walking.

Irene stopped once they reached a jeep. She checked it over once and then sent a text to Mycroft.

Got both out safe. At the first rendezvous point. Will be at the second in thirty minutes. Your people better be there. We aren't out of this yet. - IA

My men are ready. Make sure you are there on time. Stay safe. -MH

John listened to the beep of Irene's cell phone and hazily attempted to guess who she could be texting. "Put me in the jeep," he whispered to his fiancé, glancing up at him for a long moment. "You are in pain." His voice was low and he wished he didn't sound so weak, wished he could help. "Need to rest, too." He pulled the scrap from Sherlock's forehead, folded it to find a clean space, and place it up against the wound again.

Sherlock got into the back seat, stretching John out as best he could. He put his fiancé's head in his lap. He looked to the front as Irene started the jeep. "What are you doing out here?"

"Well, that answer should be obvious I should think." She put the vehicle in reverse, did a semi circle and then continued heading north.

"Rescue mission, but why?" It wasn't that the help wasn't appreciated, Sherlock just had his doubts.

"You know the answer to that too." Irene flashed the consulting detective a knowing smirk in the rear view mirror.

Sherlock didn't answer and turned his attention to John. He ran his fingers through the army doctor's hair briefly before they stilled and he passed out.

John settled almost instantly but kept himself awake, occasionally wiggling his injured shoulder to jolt himself. The moment he felt Sherlock relax he turned his head toward Irene. Alive. She was most certainly alive. Either Mycroft had been lying to him or... "So Sherlock saved you?" He asked softly, his words slurred. That was the only explanation. He was sure he had missed something in that brief conversation the two had just had and Sherlock would never tell him. Sherlock saved her. Jealously twisted his stomach and he turned his head to press his nose against Sherlock's bare stomach. Saved her. Because he had loved her, or at least felt something. And now here she was, getting close to him and saving him while John couldn't do a thing.

Irene glanced into the mirror again. "Yes. He didn't tell you, did he?" She was quiet a moment. "Why Captain Watson, are you jealous?" She smirked at the thought, but kept her eyes on the road.

John narrowed his eyes. Not answering would probably be best. Irene was rescuing them. It would probably be best to keep his mouth shut. "Just drive," he muttered as he pressed a kiss to the skin in front of his lips. He wiggled his right arm again to keep himself awake. Falling asleep now wouldn't do him any good. It would be more difficult to wake up. "Sherlock," he muttered, his left arm lifting to pat at his cheek. "Wake up, I think you have a concussion. Can't sleep."

"That's a yes," Irene said but said no more after that. She continued driving. She couldn't stop to see how Sherlock was, because of the tight time table they were on.

Sherlock groaned, his head turning to try and get away from the slaps. "I'm fine..." He muttered, "Tired is all." He shifted, and regretted it when it hurt. The pain made him wake up, eyes opening but his vision was blurry.

"You have a concussion. You are going to be a bit tired." John took a deep breath and sat up, bracing himself against the seat as his head swam. It took him a few moments before he turned to face his fiancé. The wound on his head had stopped bleeding but that was the least of his worries now. He couldn't think clearly. He was tired, in pain, and now he wanted to throttle the woman rescuing them. "We will stay awake together, yeah?" The offer sounded good to him, he was losing his battle slowly. "Tell me about how you rescued Irene."

Sherlock didn't feel like talking, especially not about Irene. "It was nothing..." He muttered and was about to let himself fall back asleep when the jeep skidded to a halt.

"Come on. Mycroft's people are just up ahead," Irene said and got out of the vehicle. "You two are quite possibly the most ridiculously stubborn men I have ever met." Irene helped John out and went to carry him once more.

John shoved away from Irene's touch, leaning heavily against the door to the Jeep. "'M fine," he muttered, much like a child. Irene wasn't touching him. "Have to help Sherlock." Jealousy was the only thing he was feeling now. Irene couldn't touch Sherlock. John had to help him. Nobody else.

"Irene?" A young British soldier walked forward, glancing at all three of them before settling his eyes on the woman. "Jamie Blohm. I do believe you have made it to the second rendezvous point."

"John don't-" Sherlock was interrupted by the solider. "Medical assistance around by chance?" He motioned his head to the army doctor. "He needs help soon. He has lost a lot of blood."

Irene glared at both men. "Fine. You two stay here and argue who needs medical treatment more. I'm going to follow this nice young man here." She flashed the solider a smile.

Jamie hesitated and glanced between Irene and the two men. "About fifty yards from here we do have a... medic, I guess. She is medically trained." He glanced at John before he turned toward Irene. "I think you should help them." He smiled sheepishly as he moved toward John. "Here, Sir, let me help you." He pulled a pill from his mouth and swiftly forced it down the Captain's throat, John fighting it before he slowly relaxed against the young man. "Sleeping pill. Works fast if you haven't eaten for a while. I'll carry him. You two follow close." He glanced at Sherlock. "And, ma'am, you should probably help Mister Holmes. Concussion, it looks like." He hoisted John over his shoulder as carefully as he could, heading north.

"I'm fine!" Sherlock insisted but when he tried to follow after the solider he stumbled.

"Would you stop acting like a child?" Irene helped Sherlock, even though he kept trying to shrug her off. "The least you could do is show me some gratitude."

"Is that why you helped me? You wanted my thanks?" Sherlock muttered but let her help him finally.

Irene shook her head but decided not to argue further.

The young soldier glanced behind him the best he could, smirking at the two. "Married, then?" He asked. It was clear Mycroft hadn't told him anything, just that he was rescuing three people. "You two need to just kiss and make up already." He stopped to shift John on his shoulder, moving so he was holding both of the Captain's legs and had John's left arm in his grasp on the other side of his body. "I'm taking you to a third drop off point. By then you will be out of Libya and into Egypt. Closer to a good hospital."

"What? No, you got it wrong. Just old...acquaintances...The man you are carrying is my fiance." Sherlock frowned. "Libya? How the hell did we wind up in Northern Africa?"

"Is that all I am to you? After everything we have been through?" Irene smirked a bit, knowing she was irritating the consulting detective.

Sherlock would have argued further, but he didn't have the energy.

Jamie glanced at the Captain spread across his shoulders and smiled a bit. "You calmed down the infamous Captain Watson?" The smile on his face was wide and it was clear he was impressed. "Wow. Didn't ever think anybody would do that." After a few moments he stopped at a new jeep, covered in dust, and gently spread John out in the back seat. "You can climb back there as well, Mister Holmes. Should be enough room." He climbed into the front seat. "And you got to Libya because they drugged both of you. You have been missing for three days." The young soldier studied Sherlock with a confused gaze. "How long did you think you had been gone?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the first thing the solider said. He muttered something incoherent and climbed in next to John, once more resting the army doctor's head in his lap. "Three days?" He echoed. It wasn't unusual for him to go without sleep or food that long but it wasn't something his fiance was used to. How John stayed conscious as long as he did was nothing short of a miracle.

Irene kept to herself as the two men conversed and took the front seat.

"Yes, Sir, Mister Holmes." Jamie glanced at the man in his rear view mirror. "Three days. Hard to track down." He smiled warmly and glanced at Irene. "How did you manage to find them, if I may ask?"

John stirred slightly as the Jeep hit bumps and rocked. He turned his head slightly, scrunching his face and pressing it against Sherlock's stomach.

"My contacts prefer to remain anonymous. I didn't tell Mycroft so..." Irene trailed off with a shrug and looked out the window as the scenery rolled by.

Sherlock looked down to John with a frown. He ran his fingers through the messy, dirty hair. He relaxed against the seat and let his eyes close. Tired and weak, it was difficult to stay awake.