Chapter 8

John blanched instantly.

"What do you mean gone?" he asked, fearing the answer. Gone meant so many things; gone as in MIA, gone as in…as in…dead. Did he really want to know the answer? Molly looked down at her feet, trembling again. Her fingers entwined around her dress tightly.

"He's missing." John felt his heart splinter into billions of shards in his chest. Missing? What did that mean? John took Molly in his hands, looking at her in her big bright eyes.

"How…why?" John stuttered, his mouth not working fast enough. Molly lowered her gaze from his. Her body was trembling and her eyes were starting to tear up. John bit down on his lip and pulled Molly into a hug. She was troubled, he realized. He can't push her. She has clearly been through way to much already.

"Never mind Molly," John whispered. He pulled away from her and stared out into the halls.
"I'll find him, I promise," he said, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek before dashing down the long deserted hallway, heart pumping fast.

Molly stared after him, tilting her head to the side playfully. A crooked smiled pulled at her lips and she couldn't keep herself from laughing.

"Do you think John will be able to stop them," Molly asked, turning around to come nose to nose with Lestrade. The inspector, who had not made a single noise in his approach now smiled at her with the exact crooked smile that was etched on Molly's face.

"Why did you come to, John?" Lestrade asked, ignoring Molly's previous question. Molly's smile fell into a scowl at the inspector, her eyes shimmering in the dull light.

"I just thought-"

"You thought wrong," Lestrade spat. Molly took a few steps back. Lestrade's skin was transparent and his eyes were highlighted by the dark bruises lining his even darker eyes. He looked like a ghost who had crawled his way out of hell. Molly opened her mouth to ask what made him so sure when a scream bounced along the walls. She flinched and stared at the vent above them. Lestrade didn't even seem to notice. "That is him," Lestrade hissed. Molly paled even more.

"My god," Molly gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Have they no mercy?!" She cried. Lestrade laughed at her and turned on his heal to stare down the opposite side of the hallway.

"They don't have anything for him…"Another scream echoed through again. This time Lestrade did flinch. "Or Doctor Watson," Lestrade finished.

"Do you think they will be able to save each other?" Molly asked. She could almost feel the tears forcing their way out of her eyes. Lestrade stared absently down the hall, his chest rising and falling smoothly as he thought.

"If that is the John Watson Sherlock believes in, then yes, I believe they will," Lestrade sighed with a casual shrug. "However, if he's just like us I fear that our dear consulting detective will be fighting for more than his sanity tonight."

"SHERLOCK!" John screamed; letting the doors burst open as he ran outside. A dark mist was now curling around the asylum. The chess game was laying against the ground the knights and queens were chipped and broken. Chairs and the table were kicked over, lying in the smashed flower bed. "What happened here?" John wondered to himself. He looked around, hoping that he may find a clue to Sherlock's whereabouts.

"Looking for the Freak?" a hoarse voice from behind cawed like a dying crow. John whirled around; fire in his eyes, but it was replaced with gentleness as he saw who had spoken them. A patient with curly dark hair was standing by the open door with a young man with thin brown hair at her side. John let his eyes scan over them for a moment. He never remembered seeing them before; and yet…and yet he felt like he knew them.

"Freak?" John asked, wondering if the woman was one of those patients that can see magical creatures. The woman rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm talking about that freak of a human being Sherlock Holmes!" she spat. John felt anger begin to broil up into him as this arrogant woman spoke, but he kept himself as calm as possible. He had no time to fight with some patient. He needed to find Sherlock.

"Tell me where he is," John ordered.

"Are you sure you want to know? They're saving us from a lifetime of headaches," the patient stated, holding her hips with her hands. John gritted his teeth down, trying his best to keep from lashing out at this rude little patient. After taking a deep and well needed breath he hissed in a cold voice,

"Tell me."