Chapter 15

(several days previous)

"Sherlock, this is it," John stated, nudging the detective out of his thoughts as they came closer to the rundown building. It had been a long day for the both of them and John didn't even attempt to try to keep Sherlock awake when he dozed off in the cab. They had been on the case for days. The victims had all been through the same. Electrical shock therapy; to the point of their death. The victims had all been somewhat unstable, but most of them had medication to help them out throughout the issues. After checking the bruises on their wrists and the dirt under their shoes Sherlock came to the conclusion that they had been held at a rundown mental hospital. The one that fit the description perfectly was Brook's Mental Asylum. According to the files it had been shut down for using illegal treatments. The doctors were not arrested, however. They had all disappeared.

Sherlock let out a long yawn and stared out at the building.

"Ready?" he asked. John nodded, paying the cabbie and opening the door. They both walked down the cobblestone path, clutching their weapons tightly. The plants in the garden were dead and the porch was rotting away. Carefully, John pushed the door open to the asylum and they slipped inside. The place was a horrible mess. Medical papers blew gently against the dirty floor. Dust covered practically everything there. It was quiet too; too quiet. John felt shivers run up his skin as they walking down the crumbling hallways.

"Sherlock, this doesn't feel right-"

"John!" Sherlock was too late. Someone jumped out of one of the rooms and slammed his head roughly against the wall. John struggled, but as his attacker repeatedly smacked his head against the wall he could barely keep his sight strait to throw a punch. Lucky for him Sherlock was there. The detective jumped the man. He held the man down, but was knocked off when three others emerged from the other end of the hallway. John squinted his eyes. What was going on here? Why were there so many people here and who were they? He had no time to answer these questions, for Sherlock was surrounded. Sherlock swung his fists at them as he stood protectively in front of John, but one brought out a needle with a clear liquid inside and stabbed it deep into Sherlock's arm. Sherlock pulled away, but John could see the affects right away. Sherlock was swaying on his feet and his eyes were growing dimmer. A man in a doctor's coat stepped over to him and thrust his fist into Sherlock's face, sending the detective crashing to the floor. Sherlock tried to pick himself, but the attackers kept kicking him in the side to the point where Sherlock could barely move. Panic flooded John and the doctor sprang into action. He smacked into the attackers, hitting them away from his friend, but as soon as he was in arms reach his arm met the end of a needle as well. Grogginess clouded John's already swimming head and he felt himself collapse next to Sherlock's side.

They were dragged into a darkly lit room at the end of the hall. There were more people there with all kinds of old medical supplies and strange machines that have been illegal for the longest time. They were both forced into two chairs covered in wires and strapped tightly to them. John looked at the seven people in the room. He recognized all of them from the files. They were the original doctors of this freaky place.

"What do you want with us?" Sherlock rasped as the doctors secured them with straps. One of the doctors lunged at him with a scalpel and slashed a very deep gash into Sherlock's wrist. There was a crackling sound as the scalpel cut bone and sent a wave of blood everywhere. John let out a shout as the blood flew and bone became visible through the cut. Sherlock sucked in a breath, but he kept his fearless mask firmly on his face. John could see the pain in his eyes, though and the blood trickling from his lip as he bit down hard to keep from crying out.

"That's enough, Henry," a man with thick glasses shouted at the doctor that had slashed Sherlock's wrist. Henry stepped back and allowed the man with the thick glasses to step forward.

"You must be Mr. Darcie," Sherlock hissed through his teeth, remembering the file on him. Darcie gritted his teeth.

"Doctor is the correct term, Detective," he hissed.

"Not for you it is," John spat back. Fire blazed in Darcie's eyes, but John didn't fear him.

"Would you like a demonstration of my healing process like my other patients?" Darcie slurred, waving at his other doctors. Both Sherlock and John paled as the men brought out a machine that they both new enough about. They watched as the doctors unwound the wires and strapped them to the chairs they were sitting in and to their skin. Darcie smiled at them both wickedly

"Time for your treatment." As soon as he finished that sentence they were blasted with unbearable pain. Neither of them held back their cries as the pain grew more and more. John squeezed his eyes shut, praying for it to stop.

"JOHN!" Sherlock shouted out. John kept his eyes closed. "John, don't let the pain affect your mind! Don't lose yourself!" John bit down on his lip, tasting blood as he bit harder and harder. He tried to stay strong, but as the pain grew worse his head grew fuzzier. Sherlock kept calling out to him, but John could feel his will leaving him. "JOHN!" Sherlock called out, but the shout was broken as the doctors turned up the electricity on Sherlock. John forced his eyes open then, but he wasn't in the chair anymore or the Asylum. He was sitting with his sister on the couch.

"You alright, John?" Harry asked, nudging him from his sleep. John shook his head, aching allover. What had just happened? "You better get ready, your job at that mental hospital starts today," she said, getting up and walking into the kitchen. John looked around the room.

"Yeah, sorry, I just…had a nightmare," he sighed, picking himself off the couch.

"About what?" Harry asked. John was silent for a second. He closed his eyes, trying to bring back the dream, but it wasn't there. He had just forgotten.