Chapter 20

Sherlock swung his legs over the side of the table and jumped to the floor after cutting his bonds with the scalpel he had stolen from the mad doctor. As soon as his feet hit the floor his ankles buckled, sending him off his balance. He grabbed at the edge of the table to steady himself, breathing hard. Blood was once again oozing from his wrist and John could see the splintered bones of Sherlock's fragile wrist shift as he held himself.

"Sherlock?!" John yelped, yanking at his restraints as if he could break through and jump to Sherlock's side. Sherlock shook his head gently and then shoved himself to John, looking rather ill and weary.

"I…I'm…fine," Sherlock choked out, letting his shaky fingers pull at the restraints and unlock John's wrists and ankles. Once John was free he grabbed hold of Sherlock before he could fall and smack his head against the dirty marble floor. The detective groaned in pain for a moment as his cut up wrist brushed against John's shirt. John held Sherlock for a moment, looking over his tortured friend. Burns were scaring every inch of his body like John, along with bruises and cuts galore. Sherlock's face was ghost white from blood loss and his eyes were turning a dull pale blue as well. Chewing at his lip, John let his eyes scan the room in search of something to cover the wound. His eyes fell on an old box of old bandages and Sherlock's blood soaked scarf. Perfect. John set Sherlock against the floor and began wrapping the bandages tightly around his wrist, trying not to injure his friend any more than he had to. Sherlock watched him with unsteady eyes, blinking rapidly to keep himself awake. John could taste the bile in the back of his throat as he tried to wipe some of the blood covering Sherlock's hand off. His hand was stained red from the amount of blood and the wound still kept on leaking the thick crimson. John knew that his friend would never be able to last another day like this. They had to hurry. As soon as the bandages were wrapped firmly around his wrist, John wrapped the scarf around Sherlock like a sling. The detective frowned at the scarf, clearly not happy about how stained it was. They were going to have one hell of a time washing all that blood out. John was finished soon after tying the scarf and Sherlock decided that he could finally sit up. That was a little more difficult than he had expected. John quickly wound his broken fingers in the fabric of Sherlock's coat, holding him up so he wouldn't fall and pushed him upright against the chairs that had been used to torture them for heaven knows how long. Sherlock glanced over John carefully, eyes falling on the broken fingers clutching his coat.

"We need to snap them back into place," Sherlock informed him. Emotion was missing from his voice, but he had a worried sparkle in his blue eyes. John glanced down at the hand Sherlock now held in his hands in a gentle fashion. John nodded his head, looking away from his broken fingers.

"One…two-"

Snap!

John held back a cry as he felt his fingers snap back to where they were meant to be. Opening his eyes he glanced down at his hand. They were swollen and bruised, but he should be alright. "Is there anything else?" Sherlock asked, looking John over as if he would find any more injuries. John shook his head in response and slowly pulled himself back to his feet. Sherlock got up with him and the two looked over their surroundings.

"Have a plan?" John asked Sherlock, walking over to a cabinet by the door. Inside he found some medical instruments they could use as weapons. There's no telling what those insane doctors did to their guns. Sherlock took a knife from him and tapped at his chin lightly, looking around their prison.

"Well, you remember the building plans to this place right?" John nodded, remembering looking through the blueprints before they had left for this god forsaken place. "If we can get to the third floor lab we can loosen the gas tanks. Once we escape this place will be a sitting bomb. There still might be a working phone in the laboratory as well," Sherlock said, piecing everything together.

"Brilliant!" John explained, eyes lighting up. "But…what about Darcie and the other doctors?" Sherlock spun his knife between his fingers.

"Like I said before. This place will be a walking bomb once we get to the gas tanks," Sherlock stated coldly, grabbing a box of matches. John stared at the box and then at his old friend.

"Let's get out of here then."