Chapter 21
Sherlock and John bolted down the never ending hallways and up the long steps, fighting their way to freedom. John constantly glanced at Sherlock as they ran. The detective was slower than usual and several times they had to stop because of his dizzy spells. The fact that he was still standing was amazing. The amount of blood he lost should have been enough to send him into a coma and yet here he was.
"Got you!" Boomed a doctor as he jumped out of a corridor. John yanked the already bloodied scalpel from his pocket, slicing it along the man's right eye. The doctor cried out in pain, flopping to the floor while John and Sherlock ran ahead. They both wished that they had something better than medical equipment to use, but they didn't have their guns anymore and searching for them would just be a waste of time. They had to focus on more important things. They had to find the laboratory and fast.
"John, there it is!" Sherlock shouted, pointing at the white doors. They both kicked open the doors, finding themselves in the main laboratory on the third floor of the asylum. The entire left wall was a long window that looked down at what looked like an old cafeteria. Memories of his time with Sherlock bubbled through John's mind. He could just see Sherlock and himself sitting together with Lestrade by the window. "JOHN!" John stared up into his friend's foggy eyes. Sherlock's fingers were clutching into his shoulder and his eyes were wildly wide. John stepped away from his friend, holding his head in his hands.
"Sorry I…I don't know what happened," John stammered, massaging his temple. Sherlock's shoulders slumped slightly, the worry in his face covered by the still cracked masked. Turning away from his friend, Sherlock adventured through the laboratory. His eyes scanned the room, finding the gas tanks sitting together in a corner.
"John, the phone is over there. Call Lestrade and tell him everything," Sherlock shouted, waving his hand at the wall that held a cordless phone. John nodded, grabbing the phone and plucking in Lestrade's number. He watched as Sherlock's quivering fingers twisted the caps of the gas and propane tanks.
"Hello?" Lestrade's voice called as the phone line connected. John let out a shuttered sigh of relief. Just hearing the real Lestrade's actual voice was enough to make him want to cry, but he had a job to do. Happy reunions could wait.
"Lestrade, Its…it's me," John stammered into the phone. There was a sound of a mug shattering to the floor and John held back the urge to laugh.
"John? John is that you?!" Lestrade shouted. John could now hear people shouting on the other end. "Is Sherlock with you?" John's eyes swivled to the detective standing by the tanks. One hand was bracing him against the wall and the other was possissioned over his heart as he appeared to take in deep breaths. John frowned at this, but then remembered Lestrade was still waiting for his answer.
"Yes, we're both together. Listen, Lestrade-"
"Oh, thank god! You two have been missing for weeks! Mycroft's been practically tearing London to pieces for you two! We thought you were both dead-"
"Sherlock!" John gasped as Sherlock suddenly collapsed to the floor a few feet ahead. Idiot! Why hadn't it clicked in his mind before that something was wrong? He was a doctor after all! Had Darcie's tortures really messed with him that much? His heart beat fast as he bolted to his friend's side and pulled Sherlock into his arms. Sherlock's body was cold to the touch and his heart rate was beating faster than it ever should be.
"John? John, what's happening?" Lestrade's voice echoed through the phone. John lifted the phone to his ear, unable to hold back the fear in his voice.
"It…it's Sherlock. He…he lost a lot of blood. I…don't know how…how long he can last," John stammered, lifting the sleeve of Sherlock's coat to find the rags were soaked in crimson. Bile rose in the back of John's throat and he held back to urge to be ill. "Lestrade…" John's quivering voice wavered into the phone. "He's d…dying."
"Ok, John, it's going to be ok. Where are you?" Lestrade asked, shouting at what sounded like Donavan in the background. John took in a deep breath before saying into the phone,
"We're at the –" A buzzing noise echoed on the other end of the phone as it was disconnected.
"Greg? GREG?!" John pleaded into the phone. With a click the phone buzzed back to life, but Lestrade's voice wasn't the one that returned.
"Did you really think you could get away that easily?" Darcie cooed on the other end. John's face fell into a panicked expression. "We're coming to get you Dr. Watson. You and Sherlock…oh wait; he'll be dead by then!" A cackle rang from the other end of the phone and rage bubbled throughout John's body. With a swift movement John tossed the phone into the wall, shattering it into pieces. Tears burned his eyes as John looked down at Sherlock's pale white face.
"Sherlock, Sherlock, please open your eyes," John pleaded, shaking his friend hard and putting as much pressure he could on Sherlock's bleeding out wrist. He couldn't give up yet. They were so close. Finally, Sherlock's eyes opened, a pained expression written tightly across his face.
"…John," Sherlock rasped, lifting his bleeding hand up to John's face. John grabbed at his wrist again, fearing that the movement would cause even more blood loss. Sherlock flinched at his touch and his head lolled to the side. "Lestrade-"
"Is coming," John lied, eyes watering. Sherlock wasn't going to make it at this point. John didn't even bother lie to himself that his best friend would live. He needed a transfusion and pronto, but now any hope of rescue was gone. Lestrade didn't know where they were and Darcie was coming for them. A small smile fell over Sherlock's face before his eyes closed once again. John choked down a sob and pressed his forehead to Sherlock's as he cried. He was going to lose him…again and there was nothing he could do about it.
"Oh, Doctor Watson!" Darcie sang through the other side of the locked door. John's heart jumped and fear enveloped his face. "We're coming to get you!" John's mind flashed back to the beginning of the case when he and Sherlock were looking at the bodies of Darcie's victims. All had been through extreme medical treatments that haven't been used since the dark ages. Their bodies were mangled and demolished by this madman and his doctors. John jumped back into the present and glanced at the gas tanks. This wasn't going to happen this time; not to him and not to Sherlock. Jumping to his feet John loosened the caps to the rest of the tanks and pulled Sherlock over his shoulder, ignoring the pained moan from his friend. John pulled out the matches Sherlock had taken and brushed one against the box. He hoped this worked. If it didn't they'd be dead men.
As soon as it was lit John bolted for the glass windows and the room evaporated into a pit of fire, wrapping itself around the two detectives and tossing them through the glass window down into the cafeteria in a flaming heap.