When Sherlock burst out into the hall, he was confronted by Mycroft's hand picked security detail. How inconvenient and infuriating. He ground his teeth as one of the men stepped forward and addressed him.
"Mr. Holmes, can I help you?", the guard asked, stepping forward. He was obviously the leader of the team.
"Yes, you can get out of my way," Sherlock said gruffly as he tried to shoulder his way around the man.
The guard didn't offer to let him pass and firmly stood his ground. He placed a hand on Sherlock's arm. "I'm sorry, sir, but your brother's orders are clear. All of you are to be kept together or given an escort at all times." The guard looked determined, unlikely to back down. Just the type of minion Mycroft surrounded himself with at all times.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Fine." He gesticulated towards the other men in the security detail. "Send one of them to babysit me, then we can all be happy." He didn't care, as long as he could put space between himself and John, between himself and his brother.
The guard, looking relieved that the disagreement had been settled so easily waved at one of the other men. "Wilkinson, you're with Mr. Holmes." He stepped back to let Sherlock pass.
The detective walked through the guards, not caring if Wilkinson followed him or not. His thoughts were with John and the implications of his friend finding the room in Sherlock's Mind Palace. Why had he had to find that room, the room that was dedicated to the doctor! He had never dreamt that John would venture there. At the mere thought of it, Sherlock felt almost physically ill, his stomach a tight fist of knots. He needed to fix this, but it was impossible. Impossible!
Sherlock wandered back to the main room where most of the testing had been performed. He paced the room, his hands folded beneath his chin. He couldn't stop moving, no matter how hard he tried. The fact Wilkinson trailed him everywhere he went quickly became annoying. The detective rounded on him. "For heaven's sake. I'm not going anywhere. Find a place to perch and stay there! Or is that too simple a concept for your limited mind?" He stood there, his chest heaving with the violence of his outburst. Was it too much to ask to be given some space?
Wilkinson, used to dealing with difficult Holmeses, shrugged and went to take a seat by the door through which they had entered. He could keep an eye on his charge no matter where the detective went in the room.
After that, Sherlock went back to ignoring him and worrying about things he couldn't figure out how to change.
Several minutes later, and several circuits of the room later, Doctor Grisham joined the two men. "Sherlock, is everything alright?" he asked with false concern. He leaned up against the door frame next to the guard, his arms crossed.
"Nothing that's any of your business," the detective barked at the man he deeply distrusted, his lip curling. "Shouldn't you be with the others, with John? You're assigned to him, after all."
Grisham pushed himself away from the door frame and walked casually towards Sherlock, but not before unobtrusively pushing a button next to the door. "The control room was a bit crowded for my tastes. I don't mind waiting for the complete results. Besides, I was worried about you. I saw that you were distressed." He neared the detective, his hands shoved in his pockets. Grisham's false concern grated on Sherlock's already frayed nerves.
"As if you care about my distress," Sherlock snarled and turned his back on Grisham. He couldn't stand the sight of the man. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to centre himself. The moment he felt a prick at his neck, he realised his mistake. He whirled around, calling out to Wilkinson, but he could see that the guard had been similarly drugged, probably when Grisham had paused by him. Stumbling backwards, the detective looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon, but the drug was already taking effect. He shuffled back some more, then fell to his knees. He didn't stay upright for long, collapsing to the floor and rolling onto his side. His vision went blurry, but it didn't go dark. "Mycroft..." he managed to get out.
Grisham crouched down beside him. "I've blocked the entrace to this part of the complex. I would have preferred to have taken Doctor Watson with that superior brain of yours, but I can't afford to be choosy. You practically offered yourself up to me, so how could I resist?" Grisham gave him a wicked smile.
Working fast, Grisham rolled out a gurney. It took effort, but he heaved Sherlock onto it. He gathered the detective's notebook and the other papers and placed them on Sherlock's chest, then, covering him with a sheet, he rolled him not to the main entrance of the lab, but to the freight lift. He calculated that he had approximately 20 minutes to abscond with his lab subject and the other materials. Once beyond the fences of Baskerville, his contacts would be waiting to carry him away. All he had to do was reach them before being intercepted.