Mycroft looked up to say something to his brother only to find Sherlock missing. Why had he taken his eyes off of him even for a moment? His heart leapt into his throat, though it didn't show from the outside, not yet. When he noticed that Doctor Grisham was missing as well, that changed. There was something off about Grisham - he had been a member of the team that had wanted to study Sherlock. He rushed to the door of the control room and slammed it open only to find the security detail in place, sans one member. "Where has Sherlock gone?" he barked.
The guard in charge stepped forward, flinching. "He was agitated, sir, seemed to need some space. Wilkinson went with him back to the main lab." He gestured in that direction with his gun.
At that, Mycroft's face darkened and he began running back towards the main lab. He called back over his shoulder. "Two of you stay with Doctor Watson. The rest of you with me." He ran faster than he had in years. When he reached the door to the main lab, it wouldn't open. Mycroft swore. He tried his access badge, but it was rejected, this particular entrance having been locked down. He pounded on the door with his fist. "Get Doctor Blankenship! He'll know how to get around this." Or so the government official hoped. "Hurry!" Even Mycroft couldn't predict what Grisham would do to his brother.
One of the guards dissapeared back towards the MRI control room, then came running back with Blankenship in tow. John was with them, much to Mycroft's surprise.
The doctor looked angry. "I heard the commotion. Sod the MRI. Where's Sherlock? What's happened to him?" John demanded.
"He disappeared behind this locked door with Grisham. We don't know how long ago and we don't know what Grisham has planned." Mycroft turned to Blankenship. "How do we get in here?"
"This door will stay locked down for quite some time. We have to come in from the outside, which means we have to go around."
Mycroft nodded. "Lead the way. Now!"
They all started running together.
"What are the possibilities?" John asked. "With Grisham, I mean."
Mycroft shook his head as he ran. "He could try to do something to him here or he could try to get him put of Baskerville. The first would be foolish. The second would be nearly impossible. I fear he'll realise that and harm Sherlock." A few more feet down the hall, the government official yelled back to John, "Grisham is obviously unstable I should have seen it before. Now Sherlock's in danger because of me."
"We'll find him, Mycroft, and we'll get him back safe. I promise you." John's determination matched the government official's own. They would find him.
Sherlock became aware of himself. He was cold and disoriented. It wasn't the familiar feeling of being drugged and trapped in an uncooperative body and with a sluggish mind. This was completely different. The detective felt cast adrift. It was almost like he didn't have a body. He cast about him for something to anchor him down, to warm him and give him a sense of normality. He couldn't find it anywhere close by. It was only in the distance that he felt a welcoming warmth. Sherlock moved towards it like a moth to a flame. As he got closer, the warmth blossomed into glorious heat, glorious golden heat. He drew ever closer until he was pulled in by the flames, his consciousness wrapped up and paradoxically preserved by them. Sherlock felt himself settle into a familiar place that felt like home. He was so tired from the cold and from being cast adrift, that he let the warmth and familiarity lull him to sleep. It wouldn't be until he woke that he would realise he was in his own body, cradled by John's presence, yet unable to communicate.
John stumbled as he raced along behind the others. He stopped short, leaning hard against the wall. Something had changed. Suddenly he felt like... he couldn't explain how he felt. He felt warm and happy, euphoric, almost. Under the circumstances, that made no sense whatsoever. He pushed away from the wall and rejoined the chase, his momentary lapse going unnoticed by the others. Even as he ran, though, he kept one hand pressed over his heart where the joyful feeling seemed to reside.
When they reached the outside entrance to the building, there was no need to wonder which direction to go to look for Grisham and Sherlock. They saw Doctor Grisham manhandling the inert form of the detective into the back seat of a car. As the guards ran to intercept Grisham, Mycroft grabbed up a nearby phone and called the guardhouse at the gate to the facility, issuing a complete lock down of the base using pre determined code phrases.
Grisham never made it into the front of his car. Other guards turned at the commotion and assisted Mycroft's men in bringing him down. They were none too gentle about it.
When they were able to finally check on Sherlock however, he was completely unresponsive. "He's been drugged," Doctor Blankenship announced grimly. "Let's get him inside where we can care for him."
Both Mycroft and John hovered as Sherlock was lifted out of the car. "I'll carry him," John volunteered. He knew Doctor Blankenship was right about the drugs, but he also suspected there was more to it, though he couldn't say why. He cradled his friend's body to him protectively and carried him back inside.