You guys make me really happy. Even though I can't jump into your discussions I wanted to give you a bit of reassurance. John should in fact be his BBC self, even if he's adjusted (and, at this point in the story, stressed) to fit the AU. That doesn't mean you have to throw out everything you knew about John beforehand. In fact, I'd prefer if you didn't. I want to be held to the BBC standard. Just remember if you're going to fine-tune my characterization that you came here for Johnlock, which you have to twist the canon for anyway.
Variation can be a good thing. Don't hate me for it. It's still John, it's still Sherlock.
That being said, enjoy the next chapter.
Rain poured out of a black sky. We quickly jogged from the car toward the shadows, Miranda leading the way, you at her heel, slipping down into the shadow of a large car park complex. The dripping rain echoed throughout the concrete structure, cold wind and freezing water drenching my jacket. I buttoned it up to my neck and swung my arms to keep up, glancing quickly around for cameras, but most of them were either taped over or looked suspiciously old. Moss and mold had grown in the cracks in the ground, not to mention that one of the major entrances was closed off with chains. This place wasn't getting much use anymore. Or, at least, not on the surface.
Miranda led us to a long staircase that led to the upper levels but also dipped straight into the ground, down to the basement levels and, as she said, "Past. There's a whole string of old sewage tunnels that connect this building to others in the vicinity. As close to Hell as we'll get. Keep up."
We did a better job of following along than we had before, Sholto and I. We reached level B3, and Miranda pulled through a wide iron door, waiting until we were with them for her to close it behind. She was serious about sticking together, and as soon as we went through the way, I recognized why. Graffiti coated the walls, and the smell of smoke and old paint hovered just above the trashed pavement. You stepped over the garbage carefully, but the only light in the hall was one red exit sign above us. After securing the door, Miranda moved ahead of us.
"This is a back entrance, then," You said, avoiding a dripping pipe.
"Figured you'd assume that much, genius." She jogged toward the hall, checking quickly before stepping out. "It's not quite the asshole of the pit, but pretty close. Keep your voices down. I'm not sure when we're going to start meeting the crackheads."
As we turned the corner, the new flickering white light burned my eyes, but the shadows around didn't look much more appealing. Colorful obscenities surrounded us, and we moved quickly, our footsteps soft along the rough floor. Maintenance closets almost blended with the rest of the wall, but one or two near the end were left open, reeking of pot and the sharply distinct smell of sex. Movement within one of them spooked me, but Miranda waved it off without much of an investigation. They wouldn't pay much attention to us.
Sholto, however, started to realize exactly what we were about to walk into, a bit before I did. I watched him start to shut down. Not a bad sort of shut down, a prepared sort of shut down. His jaw locked into place, and his eyebrows got firmer. The brief thought passed me that he wouldn't be able to deal with this familiar breed of radical criminals again. But he had already considered it himself, and was now adequately preparing himself. I, on the other hand, almost fell into it.
I caught sight of the man on the floor and stumbled, muffling my yelp in the fabric of your coat as I fell forward into your arm. You quickly steadied me and froze, staring at the man, waiting to see if there would be any reaction. But he was so far out of it that he never even stirred. You set me back on my feet and instructed firmly, "Careful."
"Sorry." I brushed myself off.
"Shut up." Miranda hissed. "Get over here."
We moved toward her, more careful now, clasping our sleeves over our faces to block out the smell. I suspected some kind of sewage leak, since we were so close to the lines, but I realized that it was literally human waste accumulating in the corners and the cracks of the walls. Miranda stood on the threshold of one of the larger maintenance dorms, illuminated by dying white lights that cast long shadows across the floor. Several men were scattered throughout this room, hunkered down between aisles of rotted furniture and wooden crates, eerily quiet. Their scent was almost nauseating.
They hardly realized what they were seeing as we crossed between the darker sides of the crates. I took a breath through my coat lining and forced myself not to remember anything that I saw within this room, keeping my eyes off anything in particular. More doors on the opposite side of the room had been held open by heavy boxes. The halls in the direction Miranda took us became progressively cleaner, which filled me with relief, but its smells seemed to increase, which kept me nervous.
"We're going to skirt past the major cell," She said. "The people should leave us alone. Just act like you belong."
"People?" I said.
"They're not innocents. They're rival gang members, people they can't quite kill yet. Don't listen to them. Act like you belong."
She pushed the door open, and we had found the source of the smell. There must've been fifty men corralled into a concrete greatroom, lined by armed guards. The place was comprised of two floors, the lower where the men were, and the upper where the guards stood, stationed on a balcony overlooking the floor. Most of them were busy either gambling or shouting at the men; they weren't concerned with us. Urine and defecation streaked the walls and floor below, alongside long streaks of browned blood. We kept close to the darker side of the stretch, hearing the various voices and calls from the men underneath us.
I felt Sholto's hand on the small of my back, urging me forward. I couldn't stall. But I also saw that Miranda had drawn you closer to herself. Pairs would be slightly less noticable than a straight line of four. I felt one of the men's eyes fall briefly on me, but I looked up at James and started speaking nothing, hoping that appearing busy we would keep the attention off ourselves.
My heart tightened painfully at the thought that somewhere within this place was Macie. She didn't deserve to be drenched in this kind of disgust for doing nothing but helping people. Sholto removed his hand from me. He felt the same.
We curved back into a hall, leading us away from the greatroom, much to my relief. The smell started to fade, and we got a bit closer to Miranda to be able to hear her.
"There are other holding rooms, solitary cells and a common jail for women. I don't know where they'd put Macie, but I would bet she's in the solitary, so we'll go there first. We'll be running into more guards soon, just be careful. And quiet. And aware. Don't use your gun unless absolutely necessary."
I nodded.
"We'll locate Macie and head directly to the exit. No side-quests." Miranda glanced at you. "No extra baggage."
"Get Lowdry, get out." You agreed.
"Worrying about her health and security is something we can deal with once we get her out of this shit sty. For now-"
A direct voice from behind us shouted, and firm footsteps came quickly toward us. Miranda fell behind to face them. There were only two and they were fairly young, but they had two weapons crossed along their shoulders, and those were what we were really worried about. "What are you doing?" One asked, putting his hand along the neck of his gun. "You're n-"
"Do you know who Macie Lowdry is?" She asked.
He looked confused. "What?"
Miranda's fist snapped into the man's throat, stunning him while she landed another quick swipe to his face, knocking him backward into his friend. The other quickly grabbed for his gun, but Miranda grabbed the barrel and jammed her heel into his groin with as much force as she could muster. As he folded, she drove her knee quickly into the side of his head, knocking him out cold. The first started up again, and a kick to the jaw put him out just as quickly.
"We're walking, now," She snapped, moving back up to the head.
I didn't realize how huge an advantage Miranda was until then. She threw two men to the ground faster than you could have, and she knew exactly where she was going as if she had rehearsed beforehand. She didn't allow any of us to fall more than a step behind, and her eyes glowed amber gold as she put her head out into the next hall, then immediately retreated. Five, armed.
As their shadows approached the corner, you and Miranda grabbed the first two that you could get your hands on and engaged them before the others could even reach for their triggers. There were plenty of angry shouts, but both of you seemed to know exactly when to strike and throw to put each of them out. Sholto managed to smother a third man, but I didn't trust myself to hold my own, so I stayed close to him and kept my hand ready for my gun. Miranda took down two herself, and you wrestled with another, but the fifth was left open for a precious few seconds and lifted toward Miranda. He hit the ground faster than I realized I had pulled my pistol.
"Good shot, doctor." She grunted, dropping a limp man. "Now we've got to run."
At her word, we fled down the remainder of the open hallway as the footsteps approached from the opposite direction. We were heard, but we weren't cornered, not yet. She quickly jumped across an open doorway streaming with light, followed closely behind by you. But just before I stepped into the yellow shadow, I felt Sholto seize me roughly from behind and clasp his hand over my mouth, pulling me straight down to the floor.
Fear stirred a scream, but Sholto clutched me close to his chest, his head pressed against my ear. The door within the yellow room slammed open and angry voices filled it, screaming at each other in a Middle Eastern language. Shadows criss-crossed along the wall, growing smaller and then larger again, slamming my heart into my ribcage. You and Miranda made the same connection at the same time, and she grabbed the collar of your coat to keep you on her side of the light. Your eyes were on fire, but there was nothing you could do. You couldn't reach me.
I could feel Sholto's pulse through our clothes, my hands gripped over his, desperately trying to cover my panting. His breath was smooth against my ear. "We have to go."
Miranda motioned a similar message with her hands, much to your horror. But there was no time. Two men stomped into the hall from the yellow room and shrieked as Miranda barreled into them, leaving us just enough time to race back the way we came, disappearing down the opposite hall and away from the gunshot. We could hear shouts and sounds of violence, but we ran from them as fast as we could, running blindly down empty grey hallways. Adrenaline pushed us forward, right up to the point that we almost ran right into a whole platoon of Afghan guards.
We looked around quickly for a solution. There was a doorway to Sholto's left. We pushed into it, but it was locked. Another on the right, unlocked, overflowing with inky blackness. We jumped inside and shut the door as quietly as we could, just as the footsteps rushed past.
Sholto stepped back, away from the door, and I gripped his jacket. There was no window in the door, so not even a strand of light made it past. I could hear him breathing, and I could hear myself breathing, gasps passing back and forth. His hands padded against the wall, then moved to find my shoulders, neck, head. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He whispered.
"No, no, I'm fine." I knitted my fingers with the wet leather to reassure myself. "God, we're so lost."
"I can remember the way back." He said, resting one hand against the wall. "We can either go find Miranda or we can cut back straight to Isatta and meet them there."
"What about Macie?"
"Let them find Macie. They can do it. Besides, we have no idea where we're going."
"The other cells can't be too far from the room we saw before."
"John."
"We can't just give up, Sholto. We're already in. We're already here."
He sighed, and I could feel his breath on my cheeks. "Fine. We'll try to find Miranda. But remember the way we go. If we run into any more trouble, we're going to Isatta." He groped for the doorhandle, patting along the walls. "Where did the door go."
"It should be right there." I smoothed my hand along the wall until I came to the corner, then moved toward Sholto's voice. "Here are the hinges."
His hand patted against my side, then snaked down to my waist. "I can't find it. Where the hell is the light."
"It's not over here, James," I said, running my fingers along the metallic hinges. But his hands smoothed over my jacket toward my stomach. "James, stop that, please."
"Stop what?"
"Stop touching me. It's-" He pressed his palm into my hip, and I made an odd hiccup noise. "Jesus Christ, James, I swear-"
"John, I'm not touching you."
I immediately struck my leg out and hit something solid. It was not James.
It took everything in me not to scream. I pushed myself away and ended up in the corner between the two walls, kicking at the invisible thing and meeting nothing but air. My ankle brushed something slimy, and I felt fingers wrap around my calf, another hand streaking up my thigh. I couldn't help but cry out now, lashing out and struggling to pull away, but the hands kept coming, leaving residue along my clothes and beginning a low murmur.
Sholto kept fumbling for the door, unable to do much except listen to me call, but then he found the light. It was a man, completely naked, starved to not much more than a skeleton, on his knees, covered in his own piss, frothing saliva out of his mouth, his yellow fingernails clawing at my trousers. I shrieked, pushing against his ribcage with my foot, but he was long and I was paralyzed with fright. James quickly threw him off me, tossing his bony limbs toward the far wall, but that only made him angry. He stumbled to his feet and ran at James, but he removed his gun and struck the man with the barrel, catching him in the temple. I slid to the floor, holding both my hands against my chest as I tried to breathe.
He kept hitting him, because he kept coming. He roared until his skull was practically split open. Blood oozed out of his mouth and nose as he finally stilled, beaten down by the metal, and Sholto forced himself to stand although his muscles threatened to fold. He dropped beside me and pulled me to himself.
"What the hell, what the hell was that!" I trembled, digging my hands into Sholto's shoulders. He braced himself against the wall and stood, lifting me with him until I was back on my feet. We both looked down at the limp man, but not very long.
"Let's get out of here," He heaved, and opened the door.
The hallway was empty, and my knees were weak. Sholto took my wrist in his hand and pulled me slowly, measuring his steps and keeping careful not to make much noise as he glanced around the corner. Nothing around us moved, but now, it didn't help. My hands were shaking violently, and I felt myself falling two steps from a panic attack. I would not panic. As long as no other mangled corpses tried to strangle me. I moved close behind James, keeping my eyes and ears open toward the back while he watched the front.
We could hear the soft chitters of the women before we saw the shadowed room. From the sliver that I could see, black bars stood as half-walls surrounding a rectangular common jail, weaved through lines of piping. Figures moved within it, a good number from what I could see. Along the farther walls, smaller cells were lined up. I had to catch myself before choosing not to remember any of what I saw.
Only one guard was within the room; the others had run toward the gunshot. He had his gun ready at his thigh, and Sholto and I exchanged a glance. Only one. We could take one. Or, rather, James can take one, and I could back him up. As soon as the guard had his back to us, James stepped into the dark. A female shout stunned both of them, but Sholto drove the neck of his pistol into the man's face. He then bent to stifle him quietly as I moved closer to the cage.
My eyes passed through the murky dust. I didn't want to count how many. I didn't want to see any of them. But I had to, because I was looking for one of them. They were mostly African or Asian-looking, whispering to each other in various languages and shuffling away from me. I peered closer to them, trying to put off the strong stink of sweat and blood and grime from within.
"Macie?" I asked. "Macie Lowdry, are you here?"
A shuffling sound came from along the wall, and the people began to look more closely at me. Sholto came up near the bars with me, keeping his hands within grabbing distance if one of them decided to lash out. But I wasn't thinking about that. My hands were shaking still, but I was focused, and I was focused on one thing only.
One cage near the end had only one body within it, and I stopped close to its door. Sholto tried to keep me moving, but I put my hand against his arm. "Look."
She was staring at us, her face white as a sheet, brown hair hanging in long, greasy strands around her shoulders. She looked absolutely ashen, both her eyes so dark and sunken they looked almost black. But her thin shoulders and long fingers wrapped tightly around her knees as she watched, unsure, disbelieving, absolutely awestruck, completely bewildered.
I touched the bars. "Mace, it's me. It's John."
"John?"
She stood, her dirt-streaked clothes hanging loosely off her frame. Her cell wasn't more than five feet wide, and smelt just as awful as the rest of them, but there was Macie, and she was alive. Her fingers touched mine, her eyes filling with tears.
Sholto turned back to the unconscious guard and picked through his clothes for the key to the cell. "Macie, are you hurt?" I asked.
"No, I'm not hurt." She slipped her wrist out and touched my face. "How on earth did you...?"
"Jandi," I said. "He found us. He said you needed help."
Her eyes changed. "What?"
"We'll get you out of here," I said softly, touching her wrist.
"Jandi?"
"Yes, Jahandar."
"John." She stepped back. "You have to get out of here."
"What? No, Macie, you're coming with us."
"No, John you don't understand," She said. "Jandi didn't help me. Jandi put me here."
"What are you talking about?"
"She was the bait," Sholto breathed. "This is a trap."
Footsteps slammed toward us from the outer hall, and my heart kicked up a pace. James grabbed the chain of keys off the guard and ran toward Macie's cell. She remained pressed against the far wall, but I gripped the bars until my hands went numb. "Macie, a trap for who?"
"I don't know, John. For anyone who would want to find me. They must think you have something they want."
"What would they want?"
We heard the angry shouts begin to thunder. There was a lot of them. We could hear it. James wrestled with the door.
Macie ran back to the bars and set her hand on mine. "John, you have to go. You have to run."
"I'm not leaving you here." I gritted my teeth.
"You have no choice." She touched my cheek. "Go."
"John, it's not opening," Sholto shouted, banging against the cell door.
"Please," She pleaded, "John, run!"
Our time was up. Men appeared in the doorway, and I twisted to face them, the echo of my pistol blasting against my eardrums. Two down. Sholto kept trying the keys, shouting angrily at it as he threw his weight into the latch. Another. I shifted into focus, everything around me blurring as the targets came in crystal clear. One of their bullets ricocheted off the wall behind me. I didn't want to kill anyone, but limb shots were just as effective. They were young, they went down easy. Another.
Suddenly, James grabbed me. He made no effort to convince me, he just pulled me toward the next door, running at full force down the corridor. I burned, but I followed, slipping my gun back into my coat and breaking off around a corner just as gunfire erupted behind us.
We sprinted the way we knew, headed back toward the greatroom, but we could hear voices coming from everywhere. Our only chance was to get back above ground, back to Isatta, or to find another place to hide until the alarm fizzled out. James seized my wrist and pulled me down toward the concrete balcony, but we were intercepted. It was over that quickly. One of the guards jumped from the corner and threw me into the wall, driving something sharp into the back of my neck. I grappled with him, but slowly felt myself losing control of my limbs.
James was over me. He threw the guard down the rest of the stairs, putting him out of commission for long enough, and held me. Horror lined his face, but soon enough it was gone. He was gone. I was gone.
Oops, I did it again. I played with your review, got lost in the game.
Next update Sunday.