This chapter is literally so long wow no wonder I couldn't finish it on time

I'm not very confident about this chapter but tell me how you guys feel. (Any tips on how to improve would be greatly appreciated.)

Enjoy.

Water. I couldn't breathe.

I was drowning, out across that black lake, struggling to keep my head above the waves. I couldn't feel my legs, I couldn't feel my hands, I couldn't feel anything except the burning of my lungs and the heaving of my heart. I twisted, trying to shout, words choked down with salt, my nose and eyes stinging. Coughing, sputtering, I reached out for anything that could have supported me, anything at all. But my fingers sank down farther, swallowed by the muck, currents stringing around my ankles, up my thighs, and I surfaced.

My entire body felt like it was being crushed. My head throbbed where it rested against the cement floor, smells and sounds barraging me. I twisted my head, trying to stretch my hands, stretch my limbs. Something thick and cold bound my right ankle. I was shaking with the chill of the air against my wet skin, my hair plastered against my forehead. There was something slimy all around me. It smelled like blood.

"I can't watch this, dammit," I heard James grunt. "Wake him up, at least. At very least."

"John." Macie, now. "It's a dream, John."

What was a dream? The water, or this weight? I tried to open my eyes, but they only squeezed tighter. I tried to speak, but my throat was empty. Pain radiated from my neck and my hips. I could feel myself coughing, my chest aching with the force, but the taste of copper lingered. I was separate from myself, weightless one moment, flattened the next.

I pressed my face against the ground, feeling my hair scratch and pull. Blood, dried vomit. Fluids. Human fluids. Spices and leather-bound books.

"John, you've been drugged. You won't feel right for a while, but it will help if you try to stay awake."

"He can't hear you, Macie."

"Yes, he can. I've seen them use the sedative before."

Sound burst out of me, followed shortly after by a swell of discharge. I picked up my head and pointed my face down, spitting sour acid, my muscles tightening painfully. The floor dissolved into my fingers, and I spread them out, bracing myself against my palms. It took all my effort not to land in my own mess, shifting my weight to roll back onto my side.

"John?" Sholto asked.

I coughed again, sucking in breaths with my mouth open as far as I could manage, twisting my spine and my neck to revive feeling. My knees spread and then folded back, the blurry pain in my hips now narrowing to bruises along my thighs, stitches ripped open and bleeding through my trousers. My waist felt as if it had been cut open. My lungs were only now beginning to open again, but worked slowly. Dizziness slurred Macie's speech, and when I could finally pry my eyes open, I couldn't see anything at all.

Pipes and streaks of brown paint swirled along the ceiling above me in sharply angled gridlines. Metal bars cast dark shadows over me, the dark room's only illumination coming from the sick yellow light from the hall. I thought I heard thunder, but it was just my pulse. Everything around me seemed loud, the faint dripping, the rattling of metal binds, the ancient-looking iron handcuffs bolted to the wall.

James' eyes glittered green at me, small, surrounded by dark tissue. Blood had crusted over his brow from a long gash along his forehead, nipping at his hairline. His scars terrified me at first, looking inhuman and disfigured in the wavering light, but his opposite, the smooth jaw and curved lip, reminded me of himself. I heaved again, my back bending, spilling another mouthful of pale acid onto the ground.

"Are you conscious, John?" Macie asked again. Her voice came from beside Sholto, her face illuminated in the space between the bars. She was dirty and her lips were bloody, but she watched me softly, her eyebrows knitting together. I leaned onto my side, resting my temple against the ground and closing my eyes.

"Jesus," I murmured, breathing hard. "Where- What-"

"You're in a cell," Macie said. "You're with Sholto and I. We're not hurt. Are you hurt?"

I spat vomit from between my teeth and laid back. My thighs hurt. My bad leg was twitching, but it wasn't too horrible. The metal cuff pulled uncomfortably at my ankle. My hips were sore, but I wasn't sure why. It didn't look like I was cut there. My chest was constricted. There was a ringing in my ears and a jackhammer in my skull. I lifted my hand to my hair and found a considerable wound. I probably had a concussion. My jaw felt sore and all the muscles in my stomach were rolling. "I don't think so."

"Good." She sighed. "You've been shaking for a while. We were afraid you were seizing."

Seizing would have been the straw that broke the camel's back. I couldn't remember anything except the feeling of being submerged, but I realized that it might have come as a result of the sweat, adhering my clothes to my skin. I struggled to sit up, propping myself onto my elbows to look at the cuff. There was only one, connected to a bolt on the floor by a short chain. It gave me a bit more flexibility than James or Macie had. Both of them had their hands stapled to the wall above them, their legs folded uncomfortably on the knees.

A shadow from the doorway swished, and I flinched. "He's awake?" Someone asked.

"Yeah," Macie replied.

I curved. A man stood in the door, a gun between his fingers. He was unfamiliar and seemed uninterested in me, but his dark eyes flickered quickly over me. "Good. You can stop making a ruckus."

He disappeared. Sholto's shoulders vibrated with raw energy, his eyes bursting in an explosion of sparks and flame. He murmured something under his breath, and Macie snapped out a foot to kick him, then shifted herself around to sit cross-legged. I had no idea how long they'd been held like that, but I did see the dark splotches on Macie's wrists. She had been held like this before. Maybe even often.

"We're being held until Tamim can deal with us," Macie explained, her voice soft. "Now that you're awake, they'll probably send for him."

"Tamim," I grunted, "The asshole from Afghanistan."

She shushed me. "The guards will take any opportunity to punish you."

I sucked in a breath. "How long have we been here?"

"Not too long," James answered. "Half an hour, maybe."

"Where's Sherlock?" I asked. "Did they get him, too? And Miranda?"

"We don't think they know about them yet, " Macie hushed, her face going very serious. "Don't say anything about either of them. Especially Miranda. Don't say anything that could reveal Miranda. The less you know of her, the better. You don't know anything. You never met her. You don't know who she is."

"It would've really been nice if you'd left us a fucking hint," Sholto hissed. "In that book full of hints, maybe, that Miranda's a bloody ticking timebomb."

"I did." She whispered. "You didn't look hard enough."

His neck snapped toward her.

"I didn't think she'd come in after me. I thought she'd left me for dead. I was absolutely certain."

"Wait," I lifted my head again. "Macie, tell us how you got here. You said Jandi. Why the hell Jandi? We thought it was Tamim."

"It was Tamim," She sighed, "But Jandi helped him. He was angry at me, angry at Miranda. I guess he wanted to teach me a lesson. Or maybe he was threatened, I don't know. They've told me everything except the truth; I don't know what to believe and what to discredit."

"Jandi handed you over to Tamim?"

"Tamim came looking for me. He found me, in Afghanistan, and threatened me, but I was able to get out before he could corner me. Jandi was the one who tipped him off and led him back to Swansea. I thought I was safe in Wales, but he saw the opportunity. He told me that he hated what I was allowing Miranda to do. I couldn't temper him."

"Miranda?"

Macie nodded. "I gave her... information, sometimes, when she asked. Places where the underground was situated, names of commanders and overhead. I never knew what she did with it, she kept me out of her business, most of the time. I just wanted to help her."

"You were a spy, a spy for no reason," Sholto spat.

"I didn't want to be." She bit back. "I just wanted to help Miranda."

"By selling out the entire black market?"

She turned away from him. "It wasn't about the black market. She needed to know which people knew what. It was innocent. It wasn't money, it wasn't violence."

"What was it, then?"

"It was information. Knowledge. Facts, names, identities. I had all of it, I just didn't have a purpose for it."

"Macie," I started, but she cut me off.

"No, John, please don't." She closed her eyes. "I didn't want anyone else to be hurt by this. Miranda stopped the fighting."

"Miranda used you to start a drug war." Sholto argued.

"I don't believe that."

"Then why the hell do you believe that you're chained to a fucking stone wall?"

"Don't speak to me like that."

"Is there more you're not telling us? Is Tamim trying to protect you? Is Miranda really the bad guy here? Are you?"

"No one's the bad guy."

"Fuck that."

"I messed up, Sholto." She snapped. "It's my fault, completely. Miranda didn't force me to do one thing I didn't agree to. It's my fault. I should've never told Jandi to find you, I should've never told Luna-" She choked. "Luna, I should've left her out of it. I messed up, not just a little. A lot. And it's my fault you two are here. I know that. You don't have to keep reminding me."

"Why, Macie?" I asked. "Why are you associated with her? Why did you give her the information? What did you get out of it?"

"Security," She answered, sadly. "Miranda gave me whatever I needed. Food, money, supplies. What was hers was mine. She helped me get through the towns and was my rite of passage. There were some places that I couldn't reach without her, but when she was with me, the danger stayed mostly away from us."

"They left you alone?"

She nodded. "They were more afraid of Miranda than they were of my influence."

"That was probably because they knew how dangerous she was," Sholto murmured.

"And that was what Jandi was upset about?"

"When I gave her information it was strictly no-questions-asked. Both of us suspected what she could have been doing with it, but while I was satisfied not knowing, Jandi was less accepting. He told me he felt as if we were betraying his homeland, betraying more people than we were helping. He hated her."

"So, Tamim found out that you were leaking information, and he sent men after you."

"That's most of it, yes. Miranda was the one who had gotten both herself and I exposed. She helped me out of the country, but couldn't follow me to Wales because of all the new attention on her."

"What did Miranda do to expose you?"

"She didn't tell me."

James spat onto the ground, running his tongue along the inside of his mouth. "You've really made a mess of things, haven't you."

Macie looked at him, caught between grief and pity. "I'm sorry, James."

"Yeah, I know you're sorry. But you should've been sorry before all this shit started happening. You should've been sorry as soon as you knew there was something suspicious going on. You don't belong with this sort of business. Even if you were trying to reach people, you should have been wiser. These people don't need your help. They don't need your pity."

"James, stop." I croaked.

He glanced at me, pushing air from his lungs. "I'm not trying to shove all the responsibility on her. Miranda's probably to blame, in the end. But it doesn't matter. We're still here, and I'm still fucking angry."

"We can't change it now." I said. "Let's just focus on getting out of here."

"There's no way of getting out from the inside. We'd have to be let out, or broken out."

I tsked and glanced up toward the yellow doorway. My ankle jingled as I moved it, toes flexing in my boot. The cuff hadn't cut off circulation, which was good. But it was tight enough that breaking my ankle wouldn't have worked to get me out of it. James' wide hands looked like they had the same problem, and although Macie's hands probably could've fit, I doubted she was strong enough to break both wrists and still be useful. She was bony and thin, most likely malnourished and dehydrated. She talked calm, but there were dark bags underneath her eyes, and her breath came in uneven drags.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, turning my blood cold. Macie turned back to me, her eyes bright with intensity.

"You have to convince them you know nothing." She whispered. "You know nothing, you heard nothing. They will hurt you. You know nothing."

I glanced at James, whose anger was beginning to grow again. He locked eyes with me, scared and sad and waxing and terrified, pulling at his wrists yet getting nowhere. Now his wounds stood out in stark detail, the scuffing along his temple and jaw, swollen lips, swollen eye, tears in his shirt, stains on his clothes. Had they already been through it? How much had I missed?

But the footsteps slowed as a long shadow crossed over Macie's face, and her eyes turned upward. A strong sickness washed over me, folding me forward.

"What a collection we have here," Said the person, his Pashto accent blending his words. His voice was thick and rocky, echoing around the words with dizzying force. Another chuckle echoed off from behind him. A few more shadows fled in, situating themselves across the room, two of them sitting on a crate against the wall. One was paler that the rest, noticeably American. He took a swig of something, and by his smell I suspected alcohol.

There were four of them, maybe five. I couldn't quite tell. They fluttered around the room and made themselves comfortable. The first man stepped forward, his feet heavy and slow, leaning down to take Macie's chin between his fingers. His skin was dark copper, his hair twisted into a tight knot at the base of his neck. He was dressed in darkness, but everything around him seemed to splinter, collapsing at his shoulders. Disgust fluttered in my throat as he turned Macie's head from side to side, a short snark escaping him.

"You were lucky we weren't let into your cell before this," He licked his lips. "We would've fucked you into the ground, bitch."

James pulled his lips taught against his teeth, his fists clenching in his cuffs, but he said nothing, and neither did she. One of the shadows laughed. "Look, you pissed him off."

"Aw, sad bastard." He turned, still crouching. "You still upset that your pathetic attempt at a rescue didn't pay off?"

They kept talking in low voices, Pashto and French, possibly. Their smell was nauseating, but I swallowed hard and stilled my head, hoping to draw as little attention to myself as possible. I was the one who was bound the least, but that also meant I could be thrown around quite a bit more than the others. The thought of torture or assault turned my stomach. I felt eyes on me from the far wall, the man on the crate.

"Tamim said we could do anything we wanted, right?" Said the man, liquor lighting his face. "Look, the sick one's awake."

The first turned, his black eyes landing on me. "What do we have, here."

He came for me, and my hands trembled viciously, dizziness sweeping over me again. I laid my head against the stone, watching his approach from a horizontal angle, struggling to keep my breath slow. His hand hovered just above his knee.

"That's the doctor, isn't it?" One asked. "The doctor from Glasgow."

It was them. The men who followed James and I in the train station and set off those bombs. My eyes flashed, moving between the shadows, but everything was obscured and nothing looked even vaguely familiar. The first touched my jaw and then pulled it forward, propping me forcefully against my elbows, and I hissed. "He's a bit roughed up, but he's still pretty."

"Hell yeah he is." Alcohol stank the air around me as the other came closer, forcing his flask into my face. "I'd bet you want some, eh?"

The sharp taste made me hack, but the man forced it between my teeth, tipping it up until the flavor burned the inside of my throat. I pitched forward and coughed half of it up, the liquid stinging my nose and eyes as the two men above me laughed.

"Have some more, babe," He drawled, putting it in my mouth again. "You want it."

I tried to speak, but sour flooded my mouth. I pushed away from him, fighting to breathe though the barrage, my trembling hands fighting against anything I could find. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and I choked, feeling lukewarm liquor seep into my lungs, into my nostrils. My muscles contracted until I vomited again, coughing up anything that had actually made it down, and as the first stepped away to allow me a little room, the other stayed close, chuckling and rubbing his thumb along my temple.

"Stop!" James shouted, wrestling against his chains. "You're suffocating him!"

The brisk sound of flesh against flesh startled me, coupled by the jingle of chains against cement. James made no sound, but the other shadows chortled and murmured more, discussing something among themselves in another language. I heaved as the man's breath misted against my face.

"Little thin, but you're alright." He set his flask down and cupped my face with both hands. "That mouth."

I grimaced, trying to pull away, my ankle restricting me. I pressed my hands against his chest and pushed, but he remained firmly planted, crouched over my blood and vomit, his entire body twisted by his drink and the darkness. I could not fight. I felt myself start to teeter. I was trapped.

He laughed, and his friends laughed with him. I felt his hands roam to my chest, my waist, and I growled at him. My chest swelled up, and he moved down toward my hips, pushing me flat against the ground by my waist, smoothing over me. "This one will remember not to trespass again, eh?"

"Jesus, Jesus," I groaned, kicking at him. No. But he kept getting closer, his hands against my thighs, my skin boiling beneath my clothes. I could hear James somewhere, but he could make no difference. He was far away, locked away where he couldn't reach me. Macie was deathly silent in her chains, her lips nearly blue. I could feel him inching forward, feel his slime along my stomach, crawling up my shirt. His hands got rougher, grabbing my wrist and shoulder, holding me down onto the floor and positioning himself over me.

I panicked, wheezing out profanities, my vision swirling, melting around the shadow. I tried to kick him, but he had a hand tight over my calf, pushing until his thighs met mine, his alcohol-stained heat enveloping me. Jesus, no. My entire body was shaking, but he was jabbering in another language, rubbing himself, grinning at me.

Sholto's body flashed through my mind, his big hands which fitted so well between my fingers choking my wrists, bruising my sides. He made short work of my trouser zipper, nearly ripping it to shreds, exposing the light skin of my stomach and the hem of my pants. I clawed at his face, but he pinned my hand down to my side, twisting it a way it was not meant to be twisted until my shouts trickled down into whimpers. The shadow moved, and I could hear James' voice screaming, screaming at me, taking hits for it but refusing to care.

Jesus, Jesus. He was on me, working my clothes off. His mouth closed mine, his sweat mingled on my face, pulling the oxygen from my bones. I couldn't breathe. A surge of adrenaline gave me the strength to flail against him again, but he slapped me hard across the face, stunning me for long enough, his hands on my chest, grinding rough against me, moving my whole body with him.

You wouldn't make it. You wouldn't reach me in time. He would take me, again and again, until my skin was raw with my own blood. I would pass out, and they would do what they wanted until I was nothing but bone. James could do nothing. Macie could do nothing. Heat and chill wrestled for dominance. You would not make it. You were not there. You could not help me. You were gone.

I shrieked again. You had to find me. There was no question now. You had to. Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock. Oh, god, please. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

His hands violated me, and I felt yours, gently touching my cheeks, holding my shoulders to your chest. I pressed into myself, my fingernails scraping into cement. Please, Sherlock, please, Sherlock. I'm so sorry. Sherlock, please.

There was no one else, no one else who mattered. Without you, I was alone. Permanently, irrevocably, gruesomely alone.

I could hear nothing. Confusion blurred the shadows together. I had no idea how many were over me, but I felt another set of hands, then another. The first had left, and I kicked out wildly as another came closer, bringing my freed hands up quickly to shield my face. I fought for breath, feeling the sick grease of the floor against my arms and back, nearly bringing up another wave of vomit, but salty tears muted my nausea. I gripped my head and folded in. Please, please, leave me alone. Leave me be. Don't touch me. Don't touch me.

One was near my feet, and another near my shoulder. It reached out, running a cold hand against my shoulder, but I snapped, my fingernails digging into my scalp. I was still shaking. I didn't care. My chest expanded painfully. I felt someone grip my ankle, and I kicked out at them. They twisted my foot until I stilled, moaning in pain. But then, the cuff fell loose from it, and I curled my legs to me.

They were going to bring me somewhere else, push me against a wall or onto my stomach, I knew it. I blindly gripped the floor, trying to push myself up, but my arms were so weak it was difficult to even lift my torso. I strained, pressing my shoulders against the bars, preparing to kick out against any upcoming shadow. I had a chance, at least. The yellow door streamed into my vision, but my limbs were lead.

Someone touched me again, and I struck out at him, but he grasped my shoulders firmly and pulled me toward him. The sudden movement made me dizzy, pain rocketing up my leg, but I didn't smell alcohol. I smelled cotton and ink and cheap tea. The smell of lingering chemicals and violin wax, drugstore shampoo and old cologne, rain and wood, skin and breath, and I collapsed against your chest.

Your voice cut through me like a knife, and I wept bitterly, tangling my fingers in the fringe of your coat. You swept me up to hold me in your lap, pressing my face into your shoulder. I could feel your short breaths matching mine, your cheek pressed to the top of my head, drawing me as close to you as you could grip me, your warm breaths traveling down my collar.

"You're a fucking idiot, Sholto," You shouted, holding my head. "You never should've separated yourself from us."

"I was trying to protect him," He replied, equally as heated. I could hear the instability in his voice, rocked by rage and grief. He came closer, on his knees in front of me, but you snapped at him not to touch me. "I did everything I could, Sherlock. I fought them as long as possible. I would've never-"

"We'll have plenty of time to clear shit up when we're out of here." Miranda's voice. She crouched near me, her smells competing with yours. "Is he going to make it?"

"Make it?" James said. "They didn't stab him."

"Can he walk." Miranda glared at him. "Can he hold himself. Because if he can't, we can't risk him. He has to stay."

My heart lurched, as did yours. You gripped me harder. "We're not leaving him."

"We're not dragging a mule with a broken leg."

"What's going on here, Miranda?" Macie asked, standing in the shadow of the yellow light. "What have you pushed them into?"

"Nothing they hadn't jumped toward themselves." She turned to her. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." She hissed. "But what about them?"

"They can't be our first concern."

"And where's Jandi?"

"You'll find out soon enough. Can he walk?"

You gently eased my face toward yours. The panic hadn't subsided; although I could now see, my whole body was tense and my head was spinning. I still didn't feel strong enough to hold myself for any period of time. "John? Can you hear me?"

I met your eyes, nodding through breaths.

"I know you're in pain," You said, softly. "But I need you to swallow it. We're still in danger. I need you."

I closed my eyes, trying to reorient myself. What was I feeling, where was the pain. I was spooked, desperately spooked, but my breathing was starting to come under reign again. My stomach and hips were cold, but I realized that my trousers, although low, were still in-tact. He had groped me, but he had not raped me. That fact filled me with relief. My ankle stung and my entire body felt sore, but I could struggle past those.

You gently kissed my temple, and I reached to cup your face, your smooth skin steadying me.

"I'll stay with you, John, I'm not leaving." You whispered. "But I need you to walk."

"Hurry it up, Sherlock." Miranda tsked.

"I can," I breathed. "I can try. Let me try."

You moved underneath me and rose, helping to get my feet under me, holding my shoulders against yourself. The floor rolled sharply, but I gripped your coat and closed my eyes against the ill smells, taking deep, calculated breaths. My legs wobbled severely and threatened to buckle. You held me steady, your face hovering centimeters from mine. I slid my eyes open slowly, my vision still foggy as you kept me. Your eyes were warped by the yellow light but still glistened familiar and strong, your curls hanging just above your eyebrows.

I stayed close to you, but I looked over at Miranda, angry with her threat to leave me behind. She looked over me, her eyes sharp with contempt, Macie behind her. James seemed genuinely grieved, but you kept him at least two arm's lengths away from me, and I didn't have the strength to argue.

But I also saw that there were still guards within the room, glowering at us. The only one who wasn't still conscious was the drunken one, curled into a drooling ball with blood seeping out between his teeth. I glanced up at you, feeling fear creep back up over me. "What...? What's going on?"

"We're going to see Tamim." Miranda answered. "You're not free yet."

I stared at her, but she moved out of the door, skirted quickly by Macie. James stayed an extra moment to watch me, moving slowly and carefully with your hand firmly knitted in mine. I looked back at him, but I wasn't sure how I was supposed to reassure him, so I allowed myself to be guided along by you, drawn up toward the yellow door. James waited for us to go, then gave one last heated glance back to the drunk on the floor.

A few guards waited to escort us, their dark clothes standing out from the stone walls. Miranda walked at the head, staying close to Macie, her shoulders held tight around her neck. Their closeness rustled a cold stone in my gut. I remembered you warning me not to believe what these sort of people say, because no matter whose side they're on, they will always protect themselves. But both of them were soldiers, and both of them were in danger.

They teach you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. I've been reviewing since, but it doesn't mean I'll float.

For bonus points, if anyone wants to, you can let me know of any questions you have about Macie (or Miranda if you're curious). I'll make sure I answer them in-text, and I will have a lot of affection for you if you help me out.

Next update Sunday, fingers crossed.