Running was something Sherlock was used to doing. Many a time Sherlock had days where he had to run for his life for the sake of solving crimes and the like. Some of those times it involved angry men with guns or angry women with knives, sometimes both and sometimes opposite. Whatever case it was, Sherlock was running. Unlike the LPD he didn't have the luxury of owning one of the bullet proof armors. Lestrade wasn't keen on giving him one considering that under a technicality, Sherlock wasn't actually a part of the LPD. He was "outside help" as Lestrade described and it meant that legally Sherlock wasn't allowed to have any bullet proof armor unless there was a specific reason. Like say, being a wanted target or some other.

Sherlock was going to steal one nevertheless. But the fact was he hadn't bothered. In most cases he would've gone out, stole one, and came back in time to catch John waiting for him. These days, however, he was dealing with cases after cases. What with John being a father now, he no longer had the help he used to have. True, he had Mycroft, but the fact was simply, Sherlock would rather take a bullet than to ask Mycroft for help. And considering Mycroft, it was more or less the same mentality for him as well.

As for now, Sherlock wished he had that bullet proof vest, because it would've help protect him a little. Being chased by a horde of Betas does that to a person and that person is wishing he had his own TARDIS.

Celia had disappeared to ready the treatment facility for the trap and without her guidance, Sherlock was running blind. Running blind with a horde of Betas following behind was something Sherlock never had a plan for, but after this, this will be filed under his mental cabinet as "bring running shoes next time".

Sherlock hopped over debris and anything else that got in his way. The Betas tore apart anything that got in their way with their drills. Sherlock wasn't going to think what would happen to him if he was caught by them. He already had enough things on his mind.

He slid over the wet floors as he ran down steps, almost tripping on the stairs. By the time he reached the bottom the Betas were already coming down those steps. Apparently whoever designed them had the good sense to make their design stair friendly, which in Sherlock's case, a very terrible thing.

Running to the bottom of the final stair case, Sherlock was met with a stuck door. Rust from the seawater had sealed it shut. Glancing up the staircase to see red lights, Sherlock was quick to use his shoulders to brute force the door open. It took several hard slams against the door, but it was enough for it to become unstuck. Though his shoulder was throbbing in pain, Sherlock ran through the doorway and shut the door before turning around and running.

His mind faltered between plans. He had a plethora of plans in the case that the plan to electrocute the Betas doesn't work. Using the glitch as his basis, Sherlock came up with a plausible plan. Since Betas cannot function properly in the darkness, Sherlock planned to use it against them. If all fells he'd use the darkness against them. Have them destroy each other in the mass confusion brought on by the glitch and Sherlock would be in the pink. That was if the plan worked.

Sherlock slipped and slid toward the end of the hall where the treatment facility was and as he entered he found Celia standing by the three valves that released water. Sherlock ran a hand through his matted hair as he ran toward the yellow ladder and headed up. Upon reaching the top, he looked at Celia. "Alright, they're coming," he quickly said. "This plan, will it work?"

"I'm sixty-six point six percent sure," Celia nodded. Sherlock winced and was stopped when he heard the haunting moans of the Betas as they entered the treatment facility. Their drills were raised as they walked toward the center where it was indented to withhold water from escaping in the hall. Sherlock quickly turned the valves, releasing water into the center, the Betas unfazed. Then, with Celia to help countdown, Sherlock raised his gun toward the electric lines neatly tucked on the ceiling, protected by specially made rubber casings, and fired two shots. A bullet to break off the restraints that held up the wires to the ceiling and another bullet to cut through the protective casing, allowing water to touch the exposed wires as the wires freefall to the ground above the Betas. The wires were long enough to touch the pooling waters and the Betas shrilled in anguish as electricity began to course throughout their bodies. Sherlock shielded his eyes as the sparks began to fly and then some. The Betas began to spin around, throwing punches with their drill hands. Crashing noises as several fell to the ground while others still stood. Drills spun too fast, causing several to burn out. The remaining however, just added to the laundry list of problems. A Beta near pipes began to drill into them after being knocked into them by another. It combined with the electricity made things even worse.

"Utopia structure currently at fifty percent…!" Celia announced to Sherlock. Sherlock stared at her, "You said this would work!"

"I said it was a sixty-six point six percent chance to work!" Celia reminded him. Sherlock looked down below to see the water rising, covering the few Betas standing. He then asked Celia "Is there any way of getting out of here?"

"Yes, emergency shaft!" Celia pointed up to the orange colored vent. Sherlock looked and nodded, "Perfect. How long can Utopia sustain itself?"

"Only four hours," Celia replied. "It has not been up to code for forty-six years."

"Ah, wonderful," Sherlock muttered as he quickly ran up the pipes to reach the vent. He then looked down to Celia, "Return to Beth and tell her that Utopia is falling apart."

"What about you?" Celia asked him. Sherlock chortled, "He says he's the bloody Doctor. But I'm the bloody detective!"

He disappeared into the emergency shaft as Celia dematerialized.