A/N: Sorry for the late update. Got caught up in work and Christmas and birthday stuff for tomorrow and ugh. I regret being born around Christmas so much. Anyways, busy is basically the summation of all of this nonsense.

I may be guilty to working on another angst and sad one shot. And by "angst" and "sad" I mean character death. And it may or may not be Mystrade. Ha...

So there is something to look forward to. I may get that done by new years. Hopefully.

So I'm going to post this one today and another one tomorrow if I'm not busy. :) Enjoy the chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Chapter 19 – Cross-Hatched

SHERLOCK POV

"Fuck!" The man cursed as I slam him into a wall. His eyes were absolutely murderous as he met my gaze. I didn't care for how he felt. I didn't care if he despised me. I didn't even flinch when he openly spat in my face, instead reaching a hand up to wipe it away as my forearm kept him in place.

No, I didn't care about those.

What I did care about was that this low-life was keeping information from me for an absurd reason.

It didn't help that this man was obviously Discoloured and drunk. His eyes couldn't focus on me for longer than five seconds and his knees kept threatening to buckle on him. The warm breath he breathed out was followed with a stench of alcohol and lack of hygiene in general.

He was a bitter man to put it lightly. A very bitter and reluctant man.

However, he was the only source credible for the man who took John.

"That's not an answer to my question, I assure you," I sneered and the man growled.

I slammed his back against the wall once more and he curses again. It was déjà vu.

"A location," I jeered, but the man shook his head.

"I 'mit nothin'" He slurred heavily, trying to thrash in my grip.

Scoffing, I quickly rotated him around until his face was pressed against the cement walls, twisting his arm around his back. If I added an ounce more pressure I could pop it out of its socket. It wouldn't be the first time I had to perform these precarious measures.

The howl of pain was expected and I rolled my eyes. I was not in the mood for theatrics.

"A location," I grounded again, applying a smidgeon more pressure. A heavy shiver ran down the man's spine at the pain I imagined he was feeling.

After panting heavily for a minute, the man finally answered. "Why does it mat'er tha' you find this man?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm not looking so much for the man as for the individual he is withholding."

"An' is tha' indiv'dual worth it?"

I paused. I didn't release the man nor did I reduce the amount of pressure however I was mentally caught off guard.

The answer came quickly despite its origins.

"Yes." It was absolute, not an ounce on uncertainty much to my interest. Leaning in, I watched his enraged glare follow me. "Now, a location. I quite frankly don't have all night to keep you occupied."

A pinch more pain and the man spoke quickly.

"Fine! Fine! Queen Mary's. The university."

I wanted to laugh but contained it to a scoff. "I would assume that since you said university that you also know the specific facility in the area?"

A growl. "SEM Research Facilities."

I didn't hesitate to back off immediately and dusted my hands against each other. Turning on my heels, I began to make my way back to civilization when I spotted the man get up, or more accurately, his shadow. It sported a blade where his hands would be and I sighed.

He didn't even hold accurate posture or stability for the attack. How annoying.

Performing a quick 180, I thrust myself forward and smacked his wrist hard, hearing the man hiss and drop the blade. Not a second later I take another step and use the brunt of my side to slam him into the wall. His head made contact first and the rest of his dirty body slid to the ground. Not dead. Just unconscious.

I observed him with disinterest and scoffed.

Glancing at the knife, I kicked it under one of the disposals and sighed, once again making my way out.

"Amateur. I have dealt with worse attempting to get a hit."

JOHN POV

When I awake, it was due to the noise beside me. It wasn't so much as loud as disorienting since everything else is kept in silence. This place was like a cemetery and any little noise was similar to an explosion. A disruption to the false peace. A ripple of noise.

White walls, white ceilings, white tile, and the white cot I rested on met me when I lifted my head to view my surroundings. Not the flat. Definitely not the flat.

The distinct beeping next to me dragged my attention next and with it, everything came back to me.

Thumping my head back against the pillow, I sighed with frustration.

Right. Damsel in distress. Caught. Still caught. Seems like nothing has changed since I have last slept.

How long has it been?

This room held no clocks. The only numbers were the IV lines that blinked apathetically the numbers of my pulse, blood pressure, and respirations. I had no way to keep time in this room, in my containment cell.

Great. Just splendid.

My eyes, previously in slits from the blinding light, slowly opened fully.

I regretted it almost immediately.

The fluid had definitely changed me since the last time I was conscious. I couldn't look at anything fully. Before, I was able to observe a room in general assessments, but now even those placed a spike of pain in my skull right between my eyes. I felt something roll in my stomach – nausea – and groaned at the uncomfortable symptoms I was feeling.

Movement was a little better at least. I was finally able to curl into a ball and face away from the door towards the wall. My limbs were still lead and metal, but they were less stiff. More pliable. At this point, I didn't know if that was a good thing or not. If that meant I was getting used to the black liquid or if I was fighting it.

I prayed for the latter.

My conscious seemed to like the color white after a while. Well, technically white isn't really a color, but it doesn't change its relieving shade.

Anyhow, it was a nice separation because anything with color had the nauseating effect of switching from Monochrome hues to bright color like malfunctioning strobe lights.

White, on the other hand, was white. It had no other color so looking at it was much easier than looking anywhere else.

No matter the temptation, I didn't turn around when I heard the doctor from earlier open the door and lock it once more. I ignored greeting him as he padded softly over to my cot. The despicable anger I felt for this man was blinding before, but now it has ebbed. Now, what was left was pure irritation. Just annoyance of what he reduced me to from what I once was.

Much to my annoyance, he began to hum softly to himself as he turned the dials to adjust my vitals and diffusions. It was an aimless tune that was clearly made up on the spot but seeing as it was the only noise in this god-forsaken place, I had to narrow my hearing to its sounds involuntarily.

After a while it got overbearing and I turned over to watch the doctor. He rose a brow at me when I glared in his direction, but pointedly stopped humming.

He was in the process of switching the black liquid that was almost dry when he spoke.

"Just a few more hours, Doctor Watson."

I squinted my eyes, the pulsing color changes beginning to come back in full swing. I was tempted to argue or fight back this man, but it would be futile. I needed to build up my strength before I attempted something that drastic.

"Until what?"

He tsked my question like it was obvious. "Until you are complete of course."

I narrowed my eyes and found myself tense. "I'm not a bloody experiment."

The pitying smile that I was given in response was terrible. It was like he was trying to explain something to a child. His voice got softer and he rose his brow considerably as if taken by my denial. "On contrary, Doctor Watson. It seems that you are."

If glares could kill, this man would be bleeding on the ground. "But only because you made me this way."

The scientist looked fully prepared to offer another explanation when a soft vibration in his lab coat interrupted him. Sighing, he smiled at me with an apologetic expression – although I could really care less – and dug into his pocket, retrieving his mobile. He turned away from me and answered the phone.

"Hello? Doctor Dalton speaking-" he paused mid-sentence as if interrupted.

Meanwhile, I pondered the name I just heard. Dalton? I couldn't place my finger on it, but I swear I heard that name somewhere. It could have been when I was in med school or during something on the telly, but I knew I had heard that name somewhere.

But I didn't have long to mull this. At this rate, I needed to focus on what he was saying. As pathetic as it was, I have hours ahead of me to try and decipher his name.

"Yes, he is here. Oh, the experiment is going lovely. Yes, yes, I know. He-" Another interruption. "That is what I was trying to say! He will be ready in a few more hours I promise you. Everything is going according to plan." He smiled briefly, brightly, maniacally. "Alright! Farewell."

Pressing the end call button, he met my eyes and smiled. "The boss says hello. He hopes you are doing well."

I scoffed. I already was pretty positive I knew who this boss was. And with that said, I knew I could never be well in his presence.

He returned to the dials and began messing with them again. "You will be going with him when you are finished."

"And if I don't?" I inquired.

Those eyes met mine and for a moment, I spotted fear. It was a surprise. This scientist didn't seem to harbor fear, but perhaps it was hidden behind the absolute madness he nurtured in his mind.

"I fear you don't have much of a choice, Doctor Watson."

Sighing, I leaned back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

"What will I even be like when I leave this place?" I didn't mean for it to be answered. It was more so a personal question that I felt like voicing. An inquiry that had been tearing me to pieces.

A fear of being changed into something I'm not kept grasping me. I didn't want to be reduced to a drone or another lackey to follow Jim's every word. My history wouldn't matter to me anymore. The friends I lost on the battlefield and promised to remember? All those patients of ranging color variance that I mourned after a failed attempt at saving their lives? It would mean nothing. Those traits that made me before could be ripped from me and I found that more terrifying than dying.

In all actuality, I would rather die than become something I'm not. Pride be damned.

The scientist, for all he is worth, didn't respond to my question, letting me soak in my fearful reveries and personal hatreds.

It was around this time that something crashed in the next room. Both the scientist and I ceased moving, our attention being towards the glass window.

"I will be back." His voice radiated annoyance.

When he pressed in the code and swiped his finger, effectively opening the door, I craned my neck to see what happened out in the lab. What I saw, however, created an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

Hidden behind one of the lab stations was Sherlock, crouched and almost obscure in the shadows. He was looking straight at me and motioned for my silence. I rolled my eyes. I wasn't an amateur at stealth.

The scientist made one mistake when he left and if it wasn't for that mistake, Sherlock's plan would have failed I realize. Disbelief grasps me to think that Sherlock had been relying on human characteristics alone – a very unreliable variable in his book – to get me out of this pathetic mess.

But he seemed to play his cards right because when the scientist left, he didn't shut the door. I didn't know where the noise originated from, but it must have been far for Sherlock to sneak in and quickly come over to my cot.

"Sherlock," I sighed, closing my eyes briefly and mentally putting together a string of curses to go along with his name. However, none of them manifested and instead a traitorous smile of relief appeared.

"No time. As it is, finding this place was rather difficult. Getting out will be pushing the limits." He began to remove the IV lines and any restraints I may have gathered since my slumber. When his hands reached the line with the black serum, he looked at me questioningly.

And, me being the idiot at the moment, I looked him straight in the eye and flinched visibly. They kept changing from blue to gray and back so fast that it was like a train wreck level of disaster. Sherlock didn't miss the flinch and reached out to steady me before faltering and dropping his hands. I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them, Sherlock's face was closed off and emotionless.

Taking a deep breath, I pointed towards the line. "Just remove it as you would an IV, but be careful. I haven't the faintest clue what this is and I don't know if it will react to you from just being on your skin."

"But you-!" Sherlock protested but clenched his teeth when I glowered back.

"I have been under this for a few hours now Sherlock. I don't think I have much of a choice if this affects me or not." At that he didn't respond, mutely removing the line and avoiding contact.

After he removed the lines, he backed away, expecting me to get up. I tried, for his sake. I did, but the most I got was a futile struggle to get into a sitting position.

Sherlock didn't hesitate to come near once more. "Can you walk?"

I rolled my eyes. "If I could, do you think I would be needing you to help me?" He chuckled and I offered a faint smile. I was already losing energy from the exertion of attempting to get up.

"Are you alright?" he asked me after he managed to get us both standing. His arm was around my waist and he had my arm hanging over his shoulder, using his other hand to keep it in place.

An airy laugh escaped. "Besides being weak and having my pride drip onto the floor? Splendid."

He paused. "Mentally?"

I grimaced, but the answer was truthful when I finally gave it. "I'm fine. What he did to me affects me physically, not mentally. That much I can promise you right now." He was about to ask another question when I shook my head. "We really don't have time for this Sherlock. I highly doubt the scientist will spend his leisure time getting back to his latest experiment." The last word fell off bitterly and Sherlock stiffened ever so slightly before nodding.

As we walked through the doors, I realized something with a growing panic.

Sherlock was here. His hands were touching mine, skin on skin. We were soul mates, that much I was certain.

So why did the color I should be feeling come in reluctantly and slow?

I didn't bring it up to Sherlock and hoped it was only a brief side effect. If not…

My mind didn't bother spelling it out for me.

We hobbled out of the room, and past one of the lab tables. It had vials upon vials of the black substance that was injected into me. Yes, it was black. Even with color, the hue didn't change.

Sherlock didn't hesitate to grab one of the vials, placing it in his coat pocket.

I heard the footsteps before Sherlock did, but I still warned him too late.

"Sherlock!" I shouted but before I knew it we were tumbling to the ground, a loud smack above me the only sound that told us what happened. As Sherlock fell, I heard him attempt to grab the nearest object to stabilize the both of us, but it was futile for he grabbed a medical tool cart and it wasn't strong enough to hold two grown men as its weight. Medical supplies scattered to the ground after us.

My limbs felt heavy and numbed as I crashed to the ground and I winced, peering over at where Sherlock was before glancing back at the scientist.

He looked at us like a parent displeased with a bad grade.

In his hands was a microscope, a little corner at the bottom tainted with red/dark grey (the changing colors making it impossible to stare at for long).

With three, calm steps, the scientist – Dr. Dalton I had to remind myself – approached Sherlock.

"You thought you could fool me again, eh? I'm sure you will find I am a quick learner, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock tsks at the man which seemed to be the last straw in the American's patience.

A swift kick was made to Sherlock's stomach and I watched him cringe. I wanted to reach out and grab the scientist's legs, but I was moving too slowly, my metal limbs keeping me nearly stationary.

The scientist snickered at the assault. Sherlock watched him, uttering something about "amateur". Not a second later, the scientist growled and kicked Sherlock's face. I heard a sickening crunch as his nose broke and began to bleed.

Anger swelled in me as I watched Sherlock groan and spit out blood.

I needed to do something! A distraction would do best in fact. Something to throw off the scientist until I had a better idea. Anything to stop him from abusing Sherlock at this very moment.

My eyes flew wildly across my area and landed on a stray syringe. Stretching, I grasped it and began to crawl over to the American albeit slowly. After a few seconds, I plunged it into his leg.

The howls of the scientist as he lost his balance and fell didn't distract me from approaching Sherlock.

"You are a sodding idiot, you know that?" I growled as I mentally checked over his injuries. Sherlock merely chuckled and protested that he could never be an idiot.

Yeah right.

"John," he wheezes after a moment. "Look in my pocket. Bottom right."

I didn't hesitate to reach in, surprised when I pulled out my old army pistol.

At the padded steps of the recovering scientist, I quickly rolled onto my back and pointed the gun at the scientist. I didn't doubt my aim. I never doubted my aim. There was a reason that I was captain in the squad of my soldiers. I was a sharp shooter and never missed.

The smile that broke out on the scientist's face was confusing to say the least.

"Oh… he knew this would happen, you know. Warned me even in that call back there."

"Moriarty?" I asked and he nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes! You know, with you and Sherly there…"

I spared a brief glance at Sherlock and found him watching the man with a mixture of weary curiosity and annoyance. "What about us?"

The scientist seemed to be continuing even without my prodding. Wagging a finger at me like he was scolding me, he chuckled to himself. "He likes you. You interest him."

I gripped the gun tighter, finger itching on the trigger. "Moriarty likes me? What sort of interest could he have for a simple ex-army doctor?" But the scientist waved his hand as if to dismiss the topic.

Instead, he leveled his gaze with Sherlock, the smile faltering to a cold and calculating sneer. "He told me to tell you something, Sherlock." He smirked and for a second it resembled too much like Jim's. A mirror image of when I faced him in the Translucent abode. "This is only the overture."

With that, he met my eyes again. My hands weren't shaking and I knew I could take the shot. It wouldn't be fatal, but it would stop him from escaping. However, that being said it would also cease his talking and I had a feeling that wouldn't help our situation. So my fingers remained still.

As it were, that was probably my downfall.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Doctor Watson, but you won't be getting rid of me this time around either. Maybe third time us the charm?" He looked sincerely apologetic before snapping his fingers and letting the lights turn off. I didn't hesitate to snap my fingers in response except by the time the lights turned on he was gone.

I didn't bother suppressing my groan. "Does everyone in Moriarty's lot go out of their way for theatrics?"

Upon hearing a low chuckle, I peered over at Sherlock. Despite the annoyance I felt, my heart did ache as I saw him injured as he was. I didn't show this, of course. Why would I?

A shaky hand reached up to wipe away the black/crimson blood escaping his lips in a slow dribble. I saw the flinch as he attempted to rotate his position on the ground, or to get up into a better position.

Doctor-mode was flipped on almost as easily as a switch.

"Lay down." Sherlock spared me an exasperated look. "Now, Sherlock. Your stiches, despite your protests of being fine, may have been pulled apart at the abuse you took." Sherlock remained stubborn for a while before reluctantly laying down, muttering about how he was supposed to get rid of them the following week.

Quelling the urge to smirk at his whining and complaining, I carefully unbuttoned his coat and pushed it to the side.

My pride was eternally grateful that I was in my medical mode at the moment. Had I not been, I might have made a fool of myself in blushing at the mere thought of taking off Sherlock's shirt.

Just think! The thoughts supplied absently and perhaps deliriously. If someone were to see this, people would talk!

The red/dark gray seeping into Sherlock's shirt was nearly impossible to miss. I didn't bother voicing the fact that I was right for I was positive Sherlock wouldn't appreciate it. In fact, he would probably grow more reluctant – or more like a child. Both were practically the same in his case.

Pushing the shirt to either side of him like his coat previously, I caught a clear site of the stitches. A twinge of sympathy went out towards the consulting detective. He was more than happy to have these things removed next week, euphoric even. At this rate, he may have to get new ones.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I can just hear the complaining now.

When I removed the shirt, the blood began to flow more freely. I cursed and reached to where my phone would have been. Logic claimed to call the Yard as well as any other emergency team in the vicinity, but seeing as I had been captive, I wasn't too surprised to see that it was confiscated. No doubt it was probably disposed of by this point.

Sighing angrily, I looked around me for at least some gauze; something to stop the blood flow at least. First aid supplies were of the necessity, but I doubted I would find a needle and thread to redo the sutures in this area.

Hands fumbled with the medical supplies that fell across the ground earlier. I spotted scalpels and a few syringes of questionable substances before finally grasping a barely used roll of gauze.

I wanted to curse loudly at my useless limbs right now. Well, not necessarily useless as much as slow and lazy. I was going to have to wrap this roll of gauze around Sherlock's midsection and my being slow and all was certainly going to be a hindrance.

But Sherlock wasn't complaining about my speed, which was odd for him. Glancing over at him, I wanted to roll my eyes when he was holding up the black substance in the vial for inspection. So that's why. Prat.

I expected him to disregard me as I rolled the gauze, but when my hands made contact with his skin, I felt him flinch for a moment. The soul connection so to speak, which was definitely abnormal since he rarely felt what went on with such ordeals.

Sherlock rose a brow in my direction at my hesitance, but I sighed and shook my head. Better to not question it right now. Perhaps it will be gone in the morning.

It took roughly 15 minutes more or less, if I had to guess, to wrap Sherlock's wound effectively but it felt longer. He didn't hesitate to voice his discomfort, but I chided him, saying he should have been more observant of the scientist. That earned me a glare that I smiled sweetly at.

Scooting back, I was a little relieved to see that my coordination seemed to be improving from my discharge of the black substance.

But that didn't stop me from laying on my back beside Sherlock.

"We should be leaving this area, John."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, we should, Sherlock. We should also be at the hospital getting treated or back at the flat to relieve Mrs. Hudson from her concerns. Not to mention that perhaps some sleeping would be in order, hm?"

The same low chuckle resounding next to me and I refused to think how it made me feel warm and at home inside hearing it because I certainly didn't feel like that. It was simply the adrenaline rubbing off and the soul connection.

But nonetheless, I looked over at Sherlock and spotted almost immediately the bittersweet grin he was sporting.

I nudged him. "Stop thinking so loudly Sherlock. I can hear your thoughts from over here and they seem to have "Moriarty" written all over them."

Sherlock gaped at me for a moment before rolling his eyes with a added snort to the mix. "You can't possibly hear my thoughts, John. Illogical."

"You still didn't deny the fact that I was right," I pointed out and he laughed again.

"No," he acquiesced. "I didn't."

Silence reigned its grip before it allowed me to break it. Sighing, I turned and glared at Sherlock.

"So…" I prompted.

Sherlock mirrored my sigh. "I was thinking that Moriarty is more than I previously deducted."

I didn't voice my agreement, merely humming, but I had a feeling I didn't need to.