Cauldron-Born [SHERLOCK FANFIC]

Mycroft's Deal

White, who held Sherlock firmly by the shoulders, closed the iron door behind the detective, leaving him to look at a cracked mirror in front of him. The mirror was the only thing in the room; there were no bed, no sink, no bathroom, it was entirely empty except for the mirror.

Sherlock swallowed and tightened his clothing. He was surprised at how much sweat had collected on his forehead when he wiped his arm across it. Walking up to the mirror, he stared at his broken and rippled reflection, wondering what would happen to John, Alana, and Charlie. Stroking his chin, his eyes caught sight of writing above the mirror. It read, in hopes to frighten him: What you see, will be yours someday.

Smirking, Sherlock knew what it meant, and it didn’t scare him. He knew the reflection was only meant to make him believe that his face in reality would resemble it someday. Scratching the back of his neck, Sherlock paced the room, thinking. His eyes studied the room, measuring it; deducting it; knowing only in the end that the room was built precisely to be his morgue.

Alana was blindfolded and led upstairs to the attic. She felt her breath tighten and the air grow thin. The smell of mildew and rotting flesh frightened her into stopping halfway up the stairs. White, who had left Sherlock’s cell and returned to take the others, jerked her into following him. Alana’s chest rose and she mustered up all the courage she had left, which wasn’t much.

Charlie was thrown across an operating table and strapped down while his father set up a blood transfusion table. Looking down at his panicked son, Professor Garner purred, “This is the last time we’ll do this, Charlie. The fact that you’re leaking has made you dangerous.” He stuck the needle into Charlie’s vein, immediately draining the blood from his body. “Conveniently, I’ve talked to Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother. In order to free himself, he gave me Sherlock—probably believing Sherlock could get out it. However,” Professor Garner paused long enough to type in a few codes in his computer. Turning back to Charlie, he continued, “Mycroft Holmes was wrong. He didn’t know the situation he was getting his brother in. Fortunately for you, Sherlock Holmes shares your same blood type.”

“You can’t use, Mr. Holmes,” Charlie defended. “You’ll kill both of us.”

Professor Garner lifted an eyebrow and his chest fell in controlled anger. “Don’t forget that all this time you’ve been gone, I’ve been improving this serum. Yes, we have zombies roaming around. But I will destroy them.”

“With what?” Charlie whispered.

“With Sherlock Holmes, of course. After I take the defected blood from you, I will have Mr. Holmes himself improve it, and then have a specific doctor to inject him with it. I want to be extra cautious about this one—I wasn’t careful with you, son. And because of that, you’ve got a bleeding disorder.”

Professor Garner stepped away from his computer and placed his hands on his hips. “Where is Doctor Watson?”

“He was hit by a car,” Charlie informed, already feeling weak from the blood drainage. “He’s not going to be in any condition to do anything for you.”

Breaking into a brisk walk towards the instructed rooms he told his men to conceal the victims, the professor declared loudly, “He will do whatever I tell him do! I don’t care if he’s bleeding out his eyes, he will help me with this!” With heavy feet pounding across the floors, Professor Garner unlocked the cell door to John’s room. Storming in, he ordered the two inexperienced “medics” to leave the room. They did so promptly, leaving the professor and doctor by themselves.

“Close the door behind you,” Garner ordered, his eyes fixed on the barely conscious doctor. “Dr. Watson, I need a favour from you, and if you don’t, I will kill your girlfriend.”

John’s eyes opened and he, with difficulty, scrunched himself up in to the sitting position. His arm held close to his chest and the back of his head bandaged. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing yet,” Garner replied, walking forward. “But I will if you don’t help me medically prepare your detective friend to receive an injection he will be making himself. I need you to do it because I don’t trust my precision or accuracy.”

Shaking his head slowly, John replied through a raspy voice, “You could easily do it yourself, Garner. You just want me to be there as a supporting block for Sherlock. To give him encouragement as well as hope that if he does what you want him to do, he could save me, Alana, and Charlie. Am I right?”

Garner chuckled and stroked his chin. “You’re not wrong.”

Tilting his eyes up at his captor, John said through a cough, “I want the assurance that you will keep my friends safe. I know that’s stupid to ask because I believe you won’t, but I will help if it’s a chance to help them. And, I want you to stop these flesh-eaters before they destroy all of London.”

“Of course, Watson, of course. The new serum Holmes will be creating will give him the ability to stop them all. It’s an advanced medicine I’m sure he’s capable of making, if he succeeds, he will be immune to them for ten years.” Garner’s lips trembled in a smile as he stretched a hand out towards John. “Care to come and help? I want to start now.”

“Can I see my wife?” John asked, stumbling to his feet.

Garner’s smile disappeared. “No.”

“Why not?”

“After you inject the detective, you can see her.” Garner grabbed John’s arm and dragged him out of the room and towards the lab, all the way boasting about his newest achievement and how, if Sherlock’s reaction to the serum was successful, how he could create a new elite of humans that could survive against anything fifty times more well than an average human.