Under The Weather

Chapter 9

Slight needle/shot and drugs warning

Sherlock

The square of light, the only evidence the outside world still exists, rejoins me. With it, the now familiar steps of Moriarty.

"It seems that our time together has reached an end, Sherlock," The sing song voice says.

Did John find me? Mycroft? Gavin? What's happening?

I scan the backlight consulting criminal, looking for any clue as to what he means. Then my eyes catch on the sight of a syringe. Filled with a foggy liquid. Hallucinogenics.

He walks happily over to my corner of the small room. Crouching infront of me, he raises the syringe up to my neck, just slightly pressing the needle to my exposed skin.

"Why?" My voice suprises me. Its scratchy and raw. Sounding nothing like normal.

"People get bored, Sherlock." He smirks down at me.

"Only psychopaths hurt others for fun," I remark.

"I guess that makes me a psychopath," he says before plunging the sharp point into my external cartaroid artery. I can feel the cooling sensation as the drug makes it's way into my brain.

I watch as the blurring figure crouching infront of me stands on the ceiling- or is that the ground- walking towards a spot of oranges and yellows miles away from me.

The room around me swirls with alternating colors as I start to swirl with them. The feeling I had only moments ago disappears leaving me alone with the sensation of falling.

And suddenly I'm on the edge of a building, looking down at weird looking ants. There's a rectangle in my hand and I seem to be talking. I throw the rectangle beside me and jump forward, plummeting closer and closer to the ground, as one of the ants calls a name.

Sherlock.

Sherlock.

Sher-lock.

Sh-er-lock.

Why is it so familiar?!

As the ground is inches from me, the world tilts and I'm in another room.

The black and white patterned walls give me a headache. There's two armchairs on one side of the room with a wooden chair in between. There's a man with dark curly hair on one of the armchairs and a dirty-blonde on the other. They both look at each other with such joy and happiness and dilated pupils, its obvious they like each other.

The room tilts again and this time I'm just trapped in the dark. There's no light, no escape.

"Sherlock!" That name again. And the voice. Its familiar.

"Oh God. John! I found him!" Greg. That's who that is! I knew it! And John. John's here! He didn't abandon me!

I search around the darkness that engulfs me, searching for the source of the voice. There's a pinprick of light, just inches from me. I reach towards it, finding that it's moved. I move my legs, trying to get to the light. I can't move forward.

I can't get to my friends.

"Sherlock!"

John.

The light brightens and I have to close my eyes as it reaches to the darkest corners of my mind. The light dims and I open my eyes.

Greg crouches infront of me, where Moriarty was only a few minutes ago, with John beside him. "John. Greg," I say with my rough voice.

Greg sighs with relief as John pulls me towards him. I wrap my arms around his body, his warmth engulfs my aching bones.

After a moment, John sets me at arms length. He raises his torch and checks my eyes. Setting down the torch, he moves hosts finger horizontally across my vision.

"Definitely has a concussion," he mumbles.

Greg says, "We should get him out of here, John."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," he agrees, "Can you stand?"

Can I stand? Good question.

"I don'tknow," I mumble.

"Ok. That's ok," John reassures.

He shifts his position so that he can help me up. He pulls me up and I stumble- my legs don't want to follow my brains directions- and almost fall back down. Greg drapes one of my arms over his should and John places the other over his. Together, they half carry half drag me outside.

The outside air fills my lungs with something other than the stale air they had grown accustomed to. The sun momentarily blinds me. Nevertheless, it's a welcome change to the damp room.

Around 10 police cars surround the building. Officers mill around, conversing with one another.

Greg and John take me over to one of the cars, steering me away from the ambulance. John opens the one of the doors and I'm placed inside, John sitting beside me.

Greg walks towards the others, probably filling them in on what happened.

I watch the hand gestures, the red and blue lights pulsing around me, the people inside and outside the yellow tape, and words fill my vision, deducing against my will.

I close my eyes and slump against John's shoulder. Partially waiting for him to tell me off and partially not caring if he does. Suprisingly, he wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer to him and burying his face in my hair.

"I'm so sorry it took so long," he mumbles into my hair.

"How long?" I ask.

"It's been around 5 days," he replies.

My only answer is a small grunt as the cloud of sleep hovers over me.

John

I adjust Sherlocks position to a more comfortable one as his breathing slows. I rub my hand over his back as I examine him.

He has multiple bruises, and there's probably more that I can't see. The once white shirt he slept in was now dulled by brown's and reds from dirt and, presumably, blood.

Greg enters the driver side door and looks back at Sherlocks sleeping form.

"Moriarty got away," Greg says simply.

"Guess we still have to be on the lookout."

"What was that case you said you both were on?" He asks.

"There was a young girl that was kidnapped. Why?"

"They found her. Moriarty took her, too. It looks like she was just taken and ignored. She was fed and everything," Greg says.

"Oh that's good. She must've just been taken to distract," I say.

"Yeah."

And the conversation dies off as we make our way back to 221b.

Yay! I this chapter was early! My braincells decided to work with me and this only took 2 days rather than the normal 7. I think one more chapter to make it an even 10 and to finish the Johnlock aspect and then we'll be done. Thank you so much for reading my story!