The Flatmate (SHERLOCK fanfiction/nanowrimo2013 winner)

the elevator shaft

Sherlock, with John now carefully slung over his shoulders like a shepherd carries a lamb, entered the elevator. Once the doors clicked shut, he knelt down on the ground and hit the white button with the number "three" printed in its center. While the elevator descended, Sherlock leaned John against the wall. He drew in his bottom lip and contemplated the extent of John's condition. Before he could finalize a solution to the induced coma, the elevator door dinged. Still remaining crouched, he waddled over to the command panel and pulled the red button. The elevator jerked to a halt.

Taking a breath, he turned around and studied the back of the elevator. He recalled that Aceyla had said that the escape door was installed somewhere on the back wall. It didn't take him long to find a small, rectangular outline against the caramel colored wall. Staring at it awhile longer, he grabbed onto the metal banister and gave it a hard downward tug and then quickly gave it a jerk straight up. The door rumbled and then dropped back several inches inside the wall.

Excitedly, Sherlock rubbed his hands together and pushed the door further into the wall until it finally dropped down into a rut, revealing a metal tunnel. Taking on the challenge, Sherlock dove inside, just to find that it was wide enough to hug his shoulders if he tucked his arms under his chest. Growling in frustration, he wriggled out and looked at John. He took off his belt and John's as well. He roped his ankle with one belt and the other ankle with the other. With the free ends, he looped them under John's arms and buckled them. Nodding his head in approval, he set John up so that the top of his shoulders rested at the entrance. Very carefully, so not to upset John's setup, he crawled into the tunnel and very carefully pulled his way through.

When he felt John's body lift and follow him into the channel successfully, he picked up his speed and hurried down. By the size of it, he knew it would take him straight to the vent where the rubbish bins were kept in the back of the hospital. All the while, he made sure to stop and scoot his feet back to make sure John hadn't disconnected sometime during the journey. He was always relieved when the tip of his foot tapped John's shoulder. He continued for some time and it wasn't until ten minutes had passed did he see the grates in front of him. Feeling a rush of much needed rest, he quickened his pace and found himself behind the rusty bars.

Bringing his hands out from underneath him, he grabbed the grills and shook it. It didn't move. He felt around and found he needed a screwdriver. Snapping his fingers, he tried to think of an object strong enough to twist the screws. Remembering he had his wallet with him, he squeezed his hand against his body and wiggled the wallet into his hands. Once he had a firm grasp on it, he slid his hand back up to the grate and wedged a credit card out. With fine motor skills, he bent the card in half and used the folded ends to twist the screw loose.

At first, it was difficult and the card chipped about the edges. But Sherlock was determined and with several attempts using all four sides, the screw at last budged and loosened enough for Sherlock to use his nails. Once he dropped the screw out, he proceeded to the next one with a library card. He did the same to the last three until the grate dropped from the wall completely, landing on the opposite side. A rush of wind moaned throughout the tunnel. They were free. Sherlock inched forward and stuck his head out. He didn't see any car, but he figured he would call once he was out completely. When he was about half way out, he noticed that if he continued forward, he would hang by his feet with John still attached. Scrunching up his face in thought, he figured he could work himself as far as he could without tumbling out, and then reach behind and undo the belts. However, that solution played out much easier in his head. Sherlock scrambled out, using at least one of his hands to pull himself out and the other to cling onto some surface, even if he could only lay a palm against the brick.

With some tedious squirming, Sherlock was at last in a position where he could reach back and free his ankles. It took some fumbling, and the detective almost fell out on his head, but with diligence and careful motor skills, he unleased himself and the belts unwrapped themselves. Sherlock smiled and dropped out of the vent onto his four feet like a cat. Once he was upright, he turned around and pulled John into his arms. He set him down on the ground and pulled out his phone. He called Simon, hoping they hadn't left without him.