𝓘'𝓶 𝓪 𝓜𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻 , 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌

Chapter~4~The List, Sherlock.

The candlelight dimmed, and the sleeping bodies around him darkened. He blinked, standing, but his mind began to wander. He wondered whether he was standing, or lying, because it seemed as though he was hanging off the wall. He blinked again. The raindrops falling down through the roof appeared to be going backwards. Then he was falling, falling...so far. His head hit the ground, and the pains in his stomach and head increased. 

Noises filled the room, and then it was silent. Sherlock's eyes were fixated on the ceiling, as clear liquid drops came down, each one crashing as they hit the floor. Why is the rain so loud? His tired mind became fuzzy, and when his heavy lids closed, he was in his mind palace. It was not completed yet, there were rooms where he could not enter, and some Sherlock was still constructing. 

A long stairway dropped away beneath his feet, curling down, down, and down. He knew at the bottom was a locked door, a door where not even he had the key for. His head drooped, as the light around grew brighter, and yet brighter. His eyes shot open, but he was still in his mind. 

Sherlock looked about him, it was a room, an empty room. Chains hung from the wall, and a metal collar. In that moment he knew that was where he was to lock the most dangerous things. The door was open behind him, and he backed out, as a feeling of dread assailed him. 

But there was no ground behind him. Falling. Falling over, and over. Then it went black. 

Thump.

Thump.

Thump. 

His heartbeat. It echoed inside his head. Every pump of blood through his veins he could hear. Sherlock's heart was going fast, too fast. Darkness. 

Then suddenly, he woke, and he knew he was truly awake. It hurt more than before. What had woken him?

Through the blurry haze, he saw a figure, a tall man, with a familiar stance. 

"Mycroft." Sherlock whispered through cracked lips. 

"Not Mycroft," said a soft voice. "Sherrinford." 

Sherlock's body shuddered in the cold air, and he shook his head, trying to make this hallucination vanish. Only it wasn't an hallucination. 

Sherrinford knelt beside his sixteen year old brother, placing his cool hand against Sherlock's burning forehead. Then, pressing two fingers on the boy's wrist, he sighed. "Your heart-rate is wild, Sherlock." Sherrinford said, pulling Sherlock close to him. "Where is the list?" 

Two blue eyes looked up into his face.  "Where is it?" Sherrinford pushed. Wasn't it strange how the boy's head was raging with heat, and the rest of his body was cold. 

Sherlock's hand opened, and in it was a grubby piece of paper, smudged with dirt. 

"Oh brother mine." Sherrinford said, his eyes scanning the list. 

Through cracked lips, Sherlock whispered. "How did you find me?" 

"I know someone, he keeps an eye on everyone's whereabouts." Sherrinford replied, pulling his mobile from his pockets. 

"Who are you ringing?" the strange teenager questioned. 

"Your brother." The eldest Holmes said his face wreathed with concern. 

"No," Sherlock protested, dragging himself away from Sherrinford. His head hurt, but still he knew what would happen when Mycroft found him. He would go to hospital, and stay there, alone, until his parents came, disappointed and angry. "No."