"Of course, though I prefer fashionably late," Answered Sherlock cheerfully, at the same time John stiffened his back and demanded, "Who are you, then?"
The woman rolled her eyes, "I'm not just going to tell you, what do you think I am? Stupid? Now come on, you're needed in my bosses suite."
"Okay, yeah, don't see how that would be stupid at all," John muttered, grabbing Sherlock's arm as he began to follow the woman, "Don't follow her, we don't even know who she is!"
"Don't we?" Sherlock grinned slyly, before shrugging away John's tight grip and following the woman.
John had the sudden urge to trip someone as he muttered something under his breath and met Sherlock's pace, "Alright then, who is she?" He whispered, making sure the woman couldn't hear.
"Alcoholic, four years now, she owns three dogs, two cats, and has a clingy boyfriend. She's got a bad reputation, her mother and father rarely reach out to her, and she is extremely self conscious of her appearance. She doesn't like her job, but she stays with it, possibly because she needs money, more likely because of blackmail." Sherlock spoke smoothly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to assess the life of complete strangers.
John nodded, not bothering to ask for an explanation, "Does this have something to do with-"
"Cassius? Yes, obvious." Sherlock answered, his small frame struggling up the steep steps. While even John with his pitiful short legs could skip at least three steps, Sherlock was forced to walk each one.
They walked into the building, the woman, who had been-as far as John could tell-completely oblivious to the conversation, flashed a shiny looking badge and muttered, "Two guests," to the doorman.
He eyed John and Sherlock oddly, Sherlock specifically, but shrugged and held open the clear, sparkly front doors.
Immediately the woman raced to the elevator, not giving John much time to look at his surroundings. He did catch the swinging, elaborate chandelier that was surrounded by various lighting above him, though. As he followed Sherlock into the elevator, he got one last look at the entryway. It reminded him faintly of a theater, domed ceiling, wooden arches, but it vanished from his view in seconds.
He watched the woman press the twelfth floor, and awkwardly assessed the boring, plain elevator as the woman stared at the wall.
Sherlock was-as always-texting, who knows who, and seemed perfectly content with the situation. That is, until John grew angry at Sherlock for being so comfortable and swatted his phone away.
Glaring angrily at John, Sherlock placed his phone in his pocket, and joined in on the awkward staring-at-the-wall game.
"Well...this is awkward. There's not even elevator music. Though I suppose not many elevators have those anyway." Sherlock muttered, mostly to himself.
John glanced at Sherlock, "What are you talking about? All elevators have elevator music. It's...the elevator thing."
"The elevator thing? Honestly, John. Personally, I've only been in a handful of elevators with music. The rest are completely silent."
"That's not true, you're just not paying attention."
"Did you just accuse me of being unobservant?"
"If you two are done bickering," The woman said, interrupting John mid-sentence, "I'd like to exit the elevator now."
"Oh." Both of them said as they realized the elevator door was open, revealing two twisty looking hallways.
Sherlock and John exchanged looks as the woman took off, turning left down the hallway.
"Hey John...Jawn" Sherlock whispered, tugging on John's sleeve softly. "I'm eighty six percent sure the man were about to meet is a serial killer."
John stopped walking, suddenly aware of the dim lights and thick walls. It reminded him of the Shining..."Jeeze, Sherlock. Why didn't you think to mention that before?"
"Well...I wasn't sure until now." Sherlock answered, urging John to continue walking.
John continued walking, it was partly because he didn't want to be in the hallway alone. That, and he felt sort of bad watching Sherlock try and drag him through the hallways. His cute little hands could barely wrap around John's waist, and with all Sherlock's power, John barely felt a tug.
The woman stopped, and John had to mutter, "You've got to be kidding me," as she opened the door to room two thirty seven.
It was dark as John walked inside, subconsciously stepping closer to Sherlock in an almost protective motion. The door was shut behind them by the lady, and as John fought back the urge to scream like a six year old and start pounding on the doors, a deep chuckle echoed in the room.
He squinted his eyes, waiting for his vision to adjust to the darkness. His eyes managed to cram together the outline of desks, drawers, what looked like a bed, and a large figure, sitting on a chair.
"You two look adorable," A gruff, scratchy voice drawled.
John felt Sherlock step forward, bumping into John's leg slightly as he said, "Wish I could say the same to you. It's cute, the darkness, by the way. So we can't see you. You're either very self conscious of your obesity, or your identity is precious too you. I'm guessing on both."
"I heard you've got a smart mouth," The man said stiffly, "How's it been being so...tiny? How many lollipops have the adults offered you?"
"Probably as many as they're trying to keep you from eating, you fat-"
"Sherlock," John interrupted, "Shut it."
The man chuckled, "I admire your bravery. However, it would be much easier if I didn't have to talk to you, I don't have a good reputation with children."
It was silent for a few short moments, then John felt Sherlock jump and grab onto his legs, as if trying to balance himself. Slowly, his tiny frame inched down to the floor, until he was on his back.
"Sherlock!" John quickly knelt down, feeling for Sherlock's shoulders and shaking them. He was breathing, but slowly, and didn't respond to anything John said.
"Don't worry, you're baby detective is fine. I've been meaning to talk to you, and I'm afraid your boy would interrupt it."
John pulled Sherlock into his arms, standing back up as he glared into the darkness, "Well, you should have called, or maybe texted. I much prefer that."
"But face-to-face is so much more fun. Now, let's get this over with. I assume you're aware of your partners...condition."
"No," John drawled sarcastically, "I actually hadn't noticed."
"Well that's rather tragic, isn't it. Anyway, I've decided to help you. I know how to restore Sherlock to his normal self, and I would be willing to give you the antidote." The voice spoke smoothly, casually. John could tell this man was good at persuasion.
John refused to let the man know his heart had began pounding, and his mind began swaying slightly, "So you've decided to talk to me? Shouldn't Sherlock be the one you're talking too?"
"I thought so, but you seem more...aware of Sherlock's needs. He doesn't really care about his well-being, but I know you do. I know you would be willing to make hard decisions if it means saving your friend. I know you have a dark side, and I know you try to hide it. But sometimes darkness is the only course of action."
John gripped Sherlock tighter, "What is it, then? What do you want me to do? I know you're not going to give me the antidote for free."
"You're not completely stupid after all. It's true, I do require something before I give you what you need."
"Need?" John pressed out a fake laugh, "What makes you think I need you? I have friends who are working on an antidote, I'd rather wait longer for a cure then get it now and have to do something horrible in return."
"You might not think that, especially when I tell you Sherlock doesn't have forever." The man paused, probably to heighten John's interest, "I've just boosted Sherlock's infection. He's going to de-age more...quickly. If you don't get a cure soon, Sherlock will go from a kid, to a child, to a baby, and then poof! He'll cease to exist. Are you interested in what I have to say, now?"
John looked down at Sherlock. He couldn't see him clearly, but he could feel Sherlock twisting and shaking in his arms, "What...is it you want me to do, anyway?"
The man laughed, again. "It's simple, really. I need you to merely collect some...information from me. I want to know Jamen Cassius's whereabouts, and I want access to Mycroft Holmes security."
John forced a laugh out and reached for the handle behind him. "Of course not! I'll find a cure for Sherlock on my own, I don't need you. I can make do on my own. Now, as lovely as this has been, I've got things to...attend to."
He opened the door, and light immediately flooded his vision. Before he shut the room too the door, the man muttered, "You'll be back, and the cost will be greater then."