An AU I came up with but probably couldn't write a whole series/book about...
So, The Fall probably will never happen and this happens after THoB (with a few things changed). Just a weird headcanon. (That Sherlock and every other genius in the universe isn't what they seem, I really want to make a book about it... once again, really weird headcanon here)
[「-」]
Sherlock had admitted he was scared, his temper flared as he recognized such feeling that tingled in his body. The gas affected him more than John, in which he brushed aside. On one hand, his tolerance to any kind of drug was higher than John by plenty, on the other hand, the hand Sherlock had paid more attention to was the fact that this drug was different.
"You're getting slow, brother." He breathed the last word, lacing it with a growl. His smirk-ridden face beaming at John who leaned forward with an eyebrow raised. Sherlock tossed his phone into the Belstaff's abnormally large pockets and trotted forward faster, the tips of his shoes going tip, tap like his heartbeat.
John followed close like a loyal dog, eyes vigilant to the shapes of the rooms they passed by, a pitiful buzzing zipping from one ear to the next. White lingered in his brain as he turned his head, the only thing that stood out from the hallway's walls was Sherlock Holmes's tall figure with dark hair and an equally dark jacket.
Both men could feel how their footsteps had corresponded with their own heartbeat, Sherlock's shoes drowning out any other sound. It was the same now. But now, there was another pair of footsteps and a clicking umbrella following them. John could feel how high their head was raised just knowing them.
"You certainly well I am capable to send in officers, Sherlock." The man empathized the last two letters, clicking his tongue as he did. "The experiments here are more threatening than anything you ever witnessed."
"That's why we're here." Sherlock held up his brother's card just like last time and swiped it with one fluid motion. "There's something I need to see."
"And this needed to involve your brother?" John took one final glance outside then stepped in.
"He involved himself." Sherlock spat, his head bobbing to his words.
"Following the cross-path with Irene Adler, you should be thanking me," Mycroft answered with no hesitation right as Sherlock closed his mouth. His tone never changing, unlike his brother whose voice flared up again.
"I mean, you said it yourself, you're risking a lot here," John stated, cranking his head to take a good glimpse of the older Holmes, "Especially as part of the British Government." He finished. All three individuals felt the damping air as John spoke in a dry tone.
"I do prefer to ensure my brother's safety; he often succeeds in getting into unfortunate circumstances," Mycroft replied.
"You and me both." John nodded.
Sherlock, who had decided to sit in the growing silence, finally opened the last door, in where the files Dr. Stapleton lead them sat once, now, there was an empty desk in which it was considered spotless.
"Not here anymore." Sherlock murmured, in which John's eyebrows furrowed. Mycroft turned to the side.
"I will check the next room, stay put, brother mine," Mycroft said, then the clicking of the umbrella faded into the next universe.
"Wait... did you think it was going to be here?"
"Yes, Mycroft had called in to say no one should touch the files." Sherlock hummed, crouching down to examine the table. "A singular person took it." Sherlock shot up, turning to his friend.
"Somehow a single person got past all security? How did they do that? There's no way they couldn't slip past without another ID." John stated, his words breathy as he made his way right next to Sherlock.
"They didn't need an ID." Another voice said. The voice dripped honey so sicky sweet it made John want to vomit. "I run this place." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. The figure brushed by, the shadows hanging on like a mask, blanketing their body and identity. Sherlock could make out it was a lean man who had his hands curled into a loose fist into an article of clothing. The only thing that John saw was the way Sherlock observed the way the man moved.
"You're not in charge of HOUND, are you?" Sherlock circled around the table, eyes focusing on the one spot just like a camera's lens, zooming in, calculating.
"Oh no," They shook their head, stepping to the side, still in the draped shadows. "I'm in charge of the whole scientific community." Sherlock's eyes followed them. "I know about you and your brother... everything."
"No you don't, no one does." John stepped forward.
"Well, at least I know why you're a freak." Sherlock stepped back, his head tilted to the right. The man laughed, somehow knowing.
"He's not-!" John growled.
"No." Sherlock placed a hand in front of his companion. "Let him talk."
"Oh, you like experiments, don't you?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes further, "You sit in front of them and play with them like puppets." They hissed.
Sherlock smiled as his eyes tensed, "Completely off," He lifted his head, "I use precise measurements, and they are far from playing."
"Ah, exactly my words when I told her." He leaned next to Sherlock, whispering into his ear, a faint whisper lingering in John's ears. John noticed how the only things he saw was the figure still being enveloped by shadows and eyes. The same eyes on the people he saw. A cold and calculating look that he never put a finger on. One that so unique to the psychopathic dialogues, sly smirks that was followed by delicate touches, cold gazes that crawled in one's soul.
Sherlock stepped back, his eyes-the ones that widened when he shouted, "Bored!" and softened when John complimented him-closed. John stepped forward, a question mark's curve lifting his eyebrows up.
"I have every lab and scientist at my disposal. I know you, Sherlock Holmes. I do." They laughed, one that shook John to the core for no reason at all, before he left the room with a spin of the lab coat but not before they murmured, "It was fun and games until I realized putting two guinea pigs together would be so much more fun than one."
"What did he say?" John murmured.
Sherlock stood there. Is that why did the drugs affect him so much? The reason why he felt so scared about a hound, a hound that he knew didn't exist? Sherlock's mind whirled. John didn't feel this scared... nor did anyone else. But Henry Knight! Could be another drug... Every lab at his disposal. He wasn't lying, was he? Did he-? Sherlock's eyes didn't move.
"Sherlock?" John said before they heard the clattering of the umbrella, in which John whipped around without a moment's hesitation.
"An experiment, John, an experiment," Sherlock said, not blinking.