An Awkward Situation....(a Sherlock story)

The lab

Sherlock's heart was racing. He'd been dosed with something, probably a mild sedative, and everything was swaying as he was dragged across a dark hallway. Through his muffled thoughts, he thought he could hear screams, crying, and shouts. He was used to this sound, he'd had his fair share in hospitals, but this wasn't a hospital, this was a lab. He was going to be tested on like lab rat.

He screamed himself, though he knew it was foolish, obviously no one would help him. He tried to calm his body down, but it felt like it his mind was trapped in a body that wasn't his. He kept squirming and kicking out, sobbing. He couldn't stop. Why couldn't he stop? His mind itself was calm, he was assessing the few blurred images he could process in his mind. He was on the second floor, in a private lab, and being dressed into a hospital gown. The man dressing him was in his late thirties, he an unfaithful girlfriend and had recently returned from across the sea, most likely America. Pitiful human being, really. But the information was useless when he couldn't do anything with it.

"Alright," The man's voice was like a waterfall, pounding in Sherlock's mind as he stared up at him, whose face was twisting in and out of focus, "Just calm down, this is only going to hurt a little bit."

"Idiot," Sherlock slurred, "It's obviously going to hurt, I'm not stupid. I know what you're doing." Whether or not the words actually floated out of his mouth, he didn't know.

The man simply laughed, and suddenly an excruciating pain erupted through his left shoulder. It felt like a thousand bullets were penetrating his skin as his body began to feel dull. He began to feel very...weird. He almost giggled, but exhaustion got the better of him as he felt his body collapse. He was being lifted, into a bed. A bed? Bed's are dull, Sherlock thought to himself happily, why not put him on a couch? Couches were much more relaxing. Where was John? John should get him tea. He was thirsty. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was an oxygen mask, being fitted firmly over his mouth. Dull.

-

"Idiot." Mycroft glared at his phone, it'd been hours since Sherlock had texted him back, and he hadn't been able to track him on the surveillance cameras. What was worse was John wasn't replying either. What was it, ignore the mature superior day?

Lestrade, who had been tagging along with him all day grunted, "Relax, Ms. Hudson is probably just inviting us over to tea. You know how she likes company."

"Yes, revolting, isn't it." Mycroft muttered before forcefully knocking on the door with his trusty umbrella.

The door opened almost immediately, and both Mycroft and Lestrade jumped back as Ms. Hudson tore through the doorway with a butter knife in hand, her eyes wild and ferocious.

"For goodness sake's woman!" Mycroft barked, "What on earth are you doing?"

Her eyes, recognizing the both of them, softened immediately as she grabbed both of them by the arm and dragged them inside.

"They've been watching me all day," She muttered as she skipped up the stairs at such a pace that seemed impossible for such an elderly woman, "Had to throw china sets out the window at 'em, just to keep them away from my post."

"Who?" Lestrade asked, his face bewildered.

Ms. Hudson turned, and grabbed both of Mycrofts arms. Ew, he thought, he hated when people touched him. "Oh, Mycroft. They've taken them, they took them away in a van and I couldn't do anything because I was stuck. You have to find them, please."

"Taken? Taken who-" But his voice trailed off as he entered the main room. It was as cluttered as it always was, but there was something wrong. Sherlock's favorite mug was abandoned in the middle of the room, half eaten breakfast, including a rather distasteful looking piece of toast were scattered across the counter. Sherlock and John had been in a hurry. But there was someone else that had been with them, he could tell from the extra set of silverware.

"What happened here?" Lestrade whispered, reaching up to take a bite of the toast before gagging and tossing it aside, "It looks like Sherlock hired another Sherlock to clutter up the place."

Mycrofts heart began to pound in panic, as it always did when he knew his younger brother was in trouble before spinning around to face a terrified Ms. Hudson, "Where is he?" He whispered.

"I don't know," Ms. Hudson suddenly broke out in jagged sobs, and as Lestrade awkwardly attempted to clam her, Mycroft hurried up the stairs to Sherlock's room. Yes, there was something terribly wrong. Inside the bathroom were small footprints on the toilet stool, remains of a poorly executed shaving job and Sherlock's clothes-except for his shirt-were neatly folded in the corner of his bedroom room.

He hurried back down stairs, shouting, "Lestrade, call in your men, I want eyes in the sky, eyes on the grounds, everywhere. Look in the alleyways, look in the chunnels, I don't care if you have to break into the institute for retired prostitutes, look everywhere."

Lestrade nodded quickly, disappearing into the hallway muttering something like, "Finally, my division."

Mycroft guided Ms. Hudson to an armchair and sat her down, attempting to be as human as he could as he said, "Alright, I need you to tell me everything."

_

"Would you please stop that? We've only been here a few hours and I'm already considering murdering you." John growled as Ludovic pounded on the metal door, again.

After they'd taken Sherlock away, the man had dragged them through a maze of identical velvety corridors and into what he guessed was a padded cell. There was no light, except for the dim swinging light bulb above them. He'd screamed until his voice had gotten hoarse, calling for Sherlock, Ms. Hudson, anyone. But he'd given up when Ludovic suggested setting a fire and using the smoke to make Morse code out of it.

Ludovic began to pace, "No, no, you don't understand. I've worked here for years, they can hear our screams. Sooner or later someone will recognize my voice and let us out."

John considered yelling again, but he was afraid the poor man was going to loose it. His eyes seemed to be permanently set in a frightening bulge and he kept biting his lip.

"Do you know where Sherlock is?" John asked calmly, attempting to stray the mans mind away from the situation.

Ludovic shriveled to the ground with a small shrug, "Dunno, I suppose he's in the bosses personal lab. I've only been in there once, but that's where he keeps all his valuable discoveries."

"He has a private lab?"

"Yeah, sure does. Has it's own vending machine and everything."

John glared, "And you didn't find it suspicious that you never knew what was going on up there? A whole different lab you had no idea what experiments were being carried out?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds obvious."

"Because it is-" John took a deep breath, "Alright, whatever. We need to focus on finding ways to get out of here. You've worked here for ages, so you must know where we are?"

Ludovic grinned, "Right next to the cafeteria, did you know they've had the same four meals for eight years? I've had lasagna so many times that-"

"Lasagna later, focus." John pressed, "you know where the bosses 'secret lab' is?"

Ludovic shrugged, "I suppose, yes."

"Good. After we find a way out were going to go up there and get Sherlock, then get out."

Ludovic grinned, "Then we can celebrate by purchasing milk! That is a thing between you two isn't it?"

"Please don't remind me of milk," John muttered, rubbing his temples.