Author: MyPrivateLaughter PM
John and Sherlock have managed to lock themselves in a murderer's basement. No windows, phone signal or light switch. Not good. Sherlock however sees this is the perfect time to uncover the cause of John's 'angst'. Is he prepared for the discovery?Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - Sherlock H. & John W. - Chapters: 4 - Words: 6,218 - Reviews: 39 - Favs: 120 - Follows: 46 - Updated: 03-17-12 - Published: 03-11-12 - Status: Complete - id: 7915507
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
NB: Hello! New story (and I have a new name, in case you didn't notice!) This is meant to be before they get together, to avoid any confusion. Please let me know if you like! … or not ;)
Sherlock has somehow attained a key to the suspected murderers house. John does not want to know how. He also does not want to think about why Sherlock thought the best way to proceed with the investigation would be to break into the suspected murderers house. Maybe this would be alright if the murder lived in a semi-detached in the city, but when it is a decomposing mansion with no other buildings for half a mile, John begins to develop a bad feeling about entering at dusk without permission.
"I have a bad feeling about this," John says.
"Where's your sense of adventure, John?" Sherlock sounds a little too excited. It's almost as if he wants to be caught, tortured and then killed. He takes a cursory glance around them before sliding the key into the lock, turning it and pushing the old wooden door open.
"Back where you left your common sense," John mutters, switching on his torch to light the large hallway. "What exactly are we looking for?"
"You don't need to whisper," Sherlock says confidently. "He will spend two and a half hours at the Rose and Crown. Longer if he's grooming his next victim."
Sherlock pushes open a door on his left and they enter a drab looking living room with no TV and a sofa that is collapsing in the middle. "It's always surprising what someone will leave hanging around in a place they think is private."
"Yes," John says, suddenly remembering something he'd been meaning to bring up, "talking of which, you haven't been borrowing my underwear by any chance? Some has gone missing."
Sherlock swings his head around to face John. "I have my own underwear. Why would I borrow your underwear?" he demands.
"I don't know, Sherlock. That's why I'm asking."
Sherlock frowns and then turns back to examining the dust on the coffee table.
"Well?" John asks after a moment's silence.
"This isn't the time for a chat," Sherlock says. "Mr Jones might be back any minute."
"I thought you said -"
"Shut up, John. I'm trying to think."
John tries not to think about why he had agreed to come here tonight. He'd actually had a date, with an actually very attractive young IT assistant. I am mental, he tells himself. There's no other explanation as to why I would let Sherlock Holmes talk me into this.
They had only made it into the kitchen when they heard the distinctive sound of the front door opening and footsteps in the hall. John exchanges a glance with Sherlock who beacons him down some steps into the basement, closing the thick metal door behind them.
They turn their torches off and listen intently.
"I think he's going upstairs," Sherlock breathes.
"I can't hear anything."
"This is a reinforced steel door. I wonder why. He must have forgotten his wallet."
"Can you hear him?"
"I can feel the vibrations in the wall."
John is suitably impressed. He still can't help pointing out, "Two and a half hours, you said."
They wait in silence for what seems like a very long time. Eventually, Sherlock clears his throat.
"John," he says slowly, "I may have may have made a slight but crucial miscalculation."
"Yeah, most people call that a 'mistake'," John whispers back.
"The door that I just closed only opens from the outside."
"The reinforced steel door you just closed?"
"Hm, the light switch must be outside the door too." Sherlock quickly hops down the stairs, the light from his torch bouncing on the small basement's walls. "There must be another way out. A window. Ventilation."
John lets his head fall in his hands. "Why, Sherlock? Why would he reinforce the door but leave a window? I can't believe this. I'm calling Lestrade."
"No! Not yet!" Sherlock cries, holding a hand up. "We can deal with this."
John gets his phone out all the same. Nothing prepared for the reality of their situation. "Ok, I have no signal. Please tell me you have signal right now."
Sherlock rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. "We don't need Lestrade." He glances down at his phone and then quickly back up at John, his eyes wider than calm.
"Jesus Christ." John's brain begins to buzz with something like worry. "This is not happening. This is not happening. We're going to have to call for help."
Sherlock gives him a condescending glare. "I think considering the combination of murder weapons and murderer upstairs that should probably be a last resort."
"Last resort? What other option do we have right now?"
Sherlock continues his futile search of the brick walled, concrete floored basement that is little more than five metres square. "For the time being, John, it would be most sensible to wait."
"Wait?" John hisses. "For what?"
"Look, there's no need to freak out."
"I'm not freaking out. I am reacting perfectly reasonably considering that we are locked in a murderers basement."
"The good news," Sherlock announces, "is that the freezer down here has never been defrosted."
"Excellent," John laughs, holding up his hands as if he's thankful to god. "That's, that's just brilliant. Why?"
"Given the reasonably cool conditions, we could probably survive 10 days without drinking but with the amount of ice in that freezer, if we let it defrost, I'd say we have around 20 days, maybe longer for me."
"Why longer for you? No, hang on. We are not going to be stuck down here for 20 days. That is just not going to happen."
"Your certainty intrigues me." Sherlock genuinely seems interested as to how John has deduced this.
"Well, he's bound to come down here before we starve to death."
"Death by dehydration is more likely."
"No, him coming down here is more likely."
Sherlock makes a high-pitched noise to demonstrate amusement. So frustrating does John find this that he decides he doesn't want to know Sherlock's incredible, and no doubt accurate, reasoning for the belief that Mr Jones will stay out of his reinforced basement. Instead, John gets out his phone again. "There must be signal somewhere in this room. Give me your phone." John spends the next half an hour searching high and low for a single spot where the phones do not say 'no network'. Meanwhile, Sherlock reclines on the basement steps, his eyes closed, humming a tune that sounds familiar in the way a lot of classical music does.
"Ok, why are you not freaking out?" John eventually demands, turning his torch on the relaxing detective.
Sherlock doesn't bother opening his eyes. "Mycroft will realise we're missing soon enough and work out where we are. Probably."
"Oh, that's comforting. Thank you, Sherlock. I feel much better knowing that there is a chance that your brother might find us sometime before we die of dehydration in 20 days. If the murderer doesn't come down first."
"Yes, that would be the better option."
"How?" John cries.
"If he doesn't know we're here we can surprise him."
"Yes, the happy surprise that the two men he just murdered had defrosted his freezer. My god, I wish I'd gone on that date tonight." Infuriatingly, Sherlock is giving him a completely inappropriately intense look. "What?"
He's looking concerned. That's what Sherlock is trying to do, John realises. He's trying to be concerned. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asks.
"'What's wrong?' Seriously? What do you think is bloody wrong?"
Sherlock frowns. "I don't know. You are not dealing with this situation the way I thought that you would. You are a soldier, John."
"Yes, I am aware of that."
"We have been in potentially life-threatening situations before. You are a man who knows how to keep his cool. I am led to believe, therefore, that something other than the present situation is causing you to be anxious."
John puts his hands on his hips. "Go on then, detective. Let me know when you've worked it out."
Sherlock nods to accept the challenge. "I will. Now, I think we should turn the torches off to conserve battery power."
"Oh my god," John sighs. He sits next to Sherlock on the basement steps and resignedly switches his torch off. They flicker into blackness.
The room echoes with the hum of the freezer.
"I may have borrowed your underwear."