Sherlock was filled with such despair. He had dragged John into this mess, and the soldier had no plan. It was like a horrible nightmare. Jim now had John as immediate reinforcement for him to obey.
"John, I'm going crazy… I really think I am…" Sherlock said from his seat at the table. The detective was holding his head in his hands.
"It's ok Sherlock…" John said softly.
"No! It's not ok!" Sherlock said, "I am losing my MIND! Before I saw you I could barely remember a time before I was here. I thought that I was in love with him John!"
Sherlock no longer cared about the cameras. John had no plan, they had no hope of escape, and Jim had crushed the life out of his heart, what was the point in hiding anything anymore?
"Sherlock, what you're experiencing is very common," John said as calmly as possible.
"Oh, so it's common to fall in love with a psycho killer?" Sherlock asked.
"That's not what I meant," John said, placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, "I mean kidnapped people frequently fall in love with their kidnappers. It's not uncommon at all."
"Is my mind that weak John?" Sherlock asked, laying his head on the table miserably, "That in less than two weeks he completely overtook me?"
"Anybody would have gone crazy in this situation…" John said. Sherlock pulled John down by his collar and kissed him softly.
"You're very precious to me John… do you know that?" Sherlock asked softly. John's cheeks turned pink as Sherlock continued, "You are my very dearest friend. I'm sorry you got pulled into this…"
Sherlock stood up with a sigh. He looked rather resolute. He turned to look at John.
"Wait here… I'll only be a moment," he said, and disappeared down the hall. John was left alone in the dining hall. He suddenly felt very small in this enormous house. Sherlock seemed to think that everything was hopeless, but John couldn't believe that. Surely Mycroft would locate them eventually. He would send Scotland Yard and Jim would go to jail for kidnapping and rape. Everything would go back to normal.
Jim walked into the dining room, whistling some pop tune as he did. He looked at John and frowned.
"Where's Sherlock?" he asked, glancing around the room.
"This is your mansion, you tell me," John said, "He stepped out of the room. Said he'd only be a minute."
Sherlock appeared, leaning against the doorway to the dining room.
"I'm right here…" he said softly. Jim noticed the new puncture point on Sherlock's arm and got angry.
"Do make yourself comfortable, Johnny boy," he said, "We'll be right back."
Jim grabbed Sherlock by the wrist, dragging him to their bedroom.
"How much did you take?" the criminal asked angrily, "I just got done telling you to ask if you want to use my stash, and you go and use it anyway. Now how much did you take?"
"I didn't take any…" Sherlock said softly. His eyes were sort of glazed over as he looked at Jim.
'Don't lie to me you little fuck toy!" Jim backhanded him across the face, "I'm not blind! I can see where the needle went in!"
"I didn't take any of your drugs," Sherlock said. A red mark was across his face from Jim's blow.
"We'll see about that…" Jim said, going into his stash of recreational drugs. He looked through… He looked through them again and frowned. Sherlock got comfortable on the bed, lying back on the soft blankets while Jim searched through his drugs. Jim looked at the detective.
"You didn't take any…" he said, "Then what did you do?"
"I decided it wasn't really for you after all," Sherlock said, "That poison… it was better suited for me. I'm dying Master… Slowly, but I'm dying."
Jim's eyes widened slightly at the words that slipped past Sherlock's lips. He couldn't believe them. He wouldn't believe them. Sherlock had taken his own poison? He never would have expected it.
"Why?" was all Jim could manage to say.
"I can't live this way… I can't live without solving things. This complacency… it's been driving me mad…" Sherlock said softly. He let his blue eyes close. Jim stared at him in disbelief.
"Master… please… let John go… you don't particularly like him…please let him go. Just one favor for me…" Sherlock whispered softly.
Jim's face was a mixture of terror, horror and bitterness.
"Don't call me that…" the criminal said a bit shakily.
"But I always…"
"Say my name…"
Tears suddenly stung Jim's eyes. He leaned over Sherlock and kissed him.
"Sherlock…" he whispered, "Don't do this?"
"I've already done it," Sherlock said, "It's too late for tears…"
"No!" Jim said angrily, but he broke down again, "I… I can't live this way… Even if you aren't mine… I don't want to be in a world where you don't exist."
"That's really corny," Sherlock said, "Just say you love me."
Jim kissed Sherlock again, holding onto him tightly. They kissed for several long minutes before Jim pulled away.
"Sherlock… look at me baby," he said, "I want you to hit me. Hit me as hard as you can, and I want you to leave with John. Get to a hospital."
Sherlock shook his head.
"I won't touch them," Jim said, "Please, do this for me… I can't sit here and watch you slowly die…"
Sherlock looked at him suspiciously.
"You'll really leave them alone?" he asked. Jim hooked his pinky with Sherlock's, linking them together for a few seconds.
"I promise…" he whispered. Sherlock took a deep breath and punched Jim as hard as he could and ran out to find John.
"We're leaving John," Sherlock said, "I need a hospital now, I'm dying a slow and relatively painless death. Quickly now! Don't dawdle." Sherlock jumped in a cab.
"St. Bartholomew's hospital. Make haste, I've got poison in my veins." Sherlock said.
The detective was unconscious before they arrived at St. Bartholomew's hospital. But the doctor assured John that they were doing all they could for Sherlock. All that they could do… just didn't seem to be enough for John. What if Sherlock never woke up? Or worse, what if he was a vegetable the rest of his life? There was no way of knowing. That was what terrified John the most.
Sequel is eminent.