trillsabells | Fanfic: The Credulity of Youth (4/5) (Reply)

Title: The Credulity of Youth
Beta: jupiter_ash
Rating: PG13
Characters: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Lestrade
Summary: Sherlock and John find themselves the subjects of a dangerous and deadly experiment.
Warnings: Violence, Childish behaviour (More warnings for later parts)

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Sherlock opened his eyes. White. He blinked. Yep, definitely white.

He turned over again. His head felt oddly heavy and there was a long scratch – white again – down his right arm as if someone had drawn their fingernail along it, and there was another child in the room.

Sherlock sat bolt upright, ignoring the slight light-headedness this caused. The head of his bed was up against one of the walls and slightly to the left of the centre of the room. Slightly to the right of the centre of the room and about a metre away from his was another white bed with another child curled up asleep on top of the covers. He observed it, watching for any sudden movement but there was nothing but the rhythmic rising and falling of the boy’s breathing.

Sherlock didn’t need to try to remember how he’d got here. He’d been forcefully removed from Baker Street, his home, and pushed into a van. Then it went fuzzy, which he didn’t like. And there were some parts before that which were also unclear, which Sherlock certainly didn’t like. He didn’t know why either, which really annoyed him. But what was even more irritating was that the more he looked at the bundle on the other bed the more familiar it seemed. Was there something about that sandy hair? Smart clipped hair cut which suggested a military connection in the family? Or that woolly jumper?

Sherlock glared at the other boy, willing him to wake up and reveal his secrets.

On second thoughts he didn’t have the patience for that.

He swung his legs off the bed and crossed the divide between their beds before giving the other boy a good shove.

“Wake up.”

No reaction. Unusual. Mycroft would be up and yelling at him for disturbing his nap before he’d even been able to make contact.

He shoved harder. “Wake up!”

“Mmm?”

Excellent a response. But if it took that much effort to get even that it was possible that the boy wouldn’t be straight awake and ready to talk. Sherlock wasn’t going to wait for him to take his time.

Sherlock grabbed the jumper and shook the boy.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

The boy rolled over so he knocked Sherlock’s hands away and blinked blearily up at him.

“Whuh? Sherlock?”

“John?”

The name came to Sherlock’s lips without apparently consulting his brain, which surprised him enough to make him back away until his back hit his bed. Almost immediately his mind caught up, telling him that of course it was John. Just one look at the other boy and he knew it was his friend John the same way he knew who anyone was. So why hadn’t he recognised him immediately? Was there something different about him? Something about how he looked? How did he look? Sherlock’s mind reeled with horror. He couldn’t remember what John looked like. He could almost see it in his mind but it was horribly fuzzy.

John had got up, rubbing at his eyes, and had started walking around the room, regarding it with mild interest. Sherlock ran over to him and grabbed his shoulders so he could look him straight in the eye. John looked mildly astonished at the sudden contact but didn’t flinch away.

“That you, John?” Sherlock asked, still slightly suspicious.

John’s eyes slid away from his, as if he was considering the concept.

“Yeah,” said John with the cautious conviction of someone who had been certain up until the moment another person had questioned them about it.

He met Sherlock’s gaze again and smiled warmly. Sherlock definitely recognised that smile. He liked that smile.

He gave John another look up and down then let go of his friend’s shoulders.

“You’re taller than me,” he said with a frown.

John blinked, taken aback. “Am I?”

He raised his hand to the top of his head and swept it forward until it went over the top of Sherlock’s head.

“Didn’t you used to be shorter than me?” Sherlock said indignantly.

He paused a minute.

“Actually. I think… I remember you taller. Much taller.”

John looked thoroughly confused. Sherlock spun back to his bed and sat down.

“How did we meet?” he asked

John frowned as he walked back towards his own bed and seated himself so he was facing Sherlock. He shrugged.

“Dunno. We’ve always been friends. Haven’t we?”

Sherlock shook his head. “There’s no always. Always has to start somewhere.”

“Oh.” John looked a little embarrassed. “I didn’t know that.”

“I don’t remember how we met,” Sherlock said seriously. “I remember everything.”

John shrugged again. Sherlock huffed. This was something he did remember. Sometimes it took a while to get through to his friend.

“Where were you before you woke up here?” he asked.

John looked thoughtful. “I dunno. School I guess. Sometimes I fall asleep during school. Where were you?”

“I was at Baker Street.”

“Home?”

“Yes!”

Sherlock jumped to his feet so he was standing on the bed. John looked shocked at his own, obviously automatic, response.

“But I live on Canary Road,” John said. “Why is Baker Street home?”

“You were there.” Sherlock started to jump up and down excitedly, the springs creaking ominously underneath his feet every time he landed. “I remember. You were at Baker Street and you were talking about water.”

John scrambled to his feet so he was standing on his bed too. “I don’t remember that.”

Sherlock’s excitement didn’t let up for a minute, bouncing after every word. “That’s. Because. There’s. Something. Wrong.”

Suddenly a door shaped portion of the blank white wall swung open revealing two men in white lab coats. Sherlock froze, mid bounce and stared cautiously. John turned around on his bed to face them but his foot slipped off the edge. Sherlock threw himself off his own bed and caught his friend as the boy stumbled off. He stayed there, holding on protectively, as he examined the two intruders. They were both tall and thin and dressed identically so each other. The only distinguishable features were the large thin rimmed glasses one wore and the dark slightly unkempt beard over the long chin belonging to the other. They both had cool calculating expressions on their faces as they shut the door firmly behind them.

“What year is it?”

The men seemed obsessed with the question. Even if Sherlock felt like co-operating he wasn’t going to answer anything as idiotic as that. They’d asked other things; what were their names, how old they were, did they remember how they got here, but they always kept going back to that one question.

“What year is it?”

They’d been at it for nearly an hour now – Sherlock had managed to catch occasional glimpses of one of the examiner’s watches and felt better for being able to pin down what time it was, even if the watch was analogue so he couldn’t say whether it was morning or night.

The two boys were sat side by side on Sherlock’s bed and Furry-Chin, as Sherlock had nicknamed him, sat on John’s bed opposite while Goggle-Eyes paced near the door. They took it in turns to ask them questions and Sherlock was entertaining himself by trying to not answer them in a different way each time. He’d rolled his eyes in every direction, sighed a dozen different ways, used sarcasm, told downright lies and pointed out little things he noticed about them. Once he’d managed to be so on the money that the two men momentarily dropped their calm demeanour and gaped at each other. But it hadn’t been a long reprieve and soon they were back to bothering Sherlock with questions.

It was him who was bearing the brunt of the questions now. It hadn’t started like that. At first they’d tried asking John what year he thought it was and how old he was but John had just shrugged a few times, looked appealingly at Sherlock once or twice, then just started ignoring them and began playing with a loose thread on the bed. The examiners were clearly falling for John’s dopey idiot act which Sherlock couldn’t help but notice was working for him much better than Sherlock’s own too-clever-for-his-own-good behaviour. Sherlock knew for certain that it was all an act because of the way John occasionally squeezed his hand behind their backs.

Sherlock didn’t mind taking care of the questions while John sat quietly in the background. After all, John wouldn’t have noticed that the Goggle-Eyes’ teenage daughter had been going to parties pretending to be a medical student. So it made sense that Sherlock be the one to tell him. Sherlock was just glad John was here.

Suddenly Furry-Chin stood up surprising Sherlock and drawing John’s attention away from his thread. He went over to his partner at the door and began talking quietly. The two boys unconsciously leaned forward as they strained to hear what was being said. They both snapped back to an upright position and glanced around nonchalantly when the men looked over at them.

Goggle-Eyes nodded at Furry-Chin and then knocked on the door. It opened and two more men entered, both of them wearing surgical masks and latex gloves. John’s hand was suddenly very tight around Sherlock’s. Despite his sudden panic, Sherlock couldn’t help being annoyed that the two thugs had nothing for him to name them after.

As soon as the men made towards them Sherlock took action and scrambled over the top of the bed until he was crouched defensively behind it. John seemed to have the same thought and in fact beat Sherlock there.

The men ignored the boys’ weak attempt at a barrier and moved around it, advancing upon them. One made a grab for Sherlock. Sherlock darted backwards to dodge the grasping arm but stopped when, to his astonishment, John jumped back onto the bed and, using it as a springboard, launched himself at Sherlock’s attacker.

John hit the man square in the face and gripping on with his legs proceeded to beat him around the head with his fists. Sherlock couldn’t help stare a moment in admiration before he took the cue from his friend and threw himself at the man’s legs. Thug number one toppled over onto the floor with a very satisfying crash.

Sherlock jumped up just in time to see John be grabbed by thug number two. John gave a frustrated shriek and Sherlock rushed towards him urgently only to be snatched from behind by thug number one who had clearly recovered quicker than Sherlock had calculated. His arms were pinned forcefully to his sides and no matter how hard he kicked he couldn’t stop himself from being dragged over towards the bed. He was made to sit, and with a painful tug his arm was forced out in front of him. His head turned with concern towards John who was similarly perched on his own bed and shouting his head off as Furry-Chin came towards him with a syringe.

Sherlock dipped his head and brought his teeth down hard on the thug’s hand, not caring about the horrible taste of latex in his mouth as long as he got the desired result. He did as thug number one flinched enough for Sherlock to slip out of his arms. With a wrathful but carefully calculated leap he threw himself at thug number two, catching him off balance and immediately knocking him over backwards. Sherlock’s shoulder hit the ground badly as they landed and twinged painfully even as John pulled him upright. They raced towards where the door had been and hit solid white. John turned back to face the rest of the room as Sherlock ran through pictures in his mind of the various men coming in. He ran his fingers across the wall, searching futilely for the slight indentation of an imperceptible crack and desperately calculating the distance between the walls where the door appeared. John tensed beside him and he turned so he was shoulder to shoulder with his friend, their backs against the wall. All four men were on their feet and stalking slowly towards them. In spite of the masks and the beard it was not difficult for Sherlock to see that they were now very, very angry.

“Sir?”

Sally’s head appeared around the curtain surrounding Lestrade’s hospital bed. He sat up eagerly, grateful to finally see someone who wasn’t a medically trained professional

“Donovan, thank god. Please tell me you’ve come to get me out of here.”

Sally came into Lestrade’s tiny, far from private bay, pulling the curtain closed behind her. This was a move which barely served to block out the sounds of nurses on telephones, people walking past and the drunk three bays down who seemed set on regaling everyone with his personal rendition of ‘Show me the way to go home’.

“I’ve just spoken to the doctor, sir.” Donovan said seriously, dashing all of Lestrade’s hopes. “She thinks you shouldn’t leave just yet.”

“Oh for gods sake,” Lestrade threw his hands in the air, ignoring the shot of pain this caused in his arm, “this is supposed to be the NHS, isn’t it? Surely they need the bed.”

And besides if there was anything actually wrong with him why didn’t they just admit him instead of leaving him here in an A&E that smelt vaguely of sick while they ran tests. Wasn’t there some government waiting times thing that was supposed to make sure he was admitted or chucked out after four hours? That time had been and gone with the staff doing little more than stitch his arm back together.

“You need to rest,” Donovan said raising her eyebrows and looking him up and down in a way that he knew meant she didn’t think him even capable of leaving the bed.

Lestrade decided it was about time he reminded her who was the superior officer around here

“I need to find Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson,” he said and started to climb out of the bed.

His head started to swim as soon as his feet touched the floor. Everything went blurry for a second and when the fog cleared he realised that Donovan had grabbed him and was pretty much the only thing keeping him upright.

“Sir?” Donovan managed to squeeze both concern and annoyance into just one syllable.

“Just,” he pushed her off and clung to the side of the bed instead, “give me a minute, okay?”

He swallowed and desperately fought down both the dizziness and the nausea.

“You do realise you’ve basically been poisoned?” Donovan was sounding rather shrill now which wasn’t helping his headache. “They need to check you for any permanent damage-”

“Rejuvatech,” he said, cutting her off and trying to focus both his thoughts and her lecture. “What have you found out about Rejuvatech?”

Donovan gritted her teeth defiantly then sighed and said, “They’ve got offices and laboratories up and down the country. Not to mention outlets-”

“It’ll be one of the labs. They’ll want to do tests. What about my attackers?”

Another sigh. “The same woman who called the ambulance said she saw them get away in the white van that had been blocking the road. We managed to track it and trace the licence plate. We’re not the only ones looking for it, the congestion zone guys are furious.”

“Ha.”

“You know that woman stuck around for ages to see if you were okay. You could be in there.”

“Donovan, the van.” Lestrade went with instinct and made the sort of deductive leap he was sure Sherlock would be proud of. Actually Sherlock would probably roll his eyes and say it was so obvious he’d worked it out days ago. “Which employee of Rejuvatech was it registered to?”

Donovan didn’t bat an eyelid at the assumption, which probably meant it was obvious. “Edward Farrow. Works at a laboratory in Battersea, technically for the Moranson Trust but a bit of digging showed them to just be a branch of Rejuvatech.”

“I want a warrant. Now.” With great effort Lestrade managed to let go of the bed and steady himself until he was standing freely. “I also want a full squad ready to go. And my clothes.”

“You-“

“That was an order, Donovan. I am not about to go on a raid in a hospital gown.”

“You shouldn’t be going at all. You can barely stand, you’re practically green and the doctors need to test whether you’ve still got a liver. I’ll get the guys prepped and report back as soon as possible.”

Donovan and Lestrade glared at each other for nearly a minute before his legs started to buckle.

“Fine.” He allowed himself to be led back to the bed. “But you tell them we’re looking for two kids and a cure for whatever it is they’ve got. And try not to mention that one of the kids is Sherlock.”

“Yeah, I can see how that wouldn’t go over well.”

“Donovan, go!”

“I’m gonna get us out of here.”

John almost jumped at the sudden sound. He looked over at his friend who was lying back on his own bed with his fingers arched together and pressed to his lips in a pose of deep concentration. These were the first words Sherlock had said since the men had left and John felt they deserved some deliberation before making his response.

He rubbed idly at the bruises on his arm as he thought it over. The bruise where they had got the needle in to take the blood sample was particularly ripe, probably because he had still been struggling when they did it. Sherlock hadn’t struggled after they had found the door locked. That had probably been a better idea, considering. John rolled his sleeve back down and refocused his attention on Sherlock.

He had every confidence in his friend. If Sherlock said they were going to escape from here then John was certain it was going to happen. He just couldn’t figure out how it was going to happen. The door was locked, the men were bigger and stronger than them and they didn’t even know where they were. Then again John knew that Sherlock was much smarter than him so maybe there was something he’d missed.

“What do I do?” he asked.

John saw Sherlock’s lips move into a brief smile at his reply. He suddenly sat up and John raced over to sit with him on the bed. The two sat, cross-legged and facing each other with their heads bent low until they were nearly touching. Sherlock whispered to John his plan.

“But how d’you know?” John said quietly, although not as quietly as his friend had managed.

“Because I heard them say they wanted an fMRI scan,” said Sherlock.

A brain scan, John thought to himself. Wait, what? That was… right wasn’t it? How did he know that? Sherlock was looking at him though, expecting an answer so he pushed the odd thoughts out of his head and nodded eagerly instead.

Sherlock grinned briefly then nudged John gently with his foot until John got off the bed then he laid back down in his thinking pose.

John climbed back onto his own bed and sat with his chin in his hands. He gazed around for a while, bored, then started tracing patterns on the mattress with his finger.

After what seemed to him to be an age a hatch in the door slid up and a tray was pushed through. The hatch slammed shut behind it. Curious, John crept over to see it.

There were two cups of water, two plastic forks and two plates of something white and mushy. John took the tray back to his bed and poked idly at the mush.

“Wouldn’t touch it if I were you,” said Sherlock loudly without opening his eyes.

“Really don’t wanna,” said John.

He scooped some of the mush onto the end of the fork and lifting it to his nose sniffed at it tentatively.

Fifteen minutes later about a quarter of the plate was empty and the fork fell limply out of John’s fingers as he collapsed onto the bed.

Sherlock sat to attention, swinging his legs over the edge. It didn’t take long for the men in lab coats to come back into the room. Furry-Chin and Goggle-Eyes came in pushing a trolley bed while thugs one and two marched straight up to Sherlock and cornered him by his bed so he couldn’t get to John or to the left open door. Sherlock strained to see what was happening to John and saw him being lifted up and put onto the trolley bed. Sherlock tried to push past the thugs to get to him but wherever he went they stood in his way. He felt his own panic rise, terrified that his friend would be wheeled off without him, and called John’s name.

Suddenly John convulsed gaining the attention of all four men and the admiration of Sherlock. Sherlock took advantage of the distraction and ran to John’s side, quickly sidestepping one of the thugs – thug number two by the look of his shoes – who noticed him move and made a grab for him. He didn’t get far though as by the time he reached the trolley bed he was surrounded by all four of them. Sherlock gazed up at them trying to look scared and keep the building grin from spreading over his face. Quick as a flash he ducked under the bed and at the same time John opened his eyes and rolled off the side opposite to where all four of the men had gathered. Together the two boys shoved the bed into them, knocking them down, and then dashed off victoriously out the open door and away from the cell.

Sherlock immediately took the lead, running down the empty corridors trying to put as much distance between them and the cell while at the same time making sure John’s footsteps were just behind his. When they reached a fork in the corridors he didn’t hesitate but picked one at random to head down, grabbing John’s hand so that he didn’t lose him. They were getting out of here together or not at all.

He heard their pursuers closing in from ahead just before John yanked him to a halt, nearly making him skid on the smooth floor. Sherlock recovered swiftly and quickly reversed their direction, heading back to the fork and opting for the other route he had dismissed. It was too late though. He could hear determined footsteps coming towards them from every direction so he chose the only option left, pulled open the nearest door and threw himself and John through it.

He pushed the door shut as quietly but as rapidly as possible, and then, without giving the rest of the darkened room a single glance, ducked under a nearby desk where John had already hidden himself.

He crouched there, trying to be as quiet as possible but becoming gradually aware of how fast his breathing had got and how loud his heart seemed to be beating. While they’d been running he’d been focused, determined. Now as he heard the footsteps in the corridor continue to close in on them he felt a creep of fear and, though he dared not admit it, of doubt.

He met John’s eye and saw his friend grinning at him. Of course this was what John enjoyed the most. The chase and the excitement. Running for his life with Sherlock by his side. Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off John, puzzled at the thought that had just crossed his mind. How did he know that? Did they do that often? Yes… he could picture it. He could almost remember it.

Sherlock smiled, an action John would no doubt take merely as a reciprocation of his own grin. But it was more than that. His mind was turning again. He almost felt he was reclaiming some things from the fuzziness of his memory.

The footsteps were going away again. Sherlock and John waited until they couldn’t hear them anymore then, at the same time, crept out from their hiding place. For the first time they had a proper look around the room they had so hastily barged into.

At first Sherlock had taken it for a small narrow office only containing the desk he and John had hidden under. Now his eyes had adjusted to the darkness he could see there was much more to it but it was being blocked by a large plastic curtain that stretched the length of the room. Before Sherlock could stop him, John stepped forward and boldly tugged the curtain aside. John took one look at the contents of the other side of the room and shrieked.

Part 5