Fanfic: The Credulity of Youth (5/5) & Epilogue

[trillsabells]

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, References to animal cruelty that may disturb readers

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

 

“Puppies!”

John rushed over to a cage full of the now yipping creatures. Sherlock groaned inwardly at the ease with which his friend was distracted by something small and fluffy.

“Jo-ohn,” he said in a hiss, “they’ll hear you.”

John was too far gone to hear him. “Awww, they’re so cute.”

“They’re just… animals.”

“Look, there’s loads of them.”

The large white room was lined with cages each filled with one or more dogs and lit by a tiny lamp that barely illuminated anything apart from the animals below it. At the other end was another large plastic curtain similar to the one they had just pushed through.

John knelt down at the cage closest to the door which contained about six puppies. He poked his fingers through the bars and giggled as the animals licked them. Sherlock was just deciding that he might have to forcefully remove his friend from the charms of the furry creatures when John suddenly stood up and frowned at a piece of card pinned to the top of the cage.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked, going over when he saw the serious look on John’s face.

John pointed to the card on the cage. “That say four years old?”

“Yeah…”

John counted out four on his fingers then stared at his hand in astonishment as if he couldn’t quite believe the result.

“They can’t be four years,” he said. “Look at them.”

Sherlock spared the dogs a glance then raised an eyebrow at John. “They’re small. Some dogs are small.”

John shook his head. “These are bulldogs. Sam Matthews has a bulldog four months old and it’s bigger than they are.”

“Maybe the card’s wrong.”

John stepped over to the next cage which contained two white terriers which jumped up and down eagerly at the attention.

“One. Five. Fifteen years old?”

Sherlock quickly read the card and nodded. “Is that wrong?”

“Fifteen is old. They don’t look old.”

Sherlock frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

John moved onto the next cage. The label told Sherlock it was a ten-year-old Australian Sheppard. A bundle of fluff raised its head lazily as they came close.

“Ten can’t be right,” John said authoritatively.

The next label claimed the three creatures sleeping at the bottom of the cage were St Bernards. Even Sherlock with his limited knowledge of canines could tell they were far too young to be the five years old the label claimed them to be.

The animal in the cage after that was a different story. It tried to stand as they came closer but its legs didn’t seem to be able to support it so it slipped back down with what was almost an exasperated sigh. Sherlock noticed his friend’s face was all concern as he approached.

“Two,” John read off the card. “Dogs aren’t that old at two.”

The animal in the next cage was clearly a puppy but it blinked at them blindly through visible cataracts. The dog in the cage after that was curled up in a ball so they couldn’t see its face. It whimpered pathetically as they went by. The dog after that snapped at them as soon as they got close. The dog after that had blood matted around its ears. The dog after that wasn’t moving.

Three more cages and they reached the far end of the room where the other curtain was. John didn’t hesitate but grabbed the plastic and pulled it back. He immediately gasped and turned away, hiding his eyes. Sherlock stepped forward.

Beyond the curtain were six metal tables and on each of the tables was a dead dog covered in a sheet. The one closest to the curtain was a puppy about the size of Sherlock’s hand covered in a piece of white cloth the size of a hanky. As Sherlock moved between the tables he saw that each of the animals had been cut open and mostly left that way. Besides one of them was a pile of fur where the creature had been shaved before any incisions were made. Most of them still had metal tools lying nearby, knives and pincers and long unidentifiable things with curls on the end. One of the dogs had some sort of metal spikes sticking out of it as if the user hadn’t cared enough to clean up after he was done.

At the very far end of the room was a line of fridges with transparent doors. Sherlock could see they were stocked with vials of some unknown substance and jars of organs. He reached up his hand to touch the handle of one of the fridges but then stopped when he heard a rattling coming from the other side of the curtain. He spun on his heel and raced back towards the cages, tugging the curtain closed as he went past.

John was at the first cage, the one with the bulldog puppies, trying to tug at the bolt keeping it closed. Sherlock grabbed him and attempted to pull him back.

“No,” he said warningly

“I gotta get ‘em out.”

“They’ll hear you.”

“They’re x-pear-e-men-ting on them.”

“They’re experimenting on us.”

Sherlock managed to pry John’s fingers away from the bolt and turn him around so they were facing each other.

“Why d’you think they’re holding us here? Why d’you think we can’t remember anything? Why d’you think they wanted our blood? And drugged our food to knock us out? And want to scan us? They did something to us. They tested it on the dogs first then they did something to us.”

John stopped fighting Sherlock and stared at him, wide-eyed. “What did they do to us?”

“You said the dogs are too young to be the ages on the cards. What if they were the ages and now they’re not? What if they gave them something to make them young again?” John just looked confused. “It makes sense! Look at the other dogs. The puppy that was blind. The young dog that couldn’t stand up. Failed experiments. Before they got it all right.” He held tightly onto John’s arms as if he could make himself clearer through physical contact. “I remember my whole life but I don’t remember you. What if that’s because we never knew each other at this age.”

“But we’re friends-“

“Think about it, John. Think about Sam Matthews and his puppy. You liked the puppy, didn’t you? What did I think of the puppy, John? Was I there?”

John frowned. “No…”

“Think about school, John. You fall asleep at school. What do I do? Do I sit next to you? Are we in the same class?”

“No, you’re not at my school…”

“Have you ever been round my house? Have I ever been round yours?”

John looked lost. “But you’re my best friend…”

“But you don’t remember me. Which means there must be a gap in your memory from when we met. There’s a gap in my memory too. It makes sense. We’re actually older and been turned back to our age now. We’ve forgotten everything after our current age so we don’t remember meeting each other. Or playing together. Or… anything.”

“So why do we remember we’re friends?”

Sherlock relaxed his grip on John and waved his hand dismissively. “We’d never forget that.”

“So how old should we be?”

Sherlock considered this. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re grown-up, like twenty or something.”

“Grown-ups?”

“Yeah. Could be.”

“And turned back into… us? Like the dogs were turned into puppies?”

“Yeah.”

John glanced down at the bulldog puppies, then over at the door, then his eyes lingered for a while on the curtain hiding the autopsies. When he looked back at Sherlock he had a flash of fierce determination in his eyes.

“How do we change back?”

 

~

 

John couldn’t help a quiver of excitement as he and Sherlock crept through the corridors of the laboratory. It was just like on television. Him and Sherlock, agents behind enemy lines. Every time he peered around a corridor his hand itched for a gun to point. Security was still out looking for them but Sherlock’s quick reactions and simply being small had so far helped them evade detection. John had tried suggesting they put on lab coats and pretend to belong there. Sherlock had pointed out that they were five. John had replied that they weren’t really, hadn’t they just figured that out? And besides Sherlock could stand on his shoulders. Sherlock had concluded his young friend watched too much television in such a derisive tone of voice that John had blushed involuntarily, once again convinced that his friend could read his mind.

In truth once they got off the level with their cell and the dog room on it, the laboratory started to look nothing like any of the laboratories he’d ever seen on television. That first level had been like a hospital where every white door hid a white room, some of them containing people in white coats doing things with test tubes, others empty except for white beds just like their room had been. One or two had contained large black chairs with brown leather straps on the arms and the footrests. At the sight of it had sent shivers down John’s spine. He’d actually been quite relieved when he saw Sherlock shudder as well and the two of them had left the room quite quickly after that.

When they’d found the stairs, however, everything had changed. Suddenly they were surrounded by colours and the doors were no longer white and imposing but mahogany and warm. The rooms behind the doors were more varied so every time Sherlock pushed one open John would have no idea what to expect.

They found several rooms simply full of sofas and cosy looking bean bags. Another one had what looked like gym equipment. At one point they hid in a dark room with foam spikes sticking out the walls and ceiling. They even managed to find a swimming pool.

John was almost disappointed by this. Kidnapping them, experimenting on animals, that was Supervillian behaviour wasn’t it? They might at least have had the common courtesy to have a cool Supervillian base. With huge vats of bubbling goo and rope suspended walkways that fall down at the slightest nudge.

Remembering what Sherlock had said about too much television he tried to push the thoughts out of his mind. But as they explored a series of ordinary looking offices with ordinary looking filing cabinets and wall clocks and posters that said ‘Team means Together Everyone Achieves More’ he couldn’t help but be struck by how boring it all was.

Still, that didn’t stop a flurry of fear as they found themselves caught in a long corridor that was empty except for a sad looking pot plant while footsteps and voices came from around the corner. They plastered themselves behind the pot plant anyway, it was better than nothing. Luckily the two people approaching were too concerned with their own private argument and didn’t seem to notice John and Sherlock behind the plant.

“I am not going to stay like this forever,” one of them said as they both went through a nearby door and slammed it behind them.

John jumped up delightedly. The voice had been distinctly childish, although on the verge of puberty. Another child meant another ally. John barely got to his feet before Sherlock tugged at his jumper, pulling him down again.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sherlock said quietly.

“But he could be like us-“

“Then why is he wandering around?” Sherlock fixed him with a serious gaze then jerked his head towards the door the other boy had just gone through. “Come on.”

“But-“

“Shh.”

Sherlock scuttled towards the door, keeping low. John rolled his eyes and followed his friend. They crouched behind the door and Sherlock gently pushed it open. John immediately heard the boy arguing with someone.

“Well not me,” the child was saying. “I hated that time in my life. What am I now, eleven? That means I’d have to go through secondary school again and I am definitely not doing that.”

“It would be different this time round.” The other voice was a man’s and sounded distant but amused. “After all you’d remember everything.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Not if Holmes and Watson are anything to go by.”

John cringed worriedly as Sherlock pushed the door forward a little more. The room beyond was nearly identical to the other offices they’d explored. It even had the same awful TEAM poster. It was fairly large with no windows and contained six office desks and chairs arranged in two lines of three with a long lane going away from the door. One of the chairs had been pushed into the centre of this lane and a red-haired boy was sat on it. He had angled himself slightly away from the door and was watching a man who was staring intently at a syringe he was filling from a vial. A small plastic case containing five more vials and syringes was sitting on a nearby desk.

John crawled forward and hid himself behind the desk closest to the door. Sherlock joined him moments later after closing the door very gently.

“Actually,” the man said, “from what Jenson was saying I’m not sure they weren’t faking it. He said Holmes cracked a plan where Watson pretended to eat some doped up food, then faked unconsciousness just so they could get out the room. How he even knew it was drugged I don’t know.”

John shot Sherlock an admiring glance. Sherlock didn’t appear to notice but kept his eyes fixed on the other two people

“Well Holmes certainly wasn’t faking it when he bit me.”

“Oh you’re still going on about the biting are you?”

“You were supposed to be holding him while I got Watson. You couldn’t even do that.”

“Hey, Watson hit me in the crotch when I dragged him out of that car, do you hear me going on about it?”

John grinned quietly to himself.

“No, because if you did I’d start ‘going on’ about your pathetic timing with the chloroform. I mean you couldn’t have got him before he stuck me with the syringe?”

“Do you want this cure or not?”

The red-haired boy stuck out his arm. “Gimme.”

The man smiled and made towards him with the syringe. At the last minute the boy flinched and asked,

“This has been tested, hasn’t it?”

“Not on humans. You sure you want to try this out? I hear the local comprehensive have lovely uniforms.”

The boy straightened out his arm and offered it up. He winced slightly as the needle went in and the man injected the chemical. It seemed for a moment as if everyone in the room was holding their breath. Then suddenly the boy gasped.

“I think it’s working.”

The red-haired boy stretched out his arms which seemed to lengthen before all their eyes. His legs grew longer than his trousers and his shoes tore as his feet forced their way out. His torso grew in size but at the same time looked like it was falling in on itself. He started to scream as his face appeared to collapse in on itself and his skin started to crack and break all over. His scream stopped abruptly as he shuddered all over then fell off the desk with a dust filled smack. The other man started screaming at the sight of the dried out husk lying on the floor.

John realised his mouth had dropped open and his hand was clinging to Sherlock’s. He also realised Sherlock was squeezing his hand back. Suddenly Sherlock tugged him to his feet and yanked him out from behind the desk. The screaming man seemed to be too much of a gibbering wreck to notice them run right in front of him.

Sherlock snatched the case off the desk and they made a dash for the door. Sherlock stopped so suddenly that John ran into the back of him. They gazed up in alarm as they saw the two thugs from the cell stood in the doorway, blocking the only exit. John was vaguely aware of Sherlock scrambling with the case and pulling out an empty syringe which he then waved at the thugs. John remembered the experiments from the lab and narrowed his eyes.

He pulled the case out of Sherlock’s hands and with a high swing and a little jump bashed it into the side of the head of the thug closest to him. He didn’t stop moving but spun and taking all the advantage surprise gave him, rammed his whole shoulder into the crotch of the other thug. Sherlock was stock still, looking a little dumbfounded by it all so John took his hand for once and dragged him out through the newly created gap between the wincing men and out into the corridor.

By the time they heard the footsteps of more reinforcements coming Sherlock seemed to have recovered so he took charge again and hauled John into a nearby room. It was barely bigger than a cupboard with a comfy looking chair in one corner and a screen built into the wall opposite. John and Sherlock leaned against the door, getting their breath back.

“That,” said John, between gasps. “Was mad.”

“You hit him with the case.” It was hard to tell whether Sherlock was shocked at John doing that or annoyed that he hadn’t thought to.

“He hurt the puppies,” John said firmly.

Sherlock raised eyebrow at him.

“Well someone hurt the puppies,” John said. “Might have been him.”

Sherlock opened the case carefully. “You broke one of the vials. Still got enough though.”

Alarm bells went off in John’s head as he realised exactly what his friend had in mind. “That wrinkled up that man. We don’t want that.”

“He said it was the cure.” Sherlock sounded petulant now as if John was being unreasonable.

“It didn’t work.”

“It did. You saw it did. He started growing up before he shrivelled.”

John shuddered at the memory but Sherlock’s gaze drifted off, his mind clearly already whirring away.

“John,” he said carefully. “Before, at Baker Street, you were talking about water.”

John shook his head. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“I remember it,” said Sherlock. “But it’s strangely… fuzzy. I can’t quite picture you.” He looked up at John sharply. “We’ve established that the blank spots in our memories are from when we were bigger. Now if you can’t remember it that must mean you were your proper age at the time. If I still hold the memory then I must have already been a child. Perhaps early on in the process hence why those memories are unclear.”

John was lost in a world of words he didn’t understand spoken far too fast about things he just couldn’t remember. “Estab…” He floundered. “What?”

“Think!” Sherlock shouted.

John jumped, frightened at being on the end of his friend’s temper.

“You said the water comes from within. You said the water is excess matter.”

“I didn’t.” John practically whined. “I don’t know what that all means.”

“Yes you do, John. You’re smart. You hide it well, too well, because you see what the bullies do to kids who are know it alls. I should know. You let everyone think you’re warm and fuzzy and clueless but you’re intelligent and loyal and quick-witted enough to hit a bad guy round the head with a hard case. You’re my friend and I wouldn’t have you if you were anything less. Now think. The water comes from within. It’s the excess matter.”

John didn’t really think Sherlock needed an answer. But Sherlock was looking at him with such a pleading gaze and his voice had contained so much pride that John couldn’t help but be buoyed up by it. He said the first thing that came into his head

“Excess matter from turning into a child?”

“Yes!” Sherlock leapt into the air apparently delighted at John’s reply. “When we were turned into children we shrunk. Matter has to go somewhere so it turned into water. When the other guy tried to turn back into a grown-up he didn’t have enough matter to draw on so the body was eating itself to grow and he dehy- dehydrat- de- he ran out of water and died!”

John felt himself starting to smile. “So… we need water?”

“Yes! Then we can take the cure and be our proper age again.”

“There was a swimming pool back there-“

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand again. “I told you you were smart.”

“Not as smart as you,” John said as his friend dragged him out the door.

“Well obviously.”

 

~

 

Sherlock’s heart was pounding as they fled to the swimming pool. They didn’t bother to creep and hide this time but simply ran the whole way, far too busy in their discovery to care about being spotted. Besides Sherlock hadn’t taken two steps out the door before he realised that there was something else going on that concerned the scientists a bit more than two escaping children. He could hear the bangs and shouts as they weaved through the corridors. Lab coat clad men and women ran past them without looking at them twice too concerned with the files of notes they carried and the distant sounds of some kind of invasion.

Sherlock let the door to the swimming pool slam behind him then, remembering the way the red haired boy had grown before his eyes, finally let go of John’s hand and started taking off his shoes. John followed suit then also threw off his jumper. They both sat on the edge of the pool, the case open between them, finally still.

Sherlock carefully picked up a vial and one of the syringes. His hands seemed to move of their own accord and with practiced swift movements filled the syringe. He passed the syringe to John and started to fill another one. John was staring at Sherlock’s hands, clearly as surprised as Sherlock that he knew how to do this. Normally Sherlock hated being not entirely in control of his body but he knew that there were gaps in his memory at the moment and the only way to fix that was to take this cure. Sherlock would risk anything to be himself again. So if his hands knew what they were doing right now he wasn’t about to stop them.

When the second syringe was done Sherlock paused. He looked over at John again to see his friend examining his own syringe with unmistakeable concern in his eyes. Sherlock immediately realised that what he had thought before wasn’t entirely true. He wouldn’t risk absolutely anything to be himself again. He wouldn’t risk John.

“I’ll go first,” he said.

“No,” said John, far more calmly than Sherlock would have thought him capable of. “I don’t know how. You have to help me. So I go first.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

John smiled at him. “I trust you.”

Sherlock nodded. “We’ll both go. At the same time.”

Sherlock placed his syringe down beside himself delicately then took hold of John’s. He turned over John’s right arm so his wrist was facing upwards and taking John’s hand gently in his showed him how and where to place the needle. Then he picked up his own syringe again and arranged his arm the same way so they were side by side in mirroring poses on the verge of injecting the cure.

“As soon as you’ve done it,” Sherlock said. “Jump in the pool.”

John nodded

“One. Two. Three.”

They both pressed and they both dived.

 

~

 

Mycroft blinked. It was the only trace of emotion he allowed to cross his face and even this one was taken most unwillingly.

“Doctor Watson,” he said slowly, fixing the man in question with a penetrating stare.

“Is he about to give you the credulity speech?” Sherlock asked John, returning from his ‘chat’ with Sergeant Donovan and cutting across Mycroft.

John appeared to suppress and smile and nodded.  “I believe so.”

“I’ve heard that speech six times,” said Sherlock. “I don’t think it means what he thinks it means.”

Mycroft sighed. He was standing in the car park of the Rejuvatech building having arrived just after the police had secured the building. He’d located his brother and Doctor Watson both now their proper ages again and refusing to accept shock blankets even though they were both dripping wet and wearing clothing that was too small for them and torn in several places. Mycroft leaned idly on his umbrella and tried to look serious but the two other men seemed almost giddy.

“Princess Bride,” said John.

“What?” Sherlock said

“Princess Bride. I don’t think that means what you think it means. That’s from the Princess Bride.”

Sherlock gave John a condescending look. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“No really it-“ John stopped, apparently having difficulty with the contents of his arms. “I- Look can you take one.” John shoved one of the bulldog puppies into Mycroft’s arms.

“Why-?”

“John insisted we go back for them,” said Sherlock in a dead pan.

“How are you managing all three?” John asked Sherlock, manoeuvring the positions of the two puppies still in his arms. “Mine keep squirming.”

Sherlock sniffed. “Technique.”

“I think they like you.”

“No.”

“Oh come on.”

“We are not keeping them.”

“Just one?”

“No.”

Mycroft decided to just leave them to it. Perhaps it was just the after effects of what they had been through. This… childishness was bound to wear off after a few days. He certainly wasn’t going to stick around and babysit. It was bad enough with just Sherlock the first time round. But now that pair together? Unstoppable.

 

 

 

 

 

Epilogue

They barely managed a day of rest before they were pulled back on another case but Lestrade had been determined to drag them along. He clearly still had a chip on his shoulder about being forced to stay in the hospital and miss all the action when there was nothing wrong with him.

The case had looked like a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, surrounded by a mystery to John and the police agreed. Sherlock, however had waltzed right in and, pointing out a variety of trivialities about the paintwork and the victim’s left shoe, decided that the murderer and the thief were in fact different people. The murderer was about fifty-nine, five foot eight with grey hair dyed brown, worked in marketing but was on the verge of being forced into retirement, owned a pet chinchilla and a cottage in the Cotswolds. The thief however was a teenage girl, probably about seventeen years old, blond with green highlights, absent father, alcoholic mother, little brother called Edward and no relation to the killer.

It was at that point that Anderson lost his temper.

“Oh come on. How do you know all that? You don’t even know that the earth goes round the sun.”

“Of course I know the earth goes round the sun,” said Sherlock without looking up from his mobile where he was no doubt looking up where little Edward went to school so he could trace his thieving big sister. “I’ve known that since I was five.”

Anderson scoffed. “You hadn’t known that since you were five last week.”

Sherlock pinned him with a scathing look. “Congratulations, Anderson, on making even less sense than usual. Even your menial mind must have struggled to achieve that.”

Sherlock looked back down at his phone. “I know more about the universe than you could possibly imagine,” he said almost to himself, sounding deeply offended as if the accusation of anything to the contrary was tantamount to suggesting he couldn’t even tie his own shoelaces without help. “As a child I even formulated a diagram of the Milky Way which John put on the-“ He froze then slowly raised his head to give John a mixed look of confusion and horror. “…John?”

 

 

 

 

Author Comments

No animals were harmed in the making of this fic. In fact two border collies received huge hugs because of the author’s guilt over writing the above.

If anyone wishes to draw Sherlock holding three puppies, or indeed any of the scenes from this fic, the author would likely explode with squee.

The author hopes you enjoyed the story and wishes to thank you for your credulity (Credulity: noun, tendency to believe readily)

 

Comments

[ourdramaqueen.livejournal.com]

“Puppies!”

ROTFL!!!! Oh that's priceless!!! Though the poor things, being experimented on...

Wonderful conclusion and well done on solving the problem of the lack of mass for growing their bodies back to adult age again! Two clever little buggers indeed. Mycroft's reaction! And them going back for the puppies, aww! Love the epilogue too. *giggle*


omg have fun at the Cabin Pressure recording!!! I hope we'll get some reports from those going! :D

[trillsabells.livejournal.com]

“Puppies!”

ROTFL!!!! Oh that's priceless!!!

Bet you didn't see that one coming. But how could I resist, kids and puppies?

Though the poor things, being experimented on...

*shamefaced* I'm sorry I'm sorry...

I'm so happy you enjoyed the whole story! Of course John would want to go back for the puppies. And John has definitely had some permanent effect on Sherlock.

Thanks for reading! And commenting! I've enjoyed your comments the whole way through

*finally gives in to excitement and hugs you*

[ourdramaqueen.livejournal.com]

Meep! Thanks - your story brought it out, I guess! ;)

*hugs back*