What Lies Beneath

“We need a plan!” Lestrade shouted, sprinting out of the building after Sherlock.

“I have one,” Sherlock said tersely, glancing over his shoulder. “You and Mycroft will check across from Bedford Park. I’ll check Picadilly Circus. We don’t stop until we have Laicee.”

“But Sherlock, this is dangerous! We can’t just barge in on a kidnapping-“

“Like hell we can’t,” John snarled, jogging past Lestrade to match pace with Sherlock; the dark haired man gave his companion a brief smile as he waved down a taxi. Neither of the men acknowledged Lestrade’s shouting until John was seated inside and Sherlock reached out to shut the door.

“Call me if you find her,” he ordered.

As Lestrade shouted desperately for them to wait, Sherlock slammed the door and the taxi sped off. John sat on the edge of his seat, his fists clenched, pounding anxiously on his knees as he counted the streets that passed.

Neither man said a word to one another; they didn’t even look at the other one. No sound came from the back of the cab until John reached into his waistband and pulled his gun out. The click of the mag sliding into place caught Sherlock’s attention, and he looked over at his friend.

“We do what we have to,” he said quietly, his eyes dark and dangerous. Sherlock, instead of arguing, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handgun as well. John raised an impressed brow, and Sherlock gave him a sharp nod.

“Agreed.”

***

In hindsight, I should have done more to incapacitate Oliver. I mean, normally I could outrun him without effort, but I was certainly not at my best. My back was killing me; I’d curled up in feeble defense several times, and apparently my spine had taken a lot of abuse. It was exceedingly painful to run – or, at least, limp desperately, in my case. Injuries I didn’t know I’d accrued made themselves known, and it was apparent my attackers had done some serious damage to most of me.

But the sound of Oliver lumbering after me, cursing and swearing to rip me apart the moment he got hold of me, was more than enough encouragement to keep moving.

The building was never-ending, and I’d quickly discovered I wasn’t in any basement. I was on the fourth floor of an inconveniently designed warehouse, and the stairs were nowhere to be found. I hadn’t even found an elevator, and I doubted it would work even if I had.

The hallway I’d become trapped in didn’t go in one giant loop; it twisted, turned, and ran out more times than I’d expected. I’d already doubled back once, and I’d cost myself a lot of my head start.

“Laicee!” Oliver snarled, and I heard a door slam at the end of the hall I’d just hobbled down; I spared a glance over my shoulder and lost my breath. Oliver let out a devious laugh and surged forward the moment we locked eyes. I let out a startled hiss and spun back around, continuing down my path.

At the end of the hall, I slammed into the door and stumbled into yet another god forsaken hallway. I let out a snarl of frustration and glanced back and forth.

Either left or right, Lace. Left or right, I chanted. For just a moment, I hesitated, and then I heard Oliver shout again from just behind me, and I surged to the left.

“You goddamn bitch!” Oliver howled as the door was thrown open. My heart was beating so hard it was ready to break out of my chest. I didn’t glance back; I could hear how close he was. Just forty feet separated us, and with every half step I stumbled, he gained three more on me.

“Come on, come on,” I begged, eyes locked on the door I was quickly approaching. “Almost, Lace, almost.”

These had to be the stairs! They had to! There was a way off this floor, I knew it, and I’d be damned if this wasn’t the way out! I shoved through the door, and Moran’s fist caught me in the side of the face. I stumbled into the wall with a pained cry; he let out a snarl and snagged my upper arm. For half a moment, I was weightlessly drifting through the air, and then Moran slammed me down into the cement.

There was no bracing my head before it crashed into the floor. A guttural whimper of pain slid out of me as my vision shuddered out of focus. I blinked rapidly as I tried to make my body move.

Crawl. Just go. Don’t just lay here Laicee! Move yourself! Come on, move!

One arm was pinned under my body, and the other slid uselessly at my side. Desperately, I tried to slide my feet under myself, but all I did was push myself about half an inch in the wrong direction. As Oliver reached us, a strong hand locked onto the back of my neck and pulled me off my stomach. I was tossed onto my back and the wind was knocked out of me. As I gasped for a breath, my head spinning and my eyes blurring, Oliver leaned over me.

“Let me, boss, c’mon, I earned it,” he panted, his eyes scanning me wildly. Moran leaned over me, gave a disdained sniff, and spit ungraciously onto my cheek. Even through everything, a hint of satisfaction warmed me when I saw the damage I’d done to the side of his face.

“Do what you want, but keep that bitch alive. I’m taking down the video feed and we’re leaving.”

Oliver was on me before Moran had even walked off. He easily straddled me and used his weight to pin my lower half; raw fear overtook my actions. My weak arms flailed desperately, hands balling as I swung at his face. A few of my hits landed as Oliver tried to pin my arms. My fist caught the side of his face, and he let out a howl.

Furious, he slammed his elbow into my temple; my already spinning head exploded with pain, and bursts of colors danced through my vision. Vaguely, I felt Oliver grab my arms and push them aside. I tried in vain to lift them, but they didn’t move. Nothing worked anymore.

I blinked desperately, but my vision started to black out.

No, stay with it Lace, stay with it, I begged myself desperately, but it was a lost cause. I became nothing more than a body, and all I could do was watch.

Oliver leaned over me, a wild grin on his face. He mouthed something quickly, and I felt his hands begin to rip my shirt.

My vision blacked out, and I fought for consciousness.

Then I was back with it, and Oliver was leaning down, kissing my jaw and
neck desperately, his eyes wild. Again and again he said my name, and more words came out, but again I cut out.

Just blackness.

“You deserve this,” Oliver said, sounding like I was miles underwater. His hands struggled with my jeans as he quivered with anxiety.

I fought to stay with it this time, but again I blacked out.

My eyes opened again, and now Oliver began to pull my jeans down. They were almost off when he looked up. His face contorted, and he began to shout. I felt his nails rip down my skin as he fought with my clothes, shouting at someone unseen.

Blackness.

And then as I began to come back, I felt weight lift off of me. Oliver’s screaming was there, but it was growing distant. So now, though my eyes fought to stay shut, I forced them open.

Sherlock’s eyes were just as breathtaking as the first day I saw them. His curls brushed my forehead, and tears pooled off his chin onto my cheeks. I blinked slowly, staring up at the man that stole my heart.

Because whether this was a dream, or another desperate hallucination, or even possibly real life, it was exactly what I needed at that moment. I just needed Sherlock, just Sherlock. His dark curls and his clear eyes and a smile that warmed my weak and battered heart.

“My Laicee,” Sherlock breathed, his shaking hands gently brushing my face. “I followed you.”