Trust Issues

Temple Running

Sherlock went up to the big steel rings acting as door handles, very cautiously pulling on one to see if it would open. Of course it wouldn’t, what use was a big oak door if anyone could just walk right in?
“Break it down!” Sherlock announced, stepping out of the way and leaving the ring to crash back down on the wood. The men all arranged in a big line, John on the end, looking as if he was just going to run into the stone next to the door. Anderson counted down and they all ran as fast as they could, pivoting and slamming into the wood, shaking it so much the rings clanked up and down.
“Again!” Anderson called. They repeated this action many times, but it didn’t seem to work very well. John could imagine the gods up there laughing at the pathetic mortals who thought they could ram the door down with their bodies. Sherlock looked very frustrated, eyeing the hinges and the forest around him.
“Make a battering ram with a tree.” He decided after a moment of thinking. John laughed, but he was the only one that did. The other men looked somber, and his smile faded away.
“Wait, you’re serious?” he asked, looking at Greg for support.
“Do I look like I’m joking Mr. Watson?” Sherlock asked.
“No sir.” John said quickly. He nodded, and followed the men to a particularly thick tree. Anderson had a really big machete type knife, getting near the trunk and hacking away at the wood. Mike mimicked him on the other side of the tree, and after maybe twenty minutes of wood chips and sore arms, the two stepped away.
“Captain, clear the way!” Anderson called. “Okay men, push that way!” The men all tried their best to get a good position on the tree, pushing with all of their might. John wasn’t able to get a spot, so he just stood back and watched as the swarm of men tried to push it over. Finally there was a lot of snapping and popping noises and the tree started falling. Down, down, John was almost worried it would hit the temple. Sherlock was standing safely away, watching the tree crash to the ground in a cloud of dust and debris. Anderson smiled proudly and the men cheered at the accomplishment. Now all they had to do was pick it up and actually ram the doors down. The men first had to flip the tree around so the trunk was facing the door and not the black leaves. After that was over John’s arms hurt and his hands were aching from the rough tree bark imprinting through his skin.
“Three, two, one, go!” Mike called, and everyone, having a good hand on the tree, ran with all of their might and through the tree into the oak doors. There was a cracking sound and when they pulled it back the door had started to splinter a little bit. It took four tries to finally get a hole in the door big enough for a man, with difficulty, to climb through. The men now were fighting to get spots to see inside, so of course John, Greg, and Moran were pushed to the back. Now it was the question of who would go in first. It was honorable of course, but also dangerous.
“Anderson, get in there, tell me what you see.” Sherlock decided. Even from here John could sense Anderson’s ego get even bigger as the Captain called on him personally. John couldn’t see what in the world was going on, but he heard a dull thump and a lot of breaking twigs or something.
“It’s dark.” Anderson said honestly.
“Well of course it’s dark!” Sherlock hissed. “Get a fire started, light torches. Collect as much food as you can, get water.” Sherlock instructed. The men scrambled to get wood for torches and the man who could make fire started twirling sticks around until sparks started appearing. Soon they had a torch lit for everyone plus some extra wood in case something happened to the flames or the torches themselves. Men stored fruit in their shirt pockets or in their boots, filling up flasks with water collected from the leaves. They passed a torch through the hole in the door where Anderson had his first true look around.
“It’s a church!” he announced. Sherlock himself was now climbing in, John couldn’t see much else.
“Come on gentlemen, perfectly safe, for now.” Sherlock decided.
“If people built this church around the scythe why didn’t they just take it?” John asked Greg, who was also trying to get a look inside even though they’d be in the room in less than five minutes.
“Oh who knows, psycho religious people probably.” Greg shrugged. John nodded, that made sense. Anyone who believed it was a gift from the gods would do no less than warship it. the men were now climbing through one at a time until finally John could see inside. It was a church, as Anderson had said. It was all black, not just because of the darkness either. It was obsidian and black wood and even black iron, pews lined up with an aisle going down the center to the altar, where there was something that looked like a sacrificial table or something. The table sent shivers down John’s spine; he hoped they were only sacrificing food dishes or small animals. Finally it was his turn to crawl in, and the first thing he noticed was the brilliant change in temperature. It went from blazing hot to nice and chilly, and John immediately pulled his shirt back on thankfully.  The church was very creepy, he noticed a life sized statue of some god or something in the corner, but it looked like someone had spilled the black goo over it. The white paint was visible near the bottom and in spots more towards the top, but the rest was black. John forced himself to look away, hoping that wasn’t Sherlock’s fate.
“It must be in here, search for a box, or a safe!” Sherlock instructed. John wandered the church, gripping his sword tight just in case there would be some wild animals chasing them down or something. It was hard to see in the darkness, the torch light being the only source except very dull light from the dust covered windows.  There was nothing under the pews as far as he could see, so he decided to check the window sills for anything up there. It was a pretty pathetic search, no one in their right mind would put something on top of a window, but the rest of the church was being thoroughly searched by the rest of the crew. John was having no luck and he could tell Sherlock was getting anxious, if they didn’t find it here it was already taken or they had to walk farther. Suddenly Greg cursed loudly and what sounded like rocks grinding together echoed through the church. Everyone turned to see what had happened, Greg was standing very still and looking very surprised, holding an iron candle holder as if he was about to put it back.
“What was that Mr. Lestrade?” Sherlock asked from the corner of the church where he was searching through a woven basket full of cloth.
“Trap door sir.” Greg said, getting over his surprise and looking quite proud of himself. Immediately the men rushed to see what was in it, or where it led. Sherlock stormed onto the altar, looking relieved but also irritated. John himself walked up the three small steps, trying to get a good look. It was behind the altar, John didn’t know what had activated it but Greg had obviously done something. From what John could see it was a dark drop off, no light or ladder or anything to indicate it was nothing but a pit.
“Give me something unimportant.” Sherlock said, holding out a hand to no one in particular.
“Well John’s right here…” Greg joked. Sherlock glared at him as if that had been a personal insult, wiping Greg’s half smile away. John looked around, spotting a little pebble in the corner and dashing to pick it up.
“Here.” He said, placing it in Sherlock’s palm. The captain smiled thankfully at him and dropped the stone down, sticking his head in the hole to listen.
“There, it landed. Pretty deep, but it’s a soft landing.” Sherlock decided. “No ladder or crevices, we’ll have to jump.” With that all of the men all moved back in fear. Suddenly the secret passage way didn’t seem too appealing.
“Volunteers?” Sherlock asked with a smile. Even Anderson and Mike didn’t seem too keen on showing off.
“I’ll do it.” John offered. He suddenly felt thirty or so eyes on him with shock, no one realized he was there until then. Anderson looked angry suddenly, as if he didn’t want John to take the glory.
“No, John…” Sherlock started.
“I want to go, let me.” John decided, moving to the front. He raised his torch to see in the hole, but it only ended in more darkness. Sherlock was looking at him with worry, like a mother worrying about her child’s safety.
“You don’t have to.” He muttered. John gave him a smile, but sat down on the ledge, hanging his feet over nothingness. Even here he could feel a tug on his body, almost a magnetic pull, trying to get him to go down into the depths.
“See you on the other side I guess.” He decided, and with that he launched himself off of the edge. The air turned almost freezing as he went under the ground, the wind rushing past his face, messing up his hair and extinguishing the torch fire. He made sure to keep his legs and arms close to his body to prevent scraping them on the stone to the side of him. John suddenly realized that this might not have been a good idea when he hit the ground, but it wasn’t ground. It was more like a plant, he couldn’t see it, a vine maybe?
“It’s okay!” John called up. “I can’t see a bloody thing, save the fire!” Even from all the way down here he could hear Sherlock’s relived sigh.
“Okay, I’m coming down!” Anderson called. John scrambled blindly to the side, hoping there wasn’t another pit or a monster waiting for him in the darkness. He saw Anderson fall only because his hand was shielding the fire from the wind with his hand, a small ball of flames silhouetting the man.  He landed with a grunt, jumping to his feet and raising his sword, ready to attack. Fortunately for him there was nothing to attack, only a long, narrow passageway. John was near the left wall, if he had crawled any farther he would’ve collided with it.
“Okay!” Anderson called up. One by one everyone dropped down and moved to the side, Greg was the only one who screamed as he fell, which Anderson and Mike seemed to find funny. John relit his torch from one of the many men he couldn’t name. Sherlock came last, falling down very casually, as if he did this every day. He landed and got immediately, not even looking fazed.
“Come on then.” He commanded, not even bothering to regroup or make sure they could actually get back up. He led the way, torch light now being the only source in the obsidian tunnel. Everything was very well preserved here; there wasn’t any rain or wind to erode the symbols away. John thought he’d prefer if they were worn though, he saw crude carvings of men being chopped to pieces, or people with glowing heads being raised by a lot of weaker looking stick figures, even pairs of eyes carved as if they were watching over whatever lay ahead. The carvings sent shivers up his spine; this was definitely not a place you’d take your kids on vacation. The rest of the time was spent walking through the halls. Even though it was new and exciting down here, a good change of scenery from the jungle that seemed to be exactly the same, the pain was exactly the same, if not worse. He was scared, he wouldn’t deny that, anything could be down here, ancient beasts, rivers of poison, dart traps, maybe even a skeletal army. At this point John doubted anything would surprise him. Finally they stopped for the night, a well needed rest. John hadn’t brought any food for himself, but Moran had stored a couple of fruits in his tall leather boots. If this wasn’t the only thing John could eat down here, he would’ve turned away a fruit that smells like sweaty socks, but he took the food thankfully and stabbed it, practically forcing the slime down his throat. It seemed like the fruit got worse and worse every time he had it. He saw one of the men offer Sherlock some food, which he politely declined. John sighed; he hoped Sherlock was feeling better. Eventually all conversation was ended by tiredness, and everyone drifted to sleep. John lay on the stone floor, knowing that he’d pay with a sore back the next morning. Soon tiredness overtook him and the ceiling faded into darkness.