Cauldron-Born [SHERLOCK FANFIC]

In the Dark

Charlie backed out of the makeshift morgue, his fingers trembling and reaching for a surface to grab hold of before fainting. But the surprise was too much for the young Garner and his body gravitated to the floor. Sherlock, however, bolted up behind him and caught him under the arms. He shook him like a floppy ragdoll, cursing his strength. “Get a hold of yourself, Charlie! Hurry and find Alana and John, I’m going to see if I can open the front doors.”

“What? What about the guards? Those men?”

“Don’t you worry about them, if they’re going to chase anyone, it’d be me.” Sherlock shoved Charlie to his feet and turned him in the direction he was to head off to. “Whatever you do, don’t be an idiot.”

Charlie squinted a challenged eye at the detective and made his way down the corridor. Sherlock watched him, somewhat uninterested, and very much doubting his capabilities. But knowing he had no other man to send into the unknown to save his friends, Sherlock had to conjure up some confidence in the boy. Patting his hands together, Sherlock followed a grey wire to what he knew would be the power room.

Meanwhile, quite unsuccessfully, Charlie scampered around the halls, dodging guards and colliding into locked doors, until his last resort was upstairs. Seeing no other way up there except walking directly up, Charlie made his way. He found it peculiar that the door was open for him, and it was only when Alana’s chamber opened and a guard walk out did he know why. Charlie froze. His heart palpitated. His feet were moving fast in his mind, but in reality, they were attached firmly to the steps.

Sherlock rushed around a corner, ready to enter the next hall when he spotted a guard pacing back and forth in front of the power room. Sherlock stomped his foot, controlling it so that it wouldn’t land on the floor. He picked at his lip fervently, wondering what to do. The guard had several weapons on him, many created to fend off zombies. For once in his life, Sherlock felt like he was defeated. He looked at the rotund guard again, searching for the weak points and the blind spots. Smiling ever so slightly in his cat-like manner, Sherlock found his way in.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the guard said in a toying voice to Charlie. “Trying to be a little hero?”

Charlie managed to place a foot behind him. “No.”

“How did you get out?”

“I was let out,” Charlie said, his shoulders shook.

The guard chuckled and reached back to take out a tool of injury. Charlie believed it was a tazor, though, he knew his father liked to “improve” on already painful instruments. Without hesitation, the guard yanked out a pole with a loop around the end and through it over Charlie’s neck. Like a stray dog, the noose was pulled and Charlie had to give into the pressure or he would suffocate. The guard laughed menacingly and moved towards Charlie, his hands shorting the distance between them and the pole. “You were never like your old man: mean, surly, and demanding. In fact, you’re the opposite. And we can’t have your kind around, especially if you want to live.” The guard raised a black tazor in front of the boy’s face. Electricity surged through, crackling and buzzing. But before the guard could thrust the lethal weapon into Charlie’s chest, the lights blew out, giving Charlie time to yank away from the guard, taking the pole with him.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Sherlock mumbled to himself as he triumphantly placed his foot onto the defeated guard’s chest. “You should never look at the ricocheting sound, but the original source.” Sherlock took a giant step over the body and slipped out of the power room he had gotten into after knocking the guard unconscious. Of course, he tied him down with wire he always kept in his shoes, and he confiscated the guard’s flashlight right before he turned all the lights out.  Tossing the keys into the air and catching them in his palm, Sherlock said to himself, “Now, now, off to rescue Alana and John, I suppose.”

As he strolled down the alley at an unhurried pace, he heard two sets of footsteps pounding his way. He quickly deciphered the first set to be Charlie’s, and the person behind him another guard. The hollow clanking and rough dragging sound was easily deducted: a metal pole. Sherlock smirked. He knew the poor boy had been noosed.  Timing his appearance just right, Sherlock waiting until Charlie flew past him before calmly sticking his foot out and tripping the guard. The guard landed face first onto the floor, followed quickly by Sherlock’s heel hitting him on the back of the head.

“Charlie?” Sherlock called after, still hearing the pole scraping against the floor. “Stop where you are our you’re going to trip over and body and fly into the power--,”

There was a loud clatter and cry and the hissing of electricity. Sherlock’s face tightened and his breath hitched high in his throat. He heard something. It echoed like a haunted wail through the entire house.  It was the sound of cages being unlocked. Sherlock closed his eyes.  His mind replayed the scene he hadn’t seen, but knew what happened by the sound placements. Charlie’s hand had pulled an unwanted power lever upon his falling, releasing every creature from their captivity.

Taking speed, Sherlock bolted into the power room, grabbed Charlie by the arms and pulled him out, being careful not to get the pole caught on anything. Steadying the boy, Sherlock said hastily, “When I get this noose off of you, take this flashlight,” he jammed the lighting device into Charlie’s clammy hands, “and get out of here. Don’t worry about John and Alana. John will take care of them. Just get to Baker Street, alert Lestrade that the zombies are out and there needs to be an emergency evacuation.”

“And what about you?” Charlie asked, slipping out of the noose Sherlock had somehow unlocked in the dark.

“Oh, ask that question to Anderson, or something! I’ll be fine, just assure John that I will, though.” Sherlock shoved Charlie away from him before disappearing into the darkness. By the time Charlie’s thumb switched on the light, there was no trace of the detective.