I Don't Want To Believe

Up Close and Personal With E.T.'s Distant Cousins

Just as John was sure that this could be the end, that the light would die out and he'd be left plummeting to his death, he felt himself enter a tunnel, and suddenly he collapsed onto cold metal, staring up into a dark room. John sat up immediately, finding that he could now use his limbs and scrambling to his feet. The room he was in was all metal, there were no doors, no windows, he couldn't even see if he was going to fall right back down the hole he had come in through. No, it was all darkness and metal. John groaned, rubbing his head and feeling as though he had left his stomach back in the corn, knowing that this had to be some sort of very elaborate joke. Mike was going to come in any moment now, laughing at John's exasperated expression. John got to his feet, looking around for some sort of escape pod, exit, anything except smooth, cold iron. When nothing came, he started to panic once more, there was no way this could actually be aliens, could it? They didn't exist, they were all a hoax, this was a trick...But as John looked around once more, as he felt the metal desperately, as he pounded on the walls in an attempt to break them, he knew that there was no possible way this was a trick. No one on earth could be this cruel. Finally, when all hope seemed to be lost, another bright light shone on the wall, a door way appeared in the metal and four people walked in. John couldn't make them out, he couldn't tell if they were human or not because the back light was so harsh, all he saw were humanoid shapes moving towards him. But John scrambled back, pinning himself to the farthest metal wall in an attempt to get away from them. Who knew what they were going to do?
"Stay away, you...you stay away from me!" John demanded, but they got ever closer. "STAY AWAY!" John demanded, balling up his fists defensively. They got closer and closer, and one of them plucked a device out of their belt, with two blinking red lights on the top, like some sort of taser... John whimpered, trying to push himself as close as he could to the wall, knowing there was no way he could fight these beings off, and all went black once more.                                                

                When John awoke, he saw nothing but white. It was harsh white, like a large light shining in his face, and on contrast of the darkness he had grown used to it was even worse. He started to groan, trying to rub his eyes and block out this light when he found that he couldn't move them, like he was paralyzed once more.
"Mycroft, he's awake." said a deep voice above him. John blinked once more, trying to kick out his legs but finding them bound as well. Finally he could make out a ceiling, a white ceiling with a harsh light shining down on him. John couldn't move his head, it seemed like, once more, his entire body was paralyzed. He was thankful though, when he found that he could talk.
"What's going on, where am I?" he demanded, struggling against unseen bonds.
"Don't worry Mr. Watson, you're safe, there's nothing to worry about." said a voice that didn't sound reassuring at all. It sounded like one of those voices that a mad scientist had, trying to calm you before transplanting your head onto a monkey.
"I'm not...where's my family?" John insisted.
"Don't panic, I don't like it when you panic." said the first voice, sounding younger. John couldn't see him, but somehow he got the sneaking suspicion that the speaker was the boy he had followed into the corn.
"Are you aliens?" John demanded, his voice weak and his throat dry. The second voice chuckled and moved into the light so that John could see. He was expecting green, the stereotypical green alien with large eyes, like the one depicted in iron in the middle of the town. Instead, it was startlingly human, with normal sized eyes, brown hair, and an amused smile.
"Aliens, well, that depends on your definition." He said with a smile. "My name is Mycroft."
"That sounds alien." John decided.
"And John sounds, well, boring." Mycroft agreed. "Sherlock, give this poor boy some water, he looks like he's about to crack."
"No, alien water, got some disease, no..." John muttered. As promised, the boy, who must be Sherlock walked over with a clear glass of water. John struggled, moving his jaw the best he could to avoid the water from being tipped down his throat. The boy looked exactly like John had seen him before, curly black hair, pale skin, but only now could John make out his multicolored eyes and red, cupid bow lips. He was well...strangely beautiful. Not in a gay way, of course, but there was something about how he looked in this white light, and the fact that he was from another world made him seem to radiate beauty. John couldn't help but stare at him with fascination. 
"Stay still Mr. Watson or we shall have to do this the hard way." Sherlock insisted.
"What is it?" John demanded, keeping his mouth shut as tight as possible.
"It's water, and if you don't want it then we'll let you dehydrate and die."Mycroft snapped in a very stern voice.
"Don't let him die Mycroft, I want this one." Sherlock insisted. John sighed, deciding that he had no other choice. So he opened his mouth, letting Sherlock grab his lower jaw and pour the water roughly down his throat. John coughed fiercely, spraying the two with spittle and water, but managing to choke down the rest of the perfectly normal tasting water.
"Thanks." John muttered as Sherlock wiped the droplets from his skin in disgust. Mycroft sighed, going out of John's line of vision for a moment and reappearing with a large needle, like you see on cartoons when they try to over exaggerate the terror doctor visits.
"Wait, no, what...what is that?" John asked fearfully, wanting to squirm away but being reminded that he couldn't move.
"We need a blood sample Mr. Watson, no need to fear, I'm very good with a needle. Unless, of course, you squirm, and I hit something other than a vein." Mycroft decided.
"No, no, that's terrifying; you're going to kill me." John debated.
"Hold him down, brother mine." Mycroft demanded, and Sherlock pushed down on John's chest and arm as he uselessly tried to struggle. He couldn't see, but he felt a horrible pain in his forearm, he could feel the cold metal needle sinking deeper into his arm, John let out a scream of pain...
"See, just a pinch." Mycroft decided, pulling the needle sharply out of John's arm. Sherlock let go of John's arm, but not his chest, keeping his hand there and feeling John's lungs inflate and deflate with his rapid breaths. John could see only half of his face, his eyes trailing up and down John's body as if fascinated by what he saw. John felt shivers go up his spine, not liking this boy's curiosity.
"Leave the poor boy alone Sherlock, you'll scare him to death." Mycroft snapped.
"Says the man with the giant needle." Sherlock snapped, letting his fingers trail across John's chest as he dropped his hand back by his side.
"Necessary Sherlock, it is necessary." Mycroft insisted. Sherlock just rolled his beautiful multicolored eyes, a mix between the bluest blue and luscious green, like the forest and the ocean converging in his iris.
"Open your mouth once more." Mycroft demanded.
"What are you going to..." John was cut off when Sherlock once more grabbed his bottom jaw, forcing him to keep his mouth open as Mycroft rubbed some sort of cloth over his inner cheek, a DNA test apparently. When finally Sherlock let go, John's mouth shut so forcefully that his teeth started to hurt.
"Ouch." He complained. Sherlock just chuckled, as if the frailty of humans was amusing to him.
"Are you going to let me go home?" John asked desperately.
"Eventually, maybe." Mycroft sighed.
"Are you going to keep me or kill me?" John asked in fear, thinking of all the violent ways these creatures could end his life.
"That depends on your manners." Sherlock sighed. John forced a smile, although it seemed to be the last facial expression he wanted to make right now.
"How do you do?" he asked, trying to be as polite as possible to save his life.
"Oh, at least he has a sense of humor." Mycroft sighed.
"What, so that's all your tests?" John asked.
"No, not quite." Mycroft shrugged, taking out a small black box with an orange light on it and scanning the length of John's body, as if it were some 3D scanner.
"What's that?" John asked.
"Sit still please Mr. Watson." Mycroft insisted. John was quiet; he didn't want anything to hurt him more than necessary. "Alright then, Sherlock, if you please show Mr. Watson to his room." Mycroft decided. Suddenly John regained control of his limbs, as if a curse had suddenly been lifted, and he jumped off of the table he had been lying on, stumbling around on his legs for a moment before regaining composure. He could see Sherlock and Mycroft now, the whole of them. They were both wearing what looked to be leather armor, Sherlock's had purple lining around the seams and neckline, and Mycroft had a white lab coat on over top of his. Sherlock was easily the taller of the two, maybe a foot taller than John, with a frown on his face as if this was already boring him.
"Follow me." he snapped. John looked down at what he was wearing, a flimsy dressing gown, not unlike the ones you get at the doctor's office, and nothing underneath.
"Where are my clothes?" he demanded. Sherlock just laughed, as if this were slightly amusing.
"I said, follow me." Sherlock repeated, standing near the door and holding it open. John looked back at Mycroft, who was examining his blood in some sort of glass dish, and nodded, walking out the door into an equally white hallway.
"Is everything around here white?" he asked.
"It's a nice color, don't you think?" Sherlock shrugged, letting his fingers trail the wall as they walked. There were no pictures, no decorations, no windows or flowers; it was just the same white hallway, winding through some sort of endless nothingness.
"Why have you been following me?" John demanded.
"I thought that was sort of obvious." Sherlock shrugged.
"What do you want from me, why, why me?" John insisted, trying to get as many answers as he could out of this thing. Sherlock sighed, continuing through the doorless hallway.
"I liked you." He insisted.
"You were stalking me." John pointed out.
"It was necessary, I had to get you curious, I had to get you into the corn somehow." Sherlock shrugged.
"What, is the soccer field too difficult for you?" John asked.
"No, of course not, too big of a show. We are, I suppose, still in the shadows." Sherlock admitted. Finally they arrived at a white door. It blended in so well with the wall that John could barely tell It was there, in fact, it almost looked like Sherlock had pulled the door out of nowhere.
"Here we are, your room." Sherlock decided, opening the door and leading John into some sort of mad human recreation. "We tried to make it as homey as possible." Sherlock shrugged. Obviously these people were aliens, because the room they had thought was human was the oddest assortment of artifacts John had ever seen. In the middle of the room was a large plastic race car bed, built fora five year old, with a tiny mattress and a large golden comforter on top. There was a hammock hanging in the corner of the room, a dining room table near the corner, and through a door John could see a yellow porcelain toilet and a claw footed bathtub.
"Wait, you're not serious?" he asked, trying to decide if this was all a joke as he stepped over the bearskin rug.
"This isn't what humans live in?" Sherlock asked. "We included the round ball, I thought you might like that." he said, holding up a soccer ball proudly. John laughed, looking at the alien in wonder.
"This bed is built for a two year old." He pointed out in disgust.
"Are you not their height?" Sherlock asked doubtfully. John couldn't really respond to that, because he was both offended and absolutely shocked.
"No, I'm not." He decided. Sherlock frowned, looking rather disappointed.
"Well, we're having traditional clothing being fitted for you right now, I'm sure that gown will work for now." He muttered.
"What species are you? What planet are you from?" John asked.
"We are humans, but we are not from earth." Sherlock said proudly, not elaborating very much.
"You don't look human." John decided.
"We are more than human, the better part of the race." Sherlock admitted. John looked him over, not seeing any distinguishing marks to show that he was anything more. Then again, he didn't look completely normal either, that must be why he had stood out so vividly to John in the hallway.
"You are very...tall." John decided.
"You are very small." Sherlock agreed, as if that was no more than an observation.
"I may be small, but I'm powerful." John warned.
"Powerful...hmm." Sherlock sighed, looking John over once more. "I doubt that."John opened his mouth but shut it once more, remembering that his life depended on his manners.
"That's rude." John decided.
"You're amusing, Mr. Watson, very amusing." Sherlock decided, walking up to John and examining him closely. As uncomfortable as this made John feel, he was also looking for a chance to examine his captor, and took this moment to get a good look at this odd boy.
"You are very...intriguing." Sherlock decided, running his finger over John's cheek in interest. John jumped back in disgust, fearing that this boy would either kiss him or kill him. Either way seemed pretty bad right now.
"Don't touch me." John insisted. Sherlock looked shocked, guilty even, nothing like the proud, sturdy boy that had been in his brother's company.
"Why ever not?" he asked. John retreated to the far wall, nearly laughing at this boy's stupidity.
"It's called personal space; it's valued very much over on earth." He pointed out.
"Yes, Earth, how could I forget? My apologies Mr. Watson." Sherlock insisted, dropping into a low bow for some odd reason.
"Yes, um, it's alright." John muttered, feeling like if Sherlock bowed any lower that he would tip over and fall on his curly head. Finally the boy straightened up, looking very curious still, as to see what the rest of John might feel like.
"Well, the clothes will arrive shortly, until then, dinner will be shortly, I will arrive to pick you up." Sherlock decided.
"What, dinner? I just ate with my family, not twenty minutes ago!" John decided.
"Mr. Watson, you've been unconscious for three days." Sherlock insisted. John opened his mouth and closed it again, not finding any words to describe what he was feeling.
"Three days?" he asked.
"Yes, did you not hear me correctly?" Sherlock asked.
"No, I heard you, that's just...odd." John muttered.
"Yes. Goodbye." Sherlock agreed, and with that he left the room. As soon as he closed the door though, the door disappeared, no handle, not even an outline, it turned into solid wall. John realized then that this wasn't just his room, this was his prison cell.