A/N: Hello to all! Summer has been busy, but I appreciate the reviews, follows, and faves! The story is complete, just editing these final few chapters, probably one more, maybe two after this one! I hope you all enjoy! :)

Chapter 11: Sickness and Clues

Well that worked well, thought John to himself. He had gone over to the corner of the room and set about doing his exerises for the day, for about 25 minutes. Then the guards had rushed in and he collapsed to the ground at the sound of the door's lock being lifted.

They had rushed over to him frantically and pulled him onto the bed. They had checked him over for injuries and put bottles of water close to his bed, and tylenol. One of them had even spoken to try and wake him up. John had pretended to be groggy as they forced water down his throat and wiped the sweat off his brow. Guess they thought he had a fever. He supposed he would have to keep with that ruse for the rest of the day. As John lay there, a plan began to form, but first he would try to send Sherlock a message.

Sherlock had been woken up when John disappeared and was relieved though worried when they brought him back on camera. He wouldn't leave John again, not until they could find him. He watched as John lay on the bed, appearing to be sick. Sherlock bit his lip in worry, John's eyelids were fluttering a lot and he was mumbling. It seemed to be a lot of nonsense, but then he heard vatican cameos.

Sherlock's eyes widened as soon as his brain picked the words out of the mumbling, was John trying to send a message?

"John, you're brilliant!" he whispered happily as he watched his soldier carefully. Analyzing Jon's words wasn't leading him to much so he took in what visual was available. Then he realized that John wasn't blinking, he was using morse code! Frantically Sherlock searched his brain for that knowledge and found it stuffed in an old shelf, on top of his model pirate ship.

He translated it slowly.

C-A-V-E

R-O-O-M-D-A-R-K-N-O-S-U-N

W-A-L-L-S-C-O-L-D-D-A-M-P

D-O-O-R-S-T-E-E-L-A-R-M-Y

C-A-V-E

And the message repeated until John appeared to fall asleep again. Sherlock smiled with pride at his John. Beating all odds, John had managed to send him some clues to help save himself. Now Sherlock just needed to decipher them.

Sherlock mused, John was taken between 6:35 and 7 pm, and Lestrade had received the broadcast starting at about 3 am, and John was in that room. That meant they had to be within a 9 hour radius. Mycroft said the North and John said he was in a cave, but there was obvious electric light, so that meant electricity, so it's not too remote. They also had a giant steel door, but it's thickness suggested some sort of old detention camp. John said army, how John knew that, Sherlock didn't know, but he supposed John had experience in that area. And that narrowed down the search immensely.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock yelled, getting excited, "Bring me all the properties bought in the last 3 months!"

John continued to play the sick patient as he waited for Sherlock to find him.

He played it for the entire evening and started again the next morning. If Sherlock wasn't here today, then John would know he didn't get the message, and, well, then John was just going to get out of this himself.

He mixed food with his water in his mouth and pretended to eat slowly and clumsily. Then he put a hand to his chest and gagged, some of the mashed up food coming out. He got up quickly, but not effectively and rushed off camera to spit the food into the pit. John wiped his mouth and grimaced. Took a moment to stretch while making retching sounds. He rolled his shoulders, working out any kinks, then hunched his shoulders and stumbled back onto camera and collapsed on the bed.

The next time the guards came in, they looked at him with hesitation, but John didn't move. He groaned and clutched his stomach as they looked at his barely eaten food and one checked the pit for signs of vomit.

The guard came back on camera and wrinkled his nose and they left another bottle of water for John and some crackers.

They left again and John grinned, face down into his pillow. This was boring, but it was a plan, and he worked so much better with a plan.

Sherlock managed to eliminate 99% of the locations presented to him in the last day, but none of them seemed right. He had it narrowed down to 3 sites and wanted to investigate them all, but Lestrade wouldn't let him.

"Why can't I go? We need to find him! We know he's there, Lestrade, we have to go."

"You saw the armed guards in the room with John, who knows how many there are on site. I don't want you sneaking in to investigate and getting captured or worse! Normally you can faff off and investigate, but you have barely slept or eaten in the last 4 days and John would kill me if something happens to you. We will send recon to the sites and whichever ones look the most suspicious, we will search."

"But Lestrade, that's not soon enough, look at him!" Sherlock yelled, gesturing to the monitor, "He's sick. At first I thought he was doing it to send me a message, but he's not getting better. What if he gets worse? What if we don't find him fast enough? We have to go out and find him now!

Lestrade looked at the screen and then back at Sherlock with eyes full of sympathy, "I'll send the teams out immediately Sherlock. If this lead turns into anything, I'll let you know."

Sherlock nodded and then his eyes widened in fear as he looked back at John on the screen.

John had stood up, to get some food it appeared, but he was wobbling on his feet. He took one step and almost fell over, and another and then his eyes rolled up to the back of his head and he collapsed on the floor, narrowly missing the bed with his head.

Sherlock watched as John crumpled to the floor. He didn't even hear his own shout or notice himself jumping to his feet, his eyes were wide with horror at John's situation.

"Lestrade!" he shouted, "we have to go to John, NOW!"

Half the yarders were watching Sherlock with surprise and confusion. They had never seen this side of him, the side of him where he actually showed that he cared.

"Lestrade, John, now." Sherlock pleaded desperately, "He's fainted! He is not well! I need to go save him!"

Lestrade patted Sherlock on the arm awkwardly, "I'll send out the recon teams immediately."

"No. I'm going with you," Sherlock said firmly.

Lestrade opened his mouth to argue, to say they didn't need him in the way during a rescue mission, but the steel determination behind Sherlock's fear and his anxious, stuttered movements were enough to make him agree softly, "Alright, let's go."