Are you insane like me? Been in pain like me?

Welcome, readers! To anyone new, I'm glad you found me but I do suggest you read my story Official Recruiter first. To anyone returning, I'm glad you're back! While plotting this story I was pretty much listening to Halsey on repeat. Then I realized how perfectly her song Gasoline fits the theme of this fic, so I took the chapter titles from the lyrics and named the story after the song. So for anyone interested in where this story is headed, I would suggest checking out the song – it's really good! There is a bit of strong language so if you're adverse to that there's a really well done clean version on YouTube. I even made a playlist for this story, so you can check out my profile for a link to that. Please enjoy!

The SIP agent standing across from John threw Grant onto the ground, aimed his gun, and pulled the trigger.

John screamed, snapped Director Williams's neck with ease, and ran at the agent. The agent was dead – an arrow stuck out of him. John scooped the kid up into his arms. "No, no, no, no, no." The kid was limp and lifeless in the doctor's grip. "No, kid, come on, no, no, don't do this. Come on, Grant!" John's hands were red. They were red, far too red, too red, too red, too red.

John turned around and saw the Director's body not far behind him, his head twisted at an angle it should not have been.

"I killed him."

John awoke with a start. He lay in bed for a moment, taking time to just breathe and calm himself down. He rolled over and took a look at the clock. Six-fifteen. He was surprised he'd lasted this long. So his nightmares were getting better at least. Well, if better meant they were occurring later in the night so when he woke in a fit of panic it was at a reasonable hour, then yeah, they were getting better.

The doctor threw off his covers and sat up. He hadn't had nightmares since before he moved in with Sherlock. His dreams about Afghanistan had just about faded along with his limp. But after watching that kid get shot right in front of him, the dreams had returned.

It had been a rough few months for John. He and Sherlock managed to take down the Superhuman Integration Program, but not without a cost. Grant was dead, Taria had been severely injured, Vi went MIA, and John was left with powers the exact replica of what Director Williams had: super-strength, bullet proof skin (but not knife proof, which SHIELD was still puzzled about), and reflexes quicker than most. The powers were supposed to have been temporary, but with Grant dead John was stuck with his new-found abilities.

It was Saturday, meaning John was to report to SHIELD's London headquarters once again for further assessment. He figured the organization would have gotten all of the readings they needed by now, but they still asked the doctor to come. It was for the better, he supposed, since it gave him an opportunity to explore his power under safe conditions.

In these past few months John had gain pretty good control over his powers. At first he'd struggled to pick up a glass without breaking it. It both annoyed and worried Sherlock to no end. John had been so scared of breaking things and hurting people he wouldn't even join Sherlock on his cases for the first two months. It pained the detective to leave his friend behind in the situation he was in, yet John refused to put anyone in danger.

But things had gotten better.

The morning went by fairly smoothly. When John stepped out of the shower he saw Sherlock scouring his website for any cases. "Still nothing?" John asked.

"It's been nearly a month," Sherlock grumbled, "and there's not a single case!"

John couldn't help but crack a grin. "You could come with me, if you want," John suggested.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's hardly interesting. It'll be the same exact thing as every time you go!"

"You thought it was interesting at first."

"Well it quickly became monotonous," the detective complained.

"Come on, the fresh air will be good for you."

"Hardly fresh air," mumbled Sherlock. "We'd be stuck inside a SHIELD base all day."

"Getting out of the flat, I mean." Sherlock didn't respond. John sighed. "I'm sure I could talk Bill into getting you some copies of his findings." Sherlock's eyes immediately lit up. Bill was the scientist heading up the research on John's abilities. The doctor and the American scientist had quickly become friends since they were required to spend so much time together.

"And a blood sample?" Sherlock asked.

John knew it was a trap. "I never said you could have a blood sample."

Sherlock sunk back into his armchair. "Then I'm not going."

John hung his head in defeat. "Alright, fine, you can have a blood sample."

The detective leapt from his chair, running over to grab his coat. "Then let's go, John, you don't want to be late." John smiled and rolled his eyes, heading after his friend.

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John walked back into the observation room where Sherlock sat typing away at this phone and Bill was looking over some files. John sat down his water bottle and Bill looked up from the file. "Well your strength readings are still the same." He shook his head, flipping the folder closed. "I honestly don't know why SHIELD has you keep coming here – nothing's changed."

John shrugged. "Formalities I guess."

Bill shook his head. "I guess." He didn't sound so convinced. "It looks like you're due for another blood test." Sherlock perked up and slipped his phone into his pocket. "Just one vial today."

"Two," said Sherlock. Bill looked at the consulting detective in question.

John sighed. "Sorry about that. I promised him he could have a sample."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "You promised your roommate a vial of your blood?" John shrugged and Bill began to laugh. "You guys are weird. Alright, we can do that." He gestured to the chair. "If you'll take a seat, Doctor Watson."

John sat down and Bill took out his supplies. "I also told him I could talk you into giving him some of your notes," admitted John.

"Oh, and can you talk me into it?" Bill asked, prepping John's arm.

John shrugged. "Didn't think it'd be that hard."

Bill chuckled. "Alright, I'll see what I can do." He looked over at Sherlock. "Can't give you everything though, I'm afraid. Not that you aren't allowed to look at it, we just can't let some of our findings leave this building. But I'll get you some basic readings to take home."

A few minutes later Bill finished the second sample and snapped off his gloves. "Looks like we're done here." He handed John his water bottle and a bag of trail mix. "Stay hydrated, make sure to eat, you know the drill." He waved his hand dismissively and picked up the file. "I'll go make some copies. Be right back." Bill left, leaving Sherlock and John alone.

Sherlock shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "How'd you sleep?"

John raised an eyebrow. "If you're asking I assume you already know the answer and are just unsure as to how to start a conversation regarding it."

"I'm not incapable of concern."

John sighed. "I was fine until early this morning, if you must know." He opened the bag of trail mix.

"Director Williams?"

John halted. "…And Grant."

"…Of course." The two of them sat in a tense, awkward silence. Sherlock attempted to break it. "So when do you think SHIELD will have you stop doing these ridiculous tests?"

John shrugged. "When they believe I've served my time. You do realize trying to keep my abilities a secret was punishable by suspension."

"So this is your punishment instead?"

"That's what I figured." He shook his head. "No one's really talked to me about what's going to happen. I haven't heard from Director Fury, I haven't heard from Coulson, I haven't really seen any agents other than those at the front desk and Bill. Am I still going to remain a level three agent? Am I still going to take mutant cases with you, or am I going to be doing something more?"

"Do you want to do something more?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head curiously.

John groaned. "Sherlock, god, I don't know. I-I don't know, alright?" John ran a hand over his face. "It's been over four months since I got these powers and things haven't really changed."

"Do you want them to?"

"I don't know. I just feel like they should. You know, whether good or bad, I feel like something has to happen." Sherlock nodded, eyeing his flatmate carefully.

"Of course. Makes logical sense."

The door swung open and Bill reentered with a small stack of papers in his hand. "Well, here you go," he said, handing the copies over to Sherlock. "That's all I can give you right now, but feel free to come in with John and take a look at the full file." He picked up the second vile and gave it to the detective. "And here's the sample John promised you.

At first Sherlock said nothing, but John elbowed him. "Thank you," Sherlock muttered.

Bill cracked a smile. "'Course. Anytime."