Sherlock was busily focused in twiddling his feet absently when the van began to slow to a halt. John shot him a sharp glance which he reciprocated with a mischievous smile

"First check point," He said unfolding his arms. "No clue how they would manage to fake their way in, though considering Moriarty's already managed to shut the place down, it can't be too hard to baffle the computers a little bit more."

"Plan Sherlock," John reminded him anxiously, "we need a plan,"

"I know, I know," Sherlock said testily. "You always trust that alien on the telly, even when he doesn't have a plan,"

"He's the Doctor," John sighed, "He's fictional, people come up with his plans for him. Writers and such,"

"I'm my own writer," Sherlock puffed up his chest importantly.

"Give me a spoiler, what are we going to do?" John snapped as the van started to move again.

"We're going to wait until the van stops safely inside the fence,"

"All clear!" A voice erupted beside the van and slapped the side with a hallow clank.

"Then, we're going to get out of the van," he continued haltingly.

"Then we're going to think of something else,"

"I like the first bit," John said.

The van slowed down and Sherlock listened to the sound of the engine hum die into nothingness, he gently stood up as the van rocked from side to side, relieving itself of its two passengers. John mimicked Sherlock's caution.

Sherlock stood posed for running, alert like a cougar, ready to suddenly pounce. John crouched beside him, prepared to react to whatever direction his manic mind came up with next.

"I have a new plan," Sherlock announced.

"Is it much better than the last one?"

"Much," he assured him.

John reached forward and gently turned the hook-shaped handle on the van door, praying that the slow, meticulous turning would go unnoticed by their captors. He nudged the door open a sliver and peered out into the vaguely familiar yard outside of Baskerville.

Troops of men in faded fatigues jogged past the vehicle. A few people in lab coats carried pieces of unidentifiable technology on rickety carts across the gravel while being escorted by frightening looking government officials, not unlike their kidnappers.

"There is no way we can just sneak in. There are way too many people out there." John said.

"How many of them are armed?" Sherlock asked unaffectedly.

John stared at him blankly. Whatever plan Sherlock had concocted depended on the concentration of firearms between them and the Baskerville entrance, which couldn't be a good sign. The younger detective sometimes suffered from delusions about his mortality and often had to be reminded about his inevitable death, particularly just before doing something crazy and dangerous.

"What are you planning?" John asked skeptically.

"Don't worry," for some reason these words of supposed comfort sent a shot of fear through John's spine instead, "Just follow my lead."

Sherlock leaned forward, then rocked back on his heels gently. Then, just as John was beginning to become lulled by a false sense of security, Sherlock darted forward, propelling himself through the partly open door with a magnificent thrust of his long legs. He blazed past John and raced into the open, pausing just long enough to allow John to realize what had happened and to realize he was too late to stop him.

John swore quietly and leapt after his flatmate, hoping that no one would shoot them out of pure surprise.

Sherlock bolted swiftly towards an outdoor lift that sat unused in a tower of iron, surrounded by soldiers and scientists alike, buzzing like a hub. A few thick serpents of crimson wire snaked up from the pit under the lift, and connected to a handful of laptops which probably connected to the Baskerville computer systems at some point.

Sherlock, although he would never admit it later, made a dead-eye guess. He guessed that some of the scientists and soldiers were trying to reclaim Baskerville from Moriarty's forced lock down, while others, particularly the scientists that were being guarded by their two kidnappers, were working to enforce the hostile take-over. In which case he could probably bet upon some of the soldiers protecting him as he suddenly raced like a gazelle through their ranks and pulled John into the open lift.

Sherlock reached into the pocket of his coat and grabbed the protein bar, brandishing it like a weapon in the folds of his coat.

"Stay back!" he cried as a few stunned soldiers staggered forward, grappling with the audacity of running through a group of armed men, only to trap himself directly in a corner, "I'm armed!"

John gaped at him with bulging eyes. "Sherlock!" he hissed.

Some of the soldiers surged forward to grab them. Thankfully at the same time some soldiers and scientists, including their kidnappers leapt to their defense, pushing the real Baskerville guards out of the way and knocking their guns out of their hands.

There was a frightening moment, as Sherlock stood there waving his protein bar around in his pocket, when all they could see from the lift was an ocean of grasping hands and writhing faces.

Then suddenly the lift doors slid shut noiselessly, much as the red curtain closes upon a particularly gruesome act of a play, and left the two detectives in pressing silence.

They both exchanged a nervous glance. Neither of them had reached out to touch the buttons on the silver panel of the elevator.

The large box they had found themselves trapped in abruptly lurched to life, plunging them down into the bowels of Baskerville with a faint sinister hiss of sliding metal.

"It seems he's been expecting us," Sherlock hummed, releasing his death-grip from the pulverized snack in his pocket.

John considered giving Sherlock the silent treatment, but thought better of it when he considered how much he would have like nothing better than to be allowed some quiet time alone with his thoughts.

"That was an extremely stupid thing to do, Sherlock," John said disapprovingly, sounding unusually like a dowdy teacher.

Sherlock bristled unpleasantly, "I'll admit, it was a bit reckless…"

"Don't give me any of that!" John interrupted, "It was stupid, plain and simple. You could have been killed! What on earth possessed you to pretend you had a gun?"

Sherlock shuffled on his feet, feeling sheepish and wondering if it was even worth his time to attempt to articulate an explanation, when the speakers in the elevator clicked to life with a breathy snarl.

What's this? An update? IMPOSSIBLE!

Yeah, well after I got my little virus problem sorted out I had the burning urge to write away my anger. Also, Thank You to ThatSassyCaptain for reminding me of this fic, otherwise I probably would have written something else. Hahahaha.

Let's have dinner, *wink*