So it had been a hint of lemon, then. Sherlock felt honestly more annoyed at his own incorrect guess than relieved that he wasn't poisoned and about to die. He didn't even wait for Moriarty to leave the room, he simply tilted his head forward to let the key drop into one of his outstretched hands and began undoing the cuffs.
It took four seconds longer than he would have liked, he could feel himself slowing down and his consciousness fuzzing at the edges. Not good. He vaulted John himself, ignoring his friend, in order to race through the warehouse after the bomb. Upstairs, Moran's voice had come through a speaker and the wires in the corner led up into the ceiling.
He took the stairs two by two, breathing heavily and increasing the rate at which the drug absorbed into his system. No time to worry about that now. A quick glance around the upper level brought faint footprints in the dust to him, ones he followed to a little black briefcase wired into a bomb. Cliche. Disappointing.
One minute fifteen seconds. Not long enough to go back for John, not long enough for anything, really, except trying himself. He couldn't get John out of the way of the blast, but perhaps he could get the blast out of the way of John. He was moving again in seconds, stumbling every couple of steps on feet that felt very heavy now, hands feverishly feeling for the wires and dredging through his mind palace for the right solution. He headed up again, going for the roof.
His knees buckled, blackness swam up to meet him and, in a moment of desperation, he grabbed what he hoped was the right wire and pulled.
no subject
It took four seconds longer than he would have liked, he could feel himself slowing down and his consciousness fuzzing at the edges. Not good. He vaulted John himself, ignoring his friend, in order to race through the warehouse after the bomb. Upstairs, Moran's voice had come through a speaker and the wires in the corner led up into the ceiling.
He took the stairs two by two, breathing heavily and increasing the rate at which the drug absorbed into his system. No time to worry about that now. A quick glance around the upper level brought faint footprints in the dust to him, ones he followed to a little black briefcase wired into a bomb. Cliche. Disappointing.
One minute fifteen seconds. Not long enough to go back for John, not long enough for anything, really, except trying himself. He couldn't get John out of the way of the blast, but perhaps he could get the blast out of the way of John. He was moving again in seconds, stumbling every couple of steps on feet that felt very heavy now, hands feverishly feeling for the wires and dredging through his mind palace for the right solution. He headed up again, going for the roof.
His knees buckled, blackness swam up to meet him and, in a moment of desperation, he grabbed what he hoped was the right wire and pulled.