Theme Prompt - Listen

"Sherlock, listen," John said urgently, gently shaking the sleeping detective next to him. Sherlock groaned quietly and kept his eyes closed. He turned his head towards the door though, showing he'd heard John. Small scraping sounds were coming from the door. John scrambled out of the bed and moved to the door as quietly as he could.

"Think it's Moriarty?" John asked.

"It is possible," Sherlock allowed. "But I would expect him to tell us he was coming in. And to taunt us with the fact that one of us was in the sights of his pet sniper."

"So probably not Moriarty then," John nodded, moving to the side of the door. If anyone came through, he was prepared to tackle the person and then get Sherlock and himself out of this room. They'd been here for almost three weeks now and the lack of any distractions was driving both of them crazy.

The scraping sounds stopped and Sherlock allowed his mind to wander. He'd been doing that more and more the longer they stayed here. Though, luckily, he was being dragged down into his nightmares less often. They'd been trying to keep each other occupied by playing games, many of which Sherlock excelled at.

The one game that John could beat him at was naming of colors. They'd start with the letter A, switching off and heading through the alphabet. Sherlock kept the basic colors in his mind palace but deleted all the extraneous ones unless they had something to do with a case. But John had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of names of colors. Though the one letter neither had been able to come up with a color for was X.

Sherlock tried to change the game quickly whenever they got into the color game. His favorite game was street names in London. They would say a street name and the other had to determine what the closest major landmark to the street was. Sherlock almost always won this game, with his map of London saved carefully in his mind palace.

They'd also taken to spending most of their time on the bed conserving their energy. Sherlock was better able to deal with the lack of food than John, but hunger was getting to him slowly. John laid with his hand clenched over his stomach, trying to stifle the grumbling. When the hunger consumed both of them, their stomachs aching, they would curl into each other and hold on tightly. They couldn't even drink enough water to ease the emptiness they felt because it had to last until Moriarty decided to give them more.

A sudden quiet sound from John brought Sherlock out of his reverie. He opened his eyes to stare at the doctor and saw that John was motioning for Sherlock to get up out of the bed. The detective did so and moved to stand near John on the other side of the doorframe.

"They've started scraping again," John murmured almost soundlessly. "It sounds like whoever is out there is trying to pick the locks. I heard the first one turn a few minutes ago."

"Do you think it's someone trying to rescue us?" Sherlock whispered back, his eyes lighting with excitement. If it was, he would be willing to give that person a great deal for getting them out of this room. He had, by now, memorized every divot, scrape, crack, and imperfection in the walls, ceiling and floor. He knew exactly how big the room was and how many steps it took to pace. He knew the size of the windows and that pounding on them didn't even crack them. John knew all this as well since Sherlock often talked out loud as he studied the room.

"I can only hope," John said. "But in case it isn't, we need to be ready to take them out and run. Are you feeling up to it?"

"I would dance in order to get out of here," Sherlock replied dryly, his lips quirking in a stilted smile.

"I may take you up on that later," John promised, reaching out quickly and brushing his fingers over the back of Sherlock's hand. The second deadbolt clicked then and John braced himself for the third one. The person on the other side was getting faster at unlocking the bolts. A wave of dizziness overtook John as he waited and he had to lean into the wall to catch his breath. The lack of food was definitely getting to him.

The final bolt clicked and John pushed himself upright again, his breathing deep and even. He knew exactly what he was going to do as soon as whoever was on the other side of the door walked through. Thanks to his military training, John could often win in a fight against larger and more heavily muscled people.

The door slowly creaked open, a hand on the edge pushing it in. As soon as it was open enough for a body to slip through, John gripped the wrist and spun the person, trapping their arm behind their back.

"Stop! I'm here to help," Greg Lestrade's voice hissed into the room. John released him immediately and heaved a sigh of relief. Sherlock moved from behind the door and studied Greg, carefully assessing him.

"You look tired," Sherlock finally said. "You've only been sleeping about three hours a night. Also subsisting on coffee and microwaved meals."

"Well, I've been looking for you two, you git," Greg replied, his eyes darting around the room. "I found out you guys were missing about four hours after you were taken. The nurse came into your room at shift change and found it empty. When she questioned the nurse from the previous shift, she explained a man had come to see you claiming to be John's grandfather and she hadn't checked on you since."

"I'm glad it didn't take days to find out we were missing," John said, relief making his voice breathy. "The man who kidnapped us was a professional, wearing some sort of disguise. He drugged us so quickly that there was no struggle."

"I saw that," Greg replied, motioning them towards the door. "But I think further explanations can wait until we're away from here, don't you?" Both Sherlock and John nodded eagerly, hurrying after the DI and out to his car. They all climbed in and Greg drove away, heading towards New Scotland Yard.

"Much as I appreciate the rescue," John said, laughing softly. "I would appreciate a meal even more. Can we stop somewhere and get something to eat before we go to the station? We haven't eaten in almost three weeks."

"Of course. You guys weren't allowed any food?" Greg asked, staring at them in his rearview mirror. "I'm surprised you both are still as functional as you are."

"It's been kind of hit and miss to be honest," John admitted, staring at Sherlock. The detective was looking out the window as if he couldn't quite believe they were still out. He had a glassy look in his eyes that told John he was far away from where they were sitting. "It's been the hardest on Sherlock. He had barely had any time to process that he was away from Moriarty the first time when we were taken again."

"I can understand that. I was wondering why he was being so quiet," Greg said softly, worry in his eyes.

"I just hope he has more time to recover before Moriarty makes his next move," John said darkly, wrapping an arm over Sherlock's shoulders. "He's never been one to sit idle."