Author's Note: Hey guys, I'm back! Here's the introduction to my new Sherlock story. Hope you like it! I realize that Sherlock is a bit out of character in this fiction, but it's kind of hard to write this scenario without making him so. :P I'll do my best though, rest assured! The first chapter is a tribute to all of you author-ly people who find yourselves getting creepy plot ideas while you're riding an elevator alone. :-)

Disclaimer: Chi-Sung, Fred Manson, and Doctor Paxton are my original characters. No other character in this story belongs to me, and this fiction is for entertainment enjoyment only. No profit or monetary benefit is attached to it.

The Lift

Thursday, 2:47 pm

It stopped. The lift stopped. Not with the smooth motion of coming to a stop at a floor, but with a sort of dying jolt. The overhead lights flickered, and then went out. The yellow display lights behind the floor buttons survived a moment longer…and then the tiny room was plunged into perfect darkness. He was trapped.

A faint shushing noise, like a constant exhale met his ears. Sherlock took out his phone, using the light from the screen to investigate. A jet of white vapor spouted into the elevator through the air vent. His eyes widened as he realized what it was, and he uttered a soft Oh of understanding. Quickly he moved to the corner of the lift farthest from the gas and filled his lungs with air not yet contaminated.

He needed to text John…

S-Trapped in the lift. Gas of some sort coming in.

It seemed like John took an eternity to reply.

J-Where are you? Are you okay?

S-New High-rise office bldg downtown. There's gas. Some anesthetic compound. I'll pass out.

Sherlock's lungs felt as if they might burst if he held his breath any longer. He sat down on the floor so he wouldn't fall, and let it out as slowly as he could, postponing taking a breath of the unknown gas.

J-I'm coming.

S-Don't. Danger.

J-What should I do?

S-Track phone. Call Mycroft. Lestrade. I won't be here when you get here.

J-Why

S-I'm being kidnapped.

J-WHO IS KIDNAPPING YOU?

S-Manson.

Sherlock was positively dizzy. He had to breathe. He held his coat sleeve over his nose and mouth and breathed through it. But he could still taste the bitterness in the back of his throat. He felt dreadfully light headed. His phone blipped. It took great effort to read it; his mind was fuzzy and his eyes weren't acting right.

J-On the phone with Lestrade now. Are you okay?

S-Fineee.. Passsng outtt.

J-Sherlock! Don't pass out! Stay awake, whatever you do!

S-Cnt hellp it;;;;; Ignor subsqent texts; trrap.

Sherlock honestly was trying hard to breathe as little as he possibly could. But the gas did something to his lungs that caused him to gasp for more air, despite his own struggles not to. He was lying flat on the floor now, one hand grasping his phone, thinking only about breathing. His mind was foggy; he knew it was a matter of seconds now.

Hide the phone. If he didn't hide it, when they came to take him out of the lift they'd get it. They'd be smart enough to be rid of it, and then tracking would do no good. He managed to slip it into his sock and pull the leg of his trousers down over it. He had to exert great effort to do this, and now he let himself fall onto his back, wheezing, and arms spread wide. His eyes rolled back. Sherlock Holmes was unconscious.

Several minutes later, the lights flickered back on. The button for the lowest floor destination lit by itself. The basement.

The lift began to move.

Author's Note: Ooooh, creepy start, right? And for all my British readers; it didn't occur to me until after I'd written it that some of you guys actually use the word "lift" instead of "elevator". :P So sorry about that. I did try to correct it, but if there's an occasional stray "elevator" in there, that's why. XD Stay tuned! Updating every Monday and Friday, as per usual.