A/N: The second chapter is FINALLY done! (beams) I did a bit of editing and re-editing with a couple of bits but in the end came out with a version that felt at least close to something that can be published. (smirks sheepishly)

THANK YOU, so, so much, for your reviews and love! This is the last part of a trilogy so it means the world to me that you've been sticking around for this long. (beams and hugs) So thank you!

Awkay, because I know what you came here for… Let's go! I really hope that this one's a enjoyable ride.

The Evil That Men Do

The recap given to Spencer was brutal, as was the new world the group had been struggling to survive in.

There'd been a series of explosions that tore down several important landmarks. The bureau, the police station… Countless of people had lost their lives in the explosions and the chaos that ensued. A lot of good, honest people, such as Kevin Lynch. And then came the disease, the very same that John barely survived of. It started out in Virgnia but it didn't take long before the tidal wave of terror had spread through the country. Sherlock and Aaron were instantly named fugitives and a lot of suspicion was darted towards Aaron's team as well.

There'd been so many terrorist attacks since then that the group honestly couldn't name them all. Fear, rage and madness had taken over. The worst part was that the group's children were still missing, along with Aaron and Sherlock. Jason Gideon also vanished early in the chaos. At the moment they had no idea where the man was. Spencer was the only one they'd managed to save before Mycroft arranged them a somewhat safe and strictly discreet transport to England.

Spencer shivered when he looked at his friends – comrades, family. Derek appeared tense and exhausted. Heartbreak and betrayal had left their marks on David's face. Emily's hand was protective on her mightily swollen belly and her nails were well chewed again, the stress over her child's future clearly having taken its toll on her. Penelope's face had traces of grief and there was a tattoo around her left ring finger, a reminder of a proposal that she never accepted. JJ appeared crushed, almost, under the longing for her other family. As for John… There was no name for what Spencer saw in the former army medic's eyes.

Spencer himself… Well, he quite honestly preferred not thinking about that. He even tried not to feel a wave of pain at the thought that he hadn't been there beside the others to face all this, no matter how involuntarily he'd been absent.

He must've dozed off at some point. As though through fog he heard Mycroft's visit, some arguing, someone punching the wall. And saw dark as he slept. That was alright, it was what he'd grown accustomed to during the past seven months. To think he used to fear it.

When Spencer woke up again it seemed to be a rather late evening. John was working on the wounds littering his legs with a look of intense concentration. The doctor gave him a apologetic look when he twitched. "Sorry. I tried not to wake you." The man's focus fell back on the injuries. "You've fought off the infection remarkably well. You still have quite a bit of fever, though."

Spencer nodded. He searched the words for a moment before speaking out. "Sherlock… I'm sure that he has his reasons."

If such was possible the pain in John's eyes grew even deeper. The man gritted his teeth. "I know. That's the most infuriating part of this." The doctor then sighed, evaluating his work. "There, all done." The Brit's face radiated sympathy. "Don't worry, you'll be back on your feet soon."

"Thank you." And Spencer meant it, from the bottom of his heart.

A companionable silence fell, lasting for so long that they both jumped slightly when John's cell phone bleeped as a sign of a new text message. The soldier's eyes instantly hardened, filled with concentration that reminded Spencer quite a bit of Sherlock. After reading the message John sighed, beginning to leave the room. "Finally."

Spencer frowned, fever, pain and fatigue fogging his head. It took more effort than it should've to speak. "What is it?"

"A location." Clearly seeing his unvoiced question John smiled sadly. "Sherlock has his own network. So do I." The man then frowned. "You can't be left alone, though."

"He won't be." They were both startled by JJ's voice. Turning his head Spencer found her from the doorway. There was something that looked suspiciously lot like tears in her eyes. She must've seen quite a bit of his injuries. "I'll stay here with him, Penelope and Emily. Emily didn't like not going but agreed. She can't risk getting contractions again, not out there."

John nodded, relief in his eyes. "Good. Good. We'll get going, then."

The doctor was almost out of the room when Spencer found his voice. "Be careful. All of you."

There was steel in John's eyes. "I'll make sure that they all come back. I promise." So saying the man left the room.

(1) When agent G. Anderson first announced that he was about to join the FBI a lot of people didn't believe in him. He was young. A little naïve. Many considered him too soft for such a brutal, dark world. When Elle Greenaway got shot and some of the blame was laid on his shoulders even he began to believe so. But he was also stubborn. Determined to prove everyone wrong. And so he did.

When Aaron Hotchner was labelled a traitor and the bureau became destroyed G. Anderson fought furiously along with the others to bring what could be restored back from the ashes. To create a new start. When a manhunt against Aaron and the criminal organization he apparently worked for was announced he joined in, determined to find out the truth. He was right there hunting down the criminal web and also a member of the team that ended up finding supposedly dead James Moriarty's corpse.

Today that seemingly endless hunt was, apparently, about to pay off. Because the disappearance of agent Ashley Seaver and the little data she'd managed to send before that led his team to a small, isolated cottage outside the city. With flashlights and guns ready they sneaked in soundlessly, entirely too aware of the fact that they were after someone extremely dangerous.

He managed to take five steps into the dusty, eerily hollow hallway until he heard the unmistakable report of a gun that had a silencer, followed by a ominous thud. In a matter of seconds there was a repeat and he felt a cold fist squeezing his heart. A blockage formed in his throat.

Had he just lost two teammembers?

He didn't have to wonder long, though. Because a floorboard creaked, almost directly behind him. He reacted in a flash.

Before the attacker dressed in all black and a equally dark mask that covered his face could see it coming he attacked. With the force and ferocity of a feral animal he charged, blatantly ignoring both their guns. His fists swung and swung until the other was down, secured and harmless. Eager to find out who killed his teammembers – colleagues, friends – he ripped off the mask. Breath froze into his throat.

He was staring directly into the unnaturally dark, barely recognizeable eyes of Aaron Hotchner.

He stared, and stared. Desperately attempting to figure out what to say. In the end only one word found its way to his lips. "Why?"

Aaron's face gave away nothing. "Do it", was all the man said, and it wasn't until then he realized that his gun was pressed firmly against the older agent's forehead. "Shoot me. End this." It sounded far more like a plea than it was probably supposed to.

He frowned. "End what? What have you done?"

He'd never, ever find out the answers. Because in his haste and adrenaline rush he'd failed to catch the steps approaching him. A bullet entered his head, and the last thing he saw of this world was the pure, naked despair in Aaron's eyes, shining through the sea of emptiness.

Aaron stared at the younger – much too young – agen't body with slightly widened eyes, struggling to keep himself in the line. Struggled to understand that the man was really dead. Another unnecessary casualty of this horror story.

And he never even found out the poor man's first name.

Eveleen lowered her gun with a frosty little smirk. "No need to thank me, dear. Your silly little mindgame distracted him quite nicely." She went on once he'd pushed himself up. "Now let's go. There's a crisis and we're needed."

Aaron fought furiously not to look towards G. Anderson's body while walking out of the house that reeked of blood and death. Of betrayal. "Where are we going?"

"To London."

After nearly everyone headed out Spencer fell into a restless sleep for a moment. When he woke up from a dream that was close to becoming a nasty nightmare JJ was occupying the chair dragged beside his bed. He just looked at her for a moment, not liking the haunted, grieving look in her eyes. The past seven months had been hell for her, too.

Her husband… Being there with her children… Her leg… She'd lost too much.

Spencer cleared his throat, not quite sure how to begin. "I… know that you're still angry at me for… leaving." For pretending to be dead. For not being there. "But… I'm sorry."

JJ nodded. When she looked at him there was moisture and something incredibly warm in her eyes. "I'm sorry, too." Seeing the momentary confusion in his eyes she went on. "I know that you miss your son, every second. And I know that you're in pain."

Spencer shifted, feeling a hint of discomfort. "I'll be fine", he promised in the end. "And… We'll find our way to them. Somehow."

He shivered with startle when the bed dipped all of a sudden. Feeling JJ's body heat so very close was almost more than his still recovering, nightmare ridden head was ready for. But he didn't move away from her, not even when she lay her head against his shoulder.

/ JJ fought furiously to ignore how much like Sherlock Ivan Rimakov looked when she followed him through a maze of shadowy hallways, using all her willpower to keep her face blank. The last thing she wanted was to show weakness in front of this monster. To hand him another tool to crank her with.

"Remember, agent Jareau… This is all for your children. They're safe right now and will remain that way for as long as you agree to co-operate. Which I'm sure you'll do, since you're the only parent they have."

And whose fault is that? she wanted to snarl but controlled herself, just barely. Instead she took a deep breath while they stopped in front of a heavy door and two suspicious looking guards. Ivan said something to them in Russian and they moved with visible reluctance, sharp shark's eyes firmly on her.

"They'll be keeping an eye on you", Ivan told her in a tone that left nothing to be questioned. "If they feel like you haven't completed your task properly… Well, there'll be consequences." He offered her a deceitfully pleasant smile. "I'm sure that you know what you're doing. After all, this is what you did during your Pentagon-days." He snapped his fingers and the door was unlocked by one of the guards. "Don't worry, he won't ever know that it's you. This is a dirty little secret between just the two of us."

Not granting him another word she gritted her teeth and steeled herself, then entered the room. Of course she'd known what was up ahead. But actually seeing it…

Right there before her eyes sat Spencer, blindfolded and tied firmly. His clothes were filthy and tainted by countless of blood stains. The skin she could see was full of bruises and just one glance revealed that he'd lost a unhealthy amount of weight. Still he sat straight, unseeing gaze directed firmly ahead. "What do you want?" he barked out. He waited for the total of six seconds. "You know that I won't tell you anything. So what do you want?"

With no one left to see JJ allowed the tears to finally fall. This… This was, without a doubt, the most horrible thing she'd ever done. Unforgivable.

But this was her only way to protect her children, and what kind of a mom would she be if she didn't…?

She wanted to scream that she was sorry, so very desperately that the weight of it nearly crushed her. Instead she swung in the first punch. Spencer's head snapped sideways but the man didn't utter a sound. JJ wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

JJ inhaled, struggling to keep it from sounding choked, and attacked again. This time she probably hit a already sore spot because Spencer grunted. The sound tore her like a knife. She glanced nearly pleadingly to the camera hiding in the room's corner. It gave her two blinks. She didn't have the permission to stop yet. She hadn't completed her task.

Biting back a storm of sobs that would've without a doubt been too loud JJ went on, hating each and every second of it. Kicks. Punches. To a point where Spencer's blood stained her hands and clothes. He wouldn't utter a sound. Not until he was on the very edge of unconsciousness.

Because there, exactly a second before darkness took him, he whispered in a voice she barely heard. "The team… They're my family. I won't let you find them." With that he became completely still and silent.

The camera's light blinked once. As soon as the door was opened JJ bolted out and was blindfolded, then dragged forcefully out of the building. After ages, once she was sure that no one was watching, she retched loudly, the tears rolling freely. She'd never hated herself more.

What the hell did she just do?! /

With the memory haunting her JJ grabbed Spencer's hand, desperate to feel it warm and solid – alive – in hers. Tears filled her eyes and it took all she had not to let them spill. To keep her tongue from betraying the secret that'd weight her heart until the day she died.

"I'm sorry", she murmured again, and nothing she'd ever said had been as true.

DI Gregory Lestrade was very, very nervous as he entered a elevator, carefully making sure that the young man rushing towards the doors didn't make it inside. His fried nerves were only to be expected. It wasn't every day he met a once dead man turned fugitive.

The lift took him up for exactly three floors before the doors opened. At first he frowned when all he found was a tall man in training clothes with light-brown hair and sharp brown eyes that were framed by glasses. But then the man moved and recognition dawned. There was only one person who could possibly have the kind of an aura around them the one accompanying him now did. There was also no mistaking those cheekbones.

Greg waited until the doors closed and they were surely alone before he spoke. "I… received your messages." Small, crypted notes hidden on dead bodies that'd been piling up suspiciously, no less. He shifted weight to his other foot. "So… There's an attack coming?"

"Yes."

Greg fought the urge to roll his eyes. Well, thank you. That was very helpful… "How, exactly, am I supposed to prepare myself and the rest of the Yard for it if I don't know anything more specific? I need…"

He was interrupted when a flash drive was handed subtly towards him. His companion didn't go on until he'd accepted the offering. "It's all there. Along with an address to the current location of John and a group of FBI-agents. You may want to work with them."

Hearing John's name made Greg blink once. He hadn't met his friend since the man headed to his mission to bring Sherlock back. He nodded, feeling a bit dazed. Terrorists. Conspiracies. Insane plans. This was a tad bit too much for him. He took a deep breath, focusing on the elevator's doors. "Is Mycroft in on this as well?"

His companion scoffed. "Don't be dull. This is a massive international terrorist organization. Of course he's involved."

Greg frowned, confusion thickening still. "Then… Why aren't you having this meeting with him?"

"Because it would've been too obvious."

Greg blinked. That… made sense, kind of. A meeting with Mycroft Holmes wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Not that a meeting with him was a lot less hazardous. This was his companion taking a massive risk. He swallowed, his palms sweating a little. "What about John? Does he know?"

"This is your floor."

A hint of frustration mixed with anxiety, fear and worry when the elevator came to a stop. Just before the doors opened Greg peered at his companion. "Be careful."

Sherlock nodded. For the first time their eyes met and held, only briefly but still. Nothing more needed to be said.

The doors opened and Greg walked out, not daring to look over his shoulder any longer. Perhaps he should've. Because as soon as he was gone the expression on his companion's face changed. Something truly chilling took over those eyes.

Ivan took his cell phone and dialed numbers. With his patience wearing thin he waited for the three seconds it took before the call was accepted. "Well?"

"We were correct", he bit out in a hazardous tone. "We've been compromised. It's time to move on to Track B."

John dared to claim that he was a rather patient person. That trait was certainly needed if one wants to flat-share with Sherlock Holmes without ending up wanting to murder the man. But even he had limits.

This was the second time he'd lost Sherlock. For the past seven months he'd been chasing bread crumps with the BAU-team, wishing desperately that the detective would be found at the end of one clue. So far all he'd caught were tiny bits and pieces, just enough to let him know that Sherlock was alive but nothing more. It was like chasing after quicksand.

But John wasn't planning on giving up. Not when it was about Sherlock. Not when there was so very much to lose. So, no matter how bloody much it hurt, he allowed hope to flutter in his chest while he followed the team towards a lonely, stunningly domestic looking house on the far edge of London.

Carefully painted and well-maintained walls. A garden that'd clearly been cared for with a lot of love and affection. If he hadn't known better he would've imagine that the house belonged to a very happy family.

The illusion lasted until he saw a guard through the window, obviously making a round around the house.

They exchanged determined looks. Then, with a few hand signals from Derek they all agreed on, they were on the move. Making it into the highly guarded house went stunningly smoothly. A couple of clean shots ensured a safe entrance and they slipped in almost soundlessly.

When the immediate chaos was over they stopped and listened, careful to spot any signs of further unpleasant company. There was, indeed, someone approaching them. Spinning around with their guns held high they found a middle-aged man with a shaved head that'd most likely had dark hair once and dark eyes. The man had his hands held high. There was no gun in sight.

Swiftly and effortlessly David cuffed the criminal and chained him to a battery that'd been fastened conveniently to a wall nearby. Once they were sure that the man was harmless they scattered and moved on. John also moved to proceed further into the building. That was until a chillingly familiar, obscene text-message signal met his ears.

Derek's heart began to hammer madly when he peered behind one corner to see a guard standing before a wooden door. After considering it for a moment he lifted his gun and took a shot. A second of stun later the man fell down.

Trying not to look at the body too carefully and struggling not to make any guesses on what kind of a person the man might've been Derek searched the criminal's belt. In a few short moments he managed to find what he'd been looking for. A small key.

Once again he paused to debate for a second. Then, hoping dearly that he wasn't making a huge mistake, he inserted to key to the door before him and turned. It opened effortlessly. Derek's eyes widened at what he found inside.

There, in a small room that had bars covering its window, a boy sat in the middle of toys and books. It took a moment before the child noticed him. And far longer before Derek realized just who it was right before him.

Jack Hotchner lit up into a bright smile. Relief flooded into the boy's eyes. "Uncle Morgan!"

Not very far the group's prisoner looked at John with eyes that had a far too satisfied look in them. "Now that we're finally alone, Dr. Watson… I have a special gift for you." The man's eyes flickered towards the pocket of his long, entirely too familiar looking black coat. "I have a cell-phone, right there. There's a video clip on it you may find interesting."

John arched an eyebrow. One of his fists balled, his mind getting prepared. "What do you imagine I'd find interesting?"

"A greeting from Sherlock, for instance."

John's heart most certainly skipped a beat, right there. And he was dishearteningly sure that it showed on his face. He considered for a few moments until his instincts got the best of him. Still far from trusting he reached out cautiously, in the end finding a smart-phone from the criminal's pocket. He met the other's eyes sharply, the look demanding answers. All he received was another smirk. John quite honestly wanted to punch it off the man's face. He didn't.

After fiddling with the item for a bit John came across a video clip. His finger paused for the longest moment, his mind reeling. Did he really want to see? To find out?

Yes, he did, because this was Sherlock.

Fighting furiously to keep his expression in check John opened the video. Watched. And instantly regretted his decision.

There on the small screen was Sherlock, bloodied and unnervingly unmoving, chained to a chair that'd been bolted heavily to the floor. The man was unconscious and there was no way of telling just how much damage had been done. Far too still. Much too lifeless.

And then the screen went black.

John's head swam and his stomach flipped in such a manner that for the longest time he was sure that he'd vomit. He wanted to scream from the bottom of his heart but all that came out in the end was a strangled gasp. A searing sensation took over his eyes.

NO…!

"He's still alive", the unnamed criminal pointed out, the words barely reaching John's screaming mind. There was a much too smug look on the man's face. "More or less, anyway. But he won't stay that way for long if you don't obey."

John swallowed thickly. In some miraculous way he managed to keep his expression and voice even. "What am I expected to do?"

"Sherlock broke the simple rules given him, that naughty man. And now… Now he'll face his punishment." The captive smirked, the blood tainting his lips making it appear grotesque. "He'll have his heart burned out of him."

TBC

1) Just to avoid confusion... This is the Anderson from 'CM' world, not the one from 'Sherlock'. (grins)

A/N: Oh snap… Now THIS isn't looking good, at all! Everyone's tangled in the game. Who comes out alive – and who doesn't?

PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know your thoughts! Was this any good, at all, or is a delete-button needed?

I've really gotta tune out now. (pouts) Until next time, ya all! 'Hope I'll see you all them.

Take care!