I finally got wifi! Hope you enjoy, this is the first half of this part, as you will see. Sorry for any mistakes or inaccuracies, my only source is the internet.

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"John! Come on! Now!"

There must have been something in Sherlock's voice, or perhaps it was the sight of five gunmen rapidly closing the distance between him and John, but he obeyed.

Together, without a single thought, they began to run up the slope, away from the small village. The edge of the forest, an endless line of thick trunks, branches, pine needles and shadows stretched out before them.

Sherlock was sweating. His whole body felt as if it were trapped inside an oven. Something hit him on the shoulder and for a crazy moment Sherlock thought a bullet had hit him. But it was nothing more than a fat raindrop.

The storm was about to break.

I should explain first, though. These two didn't just randomly start being chased by five armed madmen, there is a story to all this.

Sherlock had surprisingly accepted this case when Lestrade called, even though it was only a five out of ten according to the detective, and Sherlock only goes when it is a seven or above.

There were two murders so far, and the police had deduced there being no reliable connections between the two, apart from the murder style being one bullet through each hand, one through each foot, and a cross burnt onto their chest.

Sherlock had already deduced it before he left the flat. An extremist cult of Christians, killing Atheists in an 'acceptable' way. According to the consulting detective, they were based in Estrov, Russia, and even had a website.

Sherlock was disappointed with these criminals, and wanted to go to Russia to show them what they did wrong and insult them in the classic sherlockian way. John just came along. As usual.

Unfortunately, when they got there, it seemed that not all the group had been arrested. In fact, five of the estimated twelve members had not been captured.

And that is how they came to be sprinting away from them.

John and Sherlock plunged into the forest. Instantly they were surrounded by green, with leaves and branches everywhere and soft moss beneath their feet.

It was already raining harder. Water was dripping down and maybe that helped Sherlock. He was invisible. He was away from the danger.

It was only when the detective stopped, gasping for air like a fish out of water, that he realised John was not with him.

The gunmen were long gone, but Sherlock did not want to risk calling out and attracting their attention.

He looked around, straining his eyes to see if John was close by.

Alas, all Sherlock could see as he spun around, was green. So much green. The only thing that broke the pattern of bright leaves and dark moss were the tree trunks, but even they were home to vines, long and warped, suffocating the bark.

So Sherlock tried to find a way out. Away from the stifling forest, somewhere where the sky wasn't covered by many layers of greenery.

However, despite his resourceful mind palace and massive intellect, there was nothing for him to observe. No small clues, no misplaced scrapes on tree trunks, no rustled leaves.

He walked. For minutes, hours, days. Sherlock did not know. Kept heading in one direction, because that would lead him out. Eventually. Wouldn't it?

The consulting detective was feeling faint. According to his phone, which had died a few hours ago, Sherlock had been in this forest for three days. How was it possible? For nature to make something this big, such a puzzle, that the famous bloody Sherlock Holmes couldn't solve?

He hadn't eaten. Hadn't slept, either. There was no sustenance in the forest, the plants and leaves were inedible, and would leave him feeling even worse.

The forest was... spinning? Green planted turned hazy, and the leaves were merging into each other. He felt himself toppling forward.

Sherlock blacked out, but not before he heard a faint shout of his name.

"Sherlock!"