I have returned (finally) with another chapter!

And it's SHORT. BOO. Oh well. The next one will be long.

My Junior year is coming to an end so I do apologize for how long it's taking... I'll do my best!

Also, sorry for errors. I currently no longer have a beta... Not like she did much anyway. I should probably get a new one. Sadness.

Anywho, here you go.

I don't own BBC's Sherlock. ((((SADLY)))))

"Do you have your gun, John?"

Sherlock stepped around the cab as I got out and asked me, like he didn't already know. I never made the mistake of leaving the apartment without my gun, because on most occasions, we needed it.

Despite running into danger with Sherlock for a year, something churned inside my stomach when we ran into the unknown. Today something felt significantly wrong, probably based around the circumstance of this case. These were children. Not that we hadn't dealt with children, but this was different.

We got out of the cab, and there was nothing between us and the warehouse, just a lot of space. It looked abandoned, and there was a chain link fence enclosing all of it. I glanced up and down the lot for the gate that would let us in, but Sherlock obviously had other plans when he started to climb the fence.

"Sherlock!" I hissed, "What are you doing?"

He rolled his eyes like it was obvious, "I'm climbing the fence," And damn, it was obvious.

"We could, you know, find the gate!"

"And let everyone know we're coming?" He smirked down at me, "Really John, I'd expect you to be so much more of a sleuth."

I grumbled a bit under my breath and grabbed the fence, climbing after him.

After we successfully landed in the dirt on the other side of the chains, Sherlock darted quickly and smoothly over the empty land, kicking up dust behind him. I fell into a slow run to follow, secretly cursing my short legs as well as his long ones.

When we reached the side of the building, Sherlock didn't look at me. Instead he crept along slowly, a bit like some sort of large cat hunting its prey, carefully avoiding the windows.

"Alright, John?" He called back to me.

"Oh yeah, fantastic," my voice was thick with sarcasm, "Just following a lunatic into dangerous waters. Again."

I could practically hear him smirking, "You've never complained before."

"True," I smiled, "Perhaps because he's a dear friend of mine."

Sherlock turned and caught my eye, looked like he might be about to reply when we both heard a loud crash from inside the building. Sherlocks eyes darted around, gathering that 'deducing' look while I immediately withdrew my gun.

Sherlock locked my eyes and mouthed one word; Abandoned?

Could have been a cat I mouth back. As if in ironic reply, I immediately hear voices echoing from inside the building. Sherlocks lip curled and he set off sneaking along the wall, overly quickly. I followed his steps begrudgingly.

He stopped about ten feet later just outside an open window. I could hear the raised voices flowing out, but I still couldn't understand them. Not in this room, then. Sherlock pushed the window open a bit further and climbed inside, his coat swooping dramatically behind him. I gaped, but didn't question; just followed.

This room was small, not saying much because the building itself wasn't that big for a warehouse; probably big enough to store the twenty or thirty children and their keepers that brought them here. The though sent a shiver up my spine that I tried to ignore. The atrocities that probably happened in this very room astounded me, and disgusted me. It was fairly empty now, though. Aside from a few spider-webs and scratches on the floor that said a bed or two used to be in here. I shuddered again.

Sherlock didn't seem fazed, of course. He was in complete focus now, slinking across the room and listening at the closed door. After a moment, he stood tall and opened it quietly, slipping out with me close behind.

What we were in seemed to be a storage room compared to this larger room. From where we stood, I could tell it was massive and probably originally used for manufacturing, but had been turned into something else entirely. Faux walls were placed up, creating a maze of sorts of rooms and hallways. Instead of doors, there were pieces of cloth-turned-curtains. The walls didn't reach the ceiling however, so all the noises bounced into every corner. Sherlock and I seemed to be trapped inside a small make-shift hallway crowded a bit by boxes. It looked worse than I had imagined a sex-trade area would look like, and seemed as though they were in the process of moving out, which intrigued me.

"There are definitely men here," Sherlock said quietly, a low voice meant just for me, "Which means there are kids. Not too many, I imagine. I believe they're abandoning this area, and using it as storage at the moment."

Storing kids. Only Sherlock could say it like it didn't mean much. But I saw something in his eyes, a flicker of something like anxiety. Maybe he was nervous, after all, or thrilled about saving these kids. That was enough for me to focus on.

Sherlock took quiet steps along the hallway, being careful not to echo and I did the same. After a few minutes, there was another loud bang and a shout, and Sherlock all but shoved me through one of the curtains it a room. There were heavy footsteps, impossibly close. I sprawled into the corner and readied my gun at the make-shift doorway while Sherlock flattened against the wall.

"Stupid fucking kids, I'd hate this job if I couldn't kick them flat in the ass." A man growled, his footsteps retreating before being cut off by a slamming door. I assumed he had entered one of the adjoining rooms, perhaps even the one we entered from.

Sherlock was moving again fast, brushing through the curtains. I groaned silently and followed. He crossed the hall and walked through another faux-doorway, the one I assumed the man had just left from. This room didn't have any curtains.

It was bigger than the other two rooms by a bit, complete with about five or six pads on the floor and two actual beds, though they looked uncomfortable, as well as a table with a few plates and glasses. Gathered in the center of the room were a few kids. They looked up at us, almost horrified as we entered. The oldest one, a boy of maybe eleven years old, stood from where he had been kneeling. One side of his face was red, and I realized the crash we had heard was probably that man hitting the poor kid. Anger rose in my belly like a fire.

He faced us, looking angry himself, "Who are you? Leave us alone, we don't want to work anymore."

I felt my face droop in horror. They thought we were… well, customers. The boy was tall and lanky, obviously nearing the start of puberty. Standing behind him were two more girls, who looked like twins, about six years old, as well as a blonde girl around eight, and a very little boy who couldn't have been more than three.

I was speechless, but luckily Sherlock didn't seem to ever be, "We're here to help you, please, cooperate and we will get you out of her. Are there any other children in the building?"

The boy looked stunned, and his face grew wary. The little blonde girl, however, bounced forward with excitement, "Yes, just one!"

"Take John," He pushed me forward and I stumbled a bit, glaring back at him. He met my eyes, "I will move the children back into the room we entered from. Follow this girl and gather whoever else is here and meet me back there."

"Sherlock, you don't have a gun," my voice came out more deadly serious than I intended.

He smirked, "John, I've never needed one."

I rolled my eyes, still feeling discomforted. I turned to the little girl, who eagerly grabbed my hand. She was loads more friendly than Moon already. She pulled me out of the room on the opposite side we had entered, and I already felt a bit nervous, gripping my gun with my other hand carefully.

She led me down the hall, through a few inter-connected rooms. She navigated very well, I noted. Eventually we entered a room, windowless and incredibly small. The only thing in the room was a large pile of blankets. She stopped and pointed at it. I raised an eyebrow and approached it. I was just thinking that perhaps the child was gone when I saw.

Oh god, no.

Cradled in the blankets was a baby, probably not even a year old yet. Anger again rose up inside me. What horrible, horrible monsters could do such a thing? Kidnap child, just a baby; raise it into this disgusting trade.

I scooped the baby into my arms and it stirred faintly. The little girls tugged on my pants and I looked down at her.

"Her name is Lucy," She said with a smile, and then it faded into awe, "Are you really going to save us, mister?"

I blinked hopefully, "I'm going to try. You and all the other kids. But I need you to be quiet and follow me back to my friend, okay?"

She nodded and started leading me back through the maze of rooms and corridors before we were back in the familiar hallway. She trotted ahead, through the curtain a few feet before me. As I entered the doorway into the larger room, a single gunshot rang out. I instinctively moved, but immediately saw that the shot was not for me. The little girl tumbled down, her blonde curls mixed from the blood of the head-wound.

My eyes trailed upward to meet the gaze of the man standing on the other side of the empty room. He was bald and not very big, but he held a gun and had just killed an innocent child. He then pointed the gun at me. I gripped the baby in my arms and prepared to move.

Suddenly, a flash of black and Sherlock was behind the man, kicking his legs out from under him as he fired, a lone shot that echoed out and was lost over the wall behind me. Sherlock smacked the gun from is hand just as the man turned and shoved Sherlock back into the table, smashing all the glass on it. I heard my friend yell out in pain and I finally realized I had to react. I balanced the heavy child in one hand while I reached for the gun in my back pocket.

One shot and the man collapsed. I put another three bullets in him just to be safe. I pocketed my gun and leapt over the body as Sherlock gather himself to his feet.

"The men at the front of the building will have heard the gunshots," His brow furrowed, "We need to run now."

"Sherlock, your arm." I was transfixed on the stream of red blood flowing from bare skin. The glass must have cut him-

Sherlocks blue eyes seemed strangely dark as they locked onto mine, "John, now."

I nodded and followed him through the doorway as I heard shouting from the front of the building. Sure enough, they would be coming. We ran into the room we had entered from, and I saw another man dead there. Sherlock must have already reached him. I pondered where the children were only for a second before I saw them outside, the older boy helping the others climb the fence. Sherlock pushed himself out the window, but I heard his yelp of pain when he put pressure on his arm.

I slid the child in my arms out to him, and he took her quickly. I pulled through the small window and slammed it shut, glancing around. There was no one here yet, but there was going to be. I reached back for the baby, but Sherlock held her and gave me a reassuring look before turning and running across the land before us. The kids were already over the fence, waiting for us now.

"Sherlock, we don't have a car!" I choked out, a bit exasperated as I ran behind him, "How are we supposed to transport these kids?"

"John, please, climb the fence," I did as he told, "I texted Mycroft before we even left the cab, don't you think I'd remember these things?"

I glanced over the fence as I reached the top and sure enough, a black car waited in the distance, oddly out of place. I hopped down, dust pluming up around me as I landed, and looked at the children around me.

"Hey, kids, see that car?" I pointed towards it, "Run, go get inside it. Now!"

They nodded and began running, but one of the twin girls stayed behind, "Where's Helga? Wasn't she with you?"

I stared at her, realizing she must be talking about the blonde girl. How could I tell a child her friend was dead? "Please go get in the car, I'll explain later."

She nodded solemnly and ran. I turned and found Sherlock knelt down before he tossed the baby in his arms over the fence.

I yelped and caught her as she fell, "Jesus! What the fuck, Sherlock! You can't just throw a baby!"

"John, how else was I supposed to- Ow," He grimaced in pain as he started climbing the fence, "Get the child across? I mean goodness John, use common sense."

"There they are!" I heard thick shouts from behind him and saw two men, a hundred feet away, running towards us.

"Uh, can you speed it up, Sherlock?" I frowned as his hand grabbed the top.

"I think I've injured myself, John."

"WELL NO SHIT." I bounced nervously as he finally dropped down next to me. We broke into a fast run and finally reached the car as the men on the other side of the fence started shooting at us.

"Fuck," I slid into the backseat with Sherlock basically piling on top of me. The kids stared wide-eyed at us and the car began to speed off quickly. I pulled into a more comfortable position and handed the now-very-awake Lucy to the oldest boy. The three year old looked on the verge of tears and both twins patted his back hopelessly.

I turned to Sherlock, who was holding up his phone.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, snatching the phone from his grip.

"Well," He frowned, "I was texted Lestrade that we would be arriving shortly."

"You're bleeding, Sherlock."

"So I am."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling up his destroyed sleeve to examine it. It was extremely deep, he was going to need stitches.

I sighed and looked up at him, suddenly realizing how close our faces were. From inches away, he stared me down, a new expression replacing his usual one. He looked kind of… weak. I didn't like it, and it kind of shocked me.

My face was probably growing red so I let go and turned away, "I'll stitch you up at the police station. Should we be concerned about the fact we just kidnapped five kids from the, uh, trade?"

Sherlocks smile was devious, "Oh yes. Now they'll start to panic. And when people panic-"

"They make mistakes." I finished. I'd heard it probably a hundred times. The rest of the ride home was silent except for the sniffling of the crying toddler.