Writing a little something before I head to work!

"Mary, I need you to be completely honest with me... Why would a target you failed to take out want to kill you? He shouldn't even know who you are." Sherlock said to the blubbering blonde.

"I... It was a dark time in my life. I was doing a lot of free lance jobs... And I just kind of got carried away." She said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. Sherlock kept looking right at her.

"Go on. What did you do?" He spoke calmly, slowly.

"Well I couldn't find the man, he was so hard to track down. I-" She let out a small sob before sucking in a harsh breath and continuing, "I'm not proud of what I did. I used his daughter to find him... Or to draw him in, rather." She looked past Sherlock to the window behind him.

"And what exactly did you do to his daughter?" Sherlock's voice was still calm and collected, but a small tinge of dread was bubbling in his stomach, it wasn't an entirely new feeling. Just a new one to be associated with her.

"Oh god. I kidnapped her... Sent him an e-mail with a picture of her. Told him to come to a specific place... And I was going to kill him. Listen, Sherlock... This was not a good man. He was a murderer in his own right. Sold drugs, but laced them with his own special ingredient that would often end up killing the user." She took a few breaths and looked back to her hands, "I was hired by the family of one of his, well, of one of his victims. I was completely off the rails at the time, I thought I was invincible and that I couldn't be defeated. The fact that there was some note of being a savior tied in with it... Well I was unstoppable." She looked at Sherlock finally, saw a hint of recognition in his eyes.

"Steven Reynolds?" He asked, her eyes widened, "Yes, I know him. Well I know of him, I only ever bought from his employees." He hopped up from his chair, moving to the window, he watched a large black van speed off down the road before turning back to Mary, "He's dangerous, and will stop at nothing to exact revenge now that he knows where you are, I'm sure of it."

"Well we're not even sure Magnussen has told him yet!" Mary said, Sherlock laughed.

"Don't be dull, of course he has. Now we just need to calculate his next move, figure out what he's going to do... now... Where's John?" Sherlock asked, staring at the street.

"He stormed out... A few minutes ago." Mary responded, panic setting in as she looked at the detective.

"No, that's not right. He should have come back. He never leaves for that long." Sherlock shook his head and ran out of the flat, barely grabbing his jacket on his way out the door. Mary followed him as he ran up to a spot on the sidewalk a few paces away.

"What is it? Sherlock?" She asked once she caught up to him. She looked down to see a chalk outline of a body on the ground with the words, Watson meets untimely end, unless Morstan and Holmes come to defend.

"Well that's boring. A short rhyme and we're supposed to know where he is?" Sherlock scoffed, kneeling down closer to the pavement. He ran his hand across the chalk, it came up white, "They can't have gotten far, the chalk still hasn't settled." He stood and looked around as a car pulled up next to them.

"Is this from Mycroft?" Mary asked, as the driver got out, coming around to the door and opening it.

"No... I don't think it is." Sherlock looked apologetically at Mary, "I think it's going to take us to John."

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"Wakey wakey Doctor Watson." A voice called out to the groggy man. As he began to come to, he noticed three things. First, he was tied to a chair, second, there was a bag over his head and third, the room he was sitting in was oddly warm. He grunted as he tried to pull on the zip ties that held him to the chair, "No no no John. That's not being a good boy." The man tisked as he came up behind the doctor, leaning down next to his ear, "You're going to want to be a good boy. Especially for when your wife and boyfriend get here."

"Not gay..." He managed to murmur, the bag was ripped from his head and the lights forced him to snap his eyes shut.

"Doesn't matter, because in a few moments, he's going to be the only one you have." The man laughed and John squinted as he opened his eyes, taking in the form of the man who kidnapped him. He was thin, dirty. His shirt was ripped and while John couldn't see past his shirt, he was sure the rest of his clothes were ripped too. It was as if this man had been going off the rails for a long time, waiting patiently in the dark for this moment.

"Who are you? Why did you take me?" He asked, becoming aware of how dry his throat was.

"I didn't take you John, you were given to me. As a present, almost. You're the key to getting what I want."

"And what do you want?" John asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Your wife." He laughed, "What's she calling herself now? Mary Morstan?" His giggles echoed through the room.

"Watson. Mary Watson." John growled, the man ran to him, pulling his head back by his hair.

"No, you're wrong. That's not her name, it was never her name!" He shouted, "She's a liar, a murderer, and a liar." He hissed into the soldiers ear, causing the pit of his stomach to twist. John's head was released and it fell forward as he was still unable to control the muscles completely.

"They'll come for me, and when they do, you're going to pay." He said the threat calmly. He didn't need to make himself believe it, he knew it, he always knew it. Sherlock Holmes would not leave him to die, no, he'd come for him. And Mary too, he supposed.

"You're quite mistaken, it is she who is going to pay." The man said, and John couldn't hold his eyes open any longer as he heard the sounds of a gun being put together. A few minutes later a phone rang and he answered it. After a few words he giggled and turned to John, he bent down to meet the slumped over man face to face.

"They're here."

I have too much fun writing insane people... I think that's a sign of something... Isn't it?