Authors Note: Hola, hola! Wow, thanks for the reviews guys! It's nice to know when your work is appreciated! Here, obviously, we have chapter three. I hope you enjoy it as much as the previous two, possibly even more. I love the feedback, keep it coming!

Wanted: Criminal Dynasty

Moriarty wasn't sure whether to chuckle or yell bloody murder at the sight that stood before him.

Two of his men, his body guards, men that were supposed to protect him from any harmful presence had just come down to the main dining hall of the mansion, and they looked much worse now than they had when he'd sent them up to Beth Lestrade's room to fetch her for supper.

"Stephens…" Moriarty leaned back in his chair, "explain, please."

"We…we went to get the lady just as you said, Professor," the man called Stephens continued to shift from one foot to the other. Moriarty thought that he just might be sick from watching him move to and fro in such a way. "She uh…she didn't want to come down."

The professor tapped his chin and pointed at the both of them. "That much is obvious." Sliding his chair back, he rose and tossed his napkin on the table. "Get cleaned up, the both of you. You look ridiculous." He left them standing in the dining hall as he crossed the foyer and headed down the corridor towards his 'guests' room.

He didn't bother knocking before opening the door, and what greeted him was rather shocking. In the woman's attempt to avoid being taken to dinner, she had created quite the mess in her quarters. The vanity was lying on its side, a chair leg missing from the seating apparatus. The mirror was intact but separated from the vanity it had originally been attached to. Pillows lay strewn about the floor, the doors to the wardrobe were wide open, and with Moriarty's attention to detail never missing a beat, he noticed that the dresser had been moved almost a foot to the right of where it had originally been placed.

Standing in the middle of the mess was his Inspector, readying herself for another attack. "At ease, Miss. Lestrade. If you didn't want to eat, all you had to do was tell them so."

"I did," she growled out, "I just decided to tell them physically rather than verbally."

"You really should watch that temper of yours," Moriarty entered the room fully and closed the door softly, crossing his arms as he stood in front of it, ensuring she wouldn't go anywhere. He sighed. "You will make this much easier on yourself if you simply allow the inevitable to occur."

Beth said nothing.

"I shall give you the itinerary, if you so desire." Moriarty paused for a moment to let her speak if she wished, but it seemed her desire at present was to keep silent, and so he pressed on. "Tomorrow morning, you will be served breakfast, and whether you like it here or down stairs in the formal dining hall is neither here nor there, you will eat it. Most of the day will be for you to do as you please in your room. Should you like anything to read or watch within reason, it will be brought to you. I have contracted a physician to arrive here late tomorrow afternoon for you to meet. He is a fully licensed medical doctor and he will be here to give you a physical."

Beth quirked an eyebrow, though never taking her eyes off the man before her, and not relaxing her stance for even a moment. "What for?"

"Well, I'm sure you will understand the need to ensure your complete health before we continue any further with the procedure."

"There won't be any procedure, Moriarty," Lestrade narrowed her eyes. "The second your men step back in this room is the second the gloves come off. I sent them back to you with a couple of black eyes and bloody noses. Next time, you're going to have to carry them out in body bags."

"Elizabeth," Moriarty put his hands in his pockets and walked towards her, "must I remind you that you are currently hundreds of miles away from New London, with no hope of anyone finding you, trapped in a mansion of which I know every nook and cranny, and have more body guards at my disposal than just the four you saw yesterday?" He stopped a couple feet in front o f her and looked at the bed, smirking. Languidly, he eased himself on the mattress and folded his hands on his lap regarding her quietly, as she did him.

"Perhaps there's another way I can make you see reason."

Lestrade spat out a laugh. "I doubt it."

"Do you?" James shrugged. "Just because we're far from New London doesn't mean I don't have ways to communicate with the people I have there. Many are old friends of mine, some of them are lackey's, others are simply criminals and despots whom I have yet to meet, but they all have one thing in common; they hate Sherlock Holmes."

That got her attention. She leveled her gaze at him, and even though the anger on her face grew more, he could see a glimmer of nervousness there now as well. "They can't stand him," he continued, standing up and stalking toward her slowly. Beth stood firm. "Can you imagine how many felons would love the chance for an open season holiday on the detective? I'm fairly well off, Miss. Lestrade; I could make it worth their while."

Beth swallowed down the fresh wave of nausea that hit her with that statement; never the less she forced herself to speak without a waver in her voice. "If Holmes had the choice of having your henchmen come after him or watch me help you conceive a child against my will, I think you and I both know which one he'd choose."

"But he's not here to make that choice," Moriarty murmured softly. He was so close to her she could smell him. Whereas before her eyes had been fastened on his, they were now looking straight at his neck, as though if she didn't look at him directly, she could hide the fear that was beginning to pop up again. She felt fingers touch her throat softly and immediately jerked away, but Moriarty was faster. Before she knew it, her back was against one of the posts of the bed, Moriarty's hand was placed firmly around her throat and his other was busy keeping her free arm back and away from him.

"You are." He bit out, his mouth grazing her ear as she struggled best as she could against him, but one solid pull and press against her throat knocked her head lightly into the post and she stilled her movements for the moment. "I am asking for something very small, something that you would probably have never even thought about had I not come along. The doctor will be here tomorrow night to administer a full physical to you, and since I already know that you are in excellent health, we will commence with the harvest the following morning, after which, I will give you a mild sedative to put you to sleep and you will be home the day after tomorrow. This is how quickly I can move things along, Inspector."

He pulled away and watched her as she caught her breath, rasping as she rubbed her throat of his touch. "If you continue to be a hindrance, I can keep you here indefinitely and get what I want by other methods." He could feel the woman's eyes glaring daggers into his back as he walked back towards the door. He put his hand on the knob, turned back to her and fixed his glare on hers.

"And just so we understand each other Elizabeth, the other methods would involve you staying 'under lock and key' for nine months." He took his leave of her with that message, not seeing her sink to the floor beside the bed and resting her head on it. It wasn't until the door was closed that she promptly threw up.

Wanted: Criminal Dynasty

Holmes sat quietly in the corner of a rundown bar, sipping on some kind of foul drink that he'd thought would at least taste acceptable while he listened in on the conversations around him. In the end, he was glad Watson had talked him out of coming down here without a disguise. That really had been a stupid idea on his part, and he didn't have many stupid ideas. In fact, if someone asked him when the last time was he'd had a stupid idea, he honestly wouldn't have been able to give an answer. When he'd said as much to Watson, his friend had just smiled.

"And now you do," he answered.

As he sat there, John Watson was positioned in their coach craft outside. Many of the bars and saloons in the Underground did not allow droids into their establishments, which suited the compu-droid just fine. He did not like seedy places as they made him nervous, and was much more comfortable with sitting outside and watching who went in and who came out.

So far, Holmes hadn't seen any of Moriarty's normal contract criminals. He'd observed a fair amount of prostitutes, disgruntled teens angry at the world, and probable gang members, but as far as seeing any familiar faces that were known to associate with the good professor, the detective was hitting a dead end.

So far.

As he brought his glass up to his lips again, he spoke softly into his communicator, taking care to hide his mouth, though his lips were barely moving. "Anyone outside we may know, Watson?"

"No one, Holmes," came the whispered reply. "I am keeping a very close eye on the entrance, but I've recognized no one."

"Alright. Five more minutes, and then I'll come out and head to our next location."

"Acknowledged."

Holmes' eyes pierced each corner of the room he was in, examining closely the faces that were smiling, laughing, and obviously drunk. How anyone could get inebriated so early in the evening was beyond him, but he wasn't about to ask questions. Alcohol was his best friend in this circumstance, for it was a substance that made some people blabber about the most sensitive of subjects.

Unfortunately, either no one was drunk enough in this particular bar, or there was no one of interest here for him. After five minutes, he placed his glass on the table, put a credit chip down and limped out the door as his disguise warranted, looking around for his car and Watson before heading down the street to another speakeasy.

Flashback

"So you're not telling me where we're going."

"No."

"And you're not telling me what we're doing."

Holmes grinned and gave a side long glance in Beth's direction. "No." He so loved to tease her like this. Lestrade was a veritable sponge when it came to knowledge. She wanted to know everything about anything. When someone deliberately kept information from her, it was in her nature to try and seek it out in whatever way she could, no matter the consequences. It was one of the many things Holmes was finding that he admired about her. Not that he hadn't had an appreciation for this talent and many others before he'd kissed her two nights ago, but he was finding himself looking at her myriad of skills in a different light now.

He caught Beth giving him a sly look out of the corner of his eye, and his grin only widened.

"What are you up to, Holmes?" she mused, looking out the window at the city below her.

"You will discover in due time, Beth," Holmes murmured, steering the coach carefully through the traffic that was beginning to thin out as they cleared the city limits and arrived in the more rural and country part of New London, "for now, enjoy a ride in a hovercraft that isn't quite as life threatening as when you fly it."

A snort was his answer as he continued to pilot the vehicle to a remote location, and as he landed the contraption, Lestrade had to admit that he had come a long way with driving a hover coach. After all, it must have seemed just yesterday that he'd ridden a horse along the cobblestone streets of London, England in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

Holmes unlocked the cabin doors and bade her to get out, which she did. Beth looked around. It seemed they were in the middle of Middlesex Park, along one of the nature trails. The Thames sparkled in the distance, the light of the rising moon and setting sun mixing together on its waves. Hovering illuminators lit the trail way through the sparse tree's that marked the park, and sitting on the trail were two four legged animals that were taller than Lestrade herself. One was a magnificent black color, standing tall and proud, and its long mane straight and sleek. The other was slightly smaller though not by much and a silvery gray color, the moonlight casting a majestic glow on the mammal. Lestrade could only stare at the creatures as Holmes admired her awe from a small distance.

"In one of the many conversations you and I have had about my old life, the topic of horses came up."

Beth observed Sherlock as he walked up the horses and patted the black one on its neck. "I thought perhaps you and I would have another conversation tonight while we took a ride." As he continued to pat the horse, he beckoned Beth to come closer. "They'll not hurt you. Come; they are grand beasts, I'll grant you, but some of the gentlest alive."

Nodding, Beth walked up to the silver mare and, with a questioning look towards Holmes who nodded, stroked the long white mane of the horse. The mare shook her head quite suddenly, and Beth laughed at the snort the horse gave. "I guess that means she likes me?"

"Quite." Holmes walked around the grey mare and stood behind the inspector. "I am correct in assuming you have never sat a horse before?" She nodded, so he took her elbow and pulled her parallel to the saddle. "Place your left foot in the stirrup, hold your left hand to the reigns and your right onto the side of the saddle, and when you've reached the apex of your rise, swing your right leg over and hold the reigns tightly. The horse will need to get used to your weight."

Lestrade nodded and did just as Holmes suggested. He kept his hands off her the entire time, knowing she'd be grateful for the advice, but would want to perform the first sitting herself. Therefore, he spotted her, and once she was on securely, she looked down at him and grinned.

"Are you just going to stand down there, or are we going to ride?"

End Flashback

"You want another, buddy?"

"Hmm?" Holmes looked up at the bar-keep and then down to his glass, which was surprisingly empty. He was glad he'd chosen a light drink and nodded his head. Soon, another full glass was sitting before him, and Holmes took it by its base and got off the stool, heading to the back of the bar. Finding an empty booth, he set the glass down and slid into it, looking around inconspicuously at his surroundings. Since Beth's disappearance 36 hours previous, he'd been slipping into his memories of their times together. He'd almost forgotten about their first outing. She'd remarked sometime afterwards that had been one of his more romantic ideas. He'd only smirked and referred to the logicality of it all. She'd talked of horses, often wondered what it would be like to ride one, and he'd provided the opportunity for her; nothing more.

Focus, Holmes. He glanced around, endeavoring to find someone he recognized. This was now the fifth saloon he'd been in and in each and every one he'd ordered a small drink and sipped it silently, never losing his demeanor until this one. Pushing the drink away from him, he instead sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, tipping his chin down to appear as though he were sleeping. Even though the cocktails he'd been ordering had very little alcohol in them, the drinks of today were not what they were back in his hay day, and being that he hadn't eaten anything for a few hours, they were starting to affect him in a manner that was quite detrimental to his investigation.

He stole a glance at his chronometer; 12:35 in the morning. Tipping the hat he wore further down on his head, he raised his wrist slightly to his mouth and punched in the communication code to Watson.

"Yes, Holmes?"

"Watson, is there anyone that we are familiar with outside?"

"None yet, old friend. I have been keeping a rather apt eye on the sidewalks of both sides of the street, but to no avail." The droid heard the sigh in Holmes voice as he answered. "Very well, Watson. These establishments close around three in the morning. I should like to visit as many as I can before that time, if you are up to it?"

"Of course, Holmes. I shall stay in the hover coach as long as you need."

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at that. "You are indeed a true and noble friend, Watson. When I find Beth, much of the credit will be due to your stout and loyal assistance."

"Nonsense Ho-hello."

Holmes frowned. "Watson?"

"It appears there is an acquaintance of Moriarty's wondering into the saloon you are casing, Holmes."

The detectives' heart skipped a beat at his friends' words, but he took care not to outwardly show his jubilation. "Who?"

"A young delinquent by the name of Erikson, I do believe. He has helped Moriarty out on several robberies in the past, especially in cases where Moriarty's creator Fenwick was involved."

"Ah yes…here he is now. Stand by, Watson." Holmes affixed his eyes to the door as a young man probably no more than university age walked in, sat down at the bar, and ordered a drink. In no time, the bar tender handed the man a tall glass, and it was good that Watson had recognized the man and that Holmes was watching him, otherwise the detective would have missed the piece of paper that traveled underneath the glass across the counter and into the delinquents hands.

"A transfer of some kind of paper, Watson; be it a note, a map, or something else, I am not sure…" Holmes leaned forward slightly, bringing his drink closer to him as he watched the young man unfold the note and read it. Before Holmes could blink, he was up off his stool and out the door. Holmes growled into his communicator that the man was getting away, and received a response that made Sherlock smile. He needn't rush, for Watson would have the man waiting for him by the time he got outside to the coach craft.

Unfortunately, the bar tender had other plans as he came round the counter, an ionizer in his grip. "Jus' a minute, Detective. Can't let you go after m'friend such as you are!"

Well, now Holmes knew what the note was; a warning for the young man to escape while he still could. It also meant that the bar tender had recognized him, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out how, but that wasn't important at the moment. What mattered was him getting away and talking to his quarry. "I really have no time for your games, Sir, if you will excuse me-" his leg was fast as lightening as he kicked the ionizer out of the barkeeps hand and took him to the ground. "I should very much like to know how you recognized me, good Sir, and if you're thinking of spinning a tale to tell, then I really must advice against it." To emphasize his point, Holmes pushed his knee into the throat of the man and pressed lightly. Keenly aware of the pairs of eyes that were boring into him, Holmes addressed the crowd. "If any of you are thinking of defending this man, I bid you to stay out of this affair, or you can take a trip down to New Scotland Yard."

It was amazing how a threat to spend a night in a containment cell could motivate possible criminals and problematic people in general to turn and look the other way. Pulling the other man to his feet, Holmes shoved him out the door and was met by Watson, who was having no trouble at all holding onto his catch. Erikson looked petrified as he was being held at least a foot off the ground by the collar of his shirt as a Level Seven Compudroid gave him a stern look…or as stern a look as Watson could manage to give.

"Do call up the Yard, Watson." Holmes held the other man fast against the wall. "I think the Chief Inspector would enjoy talking to these two subordinates of Moriarty's Of course, if he is too busy, I will be more than happy to stand in his place."