Lestrade arrived then, far too late to help anything.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing here?" he shouted. Donovan and Anderson both clambered out of the car. Ever his faithful servants.

"John's been kidnapped. Taken. Three assailants. Hired, not random. John shot one of them. Probably in the stomach judging by blood splatter and the amount of it. They stabbed him in the leg, upper thigh, no serious artery damage, maybe tissue damage, most likely recoverable. They are holding him within a twenty-five kilometer radius of this spot. Judging by the quality of the boots, I'd say in a privately owned warehouse or factory. I'll estimate that they contact us with proof that he's alive in approximately twenty minutes." He finished his observation, much to the stunned silence of the three officers. He looked at each of their faces, reading the shock on them, and the panic. John was at stake, why were they not moving?

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

Lestrade shook his head. "Sherlock, were you with him when it happened?"

The detective rolled his eyes. "Of course not, you imbecile! If I had been, he'd still be here, perfectly safe, and you would have three very dead criminals to bury. Mycroft called me as soon as it happened."

Lestrade nodded. He looked around then. "What was John even doing on this side of town alone anyway? This isn't anywhere near his usual hangout spots."

Sherlock swallowed. "We may have been separated, and he wandered in this direction."

Lestrade quirked an eyebrow. "On a case?"

Sherlock glanced down nervously. "An experiment of sorts, but then we had a bit of a disagreement, and he left."

The DI could see just how hurt the man was, so he pulled him aside, out of earshot of the other officers. "Sherlock, exactly what was this experiment about?"

The detective bit his lip, and the then looked at his shoes. "Me, him, us," he murmured. Lestrade showed surprised interest, so Sherlock continued. "I wanted to attempt a relationship with him. I needed data on how emotions worked to do that, how we worked. So I set up a scenario in which to gather such data. A set of scenarios that would work towards the beginning of such a relationship." Sherlock laughed bitterly. "I didn't credit him with being as clever as he is. He figured out that it was an experiment, and that, apparently, angered him." He took in a deep breath. "No, angered is the wrong word. He was very quiet, subdued. Hurt." Sherlock looked into The DI's eyes pleasingly, "Why did that hurt him?"

The entire time Lestrade kept his mouth closed. It was obvious that John had misinterpreted the eccentric detective. His wording was scientific, but the theme was genuine. Lestrade, like always, felt slightly sympathetic of this insane man that pretended not to feel.

"How you put it, Sherlock. When he heard 'experiment', he thought that it was fake, figured you were experimenting on him, not with him." The DI shook his head at the continuing look of exasperation on the detective's face. "He thought that instead of wanting to be with him, you were wanting to test him, to observe and analyze, not participate. At least I think that you had intended to participate."

Sherlock nodded, nibbling his lip in earnest. He really had mucked up, hadn't he?

"We need to find him. I need to make this right. I can't lose him." The intensity and utter sentimentality of the exclamation threw the DI through a loop. He had known the detective for years, and had never seen him so emotional.

"We will, but you need to keep your head, we can't find him with you panicking."

Sherlock straightened his back, and glared at the DI. "I don't panic."

Lestrade smirked, but was stopped by a ringing from the alley. Sherlock dashed to the sound, lifting the lid on the bin and pulling out John's phone. He glanced at Lestrade before answering the blocked number.

"Where is he?" Blunt, coarse, angry.

"Now, now, Mr Holmes, Your pet is unharmed, mostly. He did manage to kill one of my best men, so naturally he had to be subdued." Sherlock thought back to the stab wound, and his vision flashed red.

"Why are you doing this?" he barked, and the electronic voice chuckled.

"This is payment. You reneged on a deal with me years ago, and I've come to collect my payment. Seeing as the price, with interest, is far more than you can afford, I'll take my payment from your hide." There was a muffled, angry yell, John's, and the detective tensed. "Tsk tsk. It appears your dog doesn't like that idea." There was a muffled grunt and a sickening crack as a boot collided with John's ribs.

"So here is my offer. Bring your payment, and the original sum of just £10,000 to the address I send you, or I take all of it out of your precious little lab rat." The call ended, and Sherlock felt a hand on his arm. Lestrade's. He was shaking with anger. One glance at his expression and both Donovan and Anderson got into the car.

"What do they want?" Lestrade asked, cautious.

"Me."