"Let me get this straight," John said. "You were kidnapped today?"

"More or less."

"More or … how can anyone be more or less kidnapped?"

Sherlock looked at him in alarm. What had he been thinking, telling this to a complete stranger? "They don't know that I know I was kidnapped."

"Wait … what?" The other boy's face crinkled in confusion. "How is that even possible?"

"They think I've been deluded into coming along for fun, that I don't know what they're doing."

The older boy's face had grown serious. "You willingly went along with two perfect strangers that you knew meant to kidnap you. Why would you do that?"

The censure in his voice rankled—though Sherlock should have expected it. "I was bored," he replied in his most austere tone, bracing himself for whatever John's no-doubt-mundane reaction was going to be.

And was completely surprised when John's face broke into a grin and he actually giggled. "That is the stupidest, most amazing thing I've ever heard. You knew all along?"

Dumbfounded, Sherlock nodded.

"But they have no idea you've cottoned on? That … that is just incredible. I mean, totally stupid, but you must be the best liar in the whole world. So, they've no idea you're even out right now?"

Sherlock shook his head, still trying to absorb this unprecedented reaction. He had never had someone wholeheartedly approve of his schemes before.

"So, what are you going to do?" John asked after they'd both had a laugh. "I mean, this really is serious—not to mention illegal. Just because they haven't hurt you doesn't mean they won't."

"They wouldn't dare," Sherlock said. "Not if they want my parents to pay a ransom, and I've been really obliging so far."

"Somehow," John's voice was dry, "I doubt they'll consider your wandering off in the middle of the night to be 'obliging.' You can't just risk your life because you're bored, Sherlock. That's mental."

He moved his torch suddenly, to shine in Sherlock's face. "It's not just boredom, is it? You're lonely, too, and like the attention."

Sherlock blinked in the glare until John lowered the light. He wanted to tell him he was wrong, but … there was something in the boy's face that made him pause. Compassion, maybe? Concern? "Why do you care?"

"Because you're my friend," John said, automatically, casually even, as if they hadn't only met half an hour ago. As if those weren't the most earth-shattering words Sherlock had ever heard. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Just then there was a roar of sound from the direction Sherlock had come, and crashing footsteps sounded through the woods.

John hastily put out his torch and the two boys sat, frozen for a moment in the cool night air. Then Sherlock held out a hand and quickly, quietly led John back toward his tent.

"What? Shouldn't we be heading the other way? My Dad could help."

Sherlock shook his head, and concentrated on moving as fast as he could. "No," he whispered. "They can't know that I know, remember? The minute other adults get involved, it's going to go pear-shaped. I just need to make sure you're all right. This is my mess, I don't want you dragged into it."

He was surprised when John dug in his heels and pulled his hand away. "Are you kidding me?" His voice didn't rise above a whisper, but it was venomous. "I'm trying to help you and you're just going to go back to them?"

"It's the only way," Sherlock whisper-argued back. "As long as they think I'm clueless and have no reason to suspect you know anything, you'll be fine. But if they see you or you say the wrong thing, you'll be kidnapped, too, and then one of us really will get hurt! It's too big a risk!"

John's face looked utterly stunned in the moonlight, and Sherlock could hear footsteps coming closer. He grabbed John's hand again and this time the boy let him lead. They made it back to John's tent and Sherlock was about to leave when the older boy grabbed his shoulders and forced him inside. "If you want this to all be innocent, it will be innocent," John told him fiercely. "You wandered off and you found another kid to play with. It makes you weird because it's the middle of the night, but not suspicious. If you're out there on your own, they won't believe you."

So saying, he pulled the tent flap closed and lit the torch and started chattering about his friends at school and playing football, and asking Sherlock what he liked to do after school.

It took Sherlock a few moments to realize what John was doing. He had to admit, the boy's instinct for camouflage was admirable. The other boy grinned at his confusion and leaned forward to whisper, "You must be an only child. Subterfuge is a survival skill, didn't you know? Quick, though? Do you want me to call someone? I've got Mum's mobile."

Sherlock was just urgently shaking his head—having John call someone would just make things worse—when there was a loud crack of a twig snapping, and then Davy's voice. "Kid? You in there, kid?"

He met John eyes—his friend's eyes—and then called out in as innocent and unsuspecting voice as he could manage, "Oh no, did I worry you? I thought I'd be back before either of you woke up."

Taking a deep breath, he lifted the tent flap.

#

He was just climbing out of the tent when Davy's large hand grabbed his arm. "Where did you go? How did you get out?"

Sherlock widened his eyes but was careful not to show anything other than hurt surprise. "I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep, so I came out for some air. I've never gotten to walk in the woods at night before. I thought I'd be back before you woke up. I didn't mean to worry you."

"You were coming back?" The man's voice was harsh.

"Of course," Sherlock said, nodding. He saw the hard edge of the man's anger soften just slightly and then John's voice came from the tent. "I'm afraid that's my fault, sir. I heard him outside and thought it was an animal, and well, we got talking."

Both Sherlock and Davy were staring at John now—Sherlock with a dawning horror. What was the boy doing?

"You were talking." Davy's voice was flat. "About what?"

"The reason I'm out here on my own instead of with my parents and annoying sister, mostly," John said cheerfully. "It's a special birthday treat—because it's my birthday today—and if you knew my sister…"

"All right," Davy interrupted. "But we've got to head back now. You shouldn't wander off, kid."

"I already apologized," Sherlock said with a hint of petulance. "It's not like I got lost, or anything. I would have been back by now if this boy hadn't been droning on about football." He saw a twinge of hurt pass over John's face and mentally apologized. He hoped the boy—his friend—would understand that he was trying to minimize his importance to Davy. Anything to make sure he didn't get involved.

But with a blink, the expression was gone and John was saying, "It's true. I get carried away talking about football, even though Sherlock here said he wasn't interested."

Davy's face had frozen. "Sherlock."

John's forehead creased. "Yeah … unless you lied about your name? I mean, Sherlock is kind of bizarre for a name, but it's unique. I guess it's a good name for a pirate, though, which goes along with the hat. Which is so cool, by the way. I'd never get my parents to get me anything that great. I didn't even get the mobile I wanted, though Mum gave me hers just in case anything went wrong while I was out here on my own tonight. Wanna see?"

Sherlock was appalled. What was John doing? The whole point was for him and Davy to leave without raising the man's suspicions and here John was, babbling about his name and his hat and how he had means to call for help … John was going to get hurt, all because he was a stupid idiot who clearly did NOT understand the meaning of 'subterfuge' after all.

Davy seemed to be thinking along the lines Sherlock feared—the 'leave no witnesses' train of thought—and Sherlock didn't know what to do. Why had he thought he wanted a friend? The boy was obviously an idiot. Look at him, standing there with his mobile in his hand, clearly having no idea what he's just done … except …

Sherlock blinked at him. John's face was innocent and looked totally blameless, but there was a tiny quirk to his lips when he saw Sherlock watching. He was doing this on purpose?

Why the hell was he doing this on purpose?

Seriously, what possible benefit could there be? He was just an innocent bystander who should never have been involved, yet he had just deliberately put himself into the middle of a dangerous situation. Why?

Did John think this was all a game? It was true that Sherlock was having fun, but his schoolmates had made it quite clear that his idea of fun did not match normal childrens'. Still, John was out here alone in a tent, even though he'd been nervous of noises in the night—he obviously wasn't a coward. Maybe he'd read one too many adventure books and wanted to play the game, too?

Or … he thought back to John's casual answer of "you're my friend," just a little while ago. Could he possibly be doing this … for Sherlock?

Before he could say anything, John continued, "Because I was telling Sherlock what a great breakfast Mum puts out, and was inviting him along. I usually get to invite a friend for tea for my birthday, but all my friends are back home, of course, which makes it harder, but then Sherlock showed up like magic and it would just be brilliant, so could he come? I mean, I know he's probably in trouble for skipping out in the middle of the night, but isn't that what camping is for, really? And it sure would make my birthday special. I know Mum wouldn't mind."

Slowly, Davy shook his head. "That's not possible, kid. Sherlock should never have bothered you. You … you could come with us, though. For some cocoa, maybe?"

Sherlock was shaking his head. No. This was a terrible idea. This could not happen. His own family might not care about him, but John's clearly did. They would notice he was missing and raise a fuss and everything would go terribly, horribly wrong and it would all be his fault. "Your mother wouldn't approve," he said. "You told me they made you promise you wouldn't leave the tent all night."

John just tilted his head in a quasi-shrug. "She didn't expect that I'd have visitors, either. And isn't that what the mobile is for? I'll just send them a text…"

"No," Davy said, voice urgent, but he immediately softened it. "You don't want to wake her in the middle of the night. Parents hate that kind of thing. How about you come with us now and we'll call her in the morning?"

Sherlock was staring at John, appalled at the direction this whole affair had taken. The older boy wasn't … couldn't … be planning to let himself be kidnapped, too? There was no way Davy and Joe were stupid enough to be fooled by that. This was going to escalate into something bad so fast…

"I don't know," John said, glancing back toward the main campsite. "There are all those lectures about going off with strangers…"

"Right," said Sherlock, "Because that makes parents upset. Why don't you stay here for now and we can play sometime when you've cleared it with your Mum? I don't want you to get into trouble for my sake." He tried to infuse as much urgency into his voice as he could without triggering alarms for Davy.

"Yeah, but I'm not going off with a stranger, I'm going with my friend, Sherlock," John said brightly. "If you really don't mind, sir, I'd love to come along. It's like an adventure, the middle of the night, and everything. Just a minute." He dived back into his tent where he scrambled around for a few moments and then came back out, dressed, carrying Sherlock's hat. "Cocoa sounds great."

Sherlock could barely catalog the series of emotions raging through his brain. He was furious at John for being so stupid, angry (jealous?) that someone else was taking away his adventure, but also oddly warmed by the fact that John didn't want him to do this alone.

And worried. He mustn't forget the worry that all of this was going to go badly. If John got himself hurt, he would never forgive him. Or himself.

#

They walked ahead of Davy, who was intent on his phone and Sherlock took the chance to hiss, "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you're all right, idiot. I wasn't going to let you head off with two pervs just because you were bored. I want to see these two for myself."

"And if they turn violent? They could hurt you, John!"

"And you," John retorted. "Safety in numbers, eh?"

Sherlock wanted to scream at the boy. Didn't he realize that he held no value to the kidnappers whatsoever? He was expendable. If things turned pear-shaped, he could get hurt and Sherlock wouldn't be able to prevent it.

But no, John was clueless, walking along without a care in the world. Sherlock had been right. Children were stupid. All children (except him). Even the nice ones.

Davy shoved his phone back in his pocket and strode forward to catch up with the two boys. "I told Joe we were bringing back a guest. It's not like we're going to get any more sleep at this point, anyway, is it, boys?"

"So, are you a couple, then?" John asked, face innocent.

Davy's face hardened, just a bit. "Nah, just friends. We thought it would be a nice weekend to go camping, is all."

"It was nice of you to bring Sherlock," John told him as Sherlock stomped alongside, fuming. "He said the summer's been really boring. Have you known him long?"

John! What are you doing? Sherlock wanted to scream. The idea is to avoid knowing anything about the kidnappers. If you know too much, they can't afford to let you go. Especially if your parents aren't rich enough to pay a ransom.

Davy was answering easily, though, shoulders relaxed. "Nah. We only met this afternoon, in fact. The overnight thing was totally unplanned."

"Sometimes that just makes things more fun," John said, "Isn't that right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock just nodded, hands stuffed into his pockets. It had all been so nice and simple. He would let himself be kidnapped for a few hours' worth of distraction and then he would escape and be back home before anybody noticed. But now, not only had a ransom demand (presumably) been sent to his parents, but this clueless boy was involved, solely because he wanted to be Sherlock's friend.

What else could go wrong?

#

John and Sherlock were seated at the caravan's tiny kitchen table while, right outside the door, Davy and Joe were holding an urgent, whispered discussion.

It had been almost funny, the look on Joe's face when the three of them had arrived together, but he hadn't said much. He had been too busy glaring at Davy for complicating matters. He had made the cocoa, though, and made a couple jokes about how easily Sherlock made friends (which was so much funnier than he realized), and then had excused himself and practically dragged Davy through the door.

Which was fine with Sherlock, because it gave him a chance to task John with what the hell did he think he was doing?

"I told you—I wasn't letting you come back alone. They could hurt you, Sherlock!"

"And what do you think they'll do to you?" Sherlock was desperate to make John realize how dangerous this was. "Your parents aren't being asked for ransom, which means that if they decide to get serious and this turns dangerous, you're the one who's going to get hurt! It was just barely believable when it was one clueless kid not realizing what was really going on, but two? They're not that stupid. It's not going to work. You have to get out of here!"

John nodded. "Fine. But you're either coming with me, or I'm calling my parents as soon as I'm gone … or the police. Why do you not understand that you can't simply stay with them?"

"Because I'm not the one who's in danger."

"Of course you are, you just don't want to see it," John told him calmly as he sipped at his cocoa. "You think it's a game … but are you really going to let your parents pay to get you out of it? Is that fair?"

"I wasn't going to let it go that far," Sherlock said, frustration practically rolling off his fingertips. "But now they have two of us … I don't think we can both escape."

John just shrugged. "So your parents get a two-for-one deal. We should enjoy our time together while we can—after this, I'm probably going to be grounded until I'm 20."

He made such a comical face, Sherlock couldn't help laughing into his mug. "It's not like it'll be the first time my parents paid for someone to be my friend."

John laughed, too, but then said, "You've got it the wrong way around. This time, they'd be paying because I am your friend."

"I've only known you an hour, John. Don't exaggerate."

A quizzical look crossed John's face and he was just asking, "What does that have to do with anything?" when the two men came back inside.

"Right, sorry about that, kids. We were just figuring out what to do so John's folks wouldn't get too upset. We reckon you need to be back in your tent before they come looking for you in the morning."

John shrugged and gave a nod. "That'll work, unless you want to come for breakfast, because Mum really is a good cook. She'll likely have something special, too, since it's my birthday. She makes the best waffles, with berries and whipped cream … She promised she was bringing her waffle iron just for me. What are you all doing later, anyway? I was trying to decide if I'd rather go for a hike or go fishing, and it would be great if Sherlock could come."

Joe shook his head and came over to refill their cups. "That does sound fun, but we'll be leaving this morning. This was never meant to be a long stop for us."

John made a face, and Sherlock said, "Really? Where are we going?"

"As much as we love having you, Sherlock, we do need to get you home at some point. We're just waiting to hear back from your parents."

"Maybe you could come over and play sometime, then," John said to Sherlock. "We've got almost two months left of the summer. It would be fun."

Sherlock nodded, caught by the idea of having a friend to visit, to do things with.

"Here, put your number into my mobile and I'll call you. How's Monday sound?" Sherlock could only be impressed at John's acting. He actually sounded sincere.

He tried not to notice how carefully the two men watched as John handed him the mobile. Had they been trying to do anything illicit, he would have noticed right away. Really, though, Sherlock had just been entering his number and desperately hoping that John would call.

Almost embarrassed at the sudden desire to hear from this boy, his friend, again, Sherlock turned back to his cocoa, noting that John did the same. He fought back a yawn. The night's activity had obviously taken more of a toll than he'd realized. He wouldn't even mind a nap, except for not wanting to miss a minute of time with John and his kidnappers.

Because that's how he was thinking of them, now. Kidnappers. Now that he had John, he didn't need their attention so badly. Now that they had threatened John (in abstract, luckily, not through any direct actions), he couldn't think quite so well of them as before. They had boldly abducted this second, innocent boy solely because he had been with Sherlock when they'd found him. (And John had made a point of making sure they knew it, the idiot.) Now that there was a danger to John, it changed everything.

He yawned again, suddenly feeling heavy in all his limbs as the room spun … his eyes widened in horror as he looked at John, slumped over the table. They'd drugged the cocoa.

No. This was wrong, he thought, fighting the drug. This was bad. But the darkness loomed up and overwhelmed him, dragging him down into an unwelcome sleep.

#