"Sticks and stones

may break my bones

but whips and chains

excite me"- Rihanna

22:48hrs.

Sherlock was holding up the wall over by the bar waiting for John and the girl to pick a song already. Sherlock explained that it had to be something to capture everyone's attention get them up and dancing, not something that would have people focused on the stage. He was ready to go over and pick something himself when he saw John give the nod, it was time.

As Sherlock walked toward the stage the dance floor filled instantly with the first few note of Love Shack. Under normal circumstances Sherlock would have picked apart his choice but it had people up and moving, so who was he to complain.

Sherlock put his first foot on the stage stairs as they got to the line "I got me a Chrysler, it seats about 20, So come on and bring your jukebox money" and was to the other side slipping behind a curtain before they finished the chorus. Now he just had to wait for John.

John entered the dressing room four minutes later with a soft knock to the door, and only a little out of breath. He was immediately caught off guard by the amount of costumes that were stored there. Feathers, leather, lace, and silk assaulted his eyes at every turn and there was bloody Sherlock Holmes sitting in the middle of it all posed and proper, in a dress and heels no less, as though none of it affected him in the slightest. Which it probably didn't John reminded himself.

"Call Lestrade?" John asked

"Not yet. We need proof first." Sherlock said standing, "I found the door though." Sherlock lead him around a corner where a plain steel door was placed ominously into the wall.

"Might as well put a sign up" John said "place bodies here."

Sherlock opened the door and revealed a set of steep stairs that led down.

"Can we call Lestrade now?" John prompted.

Sherlock shook his head and put his foot out into the darkness and click his heel made a noise as it connected with the top step. Sherlock turned back to look at John, and nodded. John nodded back and pulled his gun out – from somewhere.

"John,-"

"Sherlock, so help me, do not think of finishing that question." John huffed. The gun had actually been attached to a leg holster John was wearing around his thigh but knew he didn't have the precious time to waste telling Sherlock about it.

…..

They made their way down the stairs with an echoing chorus of click, thump-thump, click, thump-thump. And John prayed there would be no one waiting for them at the bottom of the steps.

"You go left, I'll go right." Sherlock hissed when they reached the solid floor and ran into no trouble. Sherlock pulled out his mobile and used the flashlight app to give him some light in the all swallowing darkness.

"Right" John whispered back.

"No, you're left." Sherlock asserted handing John a mini torch that he pulled from the shoulder bag. How much stuff did Sherlock have in there?

"I know th- never mind. Shout if you find something." John said flicking on the torch and turning to his left.

John didn't have to go very far, the space wasn't huge after all. Around a bend in the wall he found them, Marcus Williams, Martin Crieff, Anthony Jones, and two other men John didn't recognize were handcuffed to large metal rings attached to the concrete wall. They were all gagged one way or another, some with pieces of cloth, others with ball gags, and blindfolded. They looked awful, but alive.

Williams was in a faded red and white polka-dot dress which had a tear up that side that looked as though it was caused by a knife. Crieff was wearing a navy blue sexy Flight Attendant's uniform with a truly enormous captain's hat with a generous amount of gold braid perched precariously atop his ginger head. Four golden bracelets hung off each of his wrists as sort of mock epaulettes, his matching navy blue hose were ripped to shreds. Anthony Jones was in a denim skirt, one his wife had cited as missing, and a silky looking pink top. The other two had clearly been here even longer than Williams; John couldn't even make out colour under the filth and grime that covered their clothes.

John cleared his voice and said loud and clear, "Shirley, I think you better come take a look at this."

Some of the men began to squirm at the new and unknown threat, as John searched for a light switch.

"It's okay, I'm here to save you. My name is John Watson, I am a doctor. My friend Shirley is a detective and we're going to get you out of here, everything's going to be fine." He explained in his calming voice.

John turned on the light then wished he hadn't. The cold harsh light illuminated the gruesome scene before him bringing it into reality. He bent down and began untying mouth gags and blind folds and the click, click, click of someone jogging in heels got closer.

"You can call me Lola if it makes you feel better" said John giving a weak smile to Jones.

Sherlock rounded the corner and took in the site, he couldn't believe his eyes, alive, they were all alive that meant; "He's been forcing them to have sex with well paying customers." Sherlock said aloud without decency or thought.

"Sherlock, not now, just help me untie them so we can get them out of here." John hissed, "And call Lestrade."

Sherlock raised his mobile to do just that but, "I've got no signal John, we're underground."

"Then go back up and-" it was too late John and Sherlock looked at each other in stunned horror as voices drifted down to them from upstairs, they hadn't closed the door behind them. Whoever was up there would know someone who wasn't supposed to be down there, was.

"It's Mike Hunt!" Sherlock said.

John blinked several times, "your what?" he asked, honestly did Sherlock even listen to what he said anymore because John heard-

"Mike Hunt, he's the one behind all this, isn't he?" he turned to the prisoners looking for conformation but they were still dazed from being recused and now having their hopes torn away again.

"I don't think his parents liked him much." John inputted trying to cover a smirk.

"What makes you say that?" Sherlock asked a look of confusion covering his face.

"It's in the name." John explained and he watched as Sherlock, brow furrowed, silently mouth Mike Hunt over and over again.

John rubbed his hand over his face and listened as the people coming down the stairs got closer and closer. They had come so close and now if they were lucky he and Sherlock would become sex slaves as well, if they weren't they would die in this stone cold room and probably condemn the five men they had tried to save to the same fate.

The sound of boots got louder and just as three larger than average men and Michael Hunt rounded the corner Sherlock's penny dropped "Mike Hunt" he laughed out loud, "John when you say it really fast it sounds like My-"

"Sherlock duck!" John yelled as he swung a punch at the man who had been sneaking up behind him. John had set his gun down to untie the prisoners; it was now lying uselessly on the ground.

Sherlock ducked and swung low attacking the man in the sensitive spot behind his knees. The man went down, hard, and knocked himself out when his head hit the floor.

Sherlock put his boxing skills to use on the next thug while John turned to the other. Hunt had turned and fled after the first hired muscle went down so easy. John and Sherlock attacked the men furiously but it was zapping their strength.

Shit, they didn't have time for this song and dance.

Then two shots rang out in the tight space and everyone held their breaths. The two thugs fell to the floor and John turned around to see Anthony Jones holding a smoking gun in his hand, stunned look on his face. He had shot the two lumps of muscle in their knee caps, bringing them down hard. They were on the floor howling in pain clutching their blooded legs.

John went to look back at Sherlock, but the man was already gone, chasing after Hunt.

John took the soiled rags used to gag the queens and stuffed them in the mouths of the wounded men to keep them quiet for a change.

"Don't worry we're going to get you guys out of here, I promise!" John said "I'm going to go upstairs and call Detective Inspector Lestrade of New Scotland Yard. He should be here in no time. They'll find the keys or bring crowbars, anything to get you guys out I promise. The men all simply nodded too parched from lack of water to speak.

"I have to go after my friend, I have to." John said taking a frantic pace across the floor and up the steps. He was glad the platforms were secured to his feet with little buckles.

….

Sherlock pushed his legs for all they were worth. As soon as the bullets went off he was gone. The heels had slipped as he ran through a puddle of blood but he pulled through and bounded up the steeps he could still hear Hunts shoes on the stairs above him in the darkness.

People screamed as the two men burst out onto the stage in the middle of an act, Hunt's look of panic at being found out and Sherlock's murderous rage of being in pursuit of a criminal was enough to scare anyone off. Crossing the stage Sherlock pulled one of the Jell-O filled balloons out of his bra and through it in Hunt's direction trying to hamper the man's escape, it missed. Hunt was almost to the door when Sherlock through his second balloon, but the other man was too quick and Sherlock's projectile hit an incoming patron straight in the face.

…..

When John came up the stairs it was to chaos and panic, and Cherry Jell-O all over the floor. John almost collided into Ashleigh as he slipped through a pile of the stuff.

"Oh my God, Lola, you should have seen it these guys just-"

"Yes, I know" he panted, he hated cutting her off but he needed to know; "which way"

"They went out the door, left I think."

"Great, I need you to do something for me." John gave her Lestrade's personal number. "Call him, tell him to go downstairs there he'll find what he's looking for. Then John was out the door and after his crazy friend.