"John! JOHN! JAAAAAWNNNNNN!" The consulting detective yelled as he bolted through the door with a large, heavy envelope in his hands. He seemed greatly distressed, which worried John. He had only seen his friend this emotional a few times, and none of those situations had turned out well. Sherlock ran right up to John and thrust the packet at him. John took it and turned it over in his hands. All the blood left his face and his hands began trembling when he saw the seal that had held the envelope closed. It was achingly familiar, but it couldn't possibly mean what he thought.

John turned the envelope over and let the contents slide out into his hands. John studied them, and then looked up at Sherlock. Both men wore puzzled expressions, but John was the one to say "What do these mean, Sherlock." For once, the detective didn't know. The envelope contained just three items. The first was a post card. It had a picture of a group of islands that were rather strangely shaped. The first was simply a straight line, the second was oval shaped, and the third was similar to the second, but with a massive cove. The islands looked vaguely like-

"IOU" The consulting detective whispered. John just nodded in agreement. It was the fourth Island of the picture that was truly frightening. It was the largest, and mostly circular. But on the island, two buildings and a mountain range seemed to transform the island into a smiley face, not dissimilar to the one on their own flat's wall. The smiley that Sherlock had painted- and shot- on the wall of their flat.

The islands seemed to be connected to each other by bridges, and you could just barely make out pathways on the island. In bright yellow block letters, the top of the postcard said "welcome to your doom!" in all caps. The contrast between the cheery appearance and the actual letters sent a shiver down John's spine. This was from someone with a very twisted sense of humor.

"Turn it over." Sherlock urged. With shaking hands, John did just that. On the back, loopy handwriting covered half of the post card, while the other half had information about the picture. John elected to read the information first, hoping to save the frightening part for last. The paragraph read:

Welcome to the lovely Reichenbach Isles. This group of islands is a little known archipelago located in the Pacific Ocean. The only known inhabitants of the islands were eaten when a division of the Baskerville facility opened on the main island. The scientists produced a deadly new breed known only as the "water roachinkies". This breed is a cross between a cockroach, tardigrade- informally known as a water bear- and a Twinkie. After the hoard ate all humans on the islands, a private collector purchased the island and started cultivating the stock of water roachinkies. If this heard ever managed to get to mainland, the effects would be truly horrifying.

"Why would anyone be that stupid?" John questioned. Sherlock, once again, shrugged. John then turned his attention to the hand written message. It proved to be just as chilling as John expected.

Water Roachinkies are red,

The ocean is blue.

If you want Mrs. Hudson back,

Fly here, will the two of you.

-JM

"No…"John whispered, mortified. He couldn't be back, and he couldn't have Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock just nodded at him.

"Just because the postcard is signed 'JM', it's not necessarily him. More likely it is someone independent of his main criminal web who was given instructions to fulfill this plan should I defy death and return. She is gone; I already checked." Sherlock whispered. John looked down at the other two items from the envelope. They were plane tickets. Stapled to one was directions on how they were to get to the islands. John lifted his gaze to Sherlock's.

"We have to go." They said at the same time. Immediately the two whirled away from each other, collecting a few necessities from around the flat. The tickets were for later that night, so they hurried to get ready in time. When they both were ready, each had a small bag packed with food, water, some clothes, medical supplies and a few other things they thought might come in handy. As they rushed out of the flat, John caught a small smile on Sherlock's face. When they were comfortably settled in the cab and Sherlock had given the address listed on the directions, John sucked in a breath and confronted his friend.

"Sherlock, this is really quite dangerous. It isn't a homicide, where the bad has already happened. If anything bad happens in this, it's going to happen in the future, most likely to us. You're intelligent enough to deduce this by yourself. How can you be so excited?" While John knew most of Sherlock's stranger habits, they never failed to amaze him.

"Ah, my dear Watson," Sherlock said with a smirk, "My body is merely transport, and while I wouldn't like for anything to happen to you, or Mrs. Hudson, I am confident that we can handle anything a Moriarty-wannabe can throw at us. Besides, the game, at long last, is on!"

Watson didn't share his partner's sentiment, but he suppressed his insecurities. Sherlock would need him more than ever on this case. That is, if they both wanted out alive.