Okay, so I need to admit that I struggled just a wee bit with this Chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

"Lestrade!" Sherlock bellowed as they raced through the backstreets of London. "If you don't get the lead out, I will post those embarrassing photos of you from Christmas on my website!"

Lestrade took off with a burst of speed and was soon outstripping Sherlock himself, "Like hell you will!"

"Behave!" Bill called from the front. "You two are like snarky children!"

"Bill!" Sherlock called. "There's construction up ahead! The cab is going to have to head toward the bridge! Take a left here!"

They raced through the night after the only the lead that the hours upon hours of CCTV footage had dredged up. They had wasted two days looking through those tapes and just when they were starting to despair, Sherlock had caught a reflection off of a travel agency window. That had led them to the travel agency then to the woman manning the phones that day then to a particular coffee shop then to another coffee shop and finally to a rundown bar in the seedier parts of London. They had watched in despair as the woman they were currently attempting to track down jumped into a taxi and sped away. Hence, the frantic marathon through the alleys of London.

"There!" Bill shouted, feet pounding the pavement. "At the stop light!"

Bill practically collapsed on top of the cab right as the light turned green. Sherlock threw the door open and flashed Lestrade's badge at the terrified woman.

"Scotland Yard!" Sherlock panted. "We need to ask you a few questions."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called angrily. "Excuse me, ma'am. We have some questions regarding someone that came into the bar this evening. Would you mind taking some time to answer our questions?"

"I guess not." She said, still eying all of them uneasily. "Did you run here?"

"Hardly important." Sherlock answered. "There was a man in the bar earlier today. Henry Turner. Do you remember him?"

"Is he alright?" She asked curiously.

"Why?" Sherlock fired back.

"Well," She said. "He's been in the bar the past three afternoons. He seemed a bit down. I would feel bad for the guy if he wasn't such a complete creep."

"Was anyone with him?"

"No." She answered.

"Did he say anything?" Sherlock continued. "About where he was staying? Maybe had a cab pick him up?"

"Nothing like that." She said, "Sorry."

Sherlock spun away and let out an angry snarl. "This was a complete waste of time."

"Sorry." Lestrade said to the woman. "What did he say? Anything at all would be beneficial."

"Well," She said thinking hard. "No exact location. But he did leave me his cell number. The creep tried to pick me up."

Sherlock practically jumped at the poor woman at this announcement. "Do you still have it?"

She dug around in her purse for what seemed like ages to the consulting detective before pulling out a crumpled napkin. "I shoved it in here when I went on break."

Sherlock snatched it away and pulled out his own cell and began dialing frantically. He waited with baited breath as it rang once...twice…

"Hello."

"Where the hell is he?" Sherlock fumed on the other line.

"Who is this?" Henry asked curiously.

"You know very well who this is, Henry Turner." Sherlock said.

"Mr. Holmes?" Henry said with a light laugh. "How exactly did you get this number?"

"I will find you." Sherlock said coldly. "Do you hear me? You have one chance to let John go or I swear that I will hunt you down and chop you up myself."

"So sorry to disappoint." Henry said, his voice amused by the exchange. "I wasn't lying, Mr. Holmes, when I told you that John and I were parting ways."

"Then where the hell is he?" Sherlock asked.

"I, honestly, couldn't say." Henry answered smugly.

Sherlock growled in frustration and then almost yelped in shock as Bill plucked the phone from his ear.

"You listen to me, Henry Turner." Bill said quietly, evenly. "We're not going to bargain with you or offer immunity in exchange for information. We are going to track you down and cut your fucking head off. And in between those two events we are going to get the information we need. So, the only thing you really need to decide is exactly how much pain you want to experience before we send your tainted soul to the pits of hell. I haven't forgotten about Afghanistan and finding John that morning. I owe you some payback, you wretched pile of shit, and I intend to get paid."

Bill was silent for about thirty seconds before hanging up and turning back to Sherlock, "Please tell me that you got something from all of that."

"I can tell you where he isn't but that's as good as I can get right now." Sherlock answered.

"I'm all ears." Bill answered.

"It's quarter past the hour but we didn't hear any sort of chime." Sherlock began. "That rules out about a two hundred meter radius of any major churches. He was outdoors but not on the street. You could hear car's honking but not the sound of cars passing nearby. This points to a major thoroughfare that has him on a balcony somewhere. It wouldn't be a residential area. Based on the sound distribution I would say that he had to be at least four floors up. He wasn't near the Thames or the financial district. That's all the information I have."

"Right." Bill said rubbing a hand over his face.

"What did he say to you?" Sherlock asked. "He told me that John isn't with him."

"He told me the same thing." Bill answered with a dark look. "He also told me that he sold him off like a piece of property."

"Why would he do that?" Sherlock asked feeling something cold clench in his chest.

"No idea." Bill said. "We better head back."

Lestrade finally returned from getting the woman's information and they took a cab back to Baker Street. Lestrade made tea and Bill and Sherlock began marking a map on possible locations for Henry to be. They were just overlapping the sections in different colored highlighters when Bill's mobile rang.

"Murray." Bill answered. "Really?...No, that actually helps…apparently, the sick fuck sold John…Right…good work, Sawyer…stay in touch."

"What?" Lestrade asked setting the mugs down.

"Apparently," Bill said. "Henry was having some major financial troubles. He had spent all of his money in some hare-brained scheme involving stolen military secrets. He had liquefied all of his assets and was struggling to pay off his debts."

"So, he's using John as collateral?" Lestrade asked.

"Seems likely." Bill said.

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked.

"No." Bill said. "Sawyer and Mycroft are still working on getting information in Spain. Hopefully, something else will turn up."

"Mycroft?" Sherlock huffed angrily. "How is he involved in this?"

"Sorry," Bill answered. "That's above my pay grade."

"Well, luckily, I know someone with a bit more power than you."

He whipped out his phone and pressed one on his speed dial.

"Sherlock, darling." Mummy picked up after the second ring. "How are you?"

"Fine, Mummy." Sherlock said, turning away from the inhabitants of the room staring at him. "I trust that you are well."

"I am now." She answered in a happy tone. "I trust your call isn't just social."

"I'm a multi-tasker as always." Sherlock said.

"That's my boy." She answered. "What do you need?"

"I need any information you have on a Henry Turner and, subsequently, any insight on why Mycroft is currently in Spain."

"Yes, I was expecting your call." Mummy answered, sounding a bit put out. "All the information I have on Henry Turner is with you. Bill Murray is a charming man and a great asset to your search."

"Bill works for you?" Sherlock asked curiously. "I thought that this was a British matter?"

"Now, Sherlock," She began. "Don't be too upset with me, but I must admit to being a bit more involved in this Dr. Watson business than it seems."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," She said. "I was a consultant during the deliberations. I can't say that I was particularly keen on the idea. The probability of the process even succeeding was extremely low, but the logic seemed sound. Unfortunately, Henry Turner had motives beyond doing a service to his country. As soon as the entire operation went belly up, I commandeered several of the soldier's from John's Unit as a task force. We have been trying to track Mr. Turner for months now. He took more than just the life of a soldier when he left Afghanistan. The information he had could have seriously compromised the safety of our men in the war."

"And John?" Sherlock asked.

"He had to be kept far away from the entire operation." She answered competently. "Dr. Watson's connection to Mr. Turner was a liability. We needed to keep him out of the way as well as keep an eye on him at the same time. It only made sense to kill two birds with one stone. I am well aware of the security detail that Mycroft has on you and your flat. It was only natural that he would extend this watch to your flatmate as well. Though keeping Dr. Watsons' service record redacted for as long as I did was quite a bit of work. He really is tenacious, your brother."

"You arranged our meeting." Sherlock said. It wasn't a question. The minute it popped into his mind, he knew it was a fact.

"Mike Stamford really is a charming man." She said in confirmation.

"And Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

"He took the news of Dr. Watson's condition less than well." She said, finally sounding a bit miffed. "I can't say that I agree with his steps, but his motives were good."

"What did he do, Mummy?" Sherlock asked, feeling his temper flaring up.

"It's more of what he didn't do, darling." She said. "Despite his knowledge of both Dr. Watson's condition and a basic knowledge of Mr. Turner's proclivities, he failed to act either to protect the good Doctor or inform the appropriate individuals of the situation."

Sherlock growled into the receiver but was unable to start shouting profanities as his mother continued, "Don't get yourself worked up over it, Sherlock. Trust me when I say that I am handling it and he is very aware of my opinion on the matter. He is in Spain to personally assist Corporal Sawyer with acquiring information to aid in finding the location of both Mr. Turner and, subsequently, Dr. Watson."

"I hope that he is having a rotten time." Sherlock answered grumpily.

"Let's just say that the events are keeping him on the edge of his seat." His Mother said with a hint of amusement in her voice. "I don't think he's been this much out of his depth since we insisted he learned how to play the piano."

Sherlock smirked at the memory. His superior in deduction, Mycroft may be, but he was definitely not a musical prodigy. "Is there anything else I need to know, Mummy?"

"Just be careful, darling." She answered. "Vampires, for the most part, aren't vicious or evil but there are outliers in all species. I worry about Dr. Watson, not only physically but mentally as well. He's had a bit of a rough time of it. I hope you find him soon. You two seem to be quite the pair."

"Thank you, Mummy." Sherlock answered quietly. "For all your help."

"You're so welcome, darling." She said. "Keep in touch."

"Will do." Sherlock answered before hanging up. He turned back toward his two companions and smirked at the matching expressions of disbelief on their faces.

"What?" He asked.

"Margaret Wolkan is your mother?" Bill asked incredulously.

"Yes," Sherlock answered simply. "She kept her last name when she married."

"Right." Bill answered before turning back to the map.

"I'll get some officers to patrol the highlighted areas more thoroughly." Lestrade cut in. "We can't go over every inch of the city ourselves and we don't know how long he'll stay where he is."

"I'll get the homeless network working on it as well." Sherlock answered. "We should have him within twenty-four hours."

"Why don't you sound more excited?" Lestrade asked. "We'll find him and then find John."

"Twenty-four hours is long time, Lestrade." Sherlock answered seriously. "A lot can happen."

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"Sir," the guard said hurriedly. "We can't get a visual. He's destroyed the lightbulb and the security cameras as well."

"Drug him then." Moriarty growled.

"The sedatives aren't working, Sir." He answered. "He's burning through them too quickly. When we tried, he broke Coleson's arm and crushed Henderson's hand."

Moriarty slammed his hands on his desk and stalked down to the cellar where they were keeping his latest purchase. He grabbed a torch from one of the guards and threw open the door. He scanned the dark room with the light and finally caught the thing in the glow. The figure in front of him looked wretched. He was wearing the same clothes he'd been in for almost two weeks now. He was covered in blood and dirt. If Moriarty was less of a psychopath, he might have been affected by the dark gaze of blood red eyes turned his way and sharp teeth sneering at him. "Watson, do you really think you can keep this up for much longer? You'll get hungry, eventually."

A dark giggle drifted to the psychopath and sent an uncharacteristic, instinctual shiver up his spine.

"I will break you." Moriarty continued. "This little temper tantrum will fade and you'll be a blubbering mass of play-doh for me too mold soon enough."

"You keep thinking that, if it gives you comfort." A monotone voice called out.

"You're no match for me, Watson!" Moriarty shouted. "You're not smarter, you don't have the resources, and you're not even human!"

Another giggle slithered toward Moriarty. "Exactly. I'm not human. Not anymore. And I don't have to be smarter, I just have to be more patient. You're already starting to crack, aren't you? What happened to 'Johnny Boy'? Are you getting angry, Jim? A little overwhelmed? Getting violent? The only way to control me, Jim, is to kill me. And if you kill me, you lose. No pet vampire, no little toy to play with. Face it, Jim. You're out of your depth."

With that said, Dr. Watson slid down the wall to sit comfortably staring idly at his fingernails.

"This isn't over." Moriarty growled. "I will win this and I will wipe that little smirk right off your face. Perhaps I should bring in another friend for you to play with. Would you like that, Johnny Boy?"

"Do what you want." Dr. Watson answered. "It makes me no difference."

Moriarty growled and slammed the door again. Turning to his guards, he felt a lovely little idea poke its head up and call out. "Our little vampire has very sensitive hearing, boys. Why don't we give his delicate ears something to listen to? Sensory overload ought to help soften him up."