"Everybody wants happiness nobody wants pain,

but you can't have a rainbow without a little rain."

- Unknown Author


Greg Lestrade was impatiently spinning his mobile around on the table waiting for Sherlock to arrive at the Brentford café he was waiting in. Sherlock had called him half an hour ago telling him what had happened, and Greg had hastily told his cabbie that he had the address wrong, that he had meant the local shopping mall, definitely not the old abandoned warehouse. Definitely not.

As soon as he was out of the car he called Sherlock and told him that they would meet in the coffee shop near the mall, hopefully there they could figure what had happened and what to do. The whole situation had just gone from suspected criminal intent to a hostage situation with one of the trickiest criminals New Scotland Yard has ever faced.

In a whirl of a long black coat Sherlock sat down across from the Detective Inspector and clasped his hands together, "Lestrade, we need to act and we need to act fast."

"No," insisted Greg, "we need to think and we need to think fast." Sherlock looked at him with a flash of anger in his eyes, "Sherlock we can't just act if they've taken John hostage, we need to figure out why they would want John as a hostage considering the fact that only a couple days ago they wanted him dead."

"Well isn't it obvious?" Sherlock said knowingly.

"Obviously not to me, Sherlock," Lestrade told him coldly, then sighed, "but come on, let's hear it."

"Moriarty's trying to get to me; and that's not even something I had to deduce it's just an evident fact. He texted me, he tried to kill my best friend and I'd bet my scarf that Moriarty knew John would stay in the car; Lestrade, open your eyes. This whole thing is a set up and it's all pointing to the fact that Moriarty wants to destroy me, physically, mentally and emotionally."

Suddenly a chair was moved to their table and Mycroft promptly took a seat in it, "Well here's to hoping we can stop him before that happens brother, God knows I won't be the one taking care of you then." Sherlock gave him a fake smile.

Lestrade was slightly lost, "How… did you know we were here?"

"Oh," Mycroft sighed, "I slipped a GPS tracker into your pocket after Sherlock stole your I.D." Reluctantly, Sherlock placed the D.I.'s identification on the table.

"You were being annoying." Sherlock explained.

Lestrade took a moment to process, and then tried to get the conversation started again, "Mycroft, they've got John as a hostage and we don't know where they've taken him."

"Let's not jump to conclusions, Lestrade," Mycroft told him.

Sherlock looked at his brother with great interest, "You know where he is."

"Of course I know where he is; I am the government you know, I think I can handle more than one GPS tracker." Mycroft took out his cell phone and looked at it, "It would appear that he's been taken to the exact place we were all going anyways; the warehouse."

Sherlock stood from the table, "Where do you think you're going?" Said Lestrade.

"Where do you think I'm going Inspector?"

"Well I certainly hope you're not going to the warehouse, dear brother," Mycroft piped in, "not by yourself at least."

Sherlock was appalled at the suggestion of waiting for authorities, "Mycroft I am not going to wait for the Scotland Yard or the rest of your government to help me."

"You don't have to," Greg explained, "Donovan could dispatch a group of our finest officers to be at the warehouse in an hour, maybe less.

This did nothing to comfort Sherlock, "I don't have an hour and neither does-"

Sherlock' pocket vibrated, and once again, he reminded himself that his phone does not vibrate. John must have slipped it into his pocket before he fled the car. He looked at his phone:

"Well Johnny boy was smart to plant his phone on you Sherlock, less chance of us finding his personal contacts, you see, but I just know that you'll be reading this Sherlock. I just thought I'd let you know that if you try anything with the police force or your brother's army, John's dead. Or is he dead already? How could you tell? Oh no, he can't be dead yet, I just heard him yell from across the hall- oops am I getting off topic? You'll have to forgive me Sherlock I was busy trying to frighten you. But seriously, love, if you know what's good for you- don't get help from the forces. Just don't.

XoXo – JM"

Sherlock fell back into his chair and he closed his eyes. He wasn't here in the coffee shop. He wasn't here and John wasn't there; they were both back in their flat at Baker Street and the kettle was on. John was out of danger and he was fine and he was happy and he was sitting in his chair, just sitting there peacefully, smiling at the sun shining through their windows.

But the sun wasn't shining through the windows, because it was still raining, and John wasn't at home because he was somewhere in an abandoned warehouse, and he wasn't out of danger because Sherlock dragged him into this and that was all Sherlock could think about.

Sherlock placed the phone on the table without even looking up, his face in his palms trying to figure out what to do, what he could do.

"What are you going to do Sherlock?" The voice of his brother floated past the barriers he was attempting to put up. Sherlock took a breath in, and then out, and then in, and then he stood up from his chair and looked out the window to see the rain, the rain, the constant rain, the never ending rain that was becoming his life.

He looked over at his brother and the detective; his allies.

"I'm going after him." He said in a matter-of-fact way, "And you're not going to stop me."

Lestrade tried to smile, "I wouldn't try to stop you, but that doesn't mean I can't come with you."

Sherlock began putting on the scarf he got from John; he tied it a little closer to his heart than he normally would, "Actually, as a matter of fact you can't come with me; did we not just read the same message Lestrade?"

"I'm not the police force Sherlock, I'm just a Detective Inspector; I can help you all I want and we'll still be within Moriarty's rules, I just won't get any help from the Scotland Yard."

"That renders you to be of little use then," scoffed Sherlock.

"I'm still not letting you go in there by yourself; one against an army isn't fair; two against an army, I think we could handle it."

Mycroft took this chance to re-enter the conversation, "And this is of course when I become of assistance."

Sherlock threw his brother a strange look, "You'll come with us?"

"Oh heavens, no! I haven't got the time," Mycroft smiled, "but I have brought some guns that you may be able to put to good use, or bad use. Take your pick; it really makes no difference to me."

Greg stood up from the table and began to button up his jacket, "You're really just going to let your younger brother waltz into a warehouse of criminals with a couple guns and a D.I. by his side?"

"I understand that it doesn't seem very courteous of me Inspector, but I am the government after all, and today the government has a meeting with the doctor."

"Are you alright?" Asked Sherlock, feigning concern.

Mycroft laughed at his brother's gesture, "Not a doctor dear brother, the doctor." And as suddenly as he had arrived, Mycroft had left. Anthea approached them with a case holding a couple guns and then swiftly departed after her boss. This was strange behaviour for most people, but Sherlock's brother wasn't most people.

Greg and Sherlock finished doing up their jackets and soon left as well; all that remained of their conversation within that café was a used napkin and a small puddle of rain water where their feet had been.

Sherlock Holmes left no trace that he had been there, except the rain.

Always the rain.