Performing tomorrow, wish me luck!

Mackenzie ran through the streets of London. She had never been the fittest child, and was already running out of breath, but she didn't care. She didn't care that she was getting fatigued, she didn't care about the tons of people staring at her, she didn't even care that she was still crying. She had to run.

She didn't check behind her to see if Moriarty was there, worried that he was. Soon she turned into an alleyway and stopped to get her breath back. She saw she wasn't being followed and took this time to see where she was. She soon saw she was in Brixton. She thought for a moment. Baker Street was about twenty three miles away. She didn't have any money for a cab. She sighed and went back onto the street, hoping she didn't look too disgusting. She had a lot of walking to do.

Jim came out of his room, after seeing a reliable man who had once trained to be a doctor. His arm was in a cast, and would be for at least a week or two. He checked his Omega. It had been at least two hours. Sebby should have softened him up by now. He walked down the slime filled tunnels, disgusted. It was the only base of operations he had at his disposal, but it still stunk. When Sherlock had punched him and he had fallen, he had gone head first into that muck. It had even muffled whatever Sherlock had said to that little brat. All he had heard was 'run.'

He went into room thirteen, where Sebastian was obscuring his view of a bloody, broken and bruised Sherlock. Sebastian was still at him and Sherlock's grunting was uncaring. Moriarty clicked and Sebastian moved immediately to the side of the room. The entire floor was stained with blood; the whole room stunk of it. Sherlock was still lying in the middle of the room incapable of movement. His breathing was fast and deep, and a black eye was forming. Sherlock closed his eyes and mentally examined his wounds. Apart from multiple constitutions, cuts and blood loss, he found at least three of his ribs were broken and was making breathing painfully difficult.

Moriarty came over to him. Sherlock was lying on his back, looking up at him with almost closed eyes. He put his foot on his chest, without applying any pressure, but it was enough to cause Sherlock a lot of pain. He groaned softly.

"Now, Sherlock, I want to make this nice and easy for you. Sebby has done a great job with you and a lot more damage could have some unpleasant effects." He smiled at Sebastian and applied a tiny amount of force to Sherlock's ribs. He moaned, shutting his eyes tight.

"It doesn't have to be this way. Just tell me" He leaned in so his face was inches away from Sherlock's. His expression became venomous. "Where is Mackenzie Jones going?" Sherlock remained neutral. Jim applied a little more pressure and Sherlock's mouth went square as he groaned a little louder. It was so amazingly human, unlike anything Jim had ever heard from Sherlock. He wondered if he should lay off him, considering the state he was in, but immediately pushed all thoughts of sympathy away from him. He pushed harder until Sherlock's groan turned to a yell. Sebastian had as maddened grin stretched over his face. Moriarty then removed his foot and kicked him hard in the stomach.

"WHERE IS SHE? TELL ME HOLMES! Tell me or I may have to make life I bit more difficult for you!"

Sherlock struggled onto his hands and knees, ignoring the searing pain.

"Won't-get-anything….out-of-me. Won't-tell-you….anything." He croaked. Moriarty was fuming. He grabbed Sherlock's curls and hauled him up. He slammed him hard against the wall. Sherlock grunted. He held him there and hissed in his ear

"Do you remember your second day here Sherlock? Seems like years ago, doesn't it! Well, you said something to me that I will never forget. Remember what you said?" He said, calmly.

"I'm-yours…..forever." He replied, his voice shaking slightly.

"Exactly." Jim clicked his fingers and Sebastian produced a knife. He handed it to Moriarty who, after hovering it over Sherlock's shoulder blade, sliced three times. He was making some sort of shape, but Sherlock couldn't make it out. All he could make out was the sharp pain as the knife struck. He grunted, not having the effort to give a proper response or insult.

Moran hauled him up. Sherlock was too week to walk, so he practically dragged him back to the fake 221B, and threw him in. Sherlock lay on his face, not wanting to move. His ribs were excruciatingly painful and his Shoulder was throbbing. After about ten minutes, he built the energy to get onto his knees. He stayed there for a while, getting his breath back He managed to crane his neck round, to see what his captor had carved.

J.M.

It took about an hour and a half, but Mackenzie soon found herself outside a sign indicating she was at Baker Street. She took this opportunity to get some breath back and to rest her bare, aching feet. It was about 9:00PM and she was freezing. But she had to keep going, she was so close. She asked around, wondering which way 221 was, but she was just a street urchin, nobody wanted to talk to her. She was close to tears. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. Speedy's sandwich shop.

She ran to the door and franticly knocked. A man with greying hair and a crème jumper came to the door.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"I-uh-my name is Mackenzie Jones. Are you Dr Watson?"

"Yes, that's me, what can I do for you?"

"I-its Sherlock." She said, and the tears she had been keeping back since her escape suddenly came out in a flood.

John let her in, concerned, and brought her to the living room. She gasped. Jim had gotten every detail exactly right. She looked to the right, where the cell would be, but instead there was kitchen, with a worried looking elderly woman, who she guessed was Mrs Hudson. John let her sit down and comforted her.

"It's ok, I can help you. Do you know where he is?"

"Y-yes. It's a long story I'm afraid."

"I have time."

He asked Mrs Hudson for tea, which she agreed to after gruffly replying she wasn't his housekeeper, but she also seemed concerned about the weeping little girl. She explained what had happened, from her capture to her escape. John was astonished; this girl had certainly been through the wars (no pun intended.). He was also impressed with how Sherlock had treated her, wondering momentarily if they were talking about the same man.

"So he's in Brixton. Of course, that's where we solved our first case together." He put his arm around her. "I have some friends at Scotland Yard; we can get him out of there by tomorrow." She smiled and threw her arms around him. John hesitated, but returned the hug.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Suddenly, John's phone rang. The number was blocked. Her eyes widened.

"It's him." She whispered. John held up a calming hand and answered the phone, and sure enough, a rasping, week voice answered. He sounded worse than ever.

"Shirly has b-been a bad boy, l-letting my little rabbit e-escape." He croaked. Mackenzie was horrified.

"You promised you wouldn't harm him; you said we had three days." Replied John with anger.

"I p-promised I wouldn't kill him. I-I didn't say I wouldn't have my fun. U-unfortunately, Shirly's actions must h-have some sort of consequence. Y-you now have two hours." The phone went dead.

"Two hours. To get from Scotland Yard and then to Brixton will take about an hour and a half at least. And then finding our way through the sewers? What if we're too late?" Said John with dismay. Mackenzie put a hand to his shoulder.

"You won't be. You have me."

Sherlock sat with his head on his knees. After the phone call, Jim had placed a manual timer indicating what little time he had left. It was almost at the halfway point. He just sat and watched it. He was too weak to do much else. What was wrong with him? His whole life he had never been scared by the prospect of death, but it was so close. Too close.

He heard footsteps, and Jim walked in with a pork pie on a platter, one of Sherlock's personal favourites. He seemed to have calmed down.

"As it's your last day, I thought you deserved a treat." He said, passing the plate through the bars. Sherlock didn't resist, he was starving.

"Manners, Sherlock! Though I suppose you could do with fattening up, look at how thin you've gotten!"

Sherlock looked down at himself and saw that his stomach was almost concave. He hadn't really had the time to notice. He soon finished his pie with a satisfied sigh.

"You look like you enjoyed that! Want another?" Sherlock was confused.

"Why should you give me more food?"

"Because Sherlock, there's no use in wasting a good brain like yours by simply starving it." He came up to the bars. "Oh Sherlock, my dear, think of the things we could do, together! Our brilliant minds joined. We could have this country on its knees."

"What are you implying?"

"You could be free. You could be out of this place, Sherlock. You could join us, the outcasts. You could have it all."

"Never, will I ever join your little band of criminals. I'd rather die."

Moriarty's expression suddenly turned sour, and then to fury, and he kicked Sherlock through the bars of the cell, into his ribs, so he yelled and doubled over.

"FINE THEN! Die for your bloody city, see if I care." He went over to the timer and looked at the dial, now half way past, and pushed it forward. Sherlock now had half an hour. He turned to leave.

"Wait." Said Sherlock. Moriarty turned.

"What do you want now?"

"How did you know my name?"

"What?"

"Morocco, 1987, how did you know my name? You might as well answer; I have half an hour left. I think I deserve to know."

He smiled and walked up to the bars.

"As I said, Sherlock, Im a big fan. I always knew you."

"How?"

"Wow, you're slow these days! As you know well, your parents sent you to Avenue House School, a private school for 3-11 years, am I correct? Remember your form group? There was you, obviously, Ella, Stacy and Julie, always chatting! There was he arsenal fan club, Matt, Dennis and those other idiots, Some of those other girls, talking about make-up, that group of perverts who always talked about all the girls, but right at the back, There was one child who nobody liked. Maybe because his mother was a slut, because his father had fucked with half of their mothers. Do you know who that was Sherlock?

"One day, in form, Ella and her friends decided to play a game. They took people around daring them too do things. Matt had to kiss one of the make up girls, Hannah I believe she was called. I think those two are an item now! But they decided it would be funny to ask you to punch this boy. You refused, but they kept taunting you, calling you a girl. You had no friends to stick up for you did you. So what did you do?" Sherlock looked down. Jim grabbed him.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"I punched him."

"And what happened next?"

Sherlock murmured something.

"What?"

"We started a fight ok? And he, you, stabbed me."

"You deserved it."

"You're insane."

"Funny that's what the headmaster said. Daddy beat the shit out of me that day. And then Mummy. A bit too much, Mummy had to go to the hospital, she died there." He looked at Sherlock venomously.

"SHE DIED BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"You stabbed me! I nearly died!"

"But you didn't! You deserved to die!" He finished and threw him back before leaving.

Sherlock lay back. He had tried his hardest to forget that day. When Jim had stabbed him, he had only narrowly missed his heart. Stacy had called an ambulance whilst the other two sobbed how sorry they were. It was a near thing; he still had the scar on his chest as a horrid reminder. Sherlock had been allowed to stay, but nobody looked at him the same way again. He was only seven when it happened. Then of course, Jim's father and he had changed the family name, changed his appearance (he had had ginger hair and green eyes, his hair was now black and his eyes brown.) They had moved to Morocco, to start again, and Daddy had taught little Jimmy the ropes. And then three years later, who should turn up? The boy that supposedly ruined young Jim's life.

Sherlock curled up in the corner again, watching his time tick away and praying to god that some miracle could occur. It was his only hope.

SORRY! It's been ages! I did the four nights which went very well and it was very fun (When is killing and torturing people on stage not fun?) I should be back to getting them daily, but here is a specially long chapter to say sorry J