I'm sorry about the cliffhanger. I hope you're not too mad at me. Sadly the pain continues.

Their taxi followed the police car shrieking with its sirens in a dangerous speed. London passed in a colourful blur outside the windows but none of them noticed the town that they always paid such a respect to. Sherlock had thrown a huge amount of tip at the driver and ordered him sharply to step the peddle as hard a he could with his boot-clothed feet stained by something that spread a foul odour in the small space they shared.

Sock, shoes and coat had been thrown on in a hurry and it wasn't until now that the detective realised the different shades of blue sticking out of his shiny shoes, the laces clumsily tied into something that wasn't able to be called a knot and the clothes on his body didn't fit him properly. There was no time to straighten them now, what importance did his clothing have at this moment?

The doctor squeezed his hands monotonically, ripped nail after nail off his fingers and stared into the bliss of nothingness as they travelled. Time passed without his observation around him and his head was filled with unwelcome fantasies of what their little boy could be going through at this moment and hoped that what ever the kidnappers intentions were it would be the harm of Hamish. If he would find as much as a bruise on his little boy, the cause of them would meet a destiny more cruel than he or she could ever imagine. Their flesh would be their source of winter warmth in their fireplace if Hamish had come to harm.

The car came to a sudden stop, the never noticed when they drove up the long trail passed the parking lot and the park, but here they suddenly were. John was the fist one to step outside and he took a cold look over the school ground and the old castle-like building.

"John!?" a familiar voice called and John saw the grey hair shine in the bright light as the DI hurried across the snow with the beige coat swaying by his shins, he almost slipped with his expensive shoes on a slippery patch but managed to make his way without tripping. He untied his big scarf and pushed it down his pocket. "Have you phoned Mycroft?"

"Not yet." he quaked and blinked confusedly. "But I guess he would call us if he'd seen anything by now." Then they both saw the dark shadow of Sherlock hurrying across the big yard, cross the football field with painted lines hidden under the snow and over to the entrance of the backside of the school. The big doors looked intimidating to the doctor and would always do. This was his old school, none of the years spent here were a pleasure looking back on. Those doors had always been a sign of captivity as he entered and a sign of freedom as he exited.

He called after his husband and jumped over the pile caused by the snow shovelling and took of after him, avoiding the icy patched and cared to take his steps where the gravel covered most of the snow. Sherlock swung the heavy door open with one pull and stepped inside with so much determination in his steps that not even an earthquake could put him off balance at this moment. This was a Sherlock John would always have a certain fear against. This side would always be intimidating and unpredictable, dangerous in hostile situations and the solider needed to keep a sharp eye on him before hell would brake loose around the man.

The school smelled of dust and that oily scent of crayons, walls was covered with colourful art made by students of every age in the lobby and those walls was and would never be decorated by their boy. His interest for arts would never be something worth exploring in.
The fat principal stood ready for their arrival by the desk, wearing the cheap ensemble as always stained with coffee and crumbs of different biscuits. Sherlock wrinkled his nose when he saw him and stretched his neck and back to make himself as tall as possible. No one could stand up to the detective as he made himself this big, something he'd come to notice during the times he interrogated suspects and sure enough the principal shrunk in his position and looked smaller even though his precent in body fat made him heavier and bigger than most of the personal at this school.

"Tell me exactly what happened." Sherlock demanded sharply and John joined his side, more of a support to him than a help to the case. There was no anatomy to be observed so far and his deduction-skills would never be as good as the consulting detective's.

"You're the parent?" the principal asked and tilted his head as he stared upon the two men.

Homophobic,

serious heart conditions, the detective would be able to kills him with just his words if it came to that,

married twenty to twenty-five years,

three kids.

Sherlock shoved his jaw out and sucked his bottom lip, knew himself well enough that a single judging word from that man would be the end of his modesty.

"Yes." John said with a tense face as he eyed the man. "Tell us how this happened."

The principal fidgeted and buttoned his straining jacked over his big belly and smothered the grey hair barely hanging on to the sides of his big head and his pumpkin-shaped face shined by nervous sweating.

"Maybe we should wait for the police before any statements are made here." he growled and the corner of his mouth twitched as he found his own sentence satisfactory, like the man had just saved himself from any mishaps in this conversation.

"Fine." Sherlock fumed and took a step aside to lest Lestrade come forward. "Lestrade, be so kind."

The DI, who'd heard every word, proudly showed his badge and the principal went pale. Obviously he never thought that a disappearance of a child would make the authorities work this quickly.

"DI Lestrade." Greg said and didn't make any effort to take the mans hand. "Now, tell us exactly what happened."

The principal presented himself as Leonard Olander and Sherlock growled silently at the name, he would never let that name slip his mind when he needed someone to harass on a boring day and he folded his collar up to his ears as he listened to the simple explanation of the event. Not much information was to wrap his mind around there.

"You're telling me you have no records of this man taking care of your students?" Lestrade fumed and scribbled it down in his notebook when Sherlock made a disgusting discovery coming through the door.

"Detective!?" the woman called from the doors and her curls waved in the wind, both the detective and the doctor would always have a hard time facing her after all the name-callings she'd done though the years. Lestrade turned on his heal and unbuttoned his coat in the act. "We found deep tracks by the parking lot, seems like someone came and left in a hurry."

"Don't you as much as look at them!" Sherlock shouted and ran out through the door, leaving John alone in the presence of the DI and the principal without as much as a glance in his direction and the doctor felt like someone grabbed a hold of his insides and twisted painfully. He didn't want to be alone right now.

"John?" Lestrade called and he came back to the reality again. "You alright mate?" Of course he wasn't, he felt awful.

"This Sebastian." he stammered and saw in the corner of his eye how the DI furrowed when he heard his unsteady voice. "D'you got anything of him? Picture, home address, number? Anything that could help us?" Leonard frowned and shot him a sharp look.

"Isn't that the polices business?" he scoffed and the solider clenched his fists as the anger bubbled in his vanes and he hunched his shoulder to make himself as compact as possible, restraining himself not to hit the man.

"Answer his questions." Greg ordered and crossed his arms, obviously disliking this Leonard as much as him and just knowing that made John feel a little calmer as he took a deep breath. The principal flickered between them and wiped the sweat of his forehead.

"We've got all our employes on file, except him. We've only got a phone number but there's no answered. And we don't know much about him. Mrs Tomega left for family business over christmas and we hired this man after good recommendations. But can hardly believe any of our employes would ever be capable of commit kidnapping." John groaned irritably and rolled his eyes.

"Just give us the number!" he growled and held back the nicknames that tasted so good on his tongue and would taste even better if they'd got out. "My boy is out there and one of your subs is the blame. Stop wasting precious time and give us what we're here for, show us the rooms he've been in, where he put his stuff in the morning, what desk he sat at, everything that this man has as much as touched since he started here and don't ask why, just do."

Leonard's pumpkin face went more scarlet in anger and those eyes seemed to pop out at any second as he shot the DI, the only man with a badge, a sharp look.

"Or are you one of those employes who aren't capable to commit such tasks?" Lestrade asked him with a thin smile as he wobbled back and forth on his feet and John turned to him. He'd seen his friend angry before but this was clearly different. Sherlock and John wasn't the only ones that cared deeply about the boy, Greg was one of the closest to their son, more an uncle than a friend. Of course the man was angered by the principals incompetence, but than anger went deeper than that and there was more emotions boiling inside him. Lestrade was worried and that's when John noticed the tears threatening to fall in his steel grey eyes.

Greg was scared for Hamish's sake and John felt his heart take a leap in gratitude for the man. All that time he and their boy had spent together during babysitting and even sleepovers had connected them more than John had ever realised, and he was now very proud to call Greg his friend. And Hamish was the closest thing Greg had to a son, their relationship was more than just solid.

"THE NUMBER!" Greg shouted and Leonard jumped by the sudden aggression and the smugness he'd been showing of so proudly was quickly taken away as he wobbled into the office with a door decorated with hand prints in paper. As soon as he was out of sight John felt a sudden panic invade his vessel and he staggered over to the wall with a weak whimper to keep himself from falling.

"John?" the DI quaked and grasped his arm to keep him from falling. John bundled up his face in pain and he took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself.

"Jesus.." he groaned. "Jesus.." There where no words he could speak to sooth himself or reassure his friend that he was okay. All he was able to do was thinking about his boy, all his thought were directed to him and he would never be able to concentrate in this state. What was the reason of all this? What was the purpose for his abduction?

"Okay, John. Sit down. C'mon."

All the paintings and drawings put him in a colourful blur and he roamed the reception after anything he could rest his legs on, somewhere he could sit down and pause this madness for a minute. Greg helped him to one of the wooden chairs by the table stacked with flyers with information about the school and John took a quick decision that they would never put their foot in this place after this was over. Hamish would not go back to this school

"Okay, take a breather." Greg begged him and the doctor covered his face in his hands and followed his orders. Every breath was like a grenade exploding with shrapnel in his lung. It hurt and his heart took up so much space between them two that he couldn't expand them to their full capacity. The oxygen didn't want to enter him properly.

"Ooooh hell." he groaned and fought the tears threatening to fall. Somewhere out there, their little boy was either alive or... he couldn't even think about the second possibility. "Jesus, Greg. Just let me wake up." He fell back to the back of the chair and tugged his hair by the roots, moaned loudly as his insides twisted again.

"I would if I could mate." Greg sighed and filled a paper cup to the brim with water from the cooler. "But I'm afraid that this is the maximum level of a waken state." The cup was cold in his hand and he stared at the clear liquid, saw the rings form at its surface and his hand trembled. "We're gonna find him, John. Sherlock is not going to let those whoever did this walk away and neither will we." John tilted his head and closed his eyes hard.

"His just seven, Greg." he quaked and the back if his head slammed the wall behind him.

"Yeah, and you tell me how many other seven-year-olds could handle this situation as well as your boy?" Greg asked and John felt some of the panic ease with those words, only a small dosage of course, but enough to make the twisting of his insides calm. "He is in a hell of a situation right now, but we both know that he's doing his best to handle it. Hamish is a brave boy. A smart boy."

"I know he's brave." John mumbled and swallowed with a dry throat, he'd forgotten about the water in his hand. "But he shouldn't have to. He shouldn't.." he choked back a sob and gave a ridiculous whimper. "No one, how brave they even might be, should ever experience a thing like this." A trembling breath fell over his lips when the door flew open and Sherlock stepped inside with a face carved in stone, why hadn't he toppled yet?

Those eyes that usually mirrored the miracles of aurora borealis had lost all their colour and John nearly cried out as he saw the pain trapped in the pale shade of grey. This wasn't his Sherlock anymore and he started to get a taste of the man that would be left behind if Hamish didn't come back. John bit down on his bottom lip and locked his jaw. If they lost Hamish, John would also lose Sherlock.

It was cold and his head rolled back and forth on something hard as he tried to wake his painful vessel, but he quickly regretted it as his bruises started to burn at his arms and legs. He took a deep breath and smelt the foul air around him. Brick dust, mould, ink and before he even opened his eyes he knew he was in some factory.

Why?

Oh...

He opened his tired eyes and met the concrete roof and saw the water drip from the old copper pipes webbing above him. His vision turned into a white blur as he turned his head to the side and he saw the thin mattress on the hard floor with a blanket neatly folded by the end of it. So this was where he was going to spend his nights from now on. He turned his head to the other side and saw the big metal door with flaky green pain, that would not be easy to break out of he thought and let his head fell back.

The drugs was still in his system, pulling him down to the floor and scrambling his brain like an egg and he blinked almost painfully. There was dust and grit in his eyes, or maybe they were just dry.

He was so thirsty.

The bag! Where was his bag!?

He tried to heave himself up but was only tossed back to the floor by his own weight again and he groaned painfully as his sudden movements pained his bruises. He needed that bag. He promised he would be careful with the skull. He needed that skull.

Sebastian... Seb the sub... Oh..

He winced by the memory and felt his heart twist and turn in his chest.

People will always be weird, little Hay. Unpredictable and false, sometimes even evil.

He didn't stop the tears that started to fall. Why should he? At least one of his painful problems was solved that way he thought as the dust and grit washed away from his eyes. The sobs was uncontrollable but he tried to muffle them as much as he could, he never knew who might be listening and he would not show himself weak on the first day. If this still was his first day of course.

Day one.

He stared into nothingness as he cried, tried to find the happy memories in his head but it only made his sobbing worse. The thought of his fathers, of Greg and mrs Hudson made the pain in his chest worse like someone stomped his heart and he laid completely flat on the floor. Shiver after shiver travelled down his spine and for each one he had to hold his breath tightly not to scream.

Cowards, he thought. Damn cowards.

The feeling started to come back to his legs and he crawled over to the mattress by the wall and curled up, made himself as small as possible and hugged his legs to his chest. All he wanted was to go home. Kidnapping wasn't interesting from this point of view.

He stared into the red brick wall, head to tired to make deduction where he could be. Was he still in England? What were their plan to do with him? He wiped his tears with the sleeve of his jacket and sniffled. Would this be the end of his short life? What would his dad do?

The question kept bombarding his already throbbing head and it was soon more tears caused by pain than hurt. What had they given him? As he rolled up his sleeve he saw the big bruises shaped like Sebastian's big hands and just seeing those familiar prints hurt more than the actual bruise itself. He had trusted that man. Let him in on his life and for the first time he thought he'd found a friend worth keeping.

How ignorant he was. Why would ever a twenty-year-old put and interest in him? Stupid, stupid..

Nails were broken on his fingers, dirty and sharp. Threads and fabric from Sebastian's jacket was still stuck to them and he clenched his hands into hard fists and bundled up his face in pain again.

He punched the wall.

Skin broke over his knuckles and he was almost thankful when the this sort of pain nearly drowned the sensation caused by the hurt he'd been caused emotionally. Curse this. Curse them all.

He wasn't worthy to call himself the son of the consulting detective and the doctor when he couldn't even keep himself from being kidnapped after all they'd taught him. Shameful, embarrassing was the words for him. He was a disgrace to be one of the Holmes.

His head sunk into the mattress and the tears stained the already filthy fabric. Brain was still playing tricks on him and the exhaustion caused by the drug in his system made it impossible to keep himself awake. All he could think of was sleep, how scared he even was he would never be able to argue with the needs of rest and he relaxed, felt his shoulder his the floor through the thin mattress. This would be uncomfortable, he thought, and drifted away a second time. Leaving this horrible place he ran off to his mind palace for a moment, let the dreams drown him in the bliss of oblivion without knowing what was going on around him and all the worry left him for the moment.

He slept. At least for now.

Thank you so much for all the reviews! They mean so much to me and I would be so happy if you kept them coming!

And hang in there, next chapter will soon be up, and I am thinking about naming the chapter, just to make it easier to find amongst them if there's something you want to go back to. We'll see. It might happen.