Sherlock was so busy thinking of exactly what he was going to say to Mycroft when he got a hold of him that the normally extremely observant detective didn't even notice when Lestrade came creeping up behind him with a gun in his hand.

"I'm really sorry about this Sherlock." He mumbled to under his breath as he lifted his arm and slammed the butt of the pistol into the back of Sherlock's head. The slim detective slumped to the ground without uttering another sound.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. Where was he? He did a quick survey of the area: he was sitting in a plush tan colored chair that had obviously been very expensive, there was a mahogany desk directly in front of him with an exclusive laptop perching on top, and the walls were richly decorated with a variety of ordainments such as rare pieces of art and many bookshelves; this room obviously belonged to someone with power and money and that person was obviously-

"Mycroft," Sherlock said out loud just as his older brother opened the door behind him with a click and entered.

"Glad you could join me Sherlock." Mycroft said experimentally, he honestly wasn't sure how his younger brother would react to being knocked out and kidnapped, but he didn't think he would take it mildly.

He was right, Sherlock was outraged. Although at the moment he was determined not to show it. It was taking all his willpower not to reach for the pistol, carefully concealed in the folds of his jacket, and shooting him right then and there.

"How long have I been out?" Sherlock asked reasonably as he slowly tried to inch his hand over to where his pistol was hidden. His progress was soon stopped, however, when he noticed that his hands were handcuffed to the arms of the chair.

"You handcuffed me?" He added in surprise.

"Yes, I had reason to believe that if you were not restrained then you would attempt to assassinate me." Mycroft replied casually as he walked around the occupied chair to sit in the empty one behind the desk. "I see now that my assumption was correct."

Sherlock stopped trying to reach for the gun and instead placed his forearms on the arms of the posh chair. He slowly counted to ten before he trusted himself to speak again, if he was going to help John he needed to keep his cool and not let his annoying brother get the best of him.

"You know why I'm here." Sherlock said, not wasting any time. "John needs my help."

"Yes and your idea of 'help' is trying to assassinate me so that they will fulfill their promise to let John go, a promise that you know they will break. It's no use Sherlock, John is as good as dead." Mycroft stated bluntly. There was no point in trying to be discreet with Sherlock, anything that you tried to say lightly he would only deduce for himself anyway, so why waste time beating around the bush.

"How can you say that?" Sherlock said in a dangerously soft voice. "Don't you care about him at all? He has helped you a numerous amount of times and this is how you repay him?!" Sherlock was practically screaming at this point.

"Of course I cared about him Sherlock," Mycroft said soothingly in an attempt to calm down his traumatized brother. Unfortunately this only seemed to provoke him further.

"Don't talk about him in the past tense like he's already dead Mycroft," Sherlock whispered in warning.

"But," continued Mycroft as if he hadn't heard this last statement, "the point still remains that you tried to kill me and, by doing this, helping the terrorists, I had no choice but to arrest you."

"And what choice did I have?" Sherlock asked desperately, he needed Mycroft to understand that there was no way that he could condemn the only person he had ever loved to die when he could have done something to prevent it. Even if they did break their promise to bring John back safely (which Sherlock knew they would) he would go after the people who did it and kill them or die in the process, that way at least he would die knowing that he had done everything in his power to save his one and only love.

"You could have come to me for help." Mycroft said reasonably.

"But if they found out that I had they would kill him right then and there!" Sherlock stated hopelessly. He slumped back in his chair in defeat. Maybe Mycroft was right, maybe John really was lost forever. Sherlock closed his eyes, why did these things always seem to happen to him? He could see no way around this, if asked for help from Mycroft the terrorists would surely find out and kill John, but he couldn't kill Mycroft because his hands were now cuffed to a chair.

Sherlock snapped his eyes open and sat up suddenly, a horrible thought had just occurred to him: what if they already knew he is here and they thought that he was asking Mycroft for help?

"Sherlock," Mycroft asked cautiously, there was a wild aspect to his brother's eyes that he didn't really like the look of at all. "What is it?"

"Mycroft go to your computer right now." Sherlock said in a slight panic. "Look to see if there is any message in your inbox."

Mycroft nodded, understanding what Sherlock was worried about. He swiftly opened the laptop and logged in. As soon as it was unlocked, a live stream came on the screen, but it was not the stream that he had been watching of 221 earlier. This one showed a dark room with a scuffed floor and grungy concrete walls. Mycroft raised his eyebrows in surprise; it would have taken a genius to hack his computer like this.

"What?" Sherlock asked nervously, noticing the change in Mycroft's attitude. "What do you see?"

Mycroft looked at his bound brother and turned the laptop around. "Do you recognize this room?"

Sherlock paled, this was the same room as before. "Yes. This is the same room; it's the one they tortured John in."

"Yes I thought so." Mycroft said, worried. He walked around the other side of the desk to see what was happening on the screen. "I had rather hoped it wasn't though."

As the older came up behind his brother he noticed how Sherlock was nervously tapping his fingers and had started shaking. Good God, Mycroft thought to himself, He really has really fallen head over heels for this little army doctor.

Suddenly a man sauntered casually into the frame. This was not just any man; however, this was the very same man as before, the tan and mean army veteran who had tortured John. Mycroft noted how Sherlock stiffened at the sight of him and had increased the rate of the tapping. There was an intense hatred in his eyes that he had never seen before and he was glad Sherlock wasn't glaring at him like that.

"Good evening boys." The sinister man greeted them.

"Where. Is. John?" Sherlock said through his teeth. "What have you done to him?"

The torturer smiled wickedly. "I haven't done anything to him... Yet."

A bloody and bruised John was then thrown into the shot and he landed limply on the hard ground with a thump.

"John..." Sherlock let out in a soft whimper. Mycroft felt his normally indifferent heart break a little for his younger brother. He had never seen him get so attached to someone and it was honestly heartbreaking to see him so desperate and distressed when they were separated.

"So I see that you decided to go your brother for help Sherlock. I have to confess myself slightly disappointed; I had thought you were much cleverer than that." The man said with a sigh as he took out his gun and loaded it. John moved sluggishly on the ground and he let out a small grunt of pain and he managed, with his hands and feet still bound and a gag and blindfolded on his face, to get into a sort of awkward sitting position. This move didn't go unnoticed by his torturer, however, and the villain glanced at John and smirked. He raised his gun up and pointed it at the army doctor.

"He didn't come to me for help." Mycroft began trying to negotiate, "I kidnapped him and took him here for questioning, and it was not his choice."

The veteran looked away from his soon to be victim and glanced at Mycroft. "Oh I know," he smiled cheerfully, "and that probably just got Doctor Watson here killed."

"No don't please," Sherlock begged. "Please I'll do anything you want just don't kill him. Please."

Mycroft was actually alarmed now, he had never heard the emotionless, cynical, Sherlock beg for anything before.

"Please," Sherlock continued. "Please you can kill me instead just leave him alone."

The torturer widened his evil grin even more when he noticed the single tear running down the detective's face. He cocked the gun.

"No please-" Sherlock started in despair.

"I think you should be able to see the look on his face when he dies don't you?" The ruthless villain asked Sherlock venomously. "I want you to see the light go out of his eyes." He ripped off John's blindfold and the army doctor blinked at the unexpected brightness.

"Please take me instead!" Sherlock was now pulling against the cuffs that prevented him from going closer to his love, there were now tears streaming down his face.

John's eyes locked with his and he could clearly see his pain and fear in those ocean sea blue eyes. Sherlock tried to convey all the love and tenderness that he felt for him. He tried to say everything that he hadn't before with only a gaze and John seemed to understand, because Sherlock could see these same feelings reflected in his eyes.

"Any last words you want to say to him Sherlock?" The killer asked evilly.

"I'm so sorry John." Sherlock whispered to his best friend and only love. "You have always been there for me and you have saved me in more ways than one. And just when you needed me most I wasn't there for you. I hope you can forgive me."

A single year rolled down Johns face as he nodded once, he seemed to be saying there is nothing to be sorry about. He kept his eyes locked on Sherlock as the man raised the weapon again, and fired the gun.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away, not able to watch, as he heard John scream in agony.

A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! Please tell me what you thought (whether it was good or bad, suggestions, or ideas about what will happen next) in a review if you feel so inclined!