Sherlock had had doubts about whether John should come to the museum from the beginning. The pain in his own head had been bad but easily ignorable. John, however, had swayed almost imperceptibly where he stood, and his colouring had been a bit not good. Still, John insisted and Sherlock had given in.

He regretted that now.

"Look," Dimmock said wearily, regarding him cautiously over his desk. It was piled high with papers. Normally Sherlock would've been nosing through them but tonight he hardly cared. "I know you say your flatmate and this young woman have been kidnapped, but we didn't find any proof of that at the museum, Sherlock. We're a bit busy with this case right now. How do you know they didn't just… go off?" He made a limp gesture with his hand. Sherlock had to fight the urge to break it.

"Because they were kidnapped," he growled, narrowing his eyes into slits. Dimmock swallowed hard. "The Black Lotus gang is trying to warn me off the case by taking John." He had never in his life wanted to see Lestrade as much as he did at that moment. Lestrade would have taken his word for it, would have known that Sherlock wouldn't – couldn't – be wrong about something as important as John. Dimmock, on the other hand, was wasting time.

"Can you prove any of this? Any of it?" Dimmock asked.

"As a matter of fact, I can."

Dimmock considered him for a long moment and glanced down at the paperwork on his desk. He sighed. "Lead on, then."

Sherlock swept out of the room, inwardly incensed at having to lead Dimmock around in circles before getting his access to the books. Every minute that went by was another minute that left John in the hands of the Black Lotus gang, and every time Sherlock closed his eyes, he could see it: that lurid yellow cipher scrawled across the floor of Soo Lin's office, right next to a pile of John's blood. It made his heart pound uncomfortably fast to think about that or the lack of John in the back of his mind, and he had to force himself to concentrate. He would find John in time.

There was no other option.

This was intolerable.

Sherlock sat in his chair, surrounded by a mountain of books that were utterly useless. One wrong move and the whole lot of them would come tumbling down. He sat back, idly contemplating the thought that there would probably be enough force and mass combined to break his neck in the process. Normally that was the kind of thing that would've had John yelling at him for being irresponsible. The fact that there was only a continued silence in favour of John's voice made the fact that John was missing and had been kidnapped that much more prominent.

Growling low under his breath, he scrubbed his hands roughly through his hair. He'd been awake during the past night and day scouring the books for any hint of how the code might be broken, but there was nothing of use. Even though Soo Lin had explained much of the background behind the Black Lotus she had failed to give him any of the clues that would lead him to where John would be. The last thing he had to work with was the knowledge that the Chinese circus that had come to town. If that didn't lead him to any further evidence… well. Sherlock staunchly refused to let his mind go down that path.

The doorbell rang. He didn't move, just listened to the sound of Mrs Hudson going to answer it. A moment later there were hushed voices and then a knock on his door. Sherlock glanced up in time to see it open and Lestrade walk in without being given permission. He was dressed in his standard on-duty clothing, though it was obviously the start of his shift considering that nothing was yet wrinkled or stained.

"Well," he said, "this is a right old mess you've got yourself into, isn't it?"

"I thought you were busy," said Sherlock.

"That was before I found out John had gone missing." There was something in his eyes, in his voice, that made Sherlock sneer.

"I don't need your help."

"I know you don't, but you've got it anyway because I'm not leaving."

"Mycroft - "

"Mycroft didn't send me, you tosser. I came of my own free will after Dimmock told me what happened. Despite what you seem to believe I do still have some of that, you know. Being bonded hasn't changed that much," Lestrade said, taking in the state of the flat slowly. He shook his head and moved forward, steadying a stack of books that was swaying rather precariously. "Dimmock said you seemed rather agitated when he dropped by to give you these."

Sherlock's mouth thinned and he said nothing. He didn't regret snapping at the man, not one bit. If Dimmock had been a little more cooperative, there was a chance that John might still have been here instead of wherever he was. Lestrade watched him and sighed, reaching out to clap a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He left it there, allowing the warmth to seep through and tingle against the cold skin underneath. For once, Sherlock didn't push the contact away.

"I can't feel him," he said at last. "He's either unconscious or drugged." Or dead, but that was one avenue he couldn't bring himself to contemplate.

"I've been there." Lestrade squeezed once before letting go. "That's happened to me. I'm sure you remember when Mycroft was taken that time." He paused before adding, "Try not to think about it. Tell me where you were going tonight. What was your next move?"

"The circus."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "The circus," he repeated, somewhat in disbelief.

"If you're too busy to help…"

"No, I am not too busy," Lestrade said with forced patience. He was not going to let Sherlock run around his own getting into god knew what. Normally it wasn't his division to be playing baby-sitter to consulting detectives, but he - and, alright, Mycroft as well - were both genuinely worried about what Sherlock might do if John remained missing or, worse, if harm came to him. "Let's go."

They hailed a cab that took them directly to the address on the little scrap of paper Sherlock had found. There were quite a few people heading into the building. Sherlock and Lestrade joined the end of the line unobtrusively. After picking up tickets (reserved under the name Hooper just in case) they moved into the main auditorium, which was lit only by candles. Lestrade looked around apprehensively, but Sherlock just stared straight ahead at the centre stage as some very familiar drums began to play.

The show was fascinating and Lestrade found himself being caught up in it all too easily. He didn't notice when Sherlock slipped away, but it would've been impossible to ignore the man tumbling out from between the curtains with an enraged, costumed Chinese Warlord after him. For a moment, everyone seemed to be frozen as people wondered whether this was a part of the act. But then, as the Warlord aimed a vicious blow at Sherlock's shoulder that made Sherlock cry out, someone screamed and it became pandemonium.

"Stop, police!" Lestrade shouted, charging forward through the crowd. He caught the Warlord around the waist, dragging them both to the floor, and pinned the man down as best he could. Sherlock jumped up, his cheek swelling with a bruise, and sat down on the man's legs. As far as moves went, it might not have been graceful, but it was effective.

"Where is he?" Sherlock demanded wildly. "Where have they taken him?"

The man said something indistinct in Chinese that Lestrade didn't understand. Fortunately Sherlock had no such problem. He grabbed Lestrade's shoulder and pulled him down flat just as the arrow from the Chinese escapology act split the air directly where their heads had just been. It struck the opposite wall with such force that the tip of it was left vibrating too fast for the eye to follow. Taking advantage of their momentary shock, the man slipped out from under them and took off, vanishing into the night.

"Damn!" Sherlock leapt to his feet and swayed slightly. Lestrade pushed himself up and caught Sherlock's arm, looking at his eyes.

"Do you need to go to A&E?" he demanded. "How hard were you hit?"

"Not that hard." Sherlock shrugged him off with effort. "I need to go back to the flat. I've missed something."

Lestrade sighed and took his arm again, this time for support. "Alright, let's go before anyone else shows up and tries to paint the floor with you."

Please review!