A/N: WARNING! This chapter contains scenes of animal cruelty and torture. I try not to be too graphic but some people might find them upsetting. Please skip to the end notes to read a chapter summary if you feel you might need to.

"Sh-Sher... Wha-?"

Sherlock tried to crawl on shaky limbs to John. He fell more than once but refused to give up. He couldn't balance properly, his muscles were atrophied and it looked like his leg was broken. He held it awkwardly. As he advanced he fell to his elbows and started dragging himself.

John's vision was clouded by tears. "God, what...?" What did they do to you? What are you doing here? John wasn't sure what he wanted to ask. Finally John's doctoring instincts kicked in. "Don't move."

Sherlock didn't listen. He was still trying to cross the small room; determined to get to John at any cost.

Swallowing back bile John tried to stand. He found his legs shaky and weak so he gave up and crawled too. He needed to go to Sherlock quickly so the man would stop moving. John knew he was in pain based on the suppressed grunts, groans and cries Sherlock made every time he moved.

Sherlock fell with a moan, his face touched John's hand.

John felt fur. Dear God, John thought, he's still a cat. John wasn't a vet. He didn't know what to do. Sure, he could clean and suture the cuts but he didn't know the first thing on how to properly splint Sherlock's leg or make a cast. He didn't even know how the bones were supposed to set. "C'mere, Sherl. I got you." John winced and blinked back wetness in his eyes as he picked the cat up.

Sherlock cried out and lost his human illusion.

John was left with a shivering ball of dirty, bloody, matted fur that didn't even have the energy to keep his eyes open. "I'm sorry, God, I'm so sorry. You're going to be ok. You'll be ok." John murmured mostly to himself as he took Sherlock upstairs.

After calling for a cab John carefully bundled Sherlock up and set him in a box. Then he prepared a diaper bag for his daughter and got her settled in the car seat. He told the magpies they had to stay and they protested with loud squawks but he wasn't moved.

The entire ride to the vet's office John was preoccupied by putting Liea's hat and socks back on. She was fond of wriggling so they fell off often. When he wasn't doing that he was petting Sherlock behind his ears, reassuring the cat through gentle touches that he was there. John's phone was set to vibrate and he didn't notice the two missed calls or either voicemail.

...-...

"Well, Mr. Watson, it looks like your cat is going to pull through. I have a couple of questions for you about how the injuries occurred though," the vet said.

John thanked God and wanted to hug the man but refrained. He thanked the vet profusely.

The man nodded, unimpressed by John's outburst. "Right, well. If you'll just follow me." He held a door open.

John hesitated; he had Liealia to look after. He didn't want to take his baby anywhere she could be exposed to germs. Well, he mused while taking a look around the reception area, any more germs.

"Relax, we're just going to my office. You can bring your child if you'd like."

John picked up the car seat and followed the man to the back.

"Well, Mr. Watson-" The vet started and John ignored the mistaken title. It wasn't important now. "-Your cat will live but he did have a lot of injuries. He was starved, severely dehydrated, there were several lacerations that required stitches, two broken ribs, of course his broken leg and some burns." The vet looked at his chart. "There were other more minor injuries too."

"Oh, God, poor Sherlock." John wondered how long he'd been tortured.

...-...

"So you're saying you found this cat?"

"Yes."

"And he was already in this shape."

"Yes," John growled. They'd been over this three times already. "His name is Sherlock, he's my cat, and he went missing. I found him, like that..." John had to take a deep breath there, just thinking of Sherlock so broken and hurt was killing him. "...so I bundled him up and brought him straight here."

"Did you file a report when your cat went missing?"

"Yes!" John was done with being not-so-subtly accused of animal abuse. "I filled it with Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade over at Scotland Yard." He could tell the vet wasn't buying it. "Here." John swiped a pen and paper from the vet's desk. "Here's his number. Now, I'd really like to see Sherlock. He needs to know I'm here. He's rather co-dependent and I've missed him terribly." John wasn't a good liar and for once the fact that he couldn't hide his emotions worked in his favour. The vet took the number and led John down a long hallway.

"Don't set your car seat down," the vet warned. "Your cat is just through here."

John was wishing he'd caught the other man's name so he could thank him properly and therefore wasn't paying proper attention when he walked through the door.

There was the sharp sting of a needle in John's bicep. The vet wasn't prepared for John to be used to random drugging and trained in combat. John managed to stop the other man from pushing down the plunger single handedly. John then turned the tables on the vet by ripping the needle out of his arm and stabbing him with it.

The vet went limp and fell to the floor.

John switched the carrier to his left hand for just a moment. It was heavy and unwieldy, his arm needed a rest. He surveyed the area while he was getting feeling back in his right fingers. There was a door to the back room here plus the door he entered though. John suspected everyone else cleared out and if he were to be caught it would be by backtracking. There was a chance there were co-conspirators in the back room but John guessed they would have come when they heard the body hit the floor.

Besides, there was no way in hell John was leaving without Sherlock.

...-...

Sherlock was bandaged from head to toe, knocked out and on fluids. With a wince John set his daughter's car seat down on the cleanest surface he could find and appropriated one of the cat carriers he saw. He gingerly moved his cat into the carrier and held the bags of fluids in his mouth so they'd stay elevated. Then he took the cat carrier in one hand, his daughter in the other and exited through a propped open emergency exit.

John would have been surprised at himself that he noticed cigarette butts as he left, explaining why the door wasn't alarmed, if he'd had attention to spare. There was a van with the office's logo on the side left running with the door open. John jumped inside, buckled his daughter in while cursing the lack of backseats and set Sherlock's carrier on the middle island drink holder. John hung the IV bags from a bar on his headrest and put the van in reverse. "Guess no one was helping him." John muttered, sure he would have been caught by an accomplice with how long it took him to escape.

...-...

John pulled the van into a car park and took out his mobile.

2 MISSED CALLS

2 VOICEMAILS

The screen announced.

John cursed and listened to the first:

"Hey, Johnny. Did what you said. Been sitting here, waiting for you. But guess what? You didn't show! You always do this! You always say something's really important then I'm forgotten about. It's been hours and I'm not... Hold on. Someone's at the door. This better be you, you- Hey! I'm not-! What are you-?" There was a clunk of a phone hitting the floor, glass shattering his sister screaming. There were shouts of other people before the crunching sounds of broken glass under boots and something heavy being dragged past the phone before the time ran out and the message ended.

John knew Harry had a mean right-hook and was proud she put up a fight. But he was mostly terrified.

The second voicemail played automatically while John was frozen by the first.

"John, you need to listen carefully. All my personnel have been compromised. Every electronic means of communication and surveillance have been as well. YOU CANNOT LEAVE BAKER STREET. Your sister is in danger so Anthea and myself are going there personally. Do not trust anyone but us. STAY AT BAKER STREET John. I cannot state- oh!" There was a shuffling sound before the call ended.

Not knowing what else to do John phoned Mycroft back. "Pick up, pick up, pick up!" No matter how much John implored the device to connect him to Mycroft it did nothing but ring out.

"URGH!" John shouted and punched the steering wheel.

The noise startled Liea and she started crying.

John picked her up and tried to comfort her as best he could without the diaper bag he left at the vet's office. "Sorry, I'm sorry." John blinked rapidly. "This is all my fault. But I'll protect you. I'll always protect you." John held his daughter against his chest so she was crying into the crook of his neck. "Shhh... Shh... It's ok. It'll be ok. I'll figure something out. Everything will be ok."

But Liea was either wet or hungry because she didn't stop wailing. John felt hopeless, alone and overwhelmed. He rocked his daughter and opened Sherlock's cage with the other. He wasn't quite sure where he could touch the cat where it wouldn't hurt and he didn't know how to take a cat's pulse but eventually he found a spot on Sherlock's left, less injured side, behind his front leg that had a strong beat.

Reassured that everyone with him was fine and resolved to keep them that way John managed to get his emotions back under control.

"First things first." John said to himself. The problem was that he didn't know what he needed to take care of first. Did he want to go to the Tesco for baby supplies? Go back to Baker Street and wait for backup? He needed to stop Liealia's crying, or did he? There wasn't much he could do to stop it now. John figured he could use the blanket lining the car seat as a diaper in a pinch but a quick check showed John she wasn't wet. There was no way to get her food without travelling and John was sure there was a way to track the van.

"So, we need a new ride." John muttered and looked around. There was an old pickup, probably from the early eighties a few spots down. John didn't want to take the risk of another vehicle without a back seat but all the other cars were newer and probably had chipped keys and alarms.

John knew how to steal cars from a rant that Sherlock went on after one of their cases. "You see, with those old cars all you need to do is make sure the steering wheel isn't locked. If it isn't just take a screwdriver and a hammer..."

John groaned at himself. He'd done much more illegal activities while partnered with Sherlock but he'd never knowingly committed car theft.

"Guess there's a first time for everything," John said flatly and tucked his daughter back in her car seat.

...-...

The hardest part about the whole thing was finding a hammer. John had ended up using a chunk of cement he found between two other cars. He hadn't found a screwdriver either but he hadn't looked as there was a nice pair of surgical scissors in the van John thought would work.

The truck had handles over both doors so John hung the IVs next to his head. He was terrified Liea would get tangled up in the tubes if he let them anywhere near her. Every time he turned they whacked him in the face. And he didn't realize how difficult it would be to drive a manual without power steering. John wasn't big on driving in the first place and he thought that he would be exceedingly happy to never touch a clutch in rush hour traffic again.

John dove across London to the area near where his sister lived and parked illegally on one of the side streets. He figured not having a ride would be better than being caught in a stolen car. Then he opened the door, intending to take the car seat into the store and begging to use a break room microwave to make some formula when he realized his problem.

"Fuck!" He swore and kicked a tire. He couldn't take Sherlock into a Tesco. They'd never allow it.

He needed someone to watch his cat. He needed someone to watch his daughter so he didn't have to take her on ridiculous, dangerous adventures. He needed Mrs. Hudson.

A black car pulled alongside his purloined truck and John jumped back, reaching his hand into his pocket. For once he had both hands free and was wound up enough he was looking forward to beating these bad guys into submission.

"Get in the car, John." Mycroft's voice sounded and the door swung open.

John nearly fell over. "Oh, thank Christ! Where have you been?!" He demanded as he opened the other door to the truck to get the car seat.

"Hurry, we don't have a lot of time."

"Yeah, yeah." John handed the car seat into the shadow of the black car, trusting Mycroft to get her settled. He turned back to the truck to fetch Sherlock. "Just let me-" John felt the stick of a needle for the second time that day and cursed every deity he knew as the drug took him under.

...-...

Pain.

John tried to open his eyes but couldn't. He tried to roll out his sore shoulders but couldn't move. There was a sharp sting on his jaw and his head snapped to the side into his arm with a punch. It made his head ring and he was even more disoriented than before.

"Wake up!" A voice demanded.

John tried, it was probably important to do what the voice wanted but he was so tired. Why was he so tired? Where was he? He felt dizzy, he was swaying... Smoke. It smelled like cigarette smoke. He'd smelled this before...

"AHHH!" He screamed when the tip of the cigarette came into contact with his neck.

"You awake yet?"

John convulsed. This pain brought clarity and John realized he was hanging by his wrists. His arms were numb; there was a blindfold on over his eyes but nothing covering his mouth. John noted that whoever was holding him didn't expect anyone to hear him and must want information. John tried to take inventory of the rest of his body but wasn't given the chance before something solid, a bat perhaps, whammed into his back. The perfect spot to cause pain but not to do any serious injury. His captor was experienced and either didn't want to hurt him or planned to drag this out.

"Joooohnn, time to waaake up!" The voice sang before John caught the whooshing sound of the bat before it hit his injured shoulder.

Deciding that talking would at least delay the next hit John said, "I'm awake." The words came out breathier and weaker than he'd liked.

There was the sound of metal hitting the floor, either an aluminium bat or a pipe then, John noted.

"Did you miss me?"

"Mary?" John didn't want to believe it. He'd held onto Mycroft's assertion that she was minor compared to the new threat and ran with it in his mind. The shooter couldn't be Mary because the shooter missed. The video was a hoax, Mary was dead.

"Well, did you?"

"Mary, you're alive?" John asked instead of answering the question.

"I think you were grieving for Sherlock, not me." She said, tilting her voice so she was mocking him.

John rubbed the side of his face against his numb arm. He couldn't- no, wouldn't -believe it until he saw it with his own eyes. But the blindfold didn't budge.

"And poor Molly. Did you all have a good laugh when she went missing? I know you didn't care."

"That's not true!" John retorted and got a kick for his trouble.

"You all laughed at her all the time. Teased her for loving Sherlock. Like you could have any room to talk. You've been jealous of anyone close to him."

Something wasn't adding up. There was something off about this. John didn't have a relationship whatsoever with Molly. Molly never seemed to like him and only responded to him when it was something about Sherlock.

Pain! She was cutting the bottoms of his feet.

"Don't get distracted, now."

John panted, pulling on his restraints. He refused to let the pain distract him. He was onto something, damnit! He knew he wasn't as smart as Sherlock but surely-

"AAAHHH!" John screamed again but this time because he was suddenly dropped on his injured feet.

"Can't have you passing out," Moriarty said. "Did you miss ME?"

"No." John answered as soon as he caught his breath.

"Was that because I killed your pretty little wife? I know you didn't really love her."

"Shut up!" John screeched as he tried to move his arms so the blood would flow back into them. "You don't know anything."

"Oooo, I hit a nerve. Did you like playing house in the suburbs?" Moriarty asked gleefully. "Never told your wife you were already married though, did you?"

"I wasn't!"

"I have paperwork that proves you're nothing but a liar, John Hamish Watson-Holmes." The voice wavered on the last name.

"Were you in love with him?" John asked. It was the first thing that popped into his head but he heard the other man stepping closer and he knew saying something would delay the pain he was about to receive.

"Were you?" Moriarty retorted.

John ground his teeth together and pressed his lips into a line. He was thankful his plan worked.

"Sherlock was in love with you, you know. He told me."

John reeled. "What?"

"Not in so many words, of course. But, he's loved you ever since that first night when you shot that cabbie for him. Poor thing didn't even realize it until it was too late and you were with Mary. But you made her fall in love with you too, didn't you?"

John screamed again as the bat hit his tingling shoulder. He slumped to the other side and curled up into a ball when he was kicked in the gut.

"You tore Sherlock's heart to shreds when you married Mary. You didn't deserve his love! All you did was hurt him!"

John wasn't sure if it was the bat or a shoe that hit his nose, only that it erupted in blood as it broke.

"Stop it! You'll kill him! You're a do-" Mrs. Hudson's voice was silenced.

"Oops," a high pitched voice giggled, "got a little carried away there."

John's blood ran cold. He knew that laugh. And if it wasn't another illusion he knew he was in deep shit.

End A/N: Did you figure it out yet?

SPECIAL THANK YOU to everyone who commented last chapter. I was really getting discouraged and was happy that some people are enjoying this. The next chapter is already written and will be up soon.

Summary: John finds cat Sherlock in 221C. He takes the animal to the vet, missing two calls. The vet patches cat-Sherlock up and pulls John into his office to talk about the animal's injuries and how they came to be. The vet tries to drug John but John knocks him out instead then takes the office's van. The first call was from his sister, wondering where he was and when he was going to show up. The voicemail she leaves ends in what sounds like a struggle. The second is from Mycroft telling John his sister is in danger, all of his agents and electronics have been compromised and to trust no one but himself and Anthea. And, whatever John does, he isn't to leave 221 for any reason. Since he's already left the flat John drives to a car park and steals a truck when he realizes he left his diaper bag behind and Liea's hungry. When he gets to the Tesco near his sister's house he realizes he can't leave Sherlock alone in the car. He curses until a black car shows up and Mycroft's voice tells him to get in. John hands over his daughter and is drugged. John wakes up blindfolded while Mary and Moriarty question him about his relationship with Sherlock. They do so painfully. There's a third high pitched voice John thinks he recognizes after Mrs. Hudson tells them to stop hurting John but John's not sure it's not just another illusion.

Teaser playlist for chapter 6: ( YouTube ) link can be found on my tumblr TheArtOne