John felt someone shaking his shoulder gently and opened his eyes to see a very pale Molly Hooper standing there.

He sat up quickly. "How is he?"

"Sorry, John," Molly said quietly, voice shaking, "But they…Mycroft…"

Dimmock came up behind her and put his arms around her. He looked at John. "He's in with the doctors right now. They're doing all they can, John, but…it might not be enough."

John put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. He sighed.

"They're not sure what the man gave him. It was some kind of poison, that's for sure, but they can't figure out what kind. They suspect it might just be a higher dosage of what they gave him last time. But…" Dimmock broke off, hesitating. "They don't know yet if that higher dosage is…fatal."

John took a few calming breaths, then stood up abruptly. "I need to get some air." He headed for the door.

"John."

John stopped.

Dimmock hesitated. "We'll…let you know if anything happens, okay? Why don't you go home…get some sleep."

"Get some sleep?" John laughed hollowly. "The love of my life is missing and the one person who might be able to help me find him is dying."

He pushed the door open, breaking out into the open air.

"Fuck sleep."

John breathed in the cold evening air, looking up at the distant stars shining bitterly in the indigo sky. He began to walk down the pavement, kicking at loose rocks.

Sherlock, where are you?

I love you.

I miss you.

Wish you were here.

Raindrops began to fall, clouds covering the stars overhead. He continued to walk.

How am I going to do this on my own?

John pulled out his phone, checking it for any information. He began to walk a bit faster.

No New Messages

He pushed it angrily back into his pocket and began to jog down a side alley.

Oh, Sherlock.

Dear God, how I miss you right now.

Now John was full-out running, the rain soaking through his thin jumper, blurring with the hot tears falling from his eyes. He skidded to a stop at the end of the alley, slipping on the water-slicked road. He fell, hitting the pavement hard, soaking his trousers in a puddle of rainwater.

Sherlock.

He lay there for what seemed like hours, staring up at the sky, raindrops splashing his face, clearing the tear tracks from his cheeks.

Finally, he seemed to come back to reality, the cold reaching his bones. He stood, shoulder aching, limping slightly from the fall.

He walked out of the alley and hailed a cab, ignoring the strange look he got when they noticed his clothes.

He squished his way into the back seat. "221b Baker Street, please. I'm meeting a…friend there."

The cabbie nodded and began to drive.

John pulled out his phone and searched through his contacts until he found the person he was looking for.

He needed to call Greg.

"Here y'are, mate."

Greg took the beer from the bartender, smiling ruefully. "Thanks."

He took a swig and slammed the bottle down on the counter.

Mycroft was cheating on him.

Mycroft, who he had always thought would be with him forever, was and had been cheating on him for who knows how long.

Why'd he do it?

Was I not smart enough to keep up with his massive intellect?

Or did he just get tired of me?

Greg's blood ran cold at that.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He pulled it out and checked Caller ID.

John Watson

He answered it. "John?"

"Greg. Oh, thank God. Listen, Mycroft's been poisoned. You need to…"

"Don't care." Greg interrupted him.

Silence sounded on the other end. Finally, after a few minutes, John spoke. "Um…sorry. What?"

"I. Don't. Care." Greg repeated, taking another swig from his beer.

"Greg, what the fuck have you been smoking lately? I said Mycroft's been poisoned, you git."

"And I said I don't fucking care."

Greg hung up the phone.

John stared down at his phone, shocked.

What the hell is wrong with him?

"Excuse me, sir…"

John looked up as the cabbie spoke. "What?" he snapped.

"Sorry," the cabbie said apologetically, "But this is 221b. That's where you wanted to go, right?"

"Uh…" John looked down at his phone. "Sorry. Can you take me to that one pub by Scotland Yard?"

"Sir, I need…"

"Please," John said desperately. "I'll pay you extra."

The cabbie thought for a moment, then nodded, exasperated. "Fine. Fine." He revved the cab and began to drive in the direction of the pub.

John leaned back in his seat and sighed.

Greg, you bastard. I really hope you didn't mean what you said.

"Well, well, well…you're looking good, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock coughed, mouth dry.

Sebastian walked slowly into the room. "How did four days without food or water treat you?"

Sherlock looked up at the sniper, pain in his eyes. "Fuck you, you bastard."

Sebastian's foot flew forward and kicked him hard in the ribs. Sherlock wheezed, grabbing his rib cage.

"You're just a useless piece of filth, Sherlock Holmes. A cold, uncaring psychopath. You killed my lover in cold blood."

Sherlock shook his head, ears filled with a shrill ringing. "He hurt…many…people…" Sherlock gasped out. "Had…to be…stopped…"

Sebastian leaned down and put his mouth to Sherlock's ear. "But so did you. Didn't you, Mr. Holmes? How many people have you hurt over the years?"

Sherlock looked up at him, a menacing glare filling his eyes. "I…didn't blow…people up. That's…the weak way…to live."

Sebastian's eyes seemed to turn red. His fist came up and hit Sherlock just below his neck, punching him over and over. He kicked him in the ribs again and again, making Sherlock wheeze and gasp for breath.

Finally, after what seemed to be ages, the beating stopped. Sebastian stepped back, breathing hard, leaving Sherlock wheezing and gasping for breath on the floor. His eye and one side of his face were black and blue, a bruise already forming in the space beneath his collarbone where Sebastian had hit him first. He coughed, spitting up blood onto the cold floor.

Sebastian slowly calmed down and smiled an eerily calm smile. "There." He turned and pulled something towards him. Sherlock, through a groggy haze of pain and blood, saw the object just out of the corner of his unbruised eye.

It was a video camera.

"How about we send a little greeting to your friends back in London?"

Sebastian grabbed Sherlock's curls and forced his head up to face the camera.

"Smile for the world, Sherlock. You're on air."