A.N.- Oh how I love to suffer.

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 14

Spain was gorgeous. As soon as their plane landed, it was like the past few weeks had almost never happened. Madeline was bouncing and happy, and watching her made Sherlock's day. They'd only briefly stopped by Baker Street to grab extra clothes, Sherlock's coat, and Madeline's medicine, then they'd booked it to Heathrow and boarded the first flight that would accept their tickets.

They went to museums, then strolled through the streets to find kiosks at the street markets, Sherlock wasn't a complete fan of being out in the sun; but Madeline made sure to find a library for them to delve into for an afternoon of quiet reading. After a few days of touring, they were both exhausted and decided to spend their days in the hostel they were staying at. Nothing much happened, Madeline read and Sherlock watched people from the balcony and made deductions about their favorite food and athletic preferences.

Madeline loved reconnecting with Sherlock. He hadn't changed, and it wouldn't have seemed right if he had; but he was noticing the small things and being more considerate than he had been. It was a weird change, but appreciated.

"That woman's taste in hats is terrible. Unless her husband bought it for her, in which case it's marginally excusable because he's obviously colorblind." Sherlock muttered, staring down passerby from the window. Madeline chuckled.

"It's good to see you reading people again." She said. "You look… happy." Sherlock moved to reply, but instead checked his phone. She knew from the way his expression rose that he'd found something to do in Valencia that was more his speed.

"Madeline-"

"A murder? Really?" She asked in a voice that was a little strained.

"Oh yes. It's just a common street murder, but I'd like to at least visit the scene." She could hear him trying to downplay it; but Sherlock couldn't stop himself from sounding like a little child on Christmas.

"Alright, but what about the press? Sherlock Holmes showing up at a crime scene on his 'honeymoon' is bound to raise a few eyebrows, and your brother will probably call to nag." Madeline pointed out.

"I'll wear a hat," Sherlock replied, "Like the distasteful one that woman is wearing. Would that make you happy?" Madeline grinned.

"Sure, Sherlock."

. . .

Madeline sat at a table outside a restaurant while Sherlock elbowed his way through the crowd gathered outside the police tape. She leaned back in her chair and let him have his fun while she read one of her books and kept an eye on him like a mother at a playground. After a while her phone buzzed and Madeline pulled it out, expecting to see an angry text from Mycroft or a congratulations from Mary regarding her escape from London.

Moriarty has escaped. Keep Sherlock close. Mycroft's text read. Despite the heat of Spain, her blood ran cold. Madeline's book slid out of her lap as she bolted from the table and shoved her way through the crowd. She strained her eyes to find Sherlock's sunhat; but he seemed to have disappeared.

"Sherlock!" She shrieked, not caring who turned to look. She spun around wildly to try and find him, calling his name all the while.

"You needed me?" Sherlock asked from behind her. Madeline immediately whirled around and knotted her fist in his shirt.

"Do not leave my side." She ordered, showing him her phone and watching his surprise fade into something akin to amusement.

"I thought he would," Sherlock said, "Shame he did it when I wasn't in the country."

"Oh Sherlock stop," Madeline admonished. "Mycroft told me to keep you close, so guess what-"She threaded her arm through his. "If you thought you could get rid of me before, you're sorely mistaken." Sherlock smiled down at her.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mrs. Holmes." After craning his neck for one more look at the murder, he let Madeline lead him away.

"That reminds me," She said, "How long do we have to keep calling each other husband and wife?" Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat like he was thinking.

"I'm not sure. We could publicly stage a divorce after a few months." He said absentmindedly, but Madeline had the feeling he was thinking more about Moriarty than their current predicament.

"Maybe." She said, trying to keep the conversation going. She could almost see the gears in Sherlock's head turning and grinding away, and knew it was best to keep him from making some kind of stupid or brash mistake involving Moriarty.

. . .

When Madeline woke up, the first thing she noticed was how quiet the room was, like she was alone. She also noticed the absent smell of tobacco and cognac that Sherlock took with him wherever he went; but rolled over and went back to sleep. After a while her phone buzzed, waking her up yet again. Madeline rolled over and flung her arm out, hoping to hit Sherlock in the face or chest. Instead, her hand hit the empty pillow. And it was cold.

"Sherlock?" Madeline bolted upright and rolled out of bed, looking around wildly. She raced to the balcony, hoping to find him smoking, but it was empty save for the view.

"Sherlock!" Madeline shouted. She sprinted from the hotel and into the street. She spun around multiple times, trying to futilely identify any signs of which way he'd gone. She heard a car backfire down the street, and on a blind whim took off running towards the sound. Her chest felt like it was constricting and every breath she inhaled burned her throat, but she kept running down the dark street until a car horn caught her attention and she swung around a corner. She stumbled for a second and caught herself; but didn't have the energy to start running again.

Madeline bent over with her hands braced on her knees, panting. She strained her ears, but the sounds of the nightlife drowned out any possibility of hearing a specific car.

"Sherlock!" Madeline called, walking farther into the labyrinth of streets- still in her pajamas and barefoot. She clutched at her elbows and pulled her arms close to her chest as she shivered. She called for the detective for a good twenty minutes as she wandered through the city. Finally, she decided to go back to the hotel in the hopes that he was waiting there for her and had just gone out on an errand.

Retracing her steps took around forty minutes.

When she reached the hotel, Madeline collapsed onto the bed when she found the room empty. Her mind was racing, contradictory to how still she was lying. After a second she snatched her phone and quickly typed in a text to John; but then deleted it. She decided to send a text to Mycroft, instead.

Sherlock's gone. The text said. After another minute Madeline added another text. I'm scared. She knew it wouldn't affect how or when Mycroft would reply to her message, and she couldn't think of an excuse for why she'd sent it to him. Madeline sat up until the sun began to rise, and made a mad grab for her phone when it buzzed. It was just a text from Mrs. Hudson.

Enjoying your honeymoon? ;) Madeline ignored the text and waited for her phone to buzz again. She could feel her shoulders sag when she saw that Mycroft had answered.

Run him off already? Madeline scowled, she didn't have time to deal with the Holmes family sarcasm. She quickly called Mycroft's number and began talking as soon as she heard the call connect.

"Sherlock is gone. He vanished in the middle of the night. I know he didn't have a case- he swore he wouldn't get distracted by any while we're here; but I don't know what happened to him. I walked the streets for hours looking for him." She said in one breath. The other side of the call was silent for a moment before Mycroft responded.

"He's gone?" His voice sounded sleepy and terse, although the subject was definitely waking him up.

"Yes. He's just gone." Madeline repeated. "I think he may have been kidnapped or something." Mycroft's tone grew more serious.

"Did you see him leave? Did he get into a car? Was he forcibly taken?" He pressed. Madeline bunched her free hand in her hair out of frustration.

"I don't know. I was sleeping! I kind of woke up when he got up, but I thought he was going outside to smoke or just to the bathroom. I really woke up when-"Her words trailed off when she tried to remember what had woken her.

"What?" Mycroft pressed. "Do not withhold any information from me; sister-in-law or not I can still incarcerate you if you put Sherlock in jeopardy." Madeline snapped her fingers.

"My phone buzzed! I'd gotten a text!" She pulled her phone away from her ear and put Mycroft on speakerphone, then scrolled through her text messages. Sure enough, she had one missed text from Sherlock.

"'Don't worry. I'm safe for now'." She read without prompting from Mycroft. "What does that mean?"

"How am I supposed to know?" The elder Holmes snapped, sounding exactly like Sherlock. "We need to get you back to London. Can you commandeer a plane of some sort?"

"Wait what? No-"

"Then I will send one to collect you." Mycroft interrupted quickly. Madeline huffed.

"No. Sherlock could still be in Valencia!" She argued. "Why leave when you can send people here to help me find him!" Mycroft's voice grew very low and quiet, and Madeline had to focus to pick up every word he said.

"I highly doubt it. I have my speculations about who may be behind this; but I will not be discussing them with you over an open and unsecure line." He told her. Madeline pressed her lips together.

"It's Mor-"

"Don't." Mycroft snapped. "I will see you in a few hours. Only answer your phone for me." Finished, he hung up; leaving Madeline listening to the dial tone as she tried to calm herself down and organize her thoughts. It didn't work. She quickly bolted up and began rifling through her and Sherlock's suitcases, trying to find some clue as to where he'd gone. Her chest was tight with anxiety, but she seemed to be on autopilot as her mind wandered away from what she was doing.

It had to be Moriarty. It had to be. He hadn't made another appearance since the bombing at Covent Gardens, and he'd absolutely love to have Sherlock to himself to taunt or play mind games with. He would have had plenty of time to travel to Valencia since breaking out, Sherlock had been in Spain for a week and a half. Madeline gritted her teeth and sat back on her heels, both her and Sherlock's suitcase contents completely strewn out in front of her. There was nothing missing that would really indicate that Sherlock had brought something special on the trip; and she realized that if he had been kidnapped, he wouldn't have had time to grab anything from the suitcases.

"Stupid," Madeline muttered to herself before jumping to her feet and racing outside. She closely inspected the windowsills outside the motel room, and then checked the ashtray on the balcony to see if there was any cigarette ash that could have been scattered during a struggle. She found two of Sherlock's cigarette butts in the ashtray; but no other leads. Madeline growled to herself and retreated back inside the room defeatedly. She shoddily repacked the suitcases and waited by herself until her phone buzzed.

There should be a car outside. Go with those men. –MH Madeline glanced out the window and saw that there were two men standing idly beside a car parked on the curb. She took a deep breath to steady her jittery nerves, then hauled her suitcase and Sherlock's down to the street. The men quickly took them from her and ushered her into the car, then drove for a short distance to the airport.

They swiftly and silently loaded her onto the small private jet waiting on the runway, then Madeline lost track of them. She was alone in the plane save for the pilot at the front, and she tried to make the best of the two-hour flight back to London by trying to catch up on the multiple hours of sleep she'd lost by staying up and searching for Sherlock the night before.

When the plane landed in London, Madeline was immediately transferred into a dark car and driven through the streets until she reached a small parking deck. She felt uneasy as the car and its driver dropped her off and assured her that her affects would be dealt with. She hadn't forgotten Moriarty's cruel set up in the carpark that had gotten John shot and three others killed.

Madeline slowly crept into the car park, keeping her flat keys in her hand in case of an ambush. Her nerves were on fire, and every small sound she heard made her entire body vibrate with adrenaline.

"Ah, sister-in-law. Glad you made it home safely." Mycroft said in a flat voice. Madeline spun to face him, brandishing her keys until she realized who it was. She didn't waste time replying to the first comment.

"We need to find him." She said. Mycroft gave her a terse look.

"A bit of an understatement, don't you think?" He asked. Madeline fidgeted with her keys, unable to muster enough malice and energy to stare the elder Holmes down. Mycroft sighed and leaned on his umbrella like it was a cane.

"I already have top operatives working on finding him." He assured her. Madeline regarded him skeptically.

"Okay, great. But what can I do?" She asked. For a second it looked like Mycroft was smirking at her; but she chose not to dwell on it.

"You can stay out of our way. I'm grateful for your notification that Sherlock has gone missing, but this is better left to the professionals." Mycroft told her sternly. Madeline folded her arms, noticing how loudly her keys jangled together.

"And you think I'm actually going to listen to you." She challenged. Mycroft closed his eyes slowly and sighed.

"Of course not, you have a terrible habit of not listening and getting into trouble." He acknowledged her. "I'll find some job for you to contribute with; but to be clear- your… overemotional state will not be tolerated." He said, looking Madeline straight in the eyes to make sure she understood. "The minute your feelings start to cloud your judgement, you will be placed in a safe house under witness protection until Sherlock is found and his abductee is dealt with."

"It was Moriarty." Madeline blurted, prompting her brother-in-law to raise his eyebrows. "It has to be," Madeline continued. "I mean, who else would actually try to kidnap Sherlock-"She frowned at the look Mycroft gave her.

"Almost anyone in this city would love to punch Sherlock in the face." He told her. "And keep in mind that nobody knew that you'd left the wedding early- least of all him. If I were you I'd be more concerned with the fact that you're pulling up old memories and hoping that you can create some rational explanation for my brother disappearing on his honeymoon." The disgust was obvious in Mycroft's voice, and Madeline did her best to glare at him. "Did it ever occur to you that he may have run off?" He added. Madeline's look intensified.

"And why the hell would you say that?" She growled. "He wouldn't just leave!" Mycroft folded his arms and scrutinized her.

"Or perhaps the reason you're so worked up about this is because you think he'll disappear for two years again without warning." He speculated. Madeline crossed her arms tightly. She was tired and stressed, and she really wanted to find Sherlock instead of argue with his brother.

"You know who we need to call?" She said, ignoring Mycroft's remark. "John. I'm calling John, and then he can help us figure out what to do next. Then maybe we can call in Lestrade…"

"Miss C-"Mycroft exhaled slowly at his mistake. "Madeline." He said tediously, "This isn't a club meeting where can call anyone you'd like in for their opinion. If my brother hasn't run off and is in fact an abductee, then the situation needs to be handled delicately. As I said earlier, I will remove you from the equation if your judgement becomes impaired." He swung his umbrella around his wrist. "Go back to Baker Street and keep you interactions with other people to a minimum. I will contact you shortly with a plan." He nodded his head at Madeline and turned, ending the conversation on his terms. Madeline tried to think of another way to make him stay and talk longer. She wanted a definitive solution and a plan, not to be left alone waiting with her anxiety and fear.

"I'm scared." She blurted after Mycroft. "For him." Her brother-in-law didn't turn around, he didn't even stop walking.

"I understand, I saw your text message." He replied stiffly over his shoulder. "We're going to fix it."

. . .

All Madeline could do was pace. By the spick and span state of 221B, she could tell that Sherlock's parents had tidied up the place before they'd left. Almost a dozen times she pulled John up on speed dial, only to remember Mycroft's orders and toss her phone aside. Sherry had been obviously well cared for, the cat waddled into the room and circled Sherlock's chair before hopping into it and kneading the leather seat.

Madeline tried to distract herself by reading, sleeping, cleaning, cooking, watching TV- anything; but her mind kept going back to the tight panic she'd felt in her chest when she'd realized Sherlock wasn't with her, and the thought made her teary. They'd just patched things up and were healing, he wouldn't disappear without reason or warning. Madeline pulled up his text message and read it over and over, trying to see if the detective had left her some sort of clue or hidden message.

Only when her eyes grew too tired to focus and the sun started streaming through the window did she take a break. She could hear Mrs. Hudson waking up and making noise down in 221A; but she stayed quiet to keep her presence a secret. Mycroft had ordered her to only interact with a few people, and Madeline was scared to the point of paranoia as to who she could trust. She ended up leaving Mycroft multiple texts asking what information he had and what she could do to help. He never replied- not that she was expecting him to- and Madeline finally gave herself permission to call John. He picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, Madeline." John said, "How's sunny Spain?"

"Sherlock is gone. We have to find him!" She shouted. It took John a second.

"Wait, what? Aren't you two together in Valencia?" He asked slowly. Madeline shook her head as her hair whipped around her face.

"No, no I already flew back. I woke up and he was gone in the middle of the night and I don't know what to do."

"Did you call him?" John asked, "He could have been out looking at a body or something and next thing he knows, he comes back and you're gone."

"No, he left me a text that said he was safe." Madeline explained, "He said he was safe 'for now' and not to worry. Something made him leave. Something or someone."

"Moriarty." John speculated.

"My thoughts exactly." Madeline agreed. "I texted Mycroft and he said to not do anything. He just flew me back over here."

"Wait, so you're home?" John asked, "I'll be right there."

"I was told not to interact with anyone." Madeline said, "For Sherlock's sake." She could hear John sigh over the line.

"Fine. Meet me at the Cheshire Cheese Pub by St. Paul's today at three PM. We'll talk out of Mycroft's all-seeing eye." He said lowly. "We'll figure out where Sherlock is, don't worry." Madeline made a sound of agreement; but every reaffirmation she got just made her feel weaker and more helpless. Sherlock had disappeared in another country entirely, and she'd had to leave him for a city of eight million strangers because his brother had told him to.

"We'll figure it out." She said to herself. Sherry sleepily looked at the ridiculous human spouting nonsense, then rolled over and stretched to fall back asleep.

. . .

"You're so cute, Sherlock." Moriarty said, "You two even made up and declared your love to each other… again." Sherlock glared at him.

"There were no official declarations of love, don't say it like that." He spat. "I assume you watched the ceremony on the cable at Scotland Yard." Moriarty grinned and walked in circles around the detective. Sherlock kept his head high and his gaze focused straight ahead.

"I did. I loved your tie, by the way. It looked the right amount of skewed and proper, like you were almost fidgeting with it nervously." Jim tapped his fingers together rapidly to mock him, and Sherlock did nothing more than blink. "You're so sweet, Sherlock. I really do appreciate you taking the time out of your day to spend time with me." He cooed.

"I didn't really have a choice, did I?" Sherlock growled. Jim shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly.

"You were more than welcome to decline and suffer the consequences." He said cheerfully. Sherlock glared at him but didn't say a word. Jim frowned at the lack of interaction. "You know, I saw your pretend wife. She's back in London. Did she run and forget about you already?" He added. Sherlock scoffed.

"Please, she's most likely been moved after contacting my brother. He's the only person who could have expedited her back to London so soon." He replied haughtily, "That means that Mycroft is already on the move, so you'd better do whatever you want to do and make it fast before he and his MI6 mates catch on." Moriarty almost looked surprised.

"Sherlock, I'm not planning anything of the sort." He said. "I just wanted to spend some time with you and snap you out of this daze you've fallen into." Sherlock didn't bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh you mean the 'human' feelings that make me 'normal' and all of that that you spout every few years or so, right?" He asked, "It is assuages you, I feel them only every once in a while. So don't flip your lid just yet."

"But you do feel them." Moriarty pointed out, snapping his fingers quickly and repetitively. "Which is a problem." Sherlock remained silent and let the criminal circle him like a hungry wolf. "Do you remember how it was when we first met, Sherlock? Before your doctor and your damsel and Moran the assassin and all those convoluted things. You were an unfeeling being, focused on the game. Truly a saint to model one's life after."

"Your flattery needs work," Sherlock snapped, "And I outgrew such a childish and lonely phase." Jim threw his head back and laughed at the ceiling. His voice bounced off the cell walls, and Sherlock remained unimpressed. "You also need to stop hosting your evil monologues in old prisons, car parks, et cetera. I know you like to hear your own voice reverberated back to you; but there is a limit to how much I'll listen to it." Moriarty clasped his hands together and swung them over his head like he was stretching, then dropped them and groaned.

"Even your wry comebacks are stale now, Sherlock." He said, "I have to say that you hold little to no interest for me anymore." Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"I'll remind you that you're the one who came to collect me." He reminded Jim. "For some reason you're smitten with me, more so than you make fun of John and Madeline for." Moriarty splayed his hand across his heart and feigned offense.

"You're so sweet, offending me like that. Unfortunately it can't do much to help your current predicament." Sherlock pivoted to face him.

"And what predicament is that?" He asked flatly. Jim spread his hands and smiled.

"You're here as a prisoner, Sherlock." He said. "You came when I called, but you're ultimately my prisoner. And I'll tell you a secret, Sherry: "He leaned forward, watching Sherlock's expression intently. "You're on death row."

A.N.- I already have a location picked out for the final showdown. If you're on my Snapchat, then you know what I'm talking about. Hold on to your knickers and stay tuned.