Author's Note: Terribly sorry this chapter took so long.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Lestrade," he panted, "you're worse than a bookcase. I didn't want to hit you, but you were kind of strangling me. Are you okay?"

No response.

"I'll take that as a no." Joshua pulled out his phone, which cast an eerie blue glow over the room, and quickly located Lestrade, who was lying motionless on the floor.

Wow. He's out. I didn't think I hit him that hard. He knelt beside the prostrate man, checking his pulse and breathing. Lestrade mumbled something unintelligible and feebly tried to push Joshua away.

"Lestrade, it's me. Joshua." Keep talking. Calm him down. He's had a rough day. "You're fine now. Everyone's fine. We'll be out of here in no time. No danger at all."

Lestrade muttered again, and Joshua leaned over him. "Didn't catch that."

"You're a . . . bloody bad . . . liar."

"Well, yes, but only about the danger part . . . and the whole everything's fine thing."

Lestrade opened his eyes and tried to sit up. "Oh, is that all?"

"Well . . . maybe not . . ."

"Brilliant. Where's Sherlock?"

". . . and there's where one of those maybe nots comes in . . ."

Lestrade started to speak, but Joshua hushed hm. "Listen."

They could hear vague shouting from above them. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Joshua turned back to Lestrade. "Are you all right now?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"Well . . ."

"Looks like we're hiding then." Joshua flashed the phone around the room. "There's a closet. Might work." He pulled Lestrade to his feet and started towards it.

Lestrade refused to budge. "Where's Sherlock?"

"He's upstairs, hurry!" Footsteps were approaching quickly down the hallway. Lestrade stopped resisting, and Joshua half carried him into the closet, pulling the door shut behind them.

"They'll find him. Is he hiding?" Lestrade's voice betrayed his anxiety.

"They found him an hour ago. He's having a pleasant conversation with the king of crime. Can you climb?"

"Climb what?"

"The building. If you can't we'll have to try to sneak to the ground level. And that would not end well."

"We're leaving without Sherlock."

"Yes."

"No."

"Lestrade-"

"No."

"I'll come back for him, I promise. Right now I need to get you out."

Lestrade was stubborn. "Get him out first."

"That doesn't make sense. They're looking for us. We need to get out now."

"I'm not leaving without Sherlock."

Joshua punched the wall of the closet. "It's impossible!"

"Quiet."

"Sorry." They listened for a moment. No one came.

Joshua sighed. "You're really not going to leave without him . . . fine." He pulled his knife off his belt and handed it to Lestrade.

"What's this for?"

"If somebody tries to kill you while I'm gone."

"I'm going with you."

"No, you aren't." Joshua sat down on the closet floor, his head between his hands.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm thinking."

There's only one chance. He felt in his pocket. The letter was still there. He took a deep breath and stood up. "I'm going now. If neither of us comes for you after half an hour, you'll have to try to get out on your own."

"I'm coming with you."

"You are not coming with me!" Joshua opened the closet door and stepped out. "Stay in the closet."

". . . Okay."

"You're not going to stay in the closet."

"Well . . ."

"Fine. Plan B." Joshua shoved the door closed and looked for a way to lock it. There was a hook and eye latch by the knob. He fastened it.

"Did you just lock the door?" Lestrade's voice was slightly muffled from inside the closet.

"Yes. Do not try to get out. Do not try to follow me. Do not draw attention to yourself in any way."

"Let me out."

"No. If this works, Sherlock will come for you." Joshua walked away, ignoring Lestrade's protests. He opened the door and slipped into the hall. The sudden light blinded him momentarily.

They turned on the lights. That is bad.

Speed is essential. He ran lightly down the hallway, feeling exposed under the lights. I need to find a guard before more than one finds me.

Someone was coming. Joshua ducked into a room, watching as two guards hurried by. They'll probably start searching the rooms soon . . . I really need to hurry.

Maybe I could take on two . . . no, too risky. He left the room and headed down the stairs. Reaching the ground level, he entered a room where a guard had been stationed.

Empty now. . . they're probably all looking for me and Lestrade.

More footsteps approached. Joshua tensed for action. A lone guard walked quickly by.

Perfect . . . Joshua slipped out of the room and followed the man down the hallway. "Hey."

The guard spun around and Joshua's fist crashed squarely against his jaw. The man dropped like a stone.

Ow. Joshua shook his hand, dragged the guard into a room and started rummaging through his pockets. Flashlight, wallet, pen . . . aha! He pulled out a cigarette lighter, testing it to see if it worked. The flame burned steadily.

Phase one completed . . . phase two is go.

Joshua shoved the guard into the room's closet and fastened the latch. It wouldn't hold him long once he regained consciousness, but it would work for now.

Pocketing the lighter, he reentered the hallway and started up the stairs. He saw two more groups of guards in the way to the third floor, but managed to hide without being spotted. Reaching the third floor, he entered the room where Moriarty had kept Lestrade.

Joshua leaned against the wall, listening to the conversation in the next room. Still just Moriarty and Sherlock . . . unless there's a guard who's just being really quiet.

Guess I'll have to take the chance. He took a deep breath and went back into the hallway, pulling out the letter and lighter as he went.

Here goes nothing . . .

He threw open the door to the next room and walked in. "Hey, Sherlock. Hey, Jimmy,"

Moriarty hid his surprise well. Sherlock, who was handcuffed, stared at Joshua as if he'd lost his mind. Which is quite possible.

"I found your letter." Joshua held it up for the crook to see. "Wasn't hard. You could have done it."

"Thoughtful of you to deliver it yourself." Moriarty walked towards him, holding out his hand.

"Not so fast." Joshua stuck the letter behind his back. "You let Sherlock and Lestrade go, and then I'll give you this."

Moriarty sighed. "You're hardly in a position to barter. Give it to me, and maybe I won't have my guards pound you full of bullets."

Joshua whipped out the lighter, holding the flame close to the corner of the letter. "Let them go now. Or else."

The crime lord smiled. "If you burn that letter, I'll kill you and your friends."

"But the letter will still be gone."

Joshua and Moriarty stared at each other for a long moment. Then Moriarty turned and walked over to Sherlock, pulling the keys to the handcuffs out of his pocket. Joshua went limp with relief.

I never actually thought he'd-

His thoughts were interrupted as somebody tackled him from behind, sending him sprawling. The lighter smashed against the floor, exploding in a mini-fireball. Joshua yelped and quickly smothered the flames that were spreading up his shirtsleeve.

The letter! He looked frantically for it, but it was too late. Some of the lighter fluid had splashed onto it, and it was reduced to ashes. The flames were beginning to spread across the carpet.

Joshua pulled away from the man who had tackled him, ripping off his slightly singed shirt to beat out the flames. Sherlock sprang forward to help. About time he did something useful. Wait . . . where's he going?

Joshua turned to see Sherlock bending over the man who had tackled him. His mouth fell open.

Lestrade! What in the world?

He turned back to the flames, beating out the last of them quickly. Pulling his smoking shirt back on, he ran over to Lestrade and Sherlock.

"He's shot." Sherlock's voice was tight. "You idiot. You should've gotten him out."

"He tried." Lestrade sat up, wincing. Blood was soaking through his left trouser leg. "Where'd Moriarty go?"

Joshua looked around, noticing for the first time that the master criminal was no longer in the room.

"He had no reason to stay. The letter's gone." Sherlock was winding his scarf around Lestrade's leg as a makeshift tourniquet.

"He said he'd kill us if I burned it. Revenge seems like a pretty good reason." Joshua looked around worriedly.

"I suspect the revenge is still coming." Sherlock tied the scarf tightly and stood up. "That was a stupid idea."

"You're welcome." Joshua glared at him. "It would've worked if he hadn't tackled me."

"You'd have been dead if he hadn't tackled you."

"What?" Joshua stared at him.

"There was a sniper. Idiot. He pushed you out of the way."

"You did?" Joshua turned his attention to Lestrade.

"Well, yes."

"Don't start being sentimental. We need to get out of here. His leg needs treatment." Sherlock turned to the door. Before he could take a step, a deep rumble shook the building.

"Do I want to know what that was?" Joshua looked around.

Sherlock dashed over to the window and peered out. His face tightened.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked. "What is it?"

"Firebomb." Sherlock turned back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX