Hello! Quick responses:

rcybar15: soon enough Thank you as always :)

Sassiebone: nothing is wrong with that, I feel the same way.

Lady Schmetterling: writing villains are hard for me so I'm glad that he's

coming across as so bad.

Shadowplay27: Glad to hear you think it's so intense. You are one of my

favorite writers so getting a complement from you make

me smile.

alexviking: Hope you got my PM.

Mary2397: I'm happy to hear your sticking with my writing. Many, many,

many thank you my friend.

Alrighty, on with the actual story now. Hope you enjoy it and thanks as always for the support.

I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks

Chapter 21: Get Sherlock

It's been nearly two hours since my husband's been missing. Mycroft joined John and I in the bedroom shortly after I had found the note. I didn't speak; how could I? Here I stand , holding a note that's 'inviting' me to come and find my husband, who could very well be in a life threating danger. My world is passing by in a blur right now; I vaguely register Violet and Mary coming into the room. Hamish is of course with them, but John-surprisingly coherent despite his injuries, told Mary to take him and Violet down to the sitting room and said that Mycroft would be down in a few to explain. Violet, upon seeing his injuries, wanted to call for an ambulance, but Mycroft stepping in and escorted them out of the room.

That's when I broke down. I fell to my knees and just started weeping uncontrollably. John quickly came to my side and wrapped his arms around me, very much like he did that day when he told me Sherlock had 'died'. I feel like I did that day, completely lost and confused. My darling Sherlock, what has happened to you? I leave for just a few hours and already I've lost you. I should have known that Victor Trevor was behind this the moment I laid eyes on him. Why had I been so blind? I can't help but feel partly responsible, even though I know I'm not. But Sherlock...my poor, darling, Sherlock.

Once I had composed myself a bit, John sat with me on the bed and recalled what had happened to them. His memories are a bit clouded; they were drugged, just as I suspected. There had been some sort of clatter at the front door so Mycroft went to see what the matters was while John watched over Sherlock, who wasn't feeling well and had drifted off to sleep. It was then a masked figure jumped him, pierced a syringe into his arm then left him in the hall to pass out. John filled in the blanks of what occurred after that, but I sort of tuned out. I could see for myself that there had been a struggle which ended with my husband being taken away by this masked man.

Taken.

Sherlock Holmes, the love of my life, the father of my child, the only person who has ever stolen my heart completely, has been taken from me.

My emotions are in complete disarray as I try to wrap my head around all of this. If Sherlock was ill, then he certainly wouldn't have had the strength to fight Victor off. Plus, if what John said is true that he was drugged, then Sherlock could be even more sick now. He's most likely sick and alone but trying his damnedest to find a way out. My mind is racing with the dark thought of Victor drugging and beating my husband. The blood, my husband's pale face, his rasping attempt at breathing...

No, I can't think like that! I need to focus and solve this, that's what Sherlock would want me to do. My Sherlock won't go down without a fight and nor will I. If Victor Trevor wants me to meet him then I will; I'm not afraid of him. I just don't want him to hurt us anymore. I want Sherlock back and that's enough motivation to make me a match for any force on Earth. I'll meet this man's demands; I won't back down.

"You're not actually going, are you?" Mary asks from her spot next to John on the edge of the bed. She joined John and I in the bedroom right after Mycroft had told her and Violet what has happened. Violet's in her bedroom with Hamish and Mycroft, now, in just as much panic as I'm in. Sherlock may be the love of my life, but this is her son whom she's only just reunited with after twenty four years; I can only imagine the hurt she is feeling right now.

"Mary, I have to," I reply, "What choice do I have? Sherlock needs me."

"Fee, let's plan this out," John calmly says, adjusting the ice pack that Mary's brought up for him on his forehead, "You can't just walk in there, unprepared. I know the note says for you to go alone, but I really feel we should call the police on this one."
"And what good will that do?" I scoff, "Who are you going to call? Greg? He's all the way in London and sure as hell won't reach here until morning."
"Okay, so we think of something else," he says, "I can go with you and..."

"There is no time for a plan, John," I say, zipping up my jacket, "Sherlock's already been gone for two hours and who knows what Victor's done to him."

"Or what he'll do to you," he points out, "Look, I'm not denying the fact that you have to go; trust me, I want to get Sherlock back safe and sound too, but this isn't how we should go about it."

"Then what do you suggest, John?" I snap, finally facing him and flailing my arms about as I talk, "That we attempt to sneak up on Victor? No, he's obviously much more clever than we gave him credit for and will suspect it. He told me to come alone so that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to this address and getting my husband back, end of story."

"Fee, just...just take a breath."
"No, John, I won't just take a fucking breath! I need to get to him! Sherlock's sick, he could be dying for all I know, and I won't waste anymore time. There's no knowing what Victor's done to him or plans on doing to him and I can't take any risks! I'm going to this address, finding Sherlock and getting the hell out of this place! I can't loose him and you can bet that I won't let that son of a bitch take him away from me. Now, you can either sit here and contemplate calling the police or let me do this! Your choice, John!"

There is an uncomfortable silence in the room. John knows I'm right but wants to deny it, I can tell by his steady gaze. My yelling didn't phase him, but I can see that he's going to let me go. I didn't meant to snap, honestly, but there's no time for niceties. I have to get Sherlock; that's the only thing that matters right now. Grabbing my husband's scarf from the wardrobe, I wrap it around my neck and head out the door, the note tightly clasped in my shaking hand. I half expect John to follow me out the door, but he doesn't. Perhaps, he's figured that I have to do this alone. He'll call the police, I know he will, but until they arrive I have to do my part.

I have to save Sherlock.

"Fee, wait," I hear Mary say when I'm about halfway down the stairs. She takes hold of my forearm with a surprisingly firm grasp and turns me to face her. Her normally cheerful gaze is now serious and dare I say it cold. I'm about to pull away, but she quickly puts up a stern hand to silence me: "If your going to meet with this man, then you can't let your emotions control your actions" she says in a firm voice, "He'll expect you to fight back, and he won't be an easy opponent."
"I know that," I reply just as firmly, "but I'm not afraid."

"As well as you shouldn't be, but listen to me." she states, "He knows that Sherlock is your weakness and he knows that you are Sherlock's. He will try to use that against you both in any and every way." Suddenly, she slowly pulls out a thin handgun from the back of her jeans and places it gently in my hand, "So make sure you always have the upper hand," she says, folding my other hand over the weapon.

I look at her in confusion and then down at the gun: "John said Victor took his gun."

"This isn't John's, it's mine." she states rather matter of factly, "I only bring it out on necessary occasions."

"Since when did you own a gun?" I ask

"Since I was a young girl, but that's not important right now." she replies, almost like an officer addressing a new recruit, "You need to take this now and only use it if you absolutely have to. I'm assuming that Sherlock's taught you how to use a gun, yes?"

"Once," I say, a bit taken back by her sudden change in character, "but Mary..."

"Don't shoot and don't let him know you have a gun until the opportune moment," she goes on instructing, "When and if you do, fire with a clear mind: shoot to enable, not to kill...not unless you have to."

With no response, I just look up at my friend's stern gaze. I've never seen this side of her before, nor did I even know it existed. This is not the Mary Morstan I have come to adore and call my best girlfriend; this is a woman whose seen things and could very easily tear you in two if given the proper motivation. To be honest, I'm both afraid and impressed with her right now.

"Take care of my son," I finally say, turning on the safety then placing the gun in the back of my jeans. Mary nods then takes me into her arms for a warm embrace.

"You come back to him," she says as I hug her back. When we part, I quickly descend the stairs and head toward the sitting room. Violet and Mycroft are seated on the couch; she hiding her face in her hands and he comforting her. Hamish is sitting on the floor with that dragon blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Oh to be like him right now; so blissfully ignorant of what is happening all around him. To just relax and rely on other to make the world work. He needs me to make this right again. He needs me to bring Sherlock back.

He sees me and happily opens up his pudgy arms out: "Mummy, Mummy," he says, "Pick me up, puh-lease." A single tear running down my cheek, I run over to my son and swoop him up into my arms. Violet is too wrapped up in her grief to notice me and I understand. There is nothing more devastating to a mother then having her child stripped away from her. I honestly couldn't imagine it.

"I love you so much," I whisper into my son's curls, "you know that don't you? Daddy and I love you so very very much, young man."

"Love you too," he giggles, "But where Daddy go?"
"Shh, sweetheart," I coo, "Don't...don't worry yourself about it okay? I'm going to go get Daddy and then we'll go home, alright? We can finally go home."

"I go too. I help!" Hamish says with a smile, nuzzling his little forehead against mine just like I do when I comfort him.

"Not with this, sweetheart," I reply, trying my very best to hold back my tears, "you...you have to stay here with Grandma and Uncle Mycroft. Can you do that for me, my brave young man? Will you be good for them until I come back?"
"Mhm, I promise."
"I love you so much, Hamish Arthur Holmes. Don't you ever forget that."
"Mummy...why crying?"

I don't reply. I just close my eyes and hold my son as close as possible; "I'm going to bring Daddy home," I continue to whisper to him, "I promise you I will." Just then I feel a firm hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes and look at the sad eyes of my brother-in-law. For the first time since meeting, Mycroft and I understand each other.

"I will do everything I can to assist you," he says in a somber tone, but I just shake my head.

"The note told me to come alone," I reply, "If Victor gets even the slightest impression that something is up, then you knows what he will do."

"We don't know what he has already done to my brother," Mycroft says, "but I trust that you will make things right."

"You...you do?"

"You have been, on multiple occasions and in many situations, my baby brother's savior," Mycroft then closes his eyes to hold back tears, but one escapes his left eye. I place a comforting hand on his arm as a way to wordlessly say that he doesn't need to say anymore. He takes a deep breath and offers his arms open to take Hamish. Reluctantly, I hand my little toddler over but not before placing one final kiss on his forehead. Just as I turn to leave, my mother-in-law reaches out from the couch and takes my hand into hers.

"Bring my son home, Elfie," she says in almost a whisper, "He...he wouldn't have gotten into this sort of trouble if it weren't for me."

"That's not true," I say, kneeling down in front of her, "You can't think like that, Violet; Sherlock wouldn't want you to. Please, you have to stay strong about this and...and so do I." My eyes lock with hers and I gulp down all of my emotions, just like Sherlock does before he has to go out on a case. It's how he stays focused; maybe it will help me now. "I'm going to save him," I promise Violet, "I promised him I'd never leave and I never go back on my word. You'll have your son back, trust me."

"I do," Violet cries, placing a kiss on my knuckles. We exchange a warm embrace then I have to face to inevitable. I pull away from her then quickly turn on my heel toward the front door. I can't look at my son; if I do, I won't be able to leave and then where will that leave my husband. No, I need to save him; Sherlock needs me.

I head out of the house and take in a deep breath of the cold, night air. I take the crumpled up note out of my jacket pocket and look down at it blankly. I don't know what awaits me at this address, but something in my gut is telling me not to care. My mind is set on one goal and one goal only: Get Sherlock. There was a time when those very words sent chills up my spine, back when Moriarty still haunted us all. Now, those two words hold a new meaning; they are my motivation, my drive, my only thought.

Get Sherlock.

Get Sherlock and bring him home.

Gulping down my fears, I stuff my hands in my jacket pockets and head on my way. My legs phantomly carry me to where I need to go; somehow I know exactly where this place is. The sky above is dark with storm clouds bustling in-how fitting. A sharp, thin wind bites at my cheeks and blows my dark, wavy hair into my eyes. My husband's scarf keeps me warm and it helps me stay focused. He'd want me to be focused; 'Emotions are useless when investigating, Elfie,' he'd say, 'You must stay on the task at hand.' Sherlock would want me to be brave right now. God knows I need him here to tell me.

I don't know how long it took me to get my intended location but I've made it. There is no one around, not so surprisingly. Victor is standing there in front of a closed up, clearly abandoned store, looking so completely calm. I can feel Mary's gun resting against my back and I want to reach around to grab it...but I won't. Keep the upper hand, that's what I need to do.

He and I see each other a sly smile grows across his face; "Mrs. Holmes," he says, nonchalantly, "you are looking lovely this evening."

I say nothing. I just walk up to him and stare him down with a cold glare. Hatred boils inside me and fear of my husband's well-being gnaws at the back of my mind. Still I remain stoic; I won't give Victor the pleasure of my pain.

"So, here we are then," he goes on, "To be honest, I thought you'd be quicker. Then again, you must have had to process a lot: the note, the mess, poor Doctor Watson and Mycroft all hurt and what have you. Not to mention finding out that I was your perp."

"I knew it was you before I walked up those stairs," I state, "I wasn't surprised."

"Weren't you?" Victor scoffs, "Ah, I see. The famous Holmes ego seems to have rubbed off on you."

"I didn't come down here to chat with you," I say, trying to remain calm.

"No, you came to save Sherlock," he taunts, "but you didn't really read my note then, did you? I'm not handing over Sherlock just like that."
"And I'm not playing any of your little games," I quickly snap back, "Whatever issue you have with my husband, whatever grudge you may hold against him, it needs to end. Leave us alone and we won't come back here, I promise you."

"But I'm the one that brought you here," he teases, "why on Earth would I want you to leave?"
"Victor, please," I try to reason with him, "can't...couldn't you see that Sherlock is sick. He needs medical attention and-"
"Don't pull that shit with me," he snaps, "I know exactly whats wrong with 'Lock; I've seen him like this before, remember? This is who he really is. Your precious husband is a drug addict, a low-life who hides behind his career just to get by in this world."

"So is that what this is about? Your jealous."
"Who said anything about jealousy? I'm merely stating a fact. You see, that's a trait you and your husband share, along with those enormous egos: everything has to be clever."

I take in a deep breath and look down at the ground. I don't know how much more of this I can take; time is going by and who knows how ill Sherlock may be getting. "Tell me where he is, Victor," I demand, looking back up at this man who has managed to make my life hell these past 6 weeks.

"And that's another thing," He goes on with a chuckle, "Neither of you know when you've been beat."

I furrow my brow in slight confusion and then it hits me; "...He's not here." I think out loud, "Stupid. Stupid."

"Did you honestly believe that I'd give up the address like that?" Victor slyly remarks, "It's a pity, Elfie. Sherlock holds you in such high regard; he'll find it disappointing that you feel for such a dumb trick."

"Trick?" I ask, but before I can go on Victor lunges at me with a knife. I jump back just in time to dodge the blade, then sprint off to the side in hopes to confuse him. Unfortunately, Victor grabs my wrist and tosses me up against the wall of the building. I struggle to reach for my gun, but he quickly snatches my other wrist and pins both my arms above my head. He knees me hard in the groin, then quickly covers my mouth with the hand holding the knife to muffle my cry.

"You scream and I will kill you," he threatens, pressing the blade against the corner of my mouth.

Suddenly, he knees me again and presses his body against mine so that I am completely jammed against the wall of the building. Hot tears begin to form in my eyes and I desperately want to call out my husband's name, but the blade of Victor's knife holds a far too intimate threat.

"He'll be so happy to see you," He whispers, "Let us see how strong the world's only consulting detective is now that his blushing bride is bleeding out, huh?"

Just then, Victor releases me and slashes his blade straight across my stomach. Pain fills my mind as I fall to my knees, gripping my now bleeding abdomen. It's not a deep gash but it's a significant cut that it weakens me. Just as I cry out, Victor covers my mouth again but this time with a cloth. The smell of chloroform immediately fills my nostrils and instantly my mind starts to cloud with a mixture of pain and the drug. My body goes limp in Victor's hold and I am vaugley aware of being tossed over his shoulder.

"Sherlock," I manage to whisper before the darkness completely takes me.