Sherlock burst through the doors of the homicide division at Scotland Yard, closely followed by John. The entire staff there were running around franticly and the whole scene was a whirl of barely controlled chaos of people shouting, phones ringing and constant updates announced openly. This was much different from the calm and controlled environment that was normally upheld in the division, but that had always been a contribute possible by Lestrade's leadership and ability to keep things in check under pressure. And this was the precise reason for the chaotic condition in which the whole department now found itself. Lestrade had been missing for the last 48 hours. A video disk, sent anonymously in a blank envelope, had arrived at the office only one hour ago showing a badly beaten DI tied down, slumped in a chair in a dark room, illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging from a concrete ceiling. That was all the information Sherlock had so far and he was all but fuming as he marched straight through the frenzied workspace, directly towards sergeant Sally Donovan's small office.

Donovan was clearly engaged in a discussion with two other colleagues as the detective and doctor burst through her doors, but Sherlock could care less. The woman at least had the decency too look guilty as Sherlock marched right up to her face and erupted; "This is an outrage, why wasn't I informed sooner?! Lestrade disappears for two days and the first I hear about is you calling me in urgently 20 minutes ago!" Sherlock's face is flustered, he normally wouldn't let his emotions guide him like this, but there's no helping it and his worry is greater than his eventual embarrassment for letting everyone see how affected is by the news.

The two men not involved quickly excited the office, sensing their presence wouldn't be helpful in this situation as Sally responded; "Listen it wasn't my call alright! I wanted to call you in after the 24 hour mark, but the director wouldn't allow it. You're not technically even allowed to work with the Yard. Lestrade has always been the one to handle your involvements with the department. I didn't know what to do.. But when we received the video disk this evening I knew I had to act so I decided to call you in anyway, without proper clearance." She defended, but it was obvious she wasn't satisfied with her own handling of the situation.

"And you bloody well should have done so from the start! I'm starting from scratch here and every hour wasted will be and extra hour Lestrade will suffer because of your incompetence!" Sherlock knew he had taken it too far when John's captain voice cut through the air with a sharp; "Sherlock! That's enough. Look at her for God's sake, she's acted in the best way she thought possible. We all want to find Greg as soon as possible and it'll be a hell of a lot easier if we work together." The doctor rationalised, his voice much calmer and collected.

Sherlock took a deep breath. It was rare that John would have to be the voice of logic and Sherlock being the one reacting emotionally. It only seemed to further show how shaken up he really felt in the moment. As he looked back to Sally he could see the mixture of shame, sadness and frustration etched into her face and tears gathering in her eyes after his harsh words. He knew it wasn't her fault of course and there was no use in playing the blame game anyway. She'd just been the easiest outlet for his own worry and frustrations. John was right though, they needed to work together to find Lestrade as quickly as possible.

"I.. I apologize. John is right, you didn't technically do anything wrong. Arguing is not helpful for our current situation. We need to find Lestrade and therefor I need every price of information and data you've gotten so far, no matter how small or insignificant you think it is. For the beginning though, draw me the big picture and show me the video that you received this evening." Sherlock said finally with more composure than he felt, but he needed to pull himself together. For Lestrade.

Sally too seemed to shake off her unease with a determined nod and a deep breath of her own. "Right.. Our latest case is regarding a large growing drug ring in London that calls themselves The Syndicate, who mostly deals with cocaine. The organisation has more or less eliminated all competition in London. Normally we wouldn't complain about a decreased number of drug rings and dealers in the city, but The Syndicate have accomplished their fast growing reign by brutally murdering the other reining drug lords. Now that they're one of the only contributors in town they blend the drug with other impure substances to make their cocaine supply last longer for greater profit. This has resulted in an alarming mortality rate of people OD-ing on the stuff. We've been having suspicions they might soon try to export their business outside the country. DI Lestrade have been lead investigator on the case and in corporation with the narcotics division we successfully confiscated almost 300kg of cocaine hidden in an abandoned warehouse last week. You'll get further information from the video." Sally explained with a firm voice, but as she continued her voice grew slightly more sullen while she looked Sherlock in the eyes; "Lestrade made it clear you weren't to be called you in for consultation on the case because…" But Sally didn't get to finish her sentence.

"Because of my history with cocaine abuse." Sherlock finished himself, a stone forming in his stomach. Could he have prevented this if Lestrade hadn't tried to protect him from relapsing? Since John's entrance into his life his danger nights had gotten much farther between, but yes sometimes he could still be tempted when the noise and activity in his head would threaten to overwhelm him. but he'd been clean for 5 years now and John had helped him develop alternative outlets for his hyperactive mind. Sherlock couldn't blame Lestrade though. Before John it had been Lestrade who'd fought to keep him sober. The DI had tried to keep Sherlock's mind busy with as many cases he could offer, but if the puzzles turned out to be so simple to satisfy him he'd always turned back to cocaine.

Mycroft had tried his own way of helping of course, but that had mostly consisted of forcing Sherlock off to rehab only to let him out to relapse again within three weeks. Lestrade had always been the one to be there for him when things got dirty. It had always been him who'd spent hours slowly cruising through the streets until he would find whatever skip Sherlock had passed out in and then take him home with him. He'd been the one to change Sherlock's dirty clothes when he hadn't bathed for days or when he was soaked with puke and fully clothed sit with him in the shower till he resembled a human again. He'd been the one to hold Sherlock down when abstinences raged through his body to keep him from hurting himself, often resulting in Lestrade himself receiving the lumps and bruises instead. The DI wouldn't admit it, but Sherlock knew he'd played a large part in why Lestrade's marriage had ended in divorce. No wife apricated to have an addict passed out on her couch ever so often. Eventually Lestrade had succeeded in getting him clean, but the temptation had always lurked dangerously close and his danger nights were a weekly occurrence. He'd lost count how many nights Lestrade had just 'casually' stopped by for a cup of tea only to end curled up on Sherlock's couch for the night to keep an eye out as well as to keep him company.

It had helped.. A lot.. It occurred to Sherlock he'd never truly expressed to Lestrade how much his help back then meant to him. And now the DI was in the hands of some deranged, violent madmen, who weren't afraid to murder to achieve their goals. The panic simmering in his gut almost threatened to take over him again, but he pulled in a few deep breaths. He had to stay strong now, as Lestrade had always been for him.

A firm grip on his shoulder pulled Sherlock back out of his head. He looked towards the action and locked eyes with John. The doctor's expression was stained, but showed a mix of compassion, sadness and understanding. "He only wanted to protect you Sherlock, don't feel guilty about that." John said and squeezed Sherlock's shoulder a little tighter in reassurance.

Sally stood with her arms crossed but nodded once in agreement. "He said it was for your own good."

Sherlock huffed; "Yes well.. It didn't do him much good now did it? If only I.. No, no matter it will do him no good for me to wallow in what-if's. Show me the video, I need to see it." He said with renewed focus.

Sally nodded again. "Right, sit at my desk. The video is on the screen." She answered.

Sherlock did as he was told and took a seat at the sergeant's desk and eyed the monitor. The video file open at the screen ready to be played. John and Sally stood at each side of the chair to look over his shoulder. John's arms were crossed, his face one of pinched calmness, but his eyes burning with rage towards the bastards who was keeping his mate. Sally was biting her thumbnail, a nervous habit she'd always kept in the years Sherlock had known her. She'd seen the video several times already of course, but that didn't keep the unpleasant and upset look of her face, visibly not looking forward to watching it again.

Sherlock took another deep breath, steeled himself and pressed play. As the screen came to life he concentrated his entire focus to pick up each end every detail of the room and of the people that he could gather.

The camera was handheld by one man as another entered the picture from the right, his face hidden under a black ski mask. Lestrade was seated, unconscious, in the middle of the picture. Tied to a wooden chair.

"Wake the geezer up so we can show them we mean business." A gravelly voice sounded from the cameraman. The other man nodded and proceeded to pick up a rusty bucket that stood at the edge of the picture. He pulled the bucket back with both hands and splashed its entire content of no doubt freezing water onto the unconscious DI. Lestrade spasmed in his restraints a few times and hissed by the forceful awakening and cold shock of the water. Now that he was more upright and facing the cameraman more probably, it was easier to see the extent of damage done to his body.

His right eye was swollen shut, a busted lip and a badly bruised left cheek. A dried steam of blood fell from his left temple down his face, presumably from when he was knocked out. His usual blazer was nowhere to be seen, but his dress shirt was ripped mostly opened, showing more severe bruises on his upper torso as well as a few cigarettes burns near his right shoulder.

"Wakey, wakey detective inspector. You're on camera, you need to say hello to your audience." The cameraman laughed as he clumsily zoomed in on Lestrade's face.

Lestrade lifted his gaze and looked directly at the screen as growled in responds; "Fuck off.." which only served to earn him a shift blow to the stomach from the other man, making the DI crumple back together. Lestrade let out a pained gasp, filling the audio with coughs and his struggle to fill his lungs properly afterwards.

The cameraman zoomed back out to show the whole scene once again. "Now this is what's going to happen. I want you to tell your sweet colleagues watching right now, that they need to deliver every single gram of cocaine back by following the attached instructions that come with this disk, to the point! Understand old man? They'll have to listen to their big strong boss man, won't they?" The last part said with great sarcasm. The cameraman laughed, clearly loving the power he held in the moment.

Lestrade visibly forced himself upright once again, his glare even more intense this time. "Keep dreaming punk.." He said with as much force as his voice could carry, which wasn't much at the moment, but he somehow still managed to sound authoritative despite the weakness.

The next two minutes that followed were filled with the DI's grunts and cries of pain as a brutal rain of kneeing, punches and kicks were hailed down upon him from the man in the ski mask.

"That's enough." The command finally came from behind the camera and the masked brute immediately stepped back.

Lestrade was bent forward as much as his restrains allowed. A thin stream of blood spilled from his gasping mouth, down to the stone floor as he tried to catch his breath.

The cameraman spoke once again. "You see that dear Scotland Yard? If our full stock isn't returned to us within the next 48 hours as instructed we will release your DI, but it will be piece by piece."

In a last foible attempt Lestrade's strangled voice called out; "Don't list…" but the video was cut off, leaving only white static back on the screen.

Until now John had been the calmest mannered in the room, but during the video his body language had displayed a growing red-hot anger. Sally who was normally very stoic and gathered had her eyes glazed over and a look of pure sadness etched on her face.

For long moments Sherlock sat impassively, still staring at the white noise on the screen. To other's it might resemble when he was dwelling deep in thought but in reality, he was urgently fighting the nausea that was welling up in his body after witnessing those horrible scenes. Worst of all, he had no doubt about the truth behind the threats just given.

Once again the guilt ridden voice in his head echoed; "I could have stopped this from happening. If Lestrade hadn't tried to protect me I could've prevented this altogether…"

Ever his anchor, John was the one to pull him out of his head. "Sherlock? Sherlock don't disappear into your head right now. What did you learn from the video? How can we save Greg?" He asked, his own voice one of steeled resolve.

Sherlock blinked a few times before fully coming back to reality. He quickly opened the attached flies with instructions that had been mentioned and read through them before finally speaking; "Right.. While the man who held the camera is clearly in charge, the two on here are clearly both mere footsoldiers in a larger hierarchy. They're obviously following orders and instructions themselves. The puppetmasters of the organisation having done this in the hopes it'll protect themselves from being recognized or caught if their plan doesn't work. This was their first mistake though. The two men on here are careless and arrogant and they revealed a great deal of clues of their proximate location. This is good, however.." Sherlock hesitated.

"What?" Sally asked nervously.

"These threats are not to be taken likely. I need to further research the Syndicate's territorial reach and power positions in the city. The worst thing we can do right now is acting too rashly. We have a 48 hours deadline to work with, we'll just have to hope Lestrade can hold out for that long." The thought of having to leave Lestrade in that hellhole even a minute longer made Sherlock's stomach hurt, but he did not see any other way. He turned to John; "John, what's your assessment of his condition?"

He could tell John easily detected his worry in his eyes and voice in the way he looked at him before answering; "Hard to tell from a grainy video picture alone, but he has most likely suffered a concussion judging from the injuries on his head and face. His torso was badly bruised to begin with and the continuation of trauma done, that we saw it is almost certain he has sustained several broken and bend ribs. A few second degree burns that do not present an immediate threat besides being painful. Though his breath is stained, as far as I can tell by audio alone, he hasn't suffered a punctured lung. At the moment the most dangerous threat isn't his injuries, but the question whether he's keep hydrated or not, but there's no way to tell on here." John reported with a clinically efficiency, though his expression betrayed his calm voicing.

Sherlock stood up and turned to Sally. "There's no time to waste. Let's get to work!" He stated.

"Right, follow me. I'll show what we got so far." Sally answered with determination as she made her way out the door, Sherlock and John hot on her heels.

45 hours later:

John and Sherlock, together with the entire Scotland Yard, had worked almost nonstop since their involvement in the case to return Lestrade safely. Sherlock had even gone as far as to ask for Mycroft's assistance in the matter. The government official had offered a whole unit of special trained special ops to assist in the extraction together with a huge access to top of the line government facilities and resources. While happy for the help, that had proved essential to the mission, both Sherlock and John were surprised at Mycroft's sudden generosity. Usually he would never offer such favours without demanding several others in return, but Mycroft hadn't as much as mentioned a single 'you owe me for this'.

The police and ambulance's sirens and blinking blue lights filled the usual darkness and silence at the abandoned industrial harbour district, where Sherlock had determined the DI was being held. Mycroft's unit together with Scotland Yard's were in the middle of the extraction of the DI. Luckily the facility wasn't heavily guarded. Besides Lestrade's location Sherlock and the Yard had also been able to track down the whereabouts of the Syndicate's top leaders where most of the organization's security would be. Several other actions around the city was now also in progress right at this moment, to capture and shut down the entire ring. Once again Mycroft had offered the government's full support to make it possible.

Right now though, John and Sherlock looked on worriedly as they stood standby in cover, with several other officers outside the old warehouse holding the DI. Both men had initially insisting on going along inside, but had reluctantly agreed not to in the end.

Sherlock found himself shaking slightly and not entirely from the cold as they waited for the update. Suddenly he felt the warm hand of John clasping his own tightly, giving it a firm reassuring squeeze. The two looked at each other and shared a comforting if not bit stained smile, silently reassuring each other.

Suddenly the entire scene erupted into action as several gunshots echoed through the night followed by a few moments of palpable silence. Finally, the officer's in charge walkie-talkie sounded, signalling an incoming message. The officer picked up immediately;

"This is team Delta reporting. All targets down. DI Lestrade alive and safe. Bringing him out now. Over."

Everybody cheered loudly at the news and soon after, true to their word, Delta team evacuated the building. Two men carrying the DI's limp form into the cool night air straight towards one of the awaiting ambulances.

Sherlock and John both ran over as Lestrade was placed on the stretcher. Some of the officers tried to stop them but Sherlock was having none of it;

"He's my friend! He's my friend please! Get out of my way!" He couldn't keep the slight desperation out of his voice.

John stepped in behind him, his voice filled with military authority; "I'm a doctor, let us through now!"

They finally reach Lestrade and bent over the stretcher, careful not to stand in the paramedics' way too much as they worked. Despite his obvious exhaustion and pain the DI still managed the smallest smile as he saw two familiar faces.

"Knew you'd figure it out Sherlock.. Knew you'd find me.. Never doubted…" He rasped out, coughing a bit from the stain of speaking, grimacing in pain as the action aggravated his broken ribs.

Sherlock for once felt unable to speak and simply clasped Lestrade's cold hand tightly, unable to keep his eyes from glazing over slightly. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat before speaking; "I'll always find you.. Always.. Like you always found me.."

Lestrade's own eyes shimmered a bit, the meaning and sincerity behind those words not lost on him. Despite his weak state he managed to squeeze Sherlock's hand back a little in a silent 'Thank you'.

"It's good to have you back mate, you almost made me worry." John joked lightly, but his own eyes sending their own message of relief to see Lestrade safe.

Lestrade huffed in amusement. "Thanks John.. But it takes more than a few punks to get me down.."

John smiled in response. "Don't I know it!"

Sherlock turned to one of the paramedics. "I'm riding along with him." He said determined.

"I'm sorry sir, but the patient is in too weak a condition. A second passenger is very unadvisable.

"Let him ride along.. Please.." Lestrade agued from below in a weak voice.

Reluctantly the paramedic nodded and Sherlock climbed along into the back of the ambulance, his hand still firmly holding on to Lestrade's all the way to the hospital.

Lestrade lay in his single hospital room, thoroughly enjoying the morphine coursing through his system. After his wounds had been cleaned and dressed, his broken bones set and dried blood cleaned off him Sherlock had once again been allowed to join him in his recovery room. John had arrived too, but left in order to find some coffee. Lestrade wasn't fooled though, he knew John had left quickly to let Sherlock and him have some privacy.

"Gerg.." Sherlock started softly, surprising the DI. Sherlock hadn't used his first name in ages and back then it had only been when the detective had lain emotionally and physically wrecked, after crashing from a particular long cocaine high.

".. I'm sorry.. This would never have happened if you hadn't felt the need to protect me from this case. I should've been there for you.." Sherlock stated, his voice sounding like he was stating a matter of fact, but the vulnerability hiding right underneath not passing the DI by.

"Don't you dare apologize Sherlock. You could never let me down.. I was a fool for not trusting you. I should be the one apologizing to you."

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes firmly on Lestrade. "You had your reasons and I understand. You fought so hard to get me clean.. You sacrificed too much for me.. And I never even thanked you probably for it."

"You did." Lestrade smiled. "In your own small ways." The DI shifted slightly before continuing, his voice serious; "I'm proud of you Sherlock. I might've helped you out a bit at the start, but look at you now. You're surrounded by friends, you and Anderson even get along at crime scenes and John.. John might be the best thing that's ever happen to you." Sherlock smiled softly at the mention of John. "Like me, he saw the real you behind your sociopathic façade and he helped you become this great man I see today. That's all I ever wanted for you." Lestrade finished.

Sherlock blinked a few times, processing the other man's words. Sherlock leaned closer to the bed and held Lestrade's eyes firmly before answering; "If John was able to make me a great man.. It's only because you made me a good one to begin with."

Those words had hung in the air. Lestrade felt his chest grow with pride hearing them and neither felt the need to elaborate further on the matter. Just as well, cause in that moment John came back with his coffee and the three sat together for a while. It wasn't long however till Lestrade felt himself being pulled under my tiredness so John and Sherlock took this as their cue to leave, with the promise to come visit again tomorrow.

Now as the DI lay alone, sleep rapidly creeping in on him, he took a moment to appreciate the man Sherlock Holmes had become. Sherlock might think he had been the one who saved the detective, but Sherlock Holmes had saved him too in so many other different ways. Tonight only adding to the list. He would make sure the detective got to know that.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, the door to his room opened and a figure entered only to close the door softly again. Lestrade didn't even have to open his eyes as the figure took a seat by the bed and gently took a hold of his limp hand.

Lestrade smiled softly into the darkness. Yes, he was grateful for all the Holmes present in his life.