Here's another chapter! We're catching up with Sherlock and John begins his search at the end!

Sherlock's eyelids felt heavy when he awoke. It was tempting to just fall back asleep, but his intuition was telling him to stay alert.

He was aware that he was lying on a bed and tucked in with thick blankets and maybe even a quilt, but the scent of the sheets was all wrong. It was a brand of laundry detergent that no one at Baker Street used. So he wasn't home, but there was a possibility that he was away for a case.

His memory of what happened hit him like a ton of bricks. His eyes shot open and he quickly sat up. He was in a room about the size of his own bedroom. The floorboards seemed old but recently polished. The walls were simple, yellow wallpaper. There were no windows, but there were two doors. One was located across from him on the other side of the room while the other was to his right. Close to the latter door was a wooden dresser.

Sherlock got out of the bed, slightly startled when he felt the cold floor on his feet. Looking down, he was able to observe that the clothes he left 221B in were gone. In its place was a white nightgown that reached his ankles. The sleeves went all the way down to his wrists.

Deciding to deal with his wardrobe troubles later, he opened the door nearest to the bed to find that it was simply a bathroom. Rushing over to the one across the room, he found that he couldn't even turn the knob. This had to be the way out.

He knelt down to examine the lock. It was an older lock, and should be easy enough to pick. He just had to find something that would fit in the keyhole.

Sherlock searched through the dresser only to find that it was only filled with nightgowns identical to the one that he was currently wearing. He then went inside the restroom only to find that it also contained nothing to pick the lock.

He could ambush the person who opened the door next, but the commotion would get the attention of anyone else in the building. He had to figure out how many people were holding him hostage as well as where he was.

Just as he was exiting the bathroom, the lock clicked and the door opened. Sherlock watched as a young man peeked into the room before stepping in completely. He was wearing what looked like a stereotypical monk's robe.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. How are you feeling?"

The voice wasn't familiar. "You're not the one who took me."

"That was Jared. We all joke that he's like a ninja. If anyone could sneak up behind you, we knew it'd be him. What would you like to eat?"

So there are multiple people in this building. "Where are we?"

"I can't answer that. What would you like to eat?"

"Why am I here?"

The young man replied, "Leader Varick will explain everything to you later."

"Leader? And who are you as opposed to him?"

"I'm Giles Gilchrist. I'm a low rank in the group because I'm focusing so much on uni."

Sherlock scoffed. "Focused indeed. I see you're about to cheat on a Greek test."

Giles looked down at his arms. The sleeves didn't quite cover the notes he made on his arm. "Nothing escapes you, Mr. Holmes."

"That is an accurate statement."

He tried pulling his sleeves over the visible writing. "But I'm really supposed to know what you want to eat."

"So you can drug me again?"

Giles frantically shook his head. "Absolutely not, Mr. Holmes! We want you to keep your strength up!"

That was intriguing. Unless Gilchrist was an expert in being deceitful-which Sherlock highly doubted-these people truly wanted him to stay healthy. An average group of abductors would want to keep him weak to decrease his chance of escaping.

"I am not interested in food," he said, "I just want to know where the exit is. And where my clothes are." Normally, he wouldn't care if he was in Buckingham Palace with nothing but a sheet, but he really liked that scarf and belstaff. John had claimed it was part of his image too.

Giles' eyes widened. "We can't let you leave, Mr. Holmes, and you're not allowed to wear your own clothes. I don't know if your request for no food is allowed. I'll go find out." And with that, he left, locking the door behind him.

Sherlock went over the details in his mind. He didn't know the purpose for being at this unknown location, but that was apparently going to be explained later by a so-called Leader Varick. The way Gilchrist talked suggested that there were numerous people here. What Giles was wearing appeared to be a sort of uniform. A robe like that isn't regularly worn by students at uni, so everyone else is probably wearing this garment too. These people also cared about his well-being. They wanted him to eat and had provided him with a comfortable bed, several nightgowns, and toiletries in the bathroom. However, Giles also let him see his face. That is a classic sign that they don't plan on releasing him alive, but the group might believe that Sherlock won't press charges.

The leader will probably give him more pieces of the puzzle later.

He didn't have to wait long. The door opened to reveal two women in the same uniform as Gilchrist. Behind them was an old man with the hood of his robe covering his head. His face was heavily wrinkled from his years, especially around the eyes. He had a warm smile on his face.

"Welcome, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock was about to approach him, but was stopped by the two women. They silently began to observe his body, whether they checked his biceps or picking through his curls as if looking for lice. He decided it would be best to simply let them poke and prod, and turned his attention to the old man. "I suppose you're the Leader Varick."

"Indeed I am. We have been waiting months to bring you here, but there was never an opportunity. Despite your infamous standoffish nature, you're practically glued to the side of Dr. Watson." He chuckled. "But no matter. You're here now. With eight days to spare, but you're here."

"I don't know the date and time, so I can't tell you what's in eight days."

The slight shock that appeared on his face reminded Sherlock when Mrs. Hudson forgot to take a picture or when John forgot to text back a colleague. "My apologies, Mr. Holmes! It's approximately noon. You arrived here last night."

Varick spoke as if he believed Sherlock came here of his own accord. It was as if he didn't fully register that Sherlock didn't want to be here. "Thank you. It's best that I head back home. I have friends and family that are wondering where I am by now."

Before Sherlock could get away from the two women examining him, Varick held out his hands as if to stop him from moving. "I'm afraid you can't leave. You must be prepared for the ceremony. Remember, we only have eight days."

Sherlock's mind raced as he tried to think of what was in eight days that the group would be interested in. It wasn't going to be a full or new moon, and there wasn't a holiday. "What ceremony would that be?"

Varick's face lit up. "The Ceremony of Metuendus. Every twenty years Metuendus looks to Earth to satisfy his hunger. We, The People of Concordia, aim to satisfy this hunger when he arrives."

Metuendus. Latin for dreadful, terrible, and which is to be feared. Concordia. Also Latin. This time for harmony. It can then be concluded that this otherworldly figure is something, that while Varick speaks of with fondness, frightens this cult. In addition, the cult views themselves as the barrier between Metuendus and society.

"We must provide the best humanity has to offer. This year, we wanted to offer the best mind. Your mind."

Sherlock knew where this was going, and this was one of those rare moments where he wanted to be wrong. Nevertheless, he kept a calm demeanor. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"You will be brought to the altar to be sacrificed to Metuendus. I know this must be quite a shock, but I assure you, it is a great honour. You will be ensuring the safety of humanity."

"If it's such a great honour, then why don't one of you do it?"

"If we hadn't gotten you in time, we would have, but as I've said, we wanted to offer the best."

The two women, seemingly done with their examination, backed away until they were behind Varick. One said to him, "He's in good health. If anything, he needs more food and sleep."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. She sounded just like John.

Varick nodded. "Wonderful. Everything is going to plan. We will be keeping you here until the ceremony, Mr. Holmes. It will help us keep you in the best shape possible. Please, let us know if you need anything. Giles informed us that you weren't hungry, but he'll be bringing you some food anyway."

"I won't eat it."

For the first time since he entered the room, Varick looked angry. He closed the gap between himself and Sherlock. If it weren't for the two women who could sound an alarm, Sherlock would have taken the opportunity to overpower him and get away. "Mr. Holmes, it is our responsibility to offer Metuendus a healthy sacrifice. Your mind must be in top condition. You will eat if we have to force it down your throat. Understood?"

Sherlock refused to break eye contact. "I'd like to see you try."

Varick stormed off as fast as an old man could. The two women followed close behind. When it became apparent that they had locked the door behind them. Sherlock went over to the bed and began to wait. He would eat to keep his strength up, and then take the time to think of an escape plan.

John stepped out into the street as Mycroft stepped out of his vehicle. They were barely able to give each other a nod before Rosie ran by John and clutched onto Mycroft's legs, nearly knocking him over in surprise.

"They took him, Uncle Minecraft! They stealed Sherlock away! We need to get him back!"

John shot Mycroft a warning look. Now wasn't the time to correct her grammar or his name, and he really hoped he understood that.

Mycroft smiled, but looked very uncomfortable as he pat her on the head. "There, there, Rosamund. We're looking for him." He held up a disc in his other hand. "I was just going to give this to your father."

John gently pried Rosie off of Mycroft and picked her up. "Thank you, Mycroft."

"You're quite welcome. Of course, my most trusted employees and I will be looking through other copies."

John answered, "And I'll do everything I can."

"Me too!"

Mycroft didn't seem to have much confidence in either of the Watsons, but he went back to his vehicle without another word. John took it as his cue to return home. When they reached 221B, John set his daughter down.

"Rosie, why don't you go take your nap while I watch the video. When I'm done, we'll go to the park and see all of your friends. How does that sound?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to take a nap. I want to help find Sherlock!"

"You'll help Sherlock better if you're rested."

"Sherlock stays up for days when he's helping people."

"If it were up to me, Sherlock wouldn't do that. You can even sleep in my bed. Even if you don't fall asleep, I need time to watch this video by myself. That way I can focus." That wasn't the whole truth. John was nervous about what the disc would reveal and he didn't want Rosie to see anything he didn't want her to.

Rosie dejectedly made her way toward his and Sherlock's room. When she was out of sight, John sighed before staring at the disc in his hand as if hoping it had all of the answers in the world.

Did you catch the ACD reference? I'll give you a hint: Giles Gilchrist.

I would really appreciate it if you let me know what you think of this chapter or the story in general!