Author's note- So I got back from holiday yesterday and decided that I better update before I get murdered by a certain reviewer ;) Ha, so thanks for the reviews, favourites and alerts; we now have almost 3500 views!

Oh, uh, I feel really bad because on Friday I'm going to my dad's for ten days... which uh... means that I won't be able to update for a while... But I promise to update as much as possible this week and the week after I visit my dad's! I'm sorry. *hides behind the sofa and cowers in the corner.*

I should also mention that this story doesn't really fit in anywhere in the actual episodes. It's based definitely after series one, but it's as though the Reichenbach fall never happened if that makes sense.

Disclaimer- As much as I would like to have Sherlock in my room to love forever... I can't, and won't. I own nothing and I wish the disclaimer didn't have to keep reminding me of that fact.

Chapter 13 (they're visiting warehouse 13 on chapter 13... oh wow)

Night was rapidly approaching. Dark hues obscured the once bright light of the day as the stars and moon took claim of the night sky. Unfortunately, it seemed to give a somewhat eerie edge to the impending danger. Of course, it could turn out that the killer wouldn't show up, and would merely leave them with the bodies and nothing more. But that didn't seem his style. Oh no, this one liked the game. He relished the satisfaction of proving his skills, and loved to show off. Sherlock wouldn't put it past him (or her for that matter) to show himself, albeit fleetingly, just a teaser for what would be to come.

On the way out of the flat into the cold streets of London, the trio were slightly relieved to observe three suspicious looking, sleek, black cars parked ominously across the street; each, slightly farther apart from the other two as to avoid being too inconspicuous. To many people it would mean nothing, to a few, it would seem odd but nothing anyways. However, to Sherlock, John and Lucy, it meant Mycroft was on his game as well. It meant imminent protection should they need it, cover, if they needed a place to run to. The cars followed the cab they were in, the drivers doing their best to not make it seem like they were deliberately following them. Sherlock had ordered the taxi driver to stop a few blocks away from where he knew the warehouses were based. Mycroft's cars, on the other hand, carried on driving.

"Remember, once inside, don't talk," Sherlock reminded them for what felt like the tenth time that minute.

"We know," John muttered matching his pace to that of the detective's long strides.

"We have to proceed with caution," Sherlock carried on anyway, "Should we alert them to our presence too soon we may miss a rare opportunity to catch them. Stay close to me, and if you lose sight of me, stay close to one another. It's imperative that you are with someone at all times, especially Lucy. I'll be fine on my own of course- but I prefer to know where you two are. If you split from each other, then immediately either do your best to find each other within a few minutes; failing that, go to one of Mycroft's cars."

"Where did the cars go?" Lucy asked in a small voice, her tone shook with anxiety.

"Just there," Sherlock answered as they rounded the corner, pointing a slender finger.

They were now in full view of the warehouses that were placed in the open concrete grounds with evidence that a wired metal gate was once place around it. Some warehouses were smaller than others and each had a numbered sign above the entrance. Most were made from metal or something of the sort, others were made from bricks. All of them looked barren and as though they hadn't been in use for some time. The moonlight shone down, illuminating very few dark corners where the lights around the grounds didn't reach. One would hate to be alone there. On the street they had turned into, were the three black cars that were now stationed in position should their assistance be required. They were parked opposite the warehouse site in the shadows, so inevitably their presence was hidden from the lack of lighting as the vehicles lurked in the inky blackness.

Sherlock stopped for a moment, seeming to debate something in his mind. He reached inside his coat pocket for his phone.

"What are you doing?" John asked, his voice a hushed whisper.

"I'm phoning Lestrade," The consulting detective replied with a hint of reluctance.

"What on earth for?" His flatmate was confused, "You never want to phone him."

"I need to alert the police in case this goes wrong. Just listen to the conversation." It was then that Sherlock decided to put the phone on loudspeaker- but he turned the volume down so it was just loud enough for his companions to hear.

"Hello?" Greg answered after a couple of rings.

"Lestrade, I need you to do me a favour." Sherlock spoke.

"Sherlock?" The DI said, confused, "What is it?"

"If I don't message you within the next hour, come to warehouse thirteen."

"What? Why? Where's that?" Poor Greg was clearly at a loss as to what was going on.

"Warehouse thirteen, the one in which Mr and Mrs Patterson's bodies were found."

"Lucy's parents? They're her parents?" Lestrade exclaimed. "Shit, but why?"

"It's to do with the recent murders." Sherlock said, annoyed, "Look if you don't hear anything from me within an hour, go there."

"Why are you there Sherlock? Is it to do with what you found in that house? I knew you found something you idiot."

"Look, trust me, this could go horribly wrong if the police are to get involved which is why you aren't here now. This is about Lucy and me, it's a personal game."

"Are you going to explain it?"

"Later," Sherlock growled. "Just, will you do that for us?"

"Fine," Lestrade sighed, "But I'm expecting a bloody good explanation."

With a beep, Sherlock hung up on the least idiotic member of the police force. He took a breath and put the phone back in its pocket. Looking at the wide eyed faces of his two friends, his gave a half smile as he signalled for them to follow him. None of them said anything as they made their way onto the grounds of the warehouses.

The three noiselessly worked their way around each dilapidated building to find a brick warehouse with the number '13' placed high above it. They paused just short of it. Sherlock glanced around him and observed the security cameras Mycroft's men had recently placed. There were five in total, one he noticed on the main entrance to the grounds, the other four in positions around the specified warehouse so that none of the building went unseen by the watchful eye of the cameras. No doubt there were more inside, but he would worry about that later. He glanced back at Lucy, whose face had turned an unhealthy white- although in the circumstances it was understandable. Her hand was drawn up to her face where she seemed to be lightly biting the skin. It appeared to be a slightly unconscious action, but John (who had also noticed this) was giving her worried and concerned glances. But both men knew it was down to the anxiety that currently plagued her young mind.

With a deeper breath than usual, Sherlock Holmes started forward, into the opened door of warehouse thirteen, with John Watson and Lucy Patterson not far behind.

It was dark, extremely dark and it took their eyes a while to adjust to the sudden difference in light. At least outside they had the lights and moon to illuminate the world around them, but the grubby windows of the building let barely any light through. They had walked into a single room, the only room in the entire warehouse. Obviously it was of a considerable size, large and wide. A staircase across the room led to a strong wooden walkway on a higher level that extended all the way around the room; this was supported by numerous pillars in a neat line around the inside of the building. As on the ground, it was incredibly dark up there, and for all the three flatmates knew, there could be several of killers hiding in the shadows up there. The darkness was dangerous; it gave the killer an edge. The three proceeded with caution into the open a little more, each walking very close to each other in a line. As they got closer to the middle, they realised that there was something on the floor.

Sherlock recognised it as what he presumed were bodies from the picture he received earlier. And, on closer inspection, he was proved correct. Two adult bodies, one male, one female, lay very much dead in the room- that is, if they were even real.

"What a beautiful night." A female voice suddenly said, the voice echoed in the deserted building. It was, however, a recorded voice. Sherlock frowned at this.

"Who are you?" He called out.

"Do you want to play a game?" The female recorded voice said again. Lucy suddenly gasped in horror, tears starting to trail down her cheeks.

"I said who are you?" Sherlock shouted, hearing Lucy's gasp and wondering what she knew.

"Let's play, Guess Who." This time, it was a male recorded voice. At this, Lucy's knees seemed to buckle as she fell to the ground, her head in her hands, sobbing. With realisation, Sherlock's eyes widened; the recorded voices were the voices of Lucy's parents. John had knelt down to attempt to calm the distraught teenager, but he looked at Sherlock with an expression of confusion.

"Who is doing this?" Sherlock said, getting angry, "How did you get Lucy's parent's voices on record?"

"It's just a game." The male recorded voice spoke again. As soon as the sentence finished, a blinding spot light was cast down upon the two bodies in the middle. Lucy cried out as the face's of her parent's glared up from their place on the cold stone floor. Sherlock's mind was a whir of thoughts. How had the killer gotten the bodies? Had he used face masks? Each body had been presented as the news had shown it, with a single bullet hole to the head. But something didn't seem right, they were real bodies. The bullet hole, although it looked convincing, was not the size the particular bullet would have made if it had entered- it was far too small. So it was a fake body. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. But it was an odd mistake to make- so maybe it was purposeful, to toy with him. Also, the only way the killer could have gotten the recordings of the voices would be if he had set up a microphone recording in their house in the time that they were still alive. After all, the way they said the words seemed like how people would just talk to one another if they did want to play a game. Unless... Sherlock's eyes widened. But before he could say anything, a voice spoke up from somewhere in the room (although he couldn't place where, but it was likely he was up on the wooden walkway), though this time it was a voice he recognised. That voice, he was wondering when he'd hear it again; it sent a wave of both anger, and interest through him.

"Oh how I've missed our little games Sherlock."

"Moriarty." Sherlock growled the name with both a hint of excitement and distaste.

"It's been a while huh. Missed me?" He taunted from the shadows.

"What do you want?"

"Oh come on now Sherlock, haven't you missed me? Not even the tiniest bit?" Moriarty teased, "I bet Lucy has."

"Lucy doesn't know you. Show yourself!" Sherlock yelled.

"I recognise his voice," Lucy said softly, still on the floor in despair.

"You must remember me. I'm Uncle Jim." Moriarty sang the last sentence in his usual sing song way. Lucy gasped with realisation, and fought to keep her breathing under control.

"How do you know her?" Sherlock demanded, slightly confused.

"Oh, her parents were naughty people. I like naughty people." You could practically hear the sadistic grin in Jim Moriarty's voice, "But never mind that, Uncle wants to play!"

"He's a bad man Sherlock," Lucy hissed, fear in her voice, "He made my parent's do bad things."

"You parent's did bad things themselves," Jim roared, "They came to me to help to do even worse. They enjoyed it." His voice turned sing song again, "But they hurt Uncle Jim's feelings. They stole from me. No one steals from me." His voice had turned sinister and threatening, "I made sure they paid."

"You killed them?" Lucy yelled, incredulous.

"Oh, sweetie, I didn't kill them," He mocked, "Just like I never killed any of those people you lot have been looking at recently."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock was getting frustrated, while John just didn't know what to do or say. He was saddened that Lucy had the misfortune to have known Moriarty beforehand- for a while it seemed, and to hear all this wasn't going to help her mental state.

"Her parent's never loved her." Jim said, uncaringly, "They said they did but it was all lies!" He sang gleefully at Lucy's pain, dancing around in the shadows to avoid detection, "They preferred crime to their daughter. How does that feel?" He laughed, causing Sherlock to snarl.

"We love you Lucy," the recorded voice of the mother sounded, followed by the same sentence in her dad's voice.

"Stop it!" Lucy yelled.

"Leave her alone!" Sherlock said in defence of his friend.

"Oh but I love to torture," Moriarty laughed, "I'm enjoying this game. You'll be hearing from me Sherlock."

"So you killed all those people just to taunt Lucy?" Sherlock yelled in outrage.

"Honey, I may be the king of my profession, but I don't like getting my hands dirty." Footsteps sounded as he started walking away, "Get her Seb."

The spotlight vanished, and the sound of a door opening and closing signalled Moriarty's exit before Sherlock launched off, sprinting after his enemy.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, getting up. But he was shoved violently over by a masked individual; with a thud he fell to the floor and groaned as he attempted to get up. Having bashed his head slightly, he was a little disorientated, and his vision blurred.

"John!" Lucy screamed out as she was roughly grabbed, her voice became muffled as something- most likely a rope was swiftly tied around her mouth with expert precision. A gunshot sounded out, and one of the men near Lucy cursed loudly and violently before yelling from pain.

"The fucking bitch shot my leg," the gruff voice said, "Just get her away Seb." So this 'Seb' was still unharmed. But John, in his stupor, felt a burst of pride in the poor teenager. She had been traumatised enough this evening, but had still gone on to fire an ace shot, just as instructed. However, the sound of a gun hitting the floor sounded out as John's vision cleared. It had taken approximately fifteen seconds for him to become fully coherent, but as soon as he could see and move straight again, he was horrified to witness a bulky, tall man- presumably Seb, dragging the teenager away. Lucy- whose limbs had been bound- could do nothing as she was taken away. John yelled out and ran towards her- but he was tackled by another of Moriarty's henchmen.

With bitter realisation, John thought that they must have snuck in and hid in the shadows, biding their time to attack. They hadn't been careful enough.

"Lucy!" John called her name, but it was useless. The man went to punch John as he got up, but the ex army doctor dodged with ease and sent a punch to the man's nose- breaking it. John brought his elbow down on the man's shoulder, and kicked the back's of his knees- bringing him to the floor. The man attempted to swing round, but John grabbed the pressure points at the back of the neck and shoulder region. He squeezed, as he the sick bastard's eyes closed in pain, holding on long enough would make him pass out- so he did so. With a bit of left behind rope, John bound the man's limbs and just left him there as he hurriedly ran outside to find Lucy.

It had been almost an hour; Lestrade would be coming soon- thank God. But there were no signs of where Lucy or Seb could have gone to. With a sinking feeling in his heart, he reckoned that she had most likely been taken away. Kidnapped. But what for? Moriarty loved to torture, maybe that was his plan?

"Shit." John mumbled. His heart broke for the poor kid, and adrenaline coursed through him, wondering what to do now. He saw the three cars across the street and wondered how on earth they didn't notice her being taken away.

Footsteps were rapidly approaching; someone was running towards him. John swivelled round, ready to fight again, but the person held up their hands.

"It's me," Sherlock said, frowning, "Moriarty got away, I don't know how. Where's Lucy."

"I don't know," John could barely get the words out, too scared for his young friend, "She was taken by 'Seb.'"

"What?" Sherlock said uncertainly with disbelief.

"I got attacked; my head got bashed so I was disorientated. She fired a shot at a man and put a bullet in his leg," Sherlock smirked at this, but John carried on, "She got bound and gagged, and I was attacked before I could stop it." The doctor's voice got choked at the end.

"There was nothing you could do," Sherlock murmured. He looked around, "But surely Mycroft's cameras or cars picked it up."

"Apparently not."

"Let's get to one of them, before anything else happens- although I doubt it will." They hurriedly set off. "Where is the bloke who attacked you?"

"Bound and gagged on the floor of the warehouse." John answered bluntly.

Sherlock couldn't believe it- or understand it for that matter. But some feeling inside him told him that it hurt. That he hadn't protected Lucy like he perhaps should have. He only hoped that whatever Moriarty planned to do with her wouldn't damage her more than she already was.

They both got into the back seat of one of the black cars parked outside.

"We need to call Mycroft," Sherlock said to John, "You call him." John set about dialling the number as Sherlock now spoke directly to the driver, "It didn't go to plan, we need to wait here until DI Lestrade arrives." He informed him. The driver just nodded and said:

"Whatever you need Mr Holmes."

"Did none of you see anyone leave? You didn't see Lucy with any of Moriarty's men?"

"No sir, we didn't see a thing," The driver was confused but didn't press the issue. The detective nodded and sighed.

John started explaining very briefly to Mycroft as Sherlock got his own phone out to call Lestrade.

"Sherlock," The DI answered, "I'm already on my way with a few officers, it's been an hour."

"We need you and... them," Sherlock admitted with distaste for the rest of Scotland Yard, "It went wrong."

"You bloody idiot, what happened?"

"Moriarty happened." There was a silence of horror, "They kidnapped Lucy. I do believe the kidnapper is one Sebastian Moran."

"Shit," Greg cursed, "We'll be there in five minutes, explain then."

Sherlock hung up just as John finished speaking to the elder Holmes brother. Both flatmates had the same worried look on their faces, although Sherlock did an expert job of quickly hiding it.

"Your brother is on his way," John muttered, "He's pissed. He doesn't know how it happened. Apparently there were a few brief blackout periods on the cameras, he doesn't know how; he said that it would take a lot to override the surveillance there. Moriarty would be capable but he doesn't know how." He sighed, "Could they have escaped the other side considering the guys in the cars didn't see anything?"

"It's all river that side... oh," Sherlock stopped, "The river..."

"They escaped by boat?" John frowned, "Doesn't seem very Moriarty-like."

"But it means that he'd avoid detection," Sherlock raised his eyebrows. They sat in silence, unsure what to do next. "I don't know how this happened," Sherlock seemed very angry with himself, "How did I let this happen? Stupid. Stupid." He told himself, "Now she will probably get hurt because of me. We have to find her."

"It's no-one's fault," John sighed and rubbed his face, "If Moriarty wanted to do it, then he would do it regardless."

"What if she gets worse?" Sherlock growled, "Her mental state isn't going to be perfect is it?"

"We will do whatever to help her. But right now, we need to find her." John found himself surprised by the display of emotions.

At that moment, a torrent of police sirens sounded as several cars whipped around the corner onto the same street as the two friends. They stopped near Mycroft's cars and Sherlock saw Lestrade get out- but he groaned when he saw Anderson and Donovan of all people. But nonetheless, he and John got out and walked towards them.

"Look what you've done now freak." Donovan greeted them.

"Piss off," Sherlock snarled with ferocity that shocked all of them.

"Donovan, enough," Lestrade warned her, he turned to the other officer's, "Everyone over here now." He turned to Sherlock and John "If you can tell us what happened, the sooner we can get to finding Lucy."

They turned to stare as a black Mercedes pulled up next to them. Mycroft Holmes stepped elegantly out of the car with his trademark umbrella, a cryptic expression on his face.

"Well now that everyone's here, we might as well start," Sherlock said bitterly as his brother joined them.

"I already have our best people looking for her," Mycroft informed him.

"It won't be enough though!" Sherlock suddenly yelled, "She's still going to get emotionally hurt. She's under the capture of Moriarty and his bastards. God knows what will happen to her. What if she turns up dead? What if she gets badly injured? This shouldn't have happened in the first place, it's my fault she's been taken." Everyone was stunned into silence at this outburst, "We needed to have prevented this, or have found her now. We can't ensure she'll be fine."

"Wow, the freak has emotions," Sally joked half-heartedly.

"Fuck off." Sherlock spat.

"Sherlock calm down, you're of no use to Lucy in this state." John tried to calm his friend down. Sherlock looked at him, his very first friend. And instantly shut up, he felt a bit embarrassed at everyone hearing that, but decided to spare his dignity for later.

"Fine," the consulting detective started, "I guess I better tell you what happened," back to his usual self he added, "If any of you idiots can write I suggest you take notes because I highly doubt that any of your brains have the capacity sufficient enough to even remember your own names let alone whatever I say."