Author's note- A massive thank you to everyone who has been reviewing this story! You have no idea how much your kind words mean to me. Please, if you could, take the time to leave a little review as it really does give me the motivation to carry on doing this.

Ooh left on a little cliff hanger last time didn't we?

Disclaimer- I still own nothing, but the 'I am the Doctor' music from Doctor Who really inspires you to write and produce things. Listen to it, I recommend it greatly.

Chapter 21

At around quarter past six in the morning, the gentle sound of a door shutting startled Sherlock out of his light slumber. Rarely did he sleep at all, but on occasion he gave his body a chance to recuperate- after all, how was he supposed to track down a criminal mastermind when he wasn't fully functioning as well as he could be? Mind you, it wasn't unusual for doors to be opening and shutting at this time. Maybe Mrs Hudson was awake downstairs, or John or Lucy had awoken and decided to get a drink. Whatever it was, Sherlock didn't really care. He was awake now, so he might as well get dressed.

Having gotten swiftly clothed in his purple shirt and smart-casual jacket and trousers, the consulting detective walked out into the corridor, stretching his long arms as he walked. As soon as he stepped out of his door though, he knew something was amiss. He stopped dead in his tracks, barely breathing as his ears strained for any tell-tale noises. Nothing. Furrowing his brow, Sherlock Holmes looked around him.

He noticed the slightly ajar door in less than two seconds.

The door to Lucy's bedroom had been left open- unusual. She never left the door open by accident, and she wasn't the kind of person to forget to do something like that. A shot of adrenaline coursed into Sherlock's veins as he rapped on the door, opening it more as he did.

"Lucy?" He said her name in utter confusion. Looking around the room, it was obvious that she was no longer there. The bed had been made, the ensuite bathroom had been used and there were a few things missing... With wide eyes he yelled her name again: "Lucy!" No reply. Not caring if he woke John up or not, Sherlock dashed around the flat, looking for signs as to where she could be.

"Lucy!" He shouted again, although he knew it was pointless. Running up to John's room with a growl, Sherlock didn't bother knocking as he burst in- causing a sleepy John to moan in annoyance.

"What do you want?" The doctor mumbled.

"It's Lucy, she's gone."

"What do you mean gone?" John sat up, now concerned.

"I mean, she's not here... The door!" Sherlock yelled, "I heard a door open, what if it was the front door? She's gone out again. We have to find her, now. Especially after what happened yesterday. Quickly get changed, I'm calling Lestrade and Mycroft." Without waiting for John's reply, the consulting detective ran out of the room, dialling Mycroft's number.

"Hello Sherlock, what a surprise," his brother's silky voice answered.

"Not the time Mycroft," Sherlock growled, agitated, "Lucy's disappeared. Where is she?"

"Disappeared?" Now it was Mycroft's turn to be worried.

"Yes, where is she? We need surveillance. She wasn't right yesterday, anything could be happening."

"She hasn't yet been sighted Sherlock, I would have received a phone call if she had."

"Then where is she?" The young Holmes yelled.

"I don't know, but I'll call some people, I'll tell you when we have news." The elder Holmes hung up. By this time, John had entered, now fully dressed. Up and down, up and down, Sherlock started pacing as he called Greg.

"Hey Sherlock," The DI answered.

"Lucy's gone missing."

"Again?" Greg was confused.

"Yes, there was something wrong with her last night, anything could be happening, we need you to come pick us up. Help us search."

"Oh shit mate," Lestrade said sympathetically, "We will be ten minutes, I'll send the other's to go look for her and I'll come get you."

"Hurry." Sherlock said before hanging up.

The great detective all but collapsed onto the chair and ran his hands through his hair, before going into his 'thinking' pose. His jaw was tight, and John could see that he was clearly worried. Knowing Moriarty, this was something to do with him again.

"Did she leave a note?" John asked, "If this is to do with Moriarty, then she may have tried to tell us?"

"That's why she left her room open!" Sherlock said suddenly, jumping up, "She was trying to tell us to go into her room. But what are we looking for?" The two jogged into the young girl's bedroom. Immediately Sherlock noticed that the pen on her desk wasn't where he left it when he wrote the note for her. Dragging John with him, Sherlock looked at the notebook on the desk. The page before had been ripped out carefully, and there was now a long note written to him and John. With wide eyes they read the neat calligraphy, feeling their hearts sink in their chest.

"A suicide note?" John murmured.

"No, no, she wouldn't do that." Sherlock muttered.

"A lot has been happening to her."

"It's Moriarty; he's been messing with her. What's the betting that he didn't talk her into doing something like this yesterday? Her bag that she was carrying, it was rather heavy wasn't it? What if he gave her a gun? It had the weight of one. I wouldn't put it past him to do something like that." Sherlock was now pacing again. "But it doesn't make sense, she's gone undetected so far, so she's probably got a taxi somewhere. So she must know where she's going and either it must be where there isn't any people, or where she knows she can avoid being detected." He glanced back at the notebook, "And she took my note with her."

"You wrote her a note?"

"Don't worry about it." Sherlock waved his hand, "But her writing is rushed, it isn't as neat as it usually would be. I've read through that diary, her writing on that note is scruffier than usual... So she was in a hurry. She had a time she had to be somewhere. So she had planned this. Or at least planned it early this morning otherwise she would have plenty of time and wouldn't have had to rush this." He slammed his fist hard onto the desk, "But where is she?" Sherlock flinched as his phone started ringing.

"Mycroft, got anything?" He immediately cut to the chase.

"St Bart's hospital. There is a few seconds of footage on there with her. It's very recent, a few seconds ago. I suggest you hurry and get there."

"Thank you," Sherlock sounded genuinely grateful, "Lestrade is picking us up."

"I'll come along later if I can, for now I would like to try and get more surveillance."

"Fine." The detective hung up. He turned to John, "Lestrade's here." He muttered as he checked his phone's texts. As they ran down to get into the police car John said:

"You know, she could have told us what was going on. But she didn't." He sighed, "Clearly she knew it would come to this, but at the same time she was too scared to say anything. What if we're too late Sherlock?"

"We won't be."

Both men clambered into the back of Detective Inspector Lestrade's police car and almost simultaneously, Greg started the car to get going.

"St Bart's hospital!" Sherlock yelled at him.

"I'm not a taxi service," Greg grinned, trying to lighten the mood as he did as Sherlock instructed. John huffed a laugh, and Sherlock managed a smile, both grateful that Lestrade was there to lighten things up a little bit.

"Thanks for doing this mate," John said to him.

"No problem, I'm just as worried as you," He said as he switched the sirens on to part traffic and move faster, "I like her, she's a good kid. What happened anyway?" As John explained briefly what had happened, Sherlock tried calling Lucy, even though he knew it would be pointless. He sighed deeply as it went onto answer phone. Truth be told, he hadn't been this worried since John was strapped up with bombs. But he knew things would be fine. They had to be. They always were. Lucy would be okay. Now that things had finally come to a head, they could solve this murder and go back to living in a little less danger. It was just after seven when they pulled up outside St Bart's hospital.

"Hang on Sherlock; do you even know who the murderer is yet?" Greg queried while both he and John look expectantly at the consulting detective.

"Yes. Or at least, I have a very good idea. I've had an idea for quite a while now, but getting the proof is near impossible unless I see them. I just need proof. And I have a feeling that the proof will be presented to us on a silver platter up on that rooftop." Sherlock looked up, he couldn't see what was happening, but no-one had reported any gunshots so Lucy was alive. For now. All three of them got out of the car, but Sherlock turned to Lestrade, "Can you wait here and call your other officers to come here? It has to be just me and John. If there are police up there, Moriarty will go through with whatever awful plan he has as soon as he sees you. We have a chance if it's just me and John."

"Fine, but be careful Sherlock." Greg looked at him seriously, "Call or text if you need anything at all." The detective nodded, but swiftly turned on his heel.

"Oh," Sherlock said, "Don't be expecting to catch Moriarty. We will catch the murderers at most, but Jim Moriarty always has an escape plan."

Into the hospital the two flatmates sprinted, racing as fast as they could to the stairs. Scaling the steps two at a time in record speed, the flung themselves onto the last staircase as they came rapidly towards the rooftop. Breath coming in pants, they stopped at the door. Sherlock flicked his coat collar up and John rolled his eyes.

"What are we dealing with here?" The ex-army doctor asked.

"Something dangerous." Sherlock replied, voice now emotionless, "If we go about this the wrong way, then this could end very badly."

"How do you mean?" John frowned.

"There could be snipers around perhaps. He did this to torture Lucy and kill her, what's to stop him now?"

"He wasn't going to kill her himself though."

"No, it's like A Study in Pink or whatever stupid title you gave it," John glared at him but Sherlock carried on, "Moriarty has been talking to her, showing her goodness knows what, making her want to take her life. If he's going to get his way then he will make sure she carries out his wishes of her death."

"How do we stop him?"

"We talk him down from it, have the murderers held at gunpoint so they can't help him. Although I doubt they will. There isn't much we can do. Either we change his mind or we don't. But either way, we have to make sure Lucy doesn't do anything. Who knows what he's been saying to her. By the looks of it, the killers have just made their entrance. So this is our cue." Sherlock sighed, "I don't know how we can stop this. We have to pray for a miracle."

"Don't be like that Sherlock. There's always a way." John gave him a half smile, "Let's do this."

"Yes, let's do this." Sherlock straightened up; making sure his coat collar was up before flinging the doors open as he strode out. Making both his and John's entrance rather cool looking.

"Ah boys, finally, you've come to play. Just in time for the show!" Jim greeted. Sherlock ignored him, noticing Lucy on the floor with a gun in her hands pointed at her head, tears streaming down her face. Sherlock knew he had to convince Lucy otherwise, that was their only hope. Chances are, Moriarty wouldn't have another plan to kill her, he wanted Lucy to kill herself, otherwise he wouldn't have as much... fun. But maybe Sherlock's plan wouldn't work. He had to try. Instead of making a snappy reply to the criminal mastermind, Sherlock turned to the two people by his side, whose eyes were focussed on the teenager. Instantly, he knew he had been right. And there was his proof. Addressing them first, John looked shocked as he said:

"Mr and Mrs Patterson I assume is correct."