Hey you all! Thanks for the huge response :D Anyway, there is a big time jump from the last chapter tothis one, so... and sorry for any mistakes, I am in a hurry. Have fun, though :D

Time flies, or so I have noticed, not only when you are having fun, but in the moment it does. The whole hubbub about Sherlock being real has died down, and we are searching for the threads again. It is a boring time, repetitive, but that's maybe exactly why the last one and a half months seem to have vanished into thin air.

It's not as fast as I want it to be, the thrill of chasing the threads, the brilliant feeling after triumph is not there, and I miss it. We found Smith and Stone incredibly quickly, and we didn't have anything to do with Paul Timothy, but now I can feel why Sherlock broke down under the constant lure to take drugs. Apart from the one trip to Germany where Sherlock was completely surprised that I can speak German fluidly, it was utterly brain-killing.

This is about to change, I have this feeling of dread, when somebody calls Sherlock. It's not excitement, even though excitement is there, but the foreshadowing of something bad. I am not sure whether I want to know what it is or not.

"Hello?" Sherlock answers the phone carefully, putting it on speaker at the same time, who knows this number? It's untraceable, and it isn't his old one, even though he kept that one too.

"Really – I'd have thought you learnt your lesson."

The voice is indiscernible, computer-made, and Sherlock gestures to Mycroft to track it. The elder Holmes does it himself, we need to do so quickly and Anthea is getting some files, so for once he has to do it. Not that he can't do it, mostly he is just too lazy to do it himself, as I have noticed during the last months.

"What lesson? What are you talking about?" He doesn't ask who is calling, and after a second I realise why. Who would change their voice with a computer only to tell who they are?

"You should know by now not to let the person closest to you out of your sight." It almost seems as if the other person is amused, but I can't be sure.

"What have you done?!" Sherlock's voice is suddenly loud, and this time, I am sure the caller laughs.

"You'll find out."

I look at Sherlock and Mycroft, who are standing in front of the computer. They are looking at a map, at a little glowing point to be exact: It's a warehouse, abandoned and quite old.

"We need to go, he's got John! How could you let that happen?" Sherlock is agitated, very much so, but Mycroft surprisingly isn't as calm as I thought he'd be.

"Sherlock, I know this is the second time my information could be wrong, but it isn't this time! Dr Watson is at Baker Street, as usual. He isn't in that warehouse!"

"Mycroft – Whatever, we're going. Kiara, come on!"

I hurry to follow him, but when I glance at Mycroft, I see that he hasn't moved from behind the desk.

"I'll be watching. But he's not there."

Then I storm out of the room.

Mycroft's POV:

It barely takes a minute to activate the tracker in Kiara's coat, and Mycroft watches them hurrying towards the warehouse. He knows it'll take them at least twenty minutes to get there, so he starts busying himself with the files Anthea had brought in shortly after the call had ended.

The files are boring, but necessary, and after fifteen minutes he is through half of them, when Anthea comes in. In her hands is a tray, with tea and some biscuits, and Mycroft smiles up to her.

"You are heaven-sent, Anthea – thank you, my dear." he says when she puts it down.

"As always, Sir."

Watching Anthea leave the room, he pours himself a sup of tea and bites into the biscuit. It's sweet and perfectly on the fine edge of being too soft or too dry. The first sip of the tea is relaxing, and Mycroft smirks when he thinks about the cliché of British people drinking tea the whole time.

The whole calm, peaceful atmosphere is destroyed when a sharp pain erupts in his chest. He can't breathe, why is this happening? It's hurting, oh, it's hurting, and the last thing he sees while sliding from his chair to the ground is a woman hurrying inside the office.

Kiara's POV:

The warehouse is empty. Completely empty, full of dust, and I can see it written clearly on Sherlock's face – the confusion and the fear. Nobody's been here for months, years even, apart from that one trail of footprints to the one corner.

Sherlock hasn't even bothered to go to the corner. Standing in the middle of the room, thinking, in his mind-palace, he tries to figure out what's going on. When I see something grey in the corner, I pick it up and read what's on the little slip of paper.

"Hey Sherlock!" My voice is shaking as I look down at the single word.

It takes to tries to get him to notice me, and he looks quite pissed off.

"What if the caller didn't just mean you? What if he meant both of us? Who is closest to both of us?" I whisper as I show him the paper.

Sherlock pales and realisation dawns, as he gasps the word on the slip.

"Mycroft!"

Sorry for the shortness, but next chapter will be up in hopefully three or four days! I have already written this part, yay :D

Please review, love you

~Valkyrie