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When he woke up again, John was no longer tied to a table, but sitting on a chair, facing the unrendered wall of whatever building he was in.

His throat hurt, but otherwise he seemed to be fine. Listening closely, he failed to hear proof of another person inside the room. For a second, he wanted to let his guard down, but then thought better of it. He hadn't had time to check the room for cameras, and he didn't want to run any risk.

So he refrained from raising his head too high, concentrating on looking just a little more broken then he really felt. Nine months under Mycroft's observation had given him a steady routine with that. Who would have thought that would come in handy one day?

John had no idea when Moran would show up again, so he used the time at hands for a general assessment of his situation. (1) Fact was, Moran intended to toy with him before killing him. That was good, because (2) fact was, Sherlock was looking for him. The longer Moran would toy, the longer Sherlock had to find him. So, why was Moran toying with him? Well, he was either (a) aiming at hurting Sherlock or (b) aiming at hurting John.

(3) Fact was, Moran had been very close to Sherlock, lost that closeness due to a mistake he had made (given you could call killing more than five innocent people merely a "mistake"). (4) Fact was, John was as close to Sherlock now as Moran once had been. These facts made both (a) and (b) equally tempting goals.

(a) would be achieved by first torturing and then killing John, showing Sherlock that he had not been able to save his friend, and (5) fact was, Sherlock couldn't get over that. (b) would be achieved by first torturing John for a really long time before killing him. But (6) fact was, if Moran was aiming at real hurt, physical torture would not be enough. He would have to apply psychological warfare as well. What could he be using?

John's musings were cut short when a door opened behind his back. He was already able to tell it was Moran simply by listening to the way he walked. Still, he made his back stiffen with anticipation. For a while, Moran said nothing, just went across the room several times, probably carrying something. "Hello?" John said with a certain uncertainty in his voice, signalling "I don't have any idea who is doing what behind my back". It seemed to work, for the steps came to an abrupt stop.

"John, awake already!" Moran sneered, coming closer. Again, John didn't need brilliant acting abilities to appear scared. He still had no idea how stable this man was, and he did not ignore the fact that (7) one wrong word could trigger violence that would certainly lead to a brutal death long before the intended torturing would be finished.

John willed down his rapid heartbeat. He tried to turn his head wide enough to look at Moran, and found to his surprise that he had full movement there. Hopefully that surprise hadn't shown on his face! But Moran was still wearing that smug expression of superiority, if he had noticed the surprise, he had probably misjudged it.

"Would have thought you'd be freed by now, wouldn't you?" Moran teased, clearly aiming at making John fear Sherlock would not find him in time. With one swift movement he turned John's chair around. "How long have I been here?," John asked, his throat still hurting, his voice harsh. "All in all? Six days. You've been out cold for four days after I got you, and another two after…" He didn't end the sentence, softly touching John's throat instead, maybe even caressing it. John shuddered.

But six days? No way. After a two day blackout the pain in his throat would be a lot better. John bit his upper lip, hoping to appear thoughtful, but really checking his beard stubbles. No, not six days. Three at most, rather only two.

"Are you wondering why Sherlock hasn't found you yet?" Now, what would be the right answer to that? "You've said you're hiding me where he wouldn't look …" "You are wrong, and you know it!" Moran said softly, and without any warning gave him a violent punch right into his face. John couldn't help but cry out in pain. Damn. Then he realised something that was worse than the pain that was building up just below his left eye. It had been the right answer, but Moran was finding excuses to hurt him. Whatever he would do or say now, it would end painfully.

John steeled himself for what was to come next. "We are talking about Sherlock Holmes," Moran went on. "Tell me what he was doing when you left!" If this was all about inflicting pain on John, there was no reason to waste resources on inventing a good lie. "He was thinking about the case you set up for him." Now Moran grinned at him, with a look on his face John had already come to hate.

"Exactly, John. What do you think, how long has it taken him to realise you were gone? How much time has he already wasted by not noticing your absence?" John had been right, then. This was not just about physical pain. He willingly played along, frowning. "Well …" He let his voice trail off, knowing exactly what Moran was after. "Tell me John," Moran interrupted, "how often does he talk to you when you are not around?" Good question. "Rather often" he admitted truthfully. "And why would he do that?" Now John held Moran's gaze when he answered: "Because sometimes he's completely oblivious of my presence!"

"Because he only cares for you when he remembers you're there." Moran concluded, placing his hand on John's shoulder. John looked up at him with what he hoped was a display of faked realisation. Sherlock's temporary ignorance of his presence was not really a big revelation to him, but it seemed to sting with Moran, even after all those years. Good to know. "You don't think the day I abducted you was an exception, do you?" Moran continued to tease him.

John opened his mouth to answer but before he was able to voice his thoughts, Moran had reached out and punched him again, more fiercely this time. But now John had seen it coming, and his painful cry was carefully controlled, its only purpose to make Moran feel in charge here. It nevertheless hurt, and he felt something hot trickle down his temple. He lowered his head and watched his own blood slowly seep into his shirt. Then he steeled himself, determined to keep the upper hand here, no matter how ugly it would get.

Mycroft Holmes despised legwork. He despised it nearly as much as surprises. But when his international surveillance network had detected John Watson's abduction, he had known that a journey to Italy had become indispensable.

The state of mind his brother was in when Mycroft arrived told him that his decision had indeed been justified. His eyes held a certain glint Mycroft had last seen years ago, usually followed by excessive drug abuse or worse. His movements were too fast, his voice quivered too strong. Yet what bothered Mycroft most was the fact that when he calmingly placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, his brother did not draw away.

An unobtrusive search of the village brought up old, deeply hidden, bitter-sweet memories, but not a single hint of the doctor's whereabouts, and with every passing hour Sherlock's mood darkened significantly. Little was spoken between them, but when Mycroft suggested returning to the hotel Sherlock seemed to understand the reason. Sebastian wanted Sherlock to play with him, to follow his lead, and he surely couldn't resist teasing him with a hint should the search remain to be fruitless for long.

When the young receptionist who was obviously still dealing with the aftermath of childhood abuse and a violent fiancé told them that someone had left a flash drive for them, it had come as no surprise. Mycroft watched rather patiently while Sherlock reduced her to tears for not being able to tell them who left it, knowing there was no stopping him anyway, before he steered his little brother back into his room and started the wave file.

Being able to follow more than one train of thought, Mycroft easily divided his attention between the video clip and his brother. Sherlock however gave the clip his full attention, his eyes darting across the screen of his laptop feverishly. He seemed oblivious to how clearly his emotions were visible on his face.

The clip opened with a long shot of John Watson lying on a table, and Sebastian waiting patiently for him to regain consciousness. He looked straight into the camera twice, at the very beginning of filming and then again when John woke up.

"An orchestration" Sherlock murmured, a comment that touched Mycroft's heart quite unexpectedly. Of course it was, and Sherlock must have known that his brother was aware of it, too. The simplest deduction, in fact, and were the circumstances different Sherlock would have acknowledged his brother with mordant derision for mentioning something so obvious.

But these were special circumstances. This was about John Watson.

They watched on as Sebastian stepped closer to the waking doctor. "I know you're awake, John!" they heard him whisper, leaning on him just a little too close. Sherlock unknowingly flinched at that, revealing more about his reunion with Sebastian than what he had told his brother about it. Mycroft's glance wandered to the scratch on Sherlock's hand.

The pain on Sherlock's face increased exponentially when Sebastian started to strangle the doctor, even though it was obvious that his intention was not to kill the man.

The second clip showed John tied to a chair, his back to the camera. "Another place!" Sherlock noted, deeply lost in thought. So that was why they couldn't find him: Sebastian had him transferred from one building to another between the two takes.

Mycroft allowed his eyes to close for a second, already constructing four different scenarios to stabilise his brother after John's hopefully not occurring death, none of them pleasant. When he opened them again, something had changed significantly.

Sherlock was leaning closer to the screen of the laptop, eyeing the scene curiously. His lips were curled into a very slight smile. "Listen to this" he exclaimed, rewinding the clip a few seconds. "Hello?" John was asking insecurely, his back to Sebastian, who was just approaching him.

When Mycroft failed to see what Sherlock was aiming at, he rewound again. "Hello?" And again. "Hello?" Then it dawned to him. "He his faking his insecurity!" At that, his little brother gave him a broader smile. "Yes, he is!"

The clip went on, and now it became obvious to Mycroft: John's surprise at not being properly tethered, John checking his facial hair to disprove the time frame Sebastian had given him, John trying to give exactly the answers Sebastian was expecting. Sherlock regaining his spirits, a proud smile on his lips.

But more became obvious to him: Sherlock compassionately watching Sebastian first punching John in the face, then treating him with increasing violence. Sebastian hitting John so hard that the chair keeled over. Sebastian kicking John's ribs, breaking more than one in the process. Sherlock's jaw clinching in pain while watching it. Sherlock's eyes widening when a fierce kick to the head made John lose consciousness again.

Mycroft Holmes despised legwork. But then he watched his little brother's face displaying every ounce of pain that John was hiding. His brother, who had always spent so much time on creating the image of an unaffiliated, self-centred sociopath. No matter how much Mycroft despised legwork, he understood that should they not manage to find John Watson in time, there was no scenario that would stabilise his brother ever again, and there was no other place he himself could be then than by Sherlock's side.

Thanks to everyone reading and following and favouring and reviewing so far, I really appreciate it.

My eternal thanks of course to my wonderful beta-readers GoSherlocked and Bev. I would be lost without you!