Sherlock couldn't stop pacing, he had been pacing for the past four hours and his feet were beginning to hurt. He had tried everything he could think of to find where those damn assassins had taken John; he called his entire homeless network, had phoned Lestrade for help, and had looked all over the internet for some miniscule clue, but to no avail. They were good; there was no trace of where they had taken his doctor anywhere. Sherlock had even swallowed his pride and phoned Mycroft for help, but not even he could find any sign of them.
He continued to pace. How did they manage to cover their tracks so well? Usually whenever Sherlock Holmes set his mind on finding someone, there weren't many people who could stop him from doing just that. He was stumped. He admitted it; the great and wonderful Sherlock Holmes was stumped. As he continued his restless pacing he heard a beep come from the open laptop sitting on the kitchen table. Curious, Sherlock cautiously approached the laptop and looked on the screen.
"John!" Sherlock gasped in horror at the image on his screen. John was on the floor of a dark and damp room and he was obviously badly hurt. He had a deep gash on left cheek, it looked like his nose had been broken, and he was bleeding from a variety of scrapes and cuts. His hands and feet were tied together and the skin on his wrists and ankles was rubbed raw and bleeding from the rough ropes. He was also blindfolded and gagged.
Red hot rage rose up in Sherlock, no one hurt his John. Sherlock was so focused on John that he didn't notice the man standing next to John with the gun in his hand until he spoke.
"Let's give your little boyfriend a call shall we?"
Sherlock finally noticed the muscular man who was pointing his pistol directly at John's head. He was tall and tan with numerous scars on his huge biceps and his unkind face that, at the moment, had a crooked and evil-looking smile plastered on it. He had grungy dark hair that was cut in a short buzz cut. He was clearly an army veteran. This was obviously the man who had tortured John and Sherlock decided right then and there that he would kill him for it.
"What have you done to him?!" Sherlock practically screamed at him. "John! John it's me, are you alright?"
John nodded feebly and this earned him another savage kick from his captor. John grunted in pain and Sherlock's temper flared.
"If you lay one more finger on him, I swear that I will personally hunt you down and kill you myself." Sherlock growled menacingly.
The torturer's smile widened a little more as he pushed the barrel of the pistol up against the back of John's head. Sherlock's breath caught, his heart stopped, and he clenched the table as the man put his finger on the trigger and pulled it.
"NO!" Sherlock yelled in fear.
The gun clicked, but did not fire. John visibly jerked away at the sound and then slumped forward in relief when no bullet pierced his skull. Sherlock let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding and waited for the ex-army man to explain.
The man in question put a new cartridge in the pistol and cocked it again.
"That was a warning Mr. Holmes. This one has bullets in it." He said as he pressed the barrel back up against John's bloodied head. "But I'm sure you had already deduced that."
"I'm also sure that you know exactly what it is I'm about to ask of you." As he said this he looked directly at the camera for the first time. Sherlock shivered, his eyes were such a dark brown they looked black, and there was no compassion anywhere to be seen in them. Sherlock was sure that this man would not hesitate to put that bullet right through Johns head if necessary.
Sherlock nodded numbly. "You want me to track someone down."
"Yes, very impressive." The man said and he lowered the gun slightly. "And as soon as you find him, it would be best if you, ah, disposed of him for us. Bring back the body as proof. Do that and I'll let Doctor Watson here live to see another day."
"But," Sherlock began, "I haven't agreed to do anything for you yet."
The threatening man smiled the same crooked smile. "Your reaction to me firing that blank at Doctor Watson gave me all the confirmation I needed."
Sherlock glared at him. "Yes alright, I'll do your little task. But if John isn't returned perfectly alive I will find you and kill you."
"Slowly and painfully I'm sure."
"As slowly and painfully as possible, rest assured. Now, who is it I'm supposed to be tracking down?"
"I will send his file to your computer. He has been a thorn in our side for quite some time now." John's captor said nonchalantly. "Oh, and it would be best if you made it quick, I can't guaranty this one's" he pointed the weapon back a John's head "safety for too long. I'm sure we'll be hearing from you soon Mr. Holmes."
"Yes, but why me?" Sherlock asked suspiciously. "You could have hired any random criminal to capture and kill this man, why go to all the trouble to kidnap John in order make me do it?"
The man smiled knowingly. "We have reason to believe that you are the only one capable of actually getting close enough to him to accomplish this feat. So long for now Mr. Holmes."
The screen went dark and a message appeared in his email inbox. Sherlock moved the mouse over to the file containing the information on who it was he was supposed to find and kill, and clicked on it. It only had two words on it: Mycroft Holmes.