Panthera Pardus

Chapter 10: The Race Is On

Mycroft Holmes sighed as he swept his hand back along his balding head. It had been approximately six hours since Sherlock had disappeared as a panther into the urban jungle of London. Mycroft had managed to track him down eventually. It wasn't difficult to miss a black leopard roaming the streets of London, even if it was evening going on night. Sherlock was normally much more careful of how he ran when he was a panther on the streets of London, but it appeared that losing his mate had made him careless.

The elder Holmes could relate. He and Gregory had only completed the bond going on a year ago now. He couldn't imagine the lengths he'd go to if his mate were lost or injured. Just the thought of going through what Sherlock was going through for John made Mycroft want to be close to Gregory. He resisted for all of two minutes before rising from his chair and grabbing his coat on the way out of his office.

Greg would still be at the office now even though it was going on eleven o'clock. There had been three bodies at that warehouse which always meant a lot of paperwork for the DI. Anthea was ready for him with the car when he walked out of the office. He gave his assistant a small smile before sliding into the back seat of the sleek black sedan. He sent a text message telling Gregory to meet him outside NSY in fifteen minutes. "New Scotland Yard, Benjamin," he addressed his driver.

The sedan pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. Mycroft had sent men out to watch over Sherlock to make sure he didn't get into too much trouble. He knew that his younger brother wouldn't listen to anything he said now. The only way to get Sherlock back to 221B and back on the case was to get John back, which was exactly what Mycroft had been working on. The government official had used all of his resources to track down John, but all they had given him was that John had been taken from the warehouse and into a helicopter that had headed north.

Mycroft leaned back in the leather seat of the sedan and closed his eyes for a moment. John's safe return was priority. He'd seen the note that had been left for Sherlock; Gregory had found it in the younger man's pocket. Moriarty was indeed a cunning opponent. A question that had yet to be answered though, what did Moriarty want with Sherlock? It was obvious that John had been taken to get to Sherlock, but what could Moriarty want to tell Sherlock?

The sedan wove through traffic with ease, and Mycroft found himself pondering what he knew of Moriarty himself. James Moriarty, according to official records was man thirty-three years of age, born in southern Malahide in Ireland to parents who'd sent him off to boarding school as soon as he was old enough. After boarding school he went to University at Oxford where he graduated with a triple major in social sciences, economics, and politics. However he dropped off the radar after university. According to official records, James Moriarty had done nothing after university. He hadn't gotten a job, or pursued further education.

Unofficially, Mycroft had found things that concerned him greatly. The Irish man had gathered a network of individuals. All of whom had legal businesses, but some of whom were known to have underhand dealings. Mycroft suspected that all of these individuals had illegal dealings with drugs, human trafficking, smuggling, or other such underhanded things. Moriarty was at the center of it all. Each and every one of these businesses owed him for one thing or another, and it was only through much digging that Mycroft's people had learned this. Just as Sherlock was a consulting detective, Mycroft had come to the conclusion that Moriarty was a consulting criminal.

The elder Holmes strongly suspected that John had been taken back to Dublin where Moriarty was rumored to have his base of operations. However there was no way of proving that. He had every one of his people in both the UK and the Republic of Ireland on watch for the helicopter seen leaving the warehouse district, but no reports of its landing had come in. Which probably meant that they'd landed somewhere discreet and then transported John via automobile. While it wasn't impossible to track John, Moriarty certainly wasn't making it easy.

The sedan pulled up in front of NSY then and Benjamin hopped out of the vehicle to open the door. Gregory Lestrade slid into the sleek car and scooted over until he was pressed against Mycroft. The elder Holmes waited until the door was closed again to reach for his mate and pull him forward. His nose went immediately to Gregory's neck where there was a scar from the bite mark he'd received upon bonding. The scent there was rich and all Gregory. Mycroft inhaled deeply, nuzzling into his mate's neck while his arms held him tight, nearly pulling the silver haired detective into his lap.

"My," Greg breathed. His own arms came up to hug Mycroft tightly to him. He breathed in the shapeshifter's scent and waited until Mycroft's grip loosened a bit before speaking. "Not that I don't appreciate your coming, but what's this all about?"

"I've been thinking too long on Sherlock and John's predicament."

Greg's eyes narrowed as they swept over Mycroft's downturned face. "You started thinking of what if it had been me?" he asked, not really needing an answer. The older man didn't answer. Greg smiled and pulled Mycroft's face up to press a chaste kiss against his lips. "My, I'm not going anywhere. This Moriarty guy is obviously targeting your brother. I don't think I'm even in his scope."

"Thank you, Gregory, but that doesn't stop this need to be closer to you."

Greg smiled and kissed Mycroft again. This time it was a slow sensuous thing with gentle teasing until Mycroft's mouth opened. Greg's tongue entered and slowly licked at the ginger's teeth. He made sure to thoroughly examine Mycroft's mouth before pulling back, a soft whimper following him. "Better?"

Mycroft opened his eyes. He didn't remember when he'd shut them. His eyes automatically found Gregory's hazel eyes looking back at him, a soft smile playing at his lips. He wanted to take the man home and ravish him until he was a begging, moaning, pile of need then start all over again. However he knew the man still had much to do. He himself had much to do, and none of it could wait. He sighed and pressed his forehead against his mate's. "It'll have to do for now," he replied. "We both need to get back to work."

Greg frowned, but nodded. "You're right. I should go. Thank you for coming though. I didn't realize how much I missed you until I saw you."

Mycroft smiled. "You're welcome, Gregory. I'll see you tomorrow sometime?"

"Count on it," Greg grinned as Benjamin opened the door for him again.

: : :

Sherlock ran.

His paws carried him over the hard turf of a park before continuing on over the black top of a nearby road and into an alleyway. He'd heard the helicopter take off from the warehouse, but hadn't been able to follow quickly enough. All he knew was what others had seen. He'd met with a few members of his homeless network and was able to determine that the helicopter had left the city flying northwest. He knew it was useless to follow as a panther, but all of his instincts demanded he run, that he follow the great sky bird and find his mate.

It was not long past when John had been taken and the man was definitely out of the city now. However Sherlock had not spent the past six hours idly. He'd run as a panther between different members of his homeless network, gathering information. He now knew that Moriarty was a major league criminal who planned operations and sent out operatives to perform them. Hundreds of people in the UK and the Republic of Ireland alone owed him favors. His network extended across Europe and Asia, and even into the Americas.

Sherlock slowed as he approached 221b. He'd finally managed to gather enough information to project that John was most likely in Dublin. More information would be needed, but he hoped that studying the evidence that Moriarty had left for him would be beneficial. He'd been able to tell at a glance around the room that the small sack had been a bomb. After careful thought and after all the information he'd learned that night from his network, Sherlock had deduced that Moriarty was developing a type of bomb to be sold on the black market. One that was made to go inside a human being and pass through any security checkpoint. The only way one would know if another person had a bomb in them was if it went off.

The market for suicide bombers wasn't enormous, but these bombs didn't have to be detonated inside the person. They could be simply transported inside the person to pass through security then removed and placed elsewhere to detonate. Over all, it was an idea that was in short, genius. Everyone would be a suspect, and no one would be safe. It would induce a sort of fear not experienced by this generation before.

Approaching the backside of 221, Sherlock growled approvingly when he saw that Mrs. Hudson had left her window open. He reared back on his hind paws to gauge the amount of open space and the height. Should be just enough, he thought. Crouching down, he quickly calculated the trajectory then sailed smoothly through the window to land in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. The woman in question was sitting at the kitchen table and screamed loudly, nearly falling over in her chair. Her teacup smashed to the floor, the tea splashing all over.

"Sherlock!" she finally gasped out, her eyes still wide. "You change back this instant!"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. Slowly, he changed back into a human, grabbing a dishrag has he did to cover himself. Mrs. Hudson hardly noticed though as she started to berate him. "Trying to scare me to death, are you? Well you're doing a bang up job of it! I don't care if John is missing, that's no excuse to terrify your landlady!"

Sherlock gave her a hard look at the mention of John. She seemed to realize what she'd said though and looked down contritely. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," she apologized. "I didn't mean that the way it came out."

The consulting detective sighed. "It's fine, Mrs. Hudson."

"You'd best get upstairs then. I imagine you came home for a reason."

"Correct. I have much to do, and very little time to do it in," he moved off to the stairs to 221b, completely oblivious to the fact that the dishrag was only covering his front.

Mrs. Hudson blushed, but nodded as he passed. "Call if you need anything, dear," she said as he passed.

Sherlock nodded absently as he left 221a and ran up the stairs to 221b. He frowned down at the dishrag and walked into his room to dress in his regular loose silk pajama bottoms and an old cotton tee shirt underneath his blue housecoat. Upon exiting his bedroom, he noticed that his heavy wool coat was lying over the back of John's chair. So Mycroft had been by; that explained how Mrs. Hudson knew of John's kidnapping. Sherlock frowned at the thought of his elder brother in the apartment, but left the thought as he turned to focus on the evidence that was currently sitting in a plastic container in the fridge.

He would need to work quickly. He had no idea what Moriarty had meant when he said that John's life would be dripping away. However he'd chosen to take it literally. If Moriarty had cut John so that his blood dripped out, he didn't have much time (depending on the cut). Quickly, Sherlock took up the plastic container holding the part of a liver that had been turned into a bomb.

: : :

John groaned as his head swam towards consciousness. Everywhere ached as though he'd just gotten done with a rather vigorous rugby game. He moved to press the heel of his hand against his eyes and rub the sleep away, but met resistance. Slowly opening his eyes, John noticed first and foremost that he wasn't in 221b. He was in a small dark room with grayish paint peeling from the walls. There was a chair against the wall opposite him, and he lay on the ground. The second thing he noticed was that his hands and feet were tied. He tugged at the bonds, but found that they were indeed tied securely.

Trying to keep calm, John tried to take inventory of everything. The last thing he remembered was stitching up the soldier in the warehouse when someone had held a chloroform doused cloth over his nose. He could still taste the sickening sweetness on the back of his tongue. The room he was in didn't have a window and was very small, approximately two by two meters. It was lit with a small lantern using a florescent bulb. It smelled strongly of mold and mildew, and had shelving higher up on the wall with bars to hang clothing. So he was in a closet, an old disused closet by the smell of it. John wrinkled his nose and tried to sit up.

His head spun a little after spending so long lying down, but eventually he managed to get himself upright and lean back against the wall. He had to lean at an angle though, given that his hands were tied behind his back. The former army doctor figured he must have been in the room for at least a couple of hours judging by how much his shoulder ached. However that was pretty much the extent of what he could gather from his surroundings. He gently rested his head back on the wall and closed his eyes. If Sherlock were here, he could probably tell where they were just by the carpet on the floor. The blond man chuckled to himself.

"Ah, awake I see," an oily voice said as the door opened with a screech.

John squinted at the light coming through. It wasn't even that bright, but he'd been in the dark for so long, that his eyes took a while to adjust. "Who are you?" he started.

The man in the doorway crouched down so he was on John's level. "Jim Moriarty," he drawled, a slight Irish accent tingeing his words. "Sooo nice to meet you, Johnny boy!"

John immediately didn't like the guy. There was just something about him that exuded menace, and we're not talking Dennis the Menace kind of trouble either. "What the hell do you want?"

"Oh, that's no way to speak to your betters, Johnny! Besides, I just wanna show you something."

With that, Moriarty stepped to the side and let a behemoth of a man into John's closet. He was tall with reddish brown hair and muscles that looked like he worked out for four hours every single day! "Seb, please bring Johnny into the main room here. I want him to see what I have in store for him," Moriarty commanded the man.

John flinched back from Seb as the man reached out for him. However instead of roughly grabbing him, the giant pulled him forward before lifting him up and carrying him over one shoulder into the other room. He set John down in a plain wooden chair then stepped away. The room that the closet was attached to wasn't really much better than the closet itself, but at least it had more light coming in from the curtained windows. The room was bare except for a low bed with an IV stand next to it and some kind of machine with tubes sticking out of it. John's face paled. Were they going to do some sort of experiment on him?

Moriarty stood casually next to the IV stand, his hands clasped behind his back and a rather disturbing grin on his face. "Now, I'll bet your trying to use that rather limited intelligence of yours to figure out what it is I have planned for you." John remained quiet and stared at Moriarty. "It is rather delightful, if I do say so myself," he continued grinning. "In essence, it's a blood transfusion. However first we have to run your blood through a scrubber that gets rid of the things that will attack the new blood. Then we can introduce the new blood into your system and see what happens!" He clapped his hands excitedly. "Shall we get started?"

"Whoa, hang on," John tried to stall. "Just what is it in the new blood that might be attacked?"

"Oh did I forget to mention?" Moriarty looked truly contrite for all of five seconds before his manic grin came back. "The blood we're introducing to your system is shapeshifter blood."

John's eyes widened and his mouth fell open a little bit before he had the presence of mind to snap it shut. How in the bloody hell did Moriarty know about shapeshifters? Bugger that! He was giving John shapeshifter blood! Would this turn John into a shapeshifter? Or would it just kill him?

"Ah, I see you know what I'm talking about," Moriarty taunted. "And now you're wondering whether it's going to kill you." At this, Moriarty jerked his head towards Seb. "Show him Seb."

Seb stepped out from behind John so that the army doctor could see as Seb unselfconsciously stripped down and stood still. He started to grow fur and his body started to rearrange itself similar to how Sherlock and Mycroft's did when shifting, however there was a subtle difference… Seb was turning into a tiger, as was evident when the fur fully grew out and it was orange and black. And not only was he any tiger, but John would guess that Seb was a Siberian Tiger, going by the size of him. Moriarty stepped forward and leisurely ran a hand along the tiger's back as the animal twitched its tail from side to side. John found himself leaning back in the chair as far as he could go.

"No need to be afraid," Moriarty said calmly petting the tiger's back. "He only does as commanded." He smirked a little then. "Okay, maybe a little afraid. After all, it would be just as entertaining to see your mate's reaction to seeing your throat ripped out."

John's face paled at the mention of having his throat ripped out, but he was rather proud of his level voice when he spoke next. "I hardly think that's necessary," he tried to be convincing.

Moriarty chuckled. "Good show, doctor, but I can see your pulse going a mile a minute in your neck, just there." He tapped the side of John's neck with one pale cold finger. John flinched back from the touch, and Moriarty retracted his hand. He gave John another sinister smirk. "Right, let's get this show on the road. Change back, Seb."

Once again, Seb morphed and without any insecurities, redressed himself. Without prompting, Seb lifted John once more and moved him to the bed. He cut the zip tie holding John's arms behind his back and proceeded to shackle his right wrist to the bed in a leather cuff. John, however, had other ideas and swung his left hand as hard as he could, given that the chloroform hadn't completely left his system. His fist landed solidly against Seb's jaw with a sickening smack. Seb, formerly docile suddenly became alert and used his full strength to restrain John. His left hand was squeezed in the shapeshifter's fist until it hurt and his right was already cuffed.

Moriarty tutted softly and sighed. "That was a bad idea, Johnny," he scolded. "You'll have to be punished for that." John struggled against Seb's might to no avail and spit in Moriarty's direction. It didn't hit him, but it made John feel better. Moriarty looked down at where the spit had landed with distaste before turning back to John. "Just for that, we won't be putting you under for the procedure. I've been told it's quite painful. Feels something like acid burning through your veins," he remarked. "Of course that's only what I've heard from the other test subjects." He smirked.

He moved around to the other side of the bed and shackled John's left wrist into the leather cuff while Seb held him down. Then they both moved to John's feet. Seb held his legs down with a painful pressure while Moriarty cut the zip tie and cuffed his ankles. With quick efficiency, two needles were hooked up to John's elbow and the machine was turned on.

John knew about blood scrubbing. He'd prescribed it for a few patients actually during his intern years, but it was mostly just for cleaning the system of cholesterol, and it was only a last resort. He didn't know how Moriarty had modified the treatment to get rid of the things in his blood that would attack the shapeshifter blood, but he wasn't too thrilled about it. It would probably mean a much weaker immune system.

Laying back against the thin pillow on the bed, John began to feel a bit woozy as the blood was sucked out his arm to be run through the machine. Where are you, Sherlock? he thought as he closed his eyes.

A/N: Okay, so this is your mid-month update for April! Once again, sorry that my update schedule is off. I'm doing a writing challenge wherein I have to write 50,000 words in 30 days. www . campnanowrimo . org if anyone wants to check it out! So you probably won't see another update from me until May 1st at the earliest. Once again, apologies...

In case you couldn't tell, this story is coming to a close. I'm not quite sure how many more chapters there will be, but I'm thinking somewhere in the neighborhood of four? I don't know, I tend to ramble on sometimes, so it could be more. Also, a big thanks to all of the support I got last chapter for doing the writing challenge! You guys are great!