Mycroft, Molly, and John stood stunned, unable to speak. Moran kept the gun trained on them as Janine smiled mischievously. John was the first to move, stepping forward with his hands raised.

"Janine, I don't know what's going on, but we can-"

Without blinking, Janine brought her full weight down on Sherlock's leg, bending it backwards against the steps, a sickening crack echoing throughout the room. Sherlock let out an agonizing scream behind the tape, tears involuntarily streaming from his eyes. Janine allowed him to roll out of the way, lying flat on the top step, stomach down. Even from a distance it was clear that his leg was broken, the detective struggling to catch his breath, eyes squeezed shut.

"Stop it!" Molly screamed, afraid to step forward in the event that Janine inflicted some other punishment on Sherlock.

"Oh, that's right, you're Sherl's girlfriend now, right? I have to admit, I figured he was gay after all the times he refused to sleep with me, but no hard feelings. Tom said 'hi' by the way," Janine shifted her gaze to Mycroft, the menacingly playful expression melting away to pure hatred.

"My beef is with you, Myc," she spat out the last syllable like a curse, beginning a slow circle around Sherlock on the floor, who was still panting around the tape, his face turning a sickly grey. Moran moved slightly out of the way, watching the proceedings with an amused smile. "Tie them up, Seb."

The three of them were sat back to back while Moran bonded their hands with zip-ties, Janine holding the gun teasingly against Sherlock's temple while he did so.

"You see, Myc-I know that my brother Jim shot himself on the roof that day, and it breaks my heart," from beneath her jacket she unsheathed a large hunting knife with the hand not holding the gun, the blade glistening in the shabby factory lighting. "But all of this started with you. You baited my brother into everything he did, so I baited yours."

Janine kneeled down beside Sherlock, jerking his head up by his hair, pressing the tip of the blade into the fleshy part of his cheek. A tiny drop of blood issued from the small puncture, Sherlock screwing his eyes up tight in an effort not to make a sound. "I flirted at the wedding, figuring him to be like every other stupid male in the world, but this fishy was just a wee bit harder to catch. Huh, Sherl?"

In one violent move she ripped the tape from his mouth and dropped his hair, his head coming down quicker than he could stop it and rapping against the pavement. Clenching his teeth but still not opening his eyes, he spoke with a wavering voice.

"You're just as crazy as he was."

"JIM. WAS. NOT. CRAZY!" She screamed, every word punctuated by a swift kick to Sherlock's abdomen, causing him to curl in on himself due to his inability to deflect.

Molly, John, and Mycroft all yelled out, flinching forward, the sound of the gun clicking into place stopping them in their tracks. Janine fixed her hair and turned back to the group standing in abject horror. "You took my brother from me, Mycroft Holmes. Now you're going to watch while I take yours from you."

"Then I'm gonna kill you, love," said Moran, looking at Molly. Molly's eyes swam behind tears as she chanced a look at Sherlock, who was wiggling back and forth on the floor behind a piece of old machinery. "Jim meant the world to me, and-"

A shot rang out and Moran fell to the floor, a small hole between his eyes. Molly screamed as his body hit the floor, blood pooling beneath his head. "Never liked him much," Janine deadpanned, lowering the gun and returning to Sherlock. "And where do you think you're going?" Pulling the collar of his shirt, she was able to maneuver Sherlock to a standing position, albeit with his weight balanced precariously on one leg.

With his legs and arms still bound, he swayed ominously as he tried to retain his balance on one leg. "Do you want to hear the best part, Sherl?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried in vain to retreat to his mind palace, unable to block out the pain radiating from his leg.

"Magnussen was in on the entire thing. Where do you think Jim got his guidance? How do you think the two of them met? Then you had to go and off both of them, just when things were getting good!"

Sherlock shrieked, falling forward into Janine, who chuckled lightly. Molly, John, and Mycroft were uncertain of what had happened until Janine spun Sherlock around in order to push him to the floor, revealing the hunting knife protruding from the flesh beneath his ribs on the left side. Molly was just able to make out Sherlock's eyes rolling into the back of his head before he fell out of view behind the machinery.

"SHERLOCK!" cried Mycroft and John at the same time, struggling against their bonds, Molly sobbing silently beside them.

"Do you get it yet, Myc? This was all for you! I'm not even going to kill you. See, I'm going to go shoot Sherlock in the head, leave you here, and pop off to some distant corner of the globe where even your men can't find me," she kneeled down next to Mycroft and held his chin in her hands, wiggling it back and forth like that of a child. "You'll get to live the rest of your boring, pathetic life with your brother's blood on your hands."

"Please," Mycroft begged, both Molly and John shocked at the catch in his usually collected voice. "Please, kill me instead."

Janine stood up, still facing her captives. "That's not the point, though, is it?"

She turned and walked to the area where Sherlock had fallen out of sight, the gun cocked by her side. Mycroft let out a guttural wail as he struggled fruitlessly against their bonds.

"What the-"

Janine began, staring behind the machine in confusion.

An unguarded scream echoed through the hall as Sherlock lunged from behind Janine, wielding an enormous steel pipe in one hand. With one fell swing, he made contact with Janine's forehead, knocking her to the side, her body falling to the ground in a tremendous heap. Sherlock dropped the pipe, though whether it was from shock as to what he had just done or the sheer inability to hold it up any longer, the group was not sure. Red, raw, gaping incisions around his wrists showed how he had escaped his restraint, the discarded hunting knife in his back pocket and his cables lying on the floor near where he had been moments before.

Attempting to make a step forward, his leg immediately gave way, causing him to fall forward to the ground, his good arm reaching up to clutch his misplaced shoulder.

"The gun, Sherlock-get the gun," Mycroft trembled, his voice betraying his emotions.

Sherlock crawled forward miserably on one arm and one leg, retrieving the gun and sliding it into his waistband. A path of blood followed his labored movements across the factory floor. Slowly he made his way to the three tied on the floor, falling twice, letting out a pathetic whimper the second time and not getting up.

"Just a little farther, Sherlock, please!" Molly choked, desperate to reach out to him.

Unable to raise himself anymore, he wiggled feebly on his belly to Molly, finally able to extract the knife from his pocket to cut her bindings. The moment she was free she grabbed the knife from his hands and freed John and Mycroft, sliding her free hand underneath Sherlock's head on the floor.

John scuttled to their side, his hands probing Sherlock's side for the stab wound, finding it just above his hip. Using his jacket as padding, he placed pressure on the opening, willing it to stop bleeding.

"That holiday is looking really good right now," Sherlock wheezed, looking up at Molly with a strained smile.

"Eh, what's a beach and a couple of nice drinks compared to this action, huh?" she replied, cradling his head in her hands.

"We need to call an ambulance," said Mycroft, pacing back and forth next to Sherlock, turning slightly green as he took in the amount of blood surrounding his brother.

"Already here," said a voice behind them, causing John, Molly, and Mycroft to jump.

"Took you long enough," Sherlock barked from the floor, not bothering to open his eyes.

Mary stepped out of the shadows, draped on both sides by paramedics and police officers, Greg Lestrade bringing up the rear.

"Shut up, you didn't exactly leave me much to go on," Mary said, reaching out to hug John as the paramedics pushed him away from Sherlock.

"What are you talking about? Where's Abigail?" John asked, seemingly content with the competence of the medical personnel now tending to Sherlock.

"Oh, she's heading up the sniper team outside. She's with Mrs. Hudson, you dolt," she said as she gave him a playful hit on the shoulder before embracing him.

Sherlock pulled a mobile phone from the pocket of his trousers, handing it over to Mycroft. "Pickpocketed that off Janine after I let Moran kidnap me. Activated the recording device, so that should be helpful."

"But not before he sent me a text with this location," Mary explained.

"Lucky your name was still in the contacts," he handed the phone to Mycroft, who stuffed it in his pocket and reached back out to hold Sherlock's hand.

"Mycroft, what are you doing?" Sherlock groaned as a paramedic ripped the material of his trousers off his injured leg.

"I thought I'd lost you again," Mycroft choked back a sob and quickly wiped a tear that had managed to escape his eye.

"What the hell am I supposed to say to that?" Sherlock mocked, giving him a weak smile as the paramedics began to lift him onto a stretcher. "Molly?"

"Right here," she said, standing as the stretcher was lifted, grasping his other hand, careful of the red gashes around his wrists.

"Make sure John doesn't write this up on the blog before I have a chance to proofread it," he said as he was wheeled outside to the waiting ambulance.

A/N: Stay tuned, two more chapters coming at you soon! Thanks for all the continued support, and a special shout-out to my wonderful beta Claudia!