Another motel, another disguise, anther day alone with only a laptop and files to keep him company. Sherlock closed his eyes, laid back on the bed and put his hands together as if he were praying and began to think.

Moran knows (or at suspects) that I'm after him. But he thinks I'm working with John and the Yard.

He needs men. He knows he cannot do this one his own and needs to build up his own web. He was going to somehow pay for men, but that plan was ruined and now he needs to look else where.

He has two opinions, A) Go around finding his own men. This would be beneficial to him because they would be men who would want to work for him. Most likely he would go to people who are desperate, hungry and willing to do anything at any cost. Some would be looking for payment, they would be poor and/or in debt and need to take care of their families. Some would be homeless and depressed, looking for some 'purpose' in life. Others...(And this made Sherlock shutter) would be men from the army. Maybe wounded in battle, or discharged dishonorably, but all looking for another battle to fight. B) He would go to another supplier. He is running out of time and does have any to spare trying to make people 'trust' him and/or manipulate them. He has money so he can pay for them. He also has military skills so he can do them any 'favors' that consists of getting rid of someone.

"My guess is that he is doing both. He may or may not already have another supplier on list. But while he is looking he will also be ready to manipulate anyone who comes across his path. What do you think John?"

Silence.

Sherlock looked around and realized that he was not in 221B. No, he was in some cheap motel room which, by going by the state of the bathroom and smudge on the mirror was last used by some young couple who had snuck out to make love behind either their parents...no, the girlfriend had another boyfriend whom she was cheating on because she found out he was cheating on her with her sister. But going by the imprints on the floor, even though she knows her boyfriend cheated first, she still feels guilty.

Sherlock closed his eyes again. Now, think, how many and what are the names of large company with owners who have had criminal activity in the past and/or with people at their disposal (such as escort companies and companies who are secretly drug dealers). And also the names of the places holding the closest soup kitchens and homeless shelters and...

Sherlock exhausted, he hadn't eaten in god knows how long and had been without sleep for an even long amount of time. With his still closed and him deep within his mind palace, his hand slowly began to slid away to his sides as he fell into a deep sleep.

John sat in the living room of 221B sighing as he debated if he really wanted to drink the cup of tea he had just poured, it was his 5'Th one after all. John needed a distraction from the case, more specially, from Sherlock.

He tried watching something on the telly, but he either got board of it, predicted the ending or it somehow reminded him of Sherlock.

In frustration, he closed his eyes and threw his head back and gave out a loud groan. As he opened his eyes he was greeted by a bright yellow spray painted smiley face with bullet holes tracing its eyes and mouth.

It mocked him.

John was ready about to throw his cup clear across the room at the face. No he told himself, it would only break the cup, stain the walls and make Mrs. Hudson fuss over him. No, in the end he would only cause more of a mess to clean up.

John closed his eyes as he thought upon the case.

From the information he had gotten from Dodgy and the rest of the homeless network they had found that Flames meeting with 'Moran' was scheduled last minute and he had to get the tickets last minute, which wasn't a probably for him because apparently he knew the manager who ran the arena (more like he blackmailed him). When they first met they were fighting about something. Something must have gone wrong in their plan. Or perhaps one of them made a move without consulting the other? Either way they came into an agreement rather first, which meant that both of them were anxious to either get the plans under way...No, they both disliked each other. For some reason they both needed each other for something and the only way things could go their way was for both of them to come into an agreement.

But something must have happened, something happened that cause them to change their plans in a matter of seconds. Maybe one of them got another offer? Did one of them continued with their plans to act without consulting the other? But were they still working together? Was this only a small set back in a giant scheme? Or did they finally have enough of each other and end the partnership?

John's head began to pang and his eyes started to get heavy. He had no idea how Sherlock did it, go so long without sleeping or eating. Sure it was one thing to go sometime without eating. Like when you got sick and couldn't keep any food down, the body would begin to feed off the fat stored away on your body. But to go without sleep? That he couldn't understand, sleep was something the body controlled. You could try and fight it, but the body always seems to win eventually.

And that was how Mrs. Hudson found him when she came home from her visit with her sister. Fallen asleep in his chair with a cup of tea gone cold in his lap. She smiled fondly and poured the cup out and brought a blanket over and tucked it around him snugly.

She quietly tip-toed back down to her flat and decided to get some rest, because in the morning there would sure to be more excitement and buzzing about the case. But if she were honest with herself, the only thing she would were two things, 1) that William did look so much like Sherlock. Because if it were not for the fact, and that fact alone, than she would have wanted to ask William about becoming a permanent resident in 221C. 2) Sherlock would be here, he would be here to take care of John made he got food in him and got some rest.

And that was how Mrs. Hudson fell asleep, with her head full of happy memories of her boys.

Lestrade collapsed onto his bed. His head ached; he had a crick in his back and a stiff neck. He had been up to his neck in paper work and had just gotten into an unnecessary fight with his wife who decided to spend the night at her friend's house. Lestrade had gotten his shoes, socks and coat, but failed to remove the rest before his mind decided it had had enough and he fell back onto of his bed. And although he would wake to find his clothes wrinkled and drool pooling out of his mouth, he would wake up tomorrow well rested and ready to take on whatever the day would bring him.

Mycroft had just told 'Anthea' to go home and get some rest after she brought him some medicine for his head. They had been so close to getting Sebastian Moran, but they had also been close to revealing everything and getting people killed. He hoped Sherlock somehow would figure something out. Normally when he was involved (the few times he was) with his brothers work, Mycroft would have figured most of it out and given Sherlock the leg work. But now it seemed Sherlock was doing both parts.

Mycroft was helping all he could, he was able to get information for his brother, get him rooms and means of travel and money for necessaries, but he still felt that there was more he could do. He didn't dwell long on the thought. Caring wasn't an advantage, yet here he was, helping his little brother out so he could get back to the people who actually cared about him.

Mycroft swallowed the pills with some water and called over his secretary to put away any files or paper work that was felt out on his desk and headed home, or rather to his house.

Mycroft Holmes hadn't had a homes in what seemed like years. He lost his when his brother turned to drugs and began to push him away and fight any help that Mycroft tried to give him. It was then, when Sherlock nearly destroyed himself that Mycroft decided that caring was not an advantage. He tried caring about his little brother, but every time he did Sherlock only pushed him away more and more. When Mycroft had gotten the call that Sherlock had overdosed, that did it.

He couldn't take it anymore. He would try and help Sherlock out of his addiction, but that was it. After that Mycroft would from that moment on do everything so that he would gain. First he tried to fill the gap in his Sherlock had left with his job. It became is goal to try and achieve the highest position. And when he finally got to the top, he found he was empty again. Next came money, he decided that he would always get what he wanted. If saw something in a shop or in magazine that he wanted, he would always have the money for it right at his fingertips.

But when one day he saw two young boys down at a pond in a park fishing together, laughing, bonding, the emptiness returned, this time worse than ever before. He didn't want love, no, that was what caused him to feel empty. So he turned to the one thing that would never let him down and would be there for him.

Food.

William Andrew was walking home. His 'night in' didn't turned out as he as he had hoped. It was always the same, he would leave with hope shining in his heart that this time would be different, this time when he got there he would find out he was accepted and wanted. But it always ended the same way, he would get into a fight and he would throw out and wouldn't hear anything back till one day when he would be asked to come over that night. But the cycle always seem to continue no matter what he did.

"Get in a fight mate?" said a smooth voice from a shadow in a darkened alley.

"Yeah, but what's it to you? What I do with my life is no of your business!" He yelled about to storm back home.

"It is if your life has to do with my business."

"What?" William stopped dead in his tracks.

"Your desperate." said the voice.

William nodded.

"You need the money," the voice continued.

William nodded again.

"It won't last long. And your just barely getting by now."

William nodded again as he stepped towards the alley.

"You can't depend on them forever, and tonight you know was the last night...there..."

"And? What's this got to do with you!?"

A smile grew upon the face the voice belonged too.

"I can help; I can...give you a purpose."