John's head was clearing up, the pain throbbed all over his body, but mainly his face and head. What happened to him? He thought hard about why he could be laying on the stairs of 221b. Hamish….Pizza…Moriarty?...
MORIARTY!?
John jerked himself up and he turned onto all fours to crawl up the stairs, trying to ignore the intense pain that was throbbing though his head.
"Hamish!" He called out franticly. He stumbled into the living room and he started checking in closets and in all the rooms screaming for his son.
Sherlock threw open the door to see blood pooled on the stairs. "John!" he shouted and took off up the stairs. He crashed into the flat and let his eyes analyze the mess. Over turned ice cream bowl, the chairs were flipped, one oh Hamish's shoes was laying near the window. Sherlock sank to his knees sobbing.
"JOHN! HAMISH!" He sobbed into his hand, the one rather swollen and bruised.
"Sherlock!" John gasped and banged down the stairs. They stood a few feet apart shaking, looking lost.
"Sherlock? Where did he take 'Mish?"
"I-I don't kn-know. John, I'll find him. I'm going to bring him home."
They held onto each other for a moment, letting the sadness and fear subside enough to begin working on the game Moriarty had set them up for. They would find their son, they would bring him home safe, and…they would put a bullet in Moriarty's brain for touching their son.