Greg Lestrade was standing at the entrance of Baker Street ordering his men around as a sleek black car pulled up. Out stepped the one and only Mycroft Holmes. He look rather composed for someone whose nephew had just been abducted by what was most likely the most dangerous man in London...probably the world. He strolled casually from the street to the Detective Inspector, "Lestrade." He said without making eye contact.

"Mycroft." The inspector greeted and lifted the police tape for the man and they began heading up the steps.

"How is my baby brother and his other half…handling the situation?", Mycroft asking with about as much concern as he could muster.

"How do you bloody well think? Their son has been kidnapped! They're going out of their minds and the kidnapper hasn't made any contact for 3 ½ hours!"

"Understandable…"

They came to the door at the top of the steps and entered.

Sherlock was perched on the back of his chair with his feet on the seat of it. His phone lay between his feet on the chair. His slender fingers were knotted in his curly black hair. He sat motionless and silent , just staring at the black screen.

John was the opposite. He was pacing and muttering curse words to himself, at random he would scream and kick the wall. Then he would go back to his pacing and muttering.

Neither of the two seemed to notice the Inspector or Mycroft enter the room, Mycroft cleared his throat. John looked up at them, his face was badly bruised and he had a bandage over the bridge of his nose. Deep bruises had settled under his eyes.

"Hello Mycroft" he then nodded at Lestrade, "Greg" and he went back to his pacing. He couldn't breathe… his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

Damn it all to hell, where was his boy. Their son! The silence was starting to drive him insane! There was no Hamish playing games or running around and laughing, playing his make believe stories.

John's eyes came to rest on Hamish's teddy bear discarded on the ground…it was his favorite. It was bed time soon and even still being 9 he needed his bear, he needed it whenever he was upset or scared. He didn't have his teddy now though, and he was sure that Hamish was terrified.

John's knees buckled and he sank to the floor sobbing and pulling the child's toy to his chest.

Greg came to his side to comfort him and helped him into his chair. Sherlock was away in his head. He hadn't moved for an hour or so. The silence rang in his ear even though people were talking and crying, but it was all meaningless. None of the tears or comfort would bring his son back to him, only he could do that.

*PIIIIING!*

I apologize for the wait, but Hamish proves to be hard to hold onto!- JM

Sherlock all but leaped on his phone and he began typing aggressively. John rushed to his side to read the text over his shoulder.

Tell me what you want! –SH

Are you going to play my games again? Or will Hamish have to stand in for you?-SH

Yes! I'll play the damned game! Give me Hamish and game on!- SH

The phone began ringing and he answered in half a second. Hamish spoke slowly over the line.

"Daddy?"

Sherlock put it on speaker and motioned for all others in the room to be silent. He and John spoke at the same time.

"Hamish! Are you okay?"

"He says to come and get me at the pool…he said you'll know which one he means…No cops…Just you, him, me and Dad…2 hours…" the line went dead again and Sherlock threw him phone into the ground watching the screen shatter. He sank into the chair and covered his eyes with one hand and reached the other one out for John.

"Two hours…" John said quietly. "The pool ? Oh….that pool." He said remembering very well which pool he meant. Where they had first met Jim Moriarty, well I guess the second if you counted the one time at the lab in the hospital. Where he was strapped to a bomb and had snipers aim at him. A place he never wished to go again, but he would go, he would go to hell and back for their son. It seemed that is exactly what he would do too.