Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, be it the movies or the books. I am merely an admirer.

A thousand apologies for the long delay, but the exams are finally over! Here's a longer chapter to make up for it...

Holmes got up, and casting one last look at Watson – who nodded imperceptibly – strutted confidently out of the cell.

Constable Clarke pressed one finger on the doorbell of 221B Baker Street and waited. And waited a bit more. A little more longer. Any time soon, Clarky thought to himself, it's not like anyone's trying to kill us. The constable huffed and rapped impatiently on the door, waiting for someone to be bothered to get up and answer it. It came as a great surprise to him, therefore, when it slowly and noisily opened at his knocking.

Cautiously, Clarky pushed open the door and stepped inside. Silently he crept up the stairs until he had reached the living room. The door was already opened, and he peered inside. The room was chaotic. Papers were strewn across the floor, and half of the furniture was over-turned. Clothing was ripped apart as if someone had been looking for something. Clarky wondered around the flat – looking in Holmes' and Watson's bedroom also – and concluded that whatever they had been looking for, they had not found it, otherwise there would have been a part of the flat that was still tidy. Clarky strained to think what it was that these people could have wanted, but nothing came to mind. Standing in the middle of the room, a small, white handkerchief laid near the door of Holmes' bedroom caught his eye. Frowning, he stooped to pick it up, and his eyes widened when he saw the initials C.E.S sewn into it. Who did Mr. Holmes' think was behind this? Silverstone, Clarky remembered, someone called Silverstone. Did he come here in person? Would he really risk himself to personally come to the flat and look for something? It seemed unlikely, but Clarky couldn't rule it out – they didn't know what this man was capable of.

Clarky considered his options. He could go to Inspector Lestrade, which was the more sensible option, but something deep down told him it wasn't a good idea. He was already disobeying him by not telling him anything, and Clarky suspected this wouldn't improve matters. Next option: Search for Holmes and Doctor Watson himself. Again, not the best of ideas, seeing as he had no idea where they were. He had never heard of this Silverstone character, so he didn't have a clue where he lived. Which left option three. There was only one person who could help him, and if he was honest, it wasn't his favourite option, but it had to be done. With a sigh, he traipsed down the steps and left 221B Baker Street. After five minutes of fidgeting on the pavement, the constable finally managed to hail a cab, and soon he was shouting the address to the cab driver.

Sherlock Holmes jerked for the fifth time as a violently punch struck his face. He was restrained from moving as the ropes that tied him to the chair across his feet and wrists prevented him from doing so. The empty room echoed at every breath he made, and the low lighting made Holmes squint whenever his captor walked into the shadows. He hung his head for a second, composing himself, before glaring back up at the small man. Titan grinned down at him and stalked around his chair.

"I'm gonna ask you again, Mr 'Olmes," he said. "Where's the ring?"

Holmes played his poker face, "What ring?" he asked innocently.

Titan smiled down at his hands as he cracked his knuckles. "You're good at this game, but I'm afraid you ain't gonna last much longer. You may as well give up now and spare yer life." he said menacingly.

"Oh, well in that case, it's somewhere on the English Channel." Holmes said.

Titan stopped in front of his chair and lent down in front of him. "The doctor's a good liar," he said quietly, "but yer both gunna have to do better than that to convince me. So hows about you tell me, an' I'll consider lettin' you both go in one piece."

Holmes smiled at him. "You really need to work on your persuasion techniques."

Titan lost his grin, and roughly backhanded Holmes across the face. He stepped back from the detective and walked over to a table. The small man caught Smiley's eye and nodded once at him. The giant left the room, leaving a threatening silence between the two men.

"In some ways, I suppose I can thank you," Titan said, as he picked up one of the objects on the table and studied it. "You've given me an excuse to play with my toys." He turned and held a long machete in his hand. Menacingly, he walked over back to Holmes, running the blade between his fingers as he did so. Holmes instinctively lent back in the chair as it approached him. It stopped inches from his face, and he could smell Titan's vile breath as he spoke.

"Tell me where it is, Mr 'Olmes." Titan whispered. Holmes said nothing. Instead, he glared back at him.

Titan smiled to himself. "I'm gunna enjoy this." With that, he whipped the blade across Holmes' cheek, and the blinding pain caused Holmes to cry out. He grimaced as the constant trickle of blood ran down his face, and slowly the pain subsided, leaving Holmes glaring at Titan again. Once more, Titan slashed the blade, this time slicing across Holmes chest. He continued to do so, until Holmes' shirt was stained red. Holmes had refrained from shouting out by biting the insides of his cheeks, and the copper taste of blood dominated his mouth.

Finally, Titan stopped. "Change of heart?" he asked, wiping the blade on his shirt.

Holmes spat out some blood. "In your dreams, midget."

Anger flashed across Titans' face and he lashed out, sending punches wherever he could hit. Holmes could feel bruises sprouting across his face, and he was certain a few ribs had cracked. Again and again he beat the detective, furiously sending blows to his head, body and arms. When Titan finished releasing his anger, Holmes was aware of unconsciousness threatening to take him away. He pushed it away, determined to see this through.

Titan was breathing heavily, and was about to lash out again when a new voice spoke from the shadows.

"You've done quite enough, Fredericks." The voice was quiet and silky, and Holmes tensed as soon as he heard it. Titan smiled and backed away, leaving the room with a loud clang.

"You have impressed me, Mr. Holmes. I have to say, I did not expect you to last this long."

Holmes remained silent. Instead, he squinted through the darkness to try and find the source of the voice. He did not have to look long as a tall man entered one of the yellow circles of light the candles on the walls were casting. He was wearing a black three-piece suit, and his long, grey hair was slicked back along his head. He stood very proudly, and Holmes immediately knew this was Charles Silverstone.

Silverstone was studying Holmes intently and he smiled to himself. "Most people would have passed out by now."

Holmes snorted. Silverstone frowned at him. "You don't believe me?"

"No, I don't," he agreed. "You clearly haven't done this before. The chair which I am sitting on is polished, suggesting that this has most probably come from your sitting room. We are in your mansion, correct?" Silverstone said nothing.

Holmes continued, "Of course we are. Like I said, you're new to this game, and you're not imaginative enough to take us someplace away from your home. Even Davis was smarter than you! He at least held me in an empty warehouse. Anyway, back to this chair. If I was one of many prisoners, this chair would be scratched or stained with blood – it would definitely not be polished. Ergo, Watson and I are your first customers and you have only just set up shop in haste of our arrival."

The lord smiled to himself, "Quite right, Mr. Holmes, which only persuades me further to just be done with it and subject you to a slow and painful death. However, if you tell me where that engagement ring is, I will kill you swiftly and prevent you from suffering. Mess me around, though, and I will ensure that you will be begging for mercy by the end of the night." Silverstone's voice was menacing. Desperation had made him even more threatening, and Holmes knew he was not bluffing. Still, he remained passive, gazing at Silverstone levelly.

"You really think that petty little speech was going to change my mind?" he asked.

Silverstone smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Clarky sat nervously in the Stranger's Room of the Diogenes Club, bouncing his leg up and down quickly. The door behind him opened, and he swivelled to see the stoic figure of Mycroft Holmes enter. He hurriedly stood and offered his hand, but the elder Holmes brushed past it.

"Sit, constable," he said as he too sat at his desk, "and tell me what this is about."

Clarky took a breath, "Mr. Holmes, your brother and Doctor Watson have been taken by a man called Silverstone."

Mycroft did not seem surprised at this. "Indeed? And why, pray tell, have you come to me?"

Clarky was lost for words for a second. Eventually, he stammered a response. "Well, sir, he is your brother–"

"My brother is always getting himself into scrapes, constable, and I am perfectly confident that he will escape. You don't think so?" Mycroft said, narrowing his eyes at Clarky.

"No, sir, I don't. We don't know what Silverstone is capable of, and we need to get them out."

Mycroft seemed to accept this answer. "And what do you propose?" he asked.

Clarky swallowed. "If you could give me Silverstone's address, I'm sure I could–"

"You think you rescue the two of them alone? You just said that we don't know Silverstone might do, so how do you plan on forming an escape plan?" Mycroft asked, slightly amused.

Clarky was beginning to get irritated. What was with all the questions? "Well, what do you think we should do...sir?" he added after his outburst.

Mycroft did not care about the retort. Instead, he focussed his gaze on Clarky. "If Silverstone is taking risks, then so should we."

Clarky frowned. "What sort of risks?" he asked cautiously.

Mycroft did not answer him. "Do you know where the nearest factory is?" he asked instead.

"Yes, there's one a few streets away from Westminster. Why?"

"Do you know anyone there?"

"Yes, sir – my wife's cousin works there. What has this got to do with Silverstone?"

"Listen to my instructions very carefully."

Holmes said nothing as Silverstone paced in front of him. Surely Silverstone knew that nothing he was going to do would change his mind? He was certain he'd made that expressively clear, if the bruises growing on his body had anything to show for it. He watched Silverstone closely, still trying to work out why a lord would want an engagement ring belonging to a young – and now deceased – doctor. No ideas came to mind, so he waited for Silverstone's next move.

Silverstone stopped pacing when a knock at the door interrupted the silence. A small smile crept across his face as he turned to Holmes.

"I am giving you one last chance, Mr. Holmes. Tell me where that ring is."

"Why?" Holmes asked instead.

Silverstone paused. "Why what?"

"Why do you need that ring?"

"That is for me to know and you to find out, though you won't have much time left to do so." he said, smiling again.

"If I'm going to die, why not just tell me? Surely it will add to your victory, knowing that I know and there's nothing I can do to stop you." Holmes prompted.

Silverstone seemed to consider this. "Alright," he said finally, "I'll tell you. That ring has a message on it that I need."

"A message?" Holmes asked, confused. "Where would a message be on a ring?"

"On the band, of course. The message will lead me to a key."

"A key?" Holmes was refraining from chuckling, "you're going on a treasure hunt?"

Silverstone scowled at him. "The stakes are a lot higher than a chest of gold." he said sceptically.

"What are they, then?"

"World domination." Silverstone said proudly.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific." Holmes said, rolling his eyes.

"The key will unlock a volt which contains the designs of all the royal buildings in the world. Buckingham Palace, the Imperial Palace, the White House, Taj Mahal, any that you think of has plans that are contained in that volt."

Holmes laughed. "An assassination? This is what this is? Why, though? Why are you doing this?"

Silverstone sneered at him. "Because this world is wrong." he said simply.

Holmes waited for him to continue. When he didn't, Holmes spoke. "Care to elaborate?"

"We should be in a world where people are free to do what they please, and no higher power should tell them what's right or wrong and decide things for them."

"That's good, coming from a lord," Holmes muttered, "And you really think you're plan is going to work?"

"I'm certain it will."

"You're mad." Holmes told him.

Silverstone snapped out of his trance. "We'll see." he said. "Now then, are you going to tell me where that ring is, or am I going to have to use other methods?"

"Hmm. Let me think." Holmes said sarcastically.

Silverstone's smile grew. "I'm sure I can change your mind. Fredericks!" he called loudly.

The door at the back of the room opened, and Fredericks strutted in. Behind him, Smiley followed, and Holmes' eyes widened when he saw John Watson – hands bound behind him and mouth gagged, whilst struggling weakly – dragged in behind him. Watson was thrown on the floor at Silverstone's feet, and he groaned when his dislocated shoulder hit the hard floor.

"No," Holmes said. "Leave him alone!"

Silverstone ignored him. He trailed over to the doctor and crouched in front of him.

"What about you, Doctor? Care to tell me where the ring is?" Prevented from speaking, Watson growled and struggled vehemently.

Silverstone smiled. "That's what I thought." He stood up, and motioned to Smiley, before standing out of the way of the giant. He stooped and grabbed Watson, roughly hauling him to his feet and kept a firm hold on him. Fredericks sauntered over, picking up the machete from the table as he did so. He stopped in front of Watson, the knife hovering over his chest. Before he could act, however, Watson abruptly kneed him in the crotch. Fredericks cried out and folded, clutching himself as he scurried away. Holmes couldn't help but chuckle as the small man whimpered pathetically. Silverstone did not find it so amusing. He nodded at Smiley, who literally lifted Watson off his feet and threw him against the wall. Holmes heard the sickening crack as Watson's head collided with the wall and he crumpled to the floor. Struggling against his bonds, Holmes tried to get Silverstone's attention. Again, he was ignored as Smiley strode over to the moaning doctor and pulled him to his knees. He pulled out a small blade and held it to Watson's neck, awaiting instructions from his boss.

"Now, then," Silverstone said, addressing Holmes. "What happens next is up to you."

Holmes cast a look at Watson, who shook his head desperately. Blood was running down his face, and the bruises were more pronounced than ever. With no choice, Holmes smiled sadly at his friend, and opened his mouth to talk. He stopped, however, when he heard a loud noise from outside the open door.

Clarky hopped out of the hansom and onto the gravel driveway, clutching a large metal bucket in his grip. He had been assured that the large house would be empty, but he knew there were people underground. Silently, he struggled to open the front door and made his way into the entrance hall. A large, grand staircase was straight in front of him, with doors to his left and right. He looked sideways and found a long and glamorous corridor. He hesitated about the task he was about to do, but when he remembered who lived here he took no time in running down it, splashing the liquid along the walls as he did so. He found a smaller staircase and hurried up it, spilling the contents as he did so. There were another long corridor, and doors decorating the opposite wall. Again, he rushed down the hallway, letting the liquid pour over the bucket and coat the walls, floor and doors.

Once he was back down the grand staircase and at his starting point, Clarky moved over to one of the doors and opened it. There was a narrow set of stairs leading downwards, and looking down at the remaining liquid in his bucket, made his way down whilst throwing the contents about. Downstairs was a maze of corridors, and at one end, Clarky could hear voices. Hastening along that corridor he completely emptied the bucket before throwing it down on the floor, a loud clang echoing off the walls. Sprinting back down the corridor and up the stairs, Clarky paused at the entrance door, catching his breath. He rummaged in his pockets before his hand enclosed around a match box. He pulled it out and lit a match. He took a breath, and prayed the detective and doctor could get out in time, before he threw the match onto the trail of liquid and ran as fast as he could out of Silverstone's mansion before the great line of raging fire behind him could engulf himself and his surroundings.

A/N: Finally managed to write this chapter. Again, apologies for the delay, but updates from now on should be fairly regular. Please please please review, and thank you again for reading!