I fixed a missing scene in Chapter 2, that both my beta and I completely missed... Thank you Good Old James for pointing it out! It is not essential for the rest of the story, but if you're curious, check it out!

Beta'd by the fantastic MrsNoggin. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Warnings: mention of torture (nothing graphic)

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to ACD and the Masters Moffat and Gatiss. Until they invite me into their club on genius writers I shall own nothing!

Hungary, village near Budapest, 12 October 2012

Sherlock was curled up in the corner of his cell. The room was bare, except for a thin mattress and a simple, hole in the floor type toilet. Windowless walls of rough stone and a thick, old fashioned metal door made any attempt at escape futile. From his cell, Sherlock could only deduce that he was in the basement of an old house, built sometime in the fifties, possibly some kind of farm, judging by the wide hallway outside his cell and the metal doors. The toilet was a recent addition; originally this must have been some kind of storage room. He suspected that he was still in Hungary, but he could not be sure of this fact as he had been unconscious for some time after his capture. If they had moved him to a different location, then the chances of Mycroft finding him were even worse. As much as he hated to admit, his older brother was the only one who would realise that he was missing.

He had lost count of how long he had been here; there was no light to indicate the day and night change and his captors did not follow any conceivable routine. All this was done purposely to disorient him, of that Sherlock was certain, and unfortunately for him, it worked. He shuddered as he thought of the man responsible for his capture. Jacob 'Jake' Moriarty; just as insane as his brother, but even more brutal and ruthless. And apparently, he took the death of his dear brother pretty personally and had made it his mission to destroy Sherlock Holmes. At first, Jake had believed the lie about the death of the great detective, but as more and more of his crime cells were raided by the police, he had started to become suspicious and when Sherlock had accidentally – and unknowingly - revealed himself to one of Moriarty's henchmen during his stay in Athens, the game had started. And Sherlock had run straight into the trap, thinking he was the hunter, not the hunted. In hindsight the trap was obvious, really, but at the time he had been too arrogant, too eager to finish off Moriarty's network quickly to be able to return home. Home that was John, 221B Baker Street and solving crimes together. Home seemed very far away now.

Sherlock had learned very quickly that Jake (he refused to call him Moriarty) did not want to kill him. They had kept him restrained to a chair for the first few hours after his capture, but did not harm him in any other way.

That had changed over the last few weeks. Was it even weeks already? It felt like it. Jake did not really hurt him that much; it was more like a continuous string of humiliation, coupled with demonstrations of power. There was no information Jake wanted from him, so torture in the more conventional sense was not used. Sherlock quickly deduced what his captor was trying to achieve, but found himself unable to do anything about it. Still, he fought every step on the way, refusing to cooperate in this game, no matter how much it cost him. He knew that the moment he gave in, started to accept his own helplessness, he would lose. He used his wit and sarcasm to mask his increasing weariness, and so far it had worked. It was only when he was sat alone in his cell that he allowed his mask to slip. Jake had gloated about how he was going to break his mind, how he would destroy the person Sherlock Holmes from within and then return his empty shell as a warning to all concerned parties that the Moriarty network was stronger and more powerful than ever. And, though he knew he fought a losing battle, Sherlock would make it as hard as possible for the mad man to archive his goal. The rational part of his mind was aware that if he did not escape soon, Jake would succeed in breaking him, even though his consciousness refused to accept this possibility. After all, there was only so much abuse the human body and mind could take, even a superior one such as his.

While curling tighter into himself Sherlock pushed the thoughts of despair as far away as he could and retreated into his Mind Palace, the only place of solace available. He opened the door that was labelled 'John' in his palace and escaped this harsh reality for a short while, unaware that the person he missed the most was currently lying hidden in the forest, not even 200 yards away.

John stared through his binoculars with determined focus. He had been observing this particular house for hours without seeing any movements. Still, this had to be it.

The briefing by Mycroft had been extensive, and the more John learned about the detective's track record in dismantling the Moriarty empire, the more impressed he was. Police forces all over Europe found themselves suddenly swarmed with anonymous tip-offs and evidence, leading to several high profile arrests of previous untouchable criminals. Thanks to Mycroft's meddling, all the arrests were credited to the local police, no mention of a third party involvement at all in the press, which was a blessing. The speed and precision with which Sherlock had torn through Moriarty's network was mind blowing. After hearing it all, John was immensely proud of his friend's accomplishments, although a bit disappointed that Sherlock had left him behind for this mission.

They had started to prepare for John's own departure immediately after the briefing; time was of the essence if they wanted to find Sherlock alive. In the end, it was decided that it was better to send John for extended travels instead of killing him off. It was easier to arrange and less invasive for his friends and family. John said his good-byes and boarded a plane to Italy, apparently to go on a sightseeing trip through ancient Rome. From there he had travelled by train to Sherlock's last know location, Budapest.

Using his resurrected ID of Andrew Doyle, it was remarkably easy to trace Sherlock's steps in the Hungarian city. It took him less than two days to find this house on the outskirts of the city. And now all he needed was confirmation that his target was indeed inside. Moriarty. Not Jim, but Jake, the older brother. Heir to Moriarty's crime network and a priority target for Sherlock Holmes. And the man John held responsible for kidnapping his best friend. Mycroft had shown him the lasted surveillance pictures of Jake, but they were blurred and grainy. All official photographs on file were decades old and showed a grim youngster with long, dark hair and a ridiculous moustache. Nowadays, the man was always in the shadows; even men from his own organisation had never laid eyes on him. But they all feared him for his ruthlessness and lethal trigger finger.

During his investigation, John had found that Sherlock had traced Jake halfway through Europe before he had finally zeroed in on him here in Budapest. That was almost a month ago, and nothing had been seen or heard of either Sherlock or Jake since. John's best guess was that Sherlock had attempted to either kill or expose Jake, but had failed and was in return captured. He utterly refused to acknowledge the option that Sherlock had been killed.

Suddenly he saw some movement near the rear of the house, throwing him back into reality. A single man stepped outside and lit a cigarette. John adjusted his binoculars and tried hard to get a good view at the face, but it was almost completely dark and the guy faced away from him. Frustrated, he was about to get up to find a better vantage point when the man slowly turned in one complete circle, as if searching the surroundings for hidden threats. John was not concerned about being discovered; he was buried under leaves and clad completely in black. Together with the setting dusk, he was as good as invisible. But the turning had allowed him a quick glance on the face of the stranger and that was enough for John to make a positive ID.

He lowered his binoculars and turned on his back, taking deep breaths. Shit. He knew that man from Afghanistan. One of the best snipers in the SRR and a brilliant commander. John knew, because he owed his life to the man. What was a fine soldier like Lt Col Sebastian Moran doing here? And why would he work for a scumbag like Moriarty the elder? His presences made John's original plan of attack impossible. Moran was an expert in surveillance and that meant that the house was extremely well protected, even though it looked ordinary. He needed a new plan…

London, 12 October 2012

Mycroft was startled by the beeping of his phone. To the outside world he portrayed his usual calm and superior air, but on the inside he was tense. He would never admit this to anyone, but the unknown fate of his brother troubled him deeply. And sending John after him did not do much to calm his nerves. Over the past year he had come to respect the younger man, even developed a fondness for him, as he saw how good of an influence he was on Sherlock. Mycroft knew the former soldier could handle such situations, but he had a nagging feeling that things did not go well. As expected, the message was from John.

- Need real name and background info Lt Col Sebastian Moran, SRR. ASAP.

Another SRR officer? Just what exactly had John and Sherlock got themselves into? He went back to his computer to get the requested information for John. At least it gave him something useful to do. It had been a long time since he personally had run a full background check – retrieving John's files the other day did not count, he'd known what he was looking for then - and battling through all the authorisation pages tested his patience, but this was too important to delegate it to one of his assistants, as he would usually have done.

Once he had the file open, he quickly scanned the Colonel's records and missions. He found several of them overlapping with Andrew Doyle's, so John obviously knew this guy rather well and wasn't interested in his cover ID. Mycroft opened another window and started his own investigation into the real person behind the cover.

The moment his search was successful and he had a name his hands flew to his mobile. This was not good. Under his real name this man had been on Mycroft's personal most wanted list for quite some time. Adding him into an already dangerous situation could just tip John's chances of success from slim to nil. He fervently hoped that with this warning, John could adjust his tactic in time. Nonetheless, Mycroft was suddenly extremely worried about his brother and his loyal flatmate. The time for secrecy and covert operations was over. He needed to make some urgent calls.

Hungary, village near Budapest, 12 October 2012

The group progressed through the forest quietly. They were well trained and communicated with hand signals only. Once they had sight of their target, the leader signalled the group to fan out, while he readied his gun. Tranquiliser only, his boss wanted the intruder alive. The leader smirked; this guy would soon wish he had been killed. A bullet was much kinder than the things he would endure under his boss's care.

A tiny 'plop' was all that was heard as the dart made its way into the target's left arm. The man went limp almost immediately, the binoculars and a phone falling from his hands. It was a powerful anaesthetic and would render the intruder unconscious for hours. The men moved in and hauled him up, while the team leader went for the discarded phone. He saw it light up with an incoming message, but instead of reading it he turned the phone around, removed the battery and sim card and crushed everything under his heavy boot. He signalled his men to retreat back to base, the danger was over. The boss would be pleased.

Sebastian Moran watched the man in front of him with intrigued interest. He had felt, rather than seen, a presence when he was smoking outside and had alerted his guards to watch out for intruders. Out of pure instinct he had ordered his men to bring the intruder to him, instead of just killing him on the spot and dispose of the body in the woods. Not even ten minutes later he had received the call from his head of security that they had captured a single individual observing the house. And now he was staring at the person responsible for him becoming the man he was.

Afghanistan, November 2009

Lt Col Moran glanced at his CO in disbelief. This could not be. Not after everything he had been through! He had lost a soldier under his command, more than that, a brother in arms, he was allowed to act up a little bit, damn it.

"Colonel, your conduct over the past few weeks leaves me no choice." He started to flip through the file in front of him. "Assault of a fellow officer, AWOL, drinking while on active duty… And those are just the reported cases. I understand that you lost a comrade, a friend, in Captain Doyle, that's why I looked the other way in the beginning, but I can't do this any longer. It has been more than 3 months and you are not showing any signs of getting over it. If you are smart you are taking the honourable discharge for medical reasons, namely PTSD and go home. If not, there is nothing I can do to prevent a dishonourable discharge due to misconduct and abuse of power. It is your choice, but either way, your career in the SRR is over."

They did not understand. They never would. He had always been fine on his own. Changing teams, changing locations, he loved the lifestyle his role provided him with, he enjoyed being in command. He had lost men under his command before, but he was always able to deal with that. Until he met Andrew Doyle. He connected with the other man, felt closer to him than to his own brother. They had, which was rare for SRR members, been on three missions together, paired up because they made the best sniper team in the whole unit. There was no romantic sentiment involved, simply deep respect and mutual understanding. And then that stupid bastard of a Taliban Soldier had taken Andrew away from him. He'd fought for his life for more than two hours, and after they were seemingly safe inside the chopper, Andrew gave up. His heart stopped and although the medic, a Sgt. Murray, could revive him, he later passed away in the hospital in Kabul. Moran could not even be there because his own transport had been delayed and he had only arrived in Kabul three days later, after Andrew's body had been shipped back to England. He had been drunk pretty much ever since.

Considering his options he decided that his talents would also be on demand on the private market. He would find his new place.

"Thank you sir, please consider this my resignation. You will have my official letter on your desk by tomorrow. I am sure the MO will provide all necessary medical information." With that he fled from his commander's office.

Hungary, village near Budapest, 12 October 2012

It was really curious how things had turned out. Focusing his mind back on his newest prisoner, he felt a smile creep on his face. 'Yes', he thought, 'This is going to be sooo much more fun now.'

AN: Sherlock finally made an appearance! Yay!

What do you think? Was it good, was it bad? Feedback is welcome and the only way for me to find out what you think. So review, please?