Over the next two weeks Sherlock trained and studied under the monks guidance. He learned far more about fighting in those two weeks than in his entire life. Although he didn't have time to learn them all completely, he became quite proficient in a number of fighting styles. His mediation was coming along fairly well too. Sherlock was happier and healthier than he had been in a long, long time.

But now the two weeks were over, it was time to leave. He'd given his respects to the monks and left with Irene to a small Chinese village about ten hours from the monastery. They stayed in a little hotel, Sherlock washing the dye from his hair so as not to stand out too much.

"Sherlock?"

"Irene?"

"Mail for you"

"...mail...here? For me?"

"Well...Normund Sigerson actually"

Sherlock sat up, stood and snatched the package from Irene's hands. He st back down letting her voice fade back into whit noise. It was a brown paper package. The writing...John's writing! He carefully tore off the paper, revealing a small book. It was scarlet with a pale border. On the cover was a black sketched illustration of a pill bottle and two pills. The words, 'A Study In Pink' emblazoned on the top. By John H. Watson..

He opened the book, his eyes catching the handwritten message on the inside of the cover.

Dear Normund,

You have been a great friend through tough times and I thank you for it. You have been so supportive despite us never meeting. I do hope we meet some day, our flat has a spare room waiting for you if you ever decided to come visit.

I hope you enjoy what is too be the first of several books about my best friend. I will try and send them all to you if I can.

Your friend,

John Watson.

Sherlock's fingers traced the words gently, a tear slipping down his face. Irene took this as a sign she should leave and decided to go out for a bit. Sherlock didn't even notice. John...you actually wrote it. He turned the page, another tear fell as he read the dedication. I miss you so much John.

It didn't take long to read the book. It was fascinating to see a much fuller and more descriptive account of the case from John's point of view. He had, and Sherlock was very pleased, included the actual deductions. It was still as romantic and full of adventure as the blog post had been. But that was John anyway. The adventure, the warrior. John Watson, the writer. Sherlock, despite still thinking that a book about him was a bit silly, was very proud of his friend.

Without realising it John had given Sherlock a lifeline to London. To John. He held the book close to his chest, staring out at the stars in the night sky. I'll be home soon John, I promise. Even if we never become flatmates again, I will come home soon, just to see you. Just to make you smile. Taking a breath Sherlock put down the book, trying to shake away his emotions. He leaned over and picked up a box of nicotine patches.

He was gradually decreasing the number he used, quite proud of himself. Going cold turkey wasn't safe but he was now down to two patches! He lifted them out and placed them on his bare arm, leaning back and sighing. Mediation did help but it would work better once he no longer needed the patches.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Sherlock couldn't move. He lay on the couch frozen in place. His eyes widened in shock. What was happening to him?

"It's a good thing you're still predictable Lockie dear, made it so easy. Though, I was hoping you would use more patches but two should be enough"

Jim.

The consulting criminal moved in his line of vision, lifted his head and seating himself down, resting Sherlock's head on his lap. Jim began to stroke his hair. "Don't worry, sssh. It's all right, daddy's here now. Do you like it? Took me awhile to come up with the right chemicals to make it. It's a slow acting drug. It paralyses you and then knocks you out for simply ages darling." Sherlock began to panic. No, not now, this couldn't happen now!

"You look well! So healthy Sherlock. Have you been working out? Still thin, still got that figure" Jim's fingers traced symbols across his chest. I.O.U. "I said I didn't really care what you were doing. But I did. I lied Lockie dear. I very inconvience now. Defintly had enough. But don't worry. Im not going to kill you. Not yet anyway. We're going to have a little fun first."

The door opened and Sherlock wished he could turn his head to see. What sounded like a large crate was dropped onto the stone floor, the lid pulled off.

"I thought maybe you might like to stay with us. Me and Sebby. I've always wanted a pet. Maybe I should just keep you? But no, Sebby says all pets must be broken to bridle first. So I'm sending you to some old friends. You remember the Black Lotus?" Jim's face was filled with childish glee as he caught the horrified look in Sherlock's eyes. His fingers playfully pulled Sherlock's dark curls.

"They're going to teach you some manners Sherlock. I can't let you go unpunished for what you did. You know..maybe I'll take you back to London when they're done. You can see John again! And I can slit your throat while he watches! Doesn't that sound like fun Sherlock?" Two chinese thugs lifted Sherlock and dropped him unceremoniously into the crate. Jim leaned over and place his arms across the edge of the box.

"I'll see you soon my dear. Have a nice trip. See you next fall. I still owe you Lockie. Look at you. All healthy and you have John's book! Oh my dear, don't you know all good things must come to an end?"

No. No!...This isn't right...no. Move! Dammit move! No..please no. Help me! Someone help me! Mycroft! Irene..John! JOHN!

Sherlock's eyes slowly slid shut, the darkness pulling him down into a black abyss.