He's gone.. he's just gone. I think something's happened. He wouldn't leave without telling me. -IA

He does that. Are you quite sure? - MH

Absolutely. There is signs of a break-in, I think he's been taken. -IA

...Head to the airport, you're coming back to London. Let my men deal with this. We need to talk MH

See you soon -IA

You should all be seeing my next book in the stores soon! I can't believe how fast things are moving, I suspect a minor government involvement. Needless to say I am excited! I will be having a book launch soon once my first collection of cases is released. After this will come my Hounds novel. This one is taking a little longer to write.

Still I really hope to have this and then my second collection out before Christmas. It will be entitled Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes and will feature..his final case. Which will be the hardest to write but I want the truth to be told.

Speak to you all again soon.

John's life was changing in leaps and bounds. Almost eight months on and he had moved on from his friend's death, for the most part anyway, moved out of his flat, moved into a new one, met the most gorgeous, most supportive woman and then moved in with her. Life was changing for the better. John didn't feel alone any more. He felt happy, loved.

Sure life wasn't as adventurous as he would like but perhaps that could change. This was a different sort of adventure and one he'd always wanted to go on. He was happy to have someone like Mary by his side to share it with.

Sherlock awoke in a dark, dank room. It was freezing cold and he wrapped his thin silk dressing gown, tightly around him. There was barely any light but he could make out a few things. A moth-eaten, rag covered mattress, a rusting sink and a primitive loo.

He felt light headed, almost sliding down the wall. He crawled towards the mattress, laying his head upon it. He had no idea where he was. That scared him.

Of all the idiotic things his brother had done, this was on the top of the list. His brother had got himself kidnapped. Brilliant. Like things couldn't get any better. Right now, Mycroft's men were taking care of what was supposed to be Sherlock's jobs. Mycroft turned his own attention to finding out the whereabouts of his brother. Hopefully this won't turn out to be too difficult.

The large metal door creaked open. Two men walked over to Sherlock briskly and grabbed him, heaving him to his feet. Sherlock felt unsteady, one of the me grabbed his hands and pulled them behind his back, handcuffing him. "Walk" He ordered in uncertain english. Sherlock figured it was safer to obey, he was in no condition to fight back.

They took him down several corridors. Sherlock deduced he must be in some old chinese prison. Probably abandoned. The men pushed him into a large room. There was a chair next to a old hardwood table. And a tall, menacing woman. Clearly ex military. Clearly not to be messed with. One of the men pulled Sherlock over and forced him into the chair. The woman ordered them out of the room and turned her attention to Sherlock. She smiled. Like a shark.

"So Mr Holmes, it is so very nice to meet you. It is because of you that I got my job after my predecessor was killed for her incompetence."

"So glad to have helped."

"Thank you. I am General Long. I am here to punish you for your misdeeds against the generous Mr Moriarty. You will address me as Ma'am or General when in my presence."

"What if I refuse?"

She smiled again and grabbed his head and banged it hard against the table. The room spun as Sherlock righted himself. "Then you will regret it. Now, I have a gift for your from the kind Mr Moriarty. Are you not fortunate?" She turned and picked up a flat, square leather box. The General opened it, taking out a black leather collar with a bright silver dog-tag. She waved it in front of Sherlock's face. Engraved on the silver disc were the words 'Lockie', the number 1895 engraved underneath it.

"That is your identity while you are in my care. 1895. You are but a number only. Not a person." She motioned for a guard to hold him still while she placed the collar around his neck, locking it with a small silver padlock, she waved the key and slipped it onto a necklace around her neck. "There now. It even has a leash if you misbehave yourself to much." She opened a pocketbook, taken from the inside pocket of her pale green coat. "Now you have an appointment with The Ox." The General clicked her fingers, the guards marching in and each grabbed one of Sherlock's shoulders roughly, steering him from the room.

The Ox, in the detectives opinion was aptly named. He was huge. Perhaps a more accurate name could be The Mountain. He was bald, with no front teeth but hundreds of tattoos. He didn't seem to speak any english. The guards pushed the curly haired detective into the room and left quickly. Sherlock spun around, wondering if they were actually frightened of this man.

The Ox gave Sherlock a toothless grin and pushed him against the wall, unlocking his hand cuffs and repositioned Sherlock's hands to his front, pulling him to the middle of the room. Sherlock tried to fight him but it useless, the man was too strong. He painfully lifted Sherlock's wrists up to a pair of cuffs dangling from the ceiling. Sherlock was certain he was not going to like where this was going.

The Ox flexed his wrists, gave another toothless grin and pulled back a fist.

Sherlock was eased down onto the mattress, his bruised eyes staring at the wall as his hands were unshackled. The guards even pulled a ragged blanket across his shivering form and left the cell. Every inch of Sherlock ached. His chest felt painfully tight. He could barely breath. He was covered in bruises, at least two ribs were broken. Two of his fingers had been broken like twigs. Blood flowed freely from his nose, as well as his lip but none of the other blows had actually drawn blood.

He supposed he was fortunate, but he didn't feel it. He only hoped his brother would find him soon. Before it was too late.