Disclaimer: The characters of Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John H. Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson are the intellectual copyright of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and I hold no claim upon them.

A/N: This story, although set in the modern 21st Century, is highly influenced by the structure of the original stories about Sherlock Holmes.
I'm highly enjoying writing this- and I hope anyone who reads it will highly enjoy it too!
Rated T, but this may move up to M as events unfold later on. Enjoy! :)

"Hey freak!" Sergeant Donovan's voice called from the door of the building just as John and Sherlock were walking away; Sherlock paused somewhat reluctantly. "Lestrade is looking for you, he said something about a development."

"We'll be back at the flat if he wants to speak with us." Sherlock replied curtly, and turned to continue making his way back to the flat.

"A development?" John questioned, walking quickly to keep up with Sherlock's swift pace.

"Nothing of real importance, I doubt." Sherlock replied. "We'll find out when we're back at the flat probably." Sherlock was drawing out a packet of cigarettes, extracted one and placed it between his lips. John scowled as Sherlock sparked up his cigarette, but he had made his medical opinions and remonstrations about this habit of Sherlock's known, but he remained ambivalent to them all. "This is a rather strange case John…" He stated, blowing out a stream of smoke as he spoke. "There seems to be several different motives and entwinements, it's more messy than Lestrade reckons and than I had initially envisaged."

"How?" John asked, "I thought you said it would be fairly straight forwards once you found the last message" Sherlock had shoved one hand deep into his trouser pocket and the other hand was holding his cigarette.

"Yes, the code should be easy enough to crack; we'll find out who is responsible, not just for Mr. Milner's death, but who is tied up with those children who have fallen off the radar." Sherlock answered. "I'm rather surprised that dear Mycroft hasn't had a hand in this investigation… he would have had this sorted out in an instant." The last statement wasn't spoken in an entirely enthusiastic manner, but Sherlock had alluded in the past that Mycroft did possess an amount of talent in the science of observation and deduction; he had a higher natural portion of the talent that Sherlock made his living by.

"Then why wouldn't they?" John asked, Sherlock tutted.

"Mycroft has ample mental process for a case like this, but he has absolutely no gumption or energy to prove his observations are correct." Sherlock muttered, taking another drag of his cigarette dropping it onto the ground and stubbing it out with his foot. "It seems that this used to be a straight forwards case and it's been made complicated by everyone else and false loyalties and alliances arranged by the members of the department. So now everyone is under the spotlight, anyone could be covering for someone else, and anyone else could be trying to find out what they're doing – I think Mr. Milner was in the latter category, along with Miss. Drylie." For the next few streets John and Sherlock walked in mutual silence, until Sherlock drew out another cigarette and sparked it up, creating a tiny glow of orange that hovered a few inches from the parts of his face that were being illuminated by the streetlights.

"Don't you have any patches?" John voiced in slight annoyance, beginning to suspect that he was in for a night of a chain smoking Sherlock.

"Not with me, and they wouldn't be quick enough – I need mental stimulation, the patches are good for figuring out difficult problems, but not much use when connecting up ideas in my head." Sherlock retaliated, John rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

Lestrade was already waiting at the flat when John and Sherlock arrived back; he was standing in their sitting room, tapping his foot on the floor boards with an air of impatience. His face was contorted into an expression of grim significance – clearly the new development was weighing on his mind.

"Evening." John greeted Lestrade cordially, as Sherlock breezed past them both and dropped into his armchair.

"You've been waiting a while." Sherlock commented. "This new development must be very important for you to hang around for three quarters of an hour." Lestrade's face tightened for a second, and then relaxed, putting down this knowledge of his time of arrival to Sherlock's powers of observation; but Lestrade didn't seem to be in the mood for Sherlock's quirks today.

"We found a body." He said rather matter-of-factly, Sherlock's disposition changed so rapidly that John hardly had the chance to blink. Sherlock's head had repositioned, the back of his neck lengthening and his chin down towards his chest, he had placed the tips of his fingers together and rested them with his index finger just underneath the tip of his nose, but where the change was most noticeable was his eyes – where there had been swirling dark grey misty there was now sparkling specks of light flecked through the pupils.

"A body?" John questioned, both bemused and shocked. "Who's body?"

"One of the missing children." Sherlock interrupted before Lestrade could speak.

"How did you know that?" Lestrade gaped at Sherlock.

"Well, wasn't too difficult to come to – Donovan said you had a development for us, not something new, something related to this case. Your demeanour smacks that it wasn't something you expected; your face is haggard, frim – one of those expressions usually attributed to something being vulgar. The moment you said you'd 'found a body' indicated that it wasn't any of the colleagues – if it had been one of them you would have said one had been murdered… but you didn't, so not one of the colleagues, but still related to this case – a development that might lead us somewhere. Only one valid reasoned conclusion for a development and a body – you've found one of the missing children."

"See, when he says it like that it sounds so…" Lestrade had turned to John, a slightly exasperated look on his face.

"Simple?" John filled in the missing word from Lestrade's sentence.

"Yes!" Lestrade exclaimed, Sherlock was rolling his eyes at this conversation.

"That's because it is simple – but only if you reason with the facts and evidence, which unfortunately the two of you appear incapable of doing." Sherlock mused. "This body… do you know who it is?"

"Yes." Lestrade answered after a moment's pause where he clearly had to bring his mind back to the matter in hand. "The boy's brother has given us a positive ID for the body: Adam McLachan, fifteen years old, his brothers and him have been in the care system half their lives. They were split up from each other about two years ago, but they had regular contact through arranged visits, emails, that sort of thing, until Adam dropped off the radar at the end of December."

"December? That's almost five months ago!" John commented, "How come the investigation was only set up a month ago?"

"These kids are prone to becoming runaways, especially as they got closer to leaving the system when they turn sixteen." Lestrade shrugged, "It was thought they were all running away – it wasn't until someone looked into the case by accident and noticed they all went missing on the same date. All from three secure homes under the care of the local authorities, all from homes within ten miles of one another, but none of them having had any known contact with the others who'd gone missing."

"So it only got flagged when someone checked up on it? That's not a very good system, is it?" John retorted, Lestrade shrugged.

"I'm guessing that's why the investigation was launched, someone high up in government got involved and they're planning some big overhaul apparently."

"Back to the dead kid – he'd been missing since December, yet on the day where someone in the department was killed, his body was found also…" Sherlock returned the conversation to the relevant topic. "How was he found?"

"In Harrow, apparently some old tramp is a regular for rummaging around in the bins near the restaurants and he found the body…" Lestrade replied, but Sherlock cut him off impatiently.

"Not where, how? In what state was he found?" Sherlock emphasized, throwing out his hands in a gesture of exasperation. "How was his body found? He went missing four months ago, but I doubt his body's been in that bin since then! So he's either been killed months ago, stored for some reason and then dumped in those bins, or he was killed recently. So where has he been in the time that has elapsed? And why has he only just been dumped – is it because whoever had him was getting nervous about the whole investigation finding them out?" Sherlock was ranting, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Your forensic team must have had time to examine the body by now."

"Yes; the boy was killed recently – within the past two days. It is a strange killing, he hadn't just been stabbed or shot, like would be the way to get rid of him. No, he was dead, but all of his internal organs had been removed. Every single one – even his eyes, they were all gone. But what's even more curious is that he had been stitched back up again, like it was done through some sort of surgical procedure." Lestrade answered eventually.

"I thought as much." Sherlock muttered, Lestrade and John ogled at him for a moment.

"Removed all of his organs? How could you have thought?" John ejaculated, staring aghast at Sherlock.

"All of his organs have been harvested, probably to be sold or used for some other similar purpose." Sherlock mused, "A kidney can raise up to £3,000 depending on where it's sold… I believe that if you go as far as China then you can get in excess of $16,000. But China would be impractical, they couldn't ensure an organ would still be healthy enough to transplant if they had to transport it all the way to China." John and Lestrade were still dumbfounded at the words that were coming out of Sherlock's mouth.

"Lestrade, have you informed anyone about finding the body, aside from the boy's brother?"

"The brother's foster family know of course, we went straight to them when we suspected who it was."

"What about within the social work department?" Sherlock inquired.

"We spoke to Mr. Ewans, he was the one who found the address of the family that the brother is with." Lestrade said.

"Just Mr. Ewans?"

"Yes." Lestrade retorted in some annoyance.

"Good, I believe we can entrust Mr. Ewans to be discreet… but I must ask that you tell no one else. No one, not any of the other social workers, not the press, or anyone." Sherlock ordered. "We are very close on the trail of the perpetrators of Mr. Milner's murder, and of the disappearance of these children. I am under the impression that they will be planning to flee, but they will want to wait until they believe suspicion has passed unless they think that we're onto them. If they're disturbed then they'll act quicker, they'll run… so they must not know that we have found this boy."

"I am sure that can be done, but we can't guarantee that they can all be kept in the dark forever…" Lestrade told him honestly, "How long do you think it will be until you know who we should be going after?" Lestrade's usual manner of slight annoyance had dropped completely, he seemed to have bowed to the pressure and acknowledged that in this case, like so many others before them, that Sherlock had the upper hand.

"You will have the answer tomorrow." Sherlock replied curtly.

"Alright… I can guarantee until tomorrow." Lestrade agreed. "I'll come back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow afternoon would be best." Sherlock told him with an air of importance; Lestrade turned around rolling his eyes at the way Sherlock had assumed himself superior.

"Goodnight Dr. Watson." Lestrade nodded in farewell to John.

"Night Lestrade." John replied, and Lestrade left the flat of his own accord. There was a silence in the room, all expect the tapping of Sherlock's foot upon the floor board; John made his way into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. After a long pause John spoke: "Do you really think we'll have the answer to the case tomorrow?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered shortly. "I'm positive to it. I think I might be onto the solution already, I just need confirmation."

"And how do you expect to get that confirmation?" John pressed for any more information.

"I already have the confirmation; I just need to decode it…" Sherlock spoke lightly, drawing his phone out of his pocket.

Sherlock settled himself down at the desk, shoving discarded piles of paper out of his way and placing his mobile phone, the note that they had retrieved from the office on the clear bit of the table top. John had watched him from the kitchen while trying to seek out something to eat; Sherlock's working habits could definitely be peculiar to say the least. His mental powers of reasoning were so analytically precise and meticulously ordered, but when it came to the physical manifestation he was so unbelievably untidy. John watched in amazement as Sherlock rooted around, searching for paper and a pen so he could confirm the theory that was racing around in the neural pathways of his brain. John made cups of tea, one for himself and one for Sherlock, placing Sherlock's right in front of him on the desk and then sat down in the armchair that he preferred. For another quarter of an hour John sat in silence, watching Sherlock, whose lips were moving but making no sound as he ran his eyes along line after line of digits. The pen in his hand scribbling frantically, occasionally crossing some things out violently. After that time had passed a weight had settled upon John, his eyelids were heavy and his mind buzzing from the fullness of the day that had passed – it didn't look like Sherlock would be completed any time soon, and in any case, it didn't look like he was tired at all. Leaving Sherlock, thin shoulders curved over the desk and his brows furrowed into an intense look of concentration, John decided that it was time to retire and get some sleep. For if Sherlock was correct and they were hot on the trail of the perpetrators of the crime then the next day was going to be a busy one indeed… and Sherlock was seldom wrong about these cases.

When John surfaced at 8 o'clock in the morning it did not appear that Sherlock had moved at all. He was still sat at the table, no longer hunched over the paper, but lounging back in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. John was positive that his friend had had no sleep, the dark lines under his eyes indicated this, but his eyes were sparkling with a vitality that seemed to be even brighter because of this absence of rest.

"Good morning John!" His tone was light and airy; John shuffled into the kitchen and turned the kettle on, still slightly sleepy having just awoken. "Good idea – I'll have a cup too. We're going to have a long day ahead of us!" Sherlock called, John scowled a little as he began to make himself and Sherlock tea.

"Had a productive night then?" HE asked, carrying the two mugs through into the sitting room.

"Very productive. I now have the names of those who we are going to have arrested later on today, and I am convinced also of their motives." Sherlock answered.

"How have you got that?" John asked incredulously.

"Terrence Milner left them for us, very clearly." Sherlock patted the sheets of paper on the table in front of them. "Ah, he was ever so clever… Lestrade would have done well if he had noticed and acknowledged that fact." John carried the two cups of tea over to the untidy table that Sherlock had been working on and laid it down right in front of Sherlock, then picked up the bits of paper that Sherlock had scrawled on while decoding. Glancing down the first sheet he noticed that some of the messages were fully coherent sentences, others were just phrases or words; the first message was a phrase:

'TW184UQ; 51.436117, -0. 509102.'

"Is that?" John started suddenly, but then his eyes fell on the line of explanation that Sherlock had written underneath: 'Renshaw Industrial Estate, Millmead Road, Staines. Secure location – rented out in October, name of lease holder unknown.'

"The postcode?" Sherlock asked lazily, taking a sip from his cup of tea. "The numbers are the longitude and latitude of a warehouse in the industrial estate – it's the only one still in use, the rest have been decommissioned because they're unsafe to work in."

"And you think…"

"That's where they've been keeping the children who have gone missing – seems about logical given the rest of the messages." Sherlock nodded, John's eyes flickered back to the rest of the translated messages:

'Louisa Stacks, Adam McLachan, Darren Hayworth, Kayleigh Lansford, Samantha Carstairs, Benjamin McPherson.' Those were the names of the six children who had gone missing – just their names constituted one whole message.

'6th January; requirement of one – disposal will be required. Transfer time to be confirmed.'

"You should read through all of those notes, it should make things clearer." Sherlock commented, standing up from his chair and stretching. "And if you'll excuse me I'm going to have a shower before Lestrade appears." John sat down in his armchair with the papers and began to study them – some of them were very similar to the ones he had previously red, some were different:

'Attainment of necessary medications; transfer complete – payment imminent.'

'Suspicions aroused slightly, not by ourselves but by the disappearance of those whom we are holding. Will try to pacify suspicions, but not sure how long I will be able to manage. Find out how long the other 3 will have to be held.'

'13th February; requirement of one – disposal will be required. Transfer time to be confirmed, last payment accepted. Not sure how much longer will need to keep the final two for, depends upon demand. Have suspicions disappeared?'

'Suspicions still present – thinking they may be taken higher than we can deal with. Need to dispatch of the last 2 asap if we want to evade all suspicion if someone comes sniffing. Requirement of more sedation for the boy; seems to be more perceptive.'

John stopped reading at this point – he was confused slightly, and rubbed his eyes. These messages seemed to be the interaction between two people involved in some kind of illegal deed, but they were still very cryptic even after having been decoded by Sherlock. John couldn't understand how Sherlock had gotten the names of the culprits from these messages, so he continued to read:

'SOMEONE knows. Almost certain of this fact, it has to be someone within the department. New HoD seems like an alright person – heard him state that there are glitches within the system all the time and that he doesn't suspect any foul play. He thinks that the 6 are runaways and will turn up eventually – looks promising.'

'Keep aware of those in the department though, think you might be right that someone knows. Have a suspicion as to whom, but can't be certain.'

It was two people within the department that were conversing – or it could be one with a split personality, the thought flashed through John's medically trained mind – but two people seemed the more obvious possibility, and John guessed that this was the point that Mr. Milner had entered the conversation.;

'Know who in the department suspects us – something needs to be done about it. Need to be silenced?'

'Can obtain 2CH4 + 2NH3 + 3O2 - 2HCN + 6H20. Will use this.' John stared at the chemical equation almost in disbelief, it was most certainly the same one that Sherlock had figured out himself.

'Yes, sounds like a good plan. I will do something also, should be able to silence him. Last payment should be wired shortly and we'll be able to get away asap – then we won't have to bother with '

The last message that Sherlock had transcribed was the shortest of the lot, it simply stated: ''

John laid down the papers on the small coffee table and sat considering all that he had read until Sherlock, fresh out of the shower with clean clothes and wet hair, re-entered the room

"So…" He started. "Have you read through the message?"

"Of course." John replied.

"So you'll agree that I was right about these children being held and then their body parts being sold?" He continued.

"Well… it doesn't say that exactly, but I can see where the inference comes from." John nodded. "But how do you know who it is? I couldn't see any way in which you could find out who the senders of these messages are."

"Ah, well, that is from the last message; the note we found in Mr. Milner's office. But I'd rather keep that private for just a little longer, just until we are in a position that we can do something about it." Sherlock stated, standing by the window and staring out into the street which was busy with rain spattered commuters.

"But why would anyone want to do anything like this?" John exclaimed. "Selling body parts? Of children! It's hideous, grotesque!"

"And earns a lot of money." Sherlock finished calmly. "The money has a lot to do with this case… so does the incidence of love."

"Love?" John questioned surprised.

"Yes John, love." Sherlock turned to face John, his hands buried deep into his trouser pockets. "I will be greatly mistaken if love does not lie at the very bottom of this case." This was one of these strange statements that Sherlock sometimes made that he wouldn't endeavour to explain until he felt the moment was right.

"Lestrade will be here soon." Sherlock stated suddenly.

"You said he shouldn't come until the afternoon." John said.

"Yes, but he'll come early." Sherlock shrugged. "He wants to get this case wrapped up as soon as he possibly can. I can't blame him, it's not a nice case… interesting, but not nice."

Sherlock was correct in saying that Lestrade would come early; just before ten there was a ring at the bell and Lestrade came up the stairs into the sitting room a few moments later.

"Morning Lestrade – eager as ever I see?" Sherlock greeted the Inspector brightly; next to Sherlock, Lestrade looked very tired and worn – he surveyed Sherlock with a distinct look of disdain. "Did Donovan not want to come into the freak den?"

"She's waiting in the car, I told her that I won't be long." He replied; Sherlock let out a bark of laughter, after which a long silence ensued. After what felt like several minutes Lestrade burst out with: "Well?"

"Well what?" Sherlock spoke seriously, but John could see the expression in Sherlock's eyes that showed he was enjoying this very much.

"Last night you said you'd have this whole thing figured out by today." Lestrade said with a bite of impatience. "Well? Have you got it all figured out?"

"Oh yes." Sherlock answered lazily. "Mr. Milner left us ample evidence to wrap everything up."

"Mr. Milner? The dead man?" Lestrade looked towards John, baffled; John nodded. "How has he left us evidence?"

"Because he was a very clever man." Lestrade sighed, there was no use trying to puzzle out Sherlock's cryptic riddles, he would reveal the answer when he felt the time was correct.

"Alright. Are you ready to come then?" He asked.

"You go on, John and I will follow." Sherlock confirmed. "And make sure you have two sets of handcuffs with you!" He added as Lestrade left, then Sherlock turned dramatically to John. "Come on John! Let's go – we don't want to keep Lestrade and Donovan waiting."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed that chapter! :D I'd be grateful at receiving any advice or constructive criticism for how I can make it better- so if you have any, drop me a message or a review! Thanks :)