The man cringed in Sherlock's grip and he started nodding vigorously. "He's alive. Yes, yes. You've got to believe me." As the detective's grip tightened, the man added, "Walsh was waiting on you. He was going to hurt him by hurting you."

Sherlock released the man's lapels, smoothing them down with his hands. Somehow, even that action seemed incredibly menacing. He was a coiled spring.

From the shadows, Moriarty tutted. "And you're still missing something. I'm rather surprised it didn't get you killed."

Sherlock's own mind was taunting him, he knew that, so what was he missing? The detective's eyes fell on Molly. "How many?"

She blinked at him. "What?"

Sherlock swooped down on her, driving her a step back. "How many people were there when you were kidnapped?"

"Oh." Molly's hand went to the cut and small lump that was hidden at her hairline. "There were three of them, I think." Mary noticed the gesture and stepped to her side to examine the wound.

"Be Certain!" Sherlock snapped.

Molly nodded furiously. "Yes, there were three of them. I remember."

"Then why aren't they here?" the detective asked of no one in particular. He turned slowly, looking at Molly's kidnapper. "They would have been unkown to Mycroft, so they didn't go after him, they couldn't have gotten close enough. No, they had another job, to assist with preparations for our arrival once I had been caught." Sherlock smiled and it was cold. "I was supposed to come alone. Idiots. I'm never alone." His eyes drifted to John then to the spectre of Moriarty. "Am I?" he asked of it.

Moriarty crossed his arms looking offended.

Ignoring the detective's question, John spoke, "I'm getting tired of holding my gun on this prick, so would you mind terribly tossing me the handcuffs?"

Bending down, Sherlock scooped them up from where they had fallen when he had freed Molly and then tossed them to John who quickly cuffed the man to a piece of equipment.

"Mary?" John asked, noticing her fussing over Molly.

"She was hit in the head, John. She said she blacked out."

The doctor tucked the SIG into his waistband and walked over to them. He gave her a quick examination. "It doesn't look like concussion, but you need to get to A&E for a thorough examination. A blow to the head is nothing to muck about with."

Mary sighed, knowing where this was going. "Yes, I'll take her, but you have to promise me you'll be careful. I want Amelia to know her father."

The mention of the baby shot a jolt of envy and despair through Sherlock, but he ruthlessly pushed it down. He had to be the machine right now. Nothing else would save Mycroft and, much to his surprise, he found that he very much cared if he succeeded or not.

Returning to the box that had been sitting by Molly's chair, Sherlock drew out a second pair of handcuffs. He hefted them in his hand, then fastened them around his left wrist. "John," he called, "If you would." Turning his back, he waited for the doctor to fasten the other link around his right wrist behind him." It didn't happen.

John gave him a hard look. "No. In a long list of bad ideas, this is one of your worst."

"What's he..." Molly began, but Mary hushed her.

"Do you have a better idea. No, of course not." There was something of Sherlock's old cutting disdain in his voice. "We have to use the tools at hand. That means letting Walsh think his plan worked. This idiot," the detective jerked his head in the direction of the kidnapper, "can lead us straight to him. I'll play the part of his drugged prisoner and you'll hide in the back seat with a gun on him. You'll have to hide from CCTV cameras, of course, crawl down on the floor, but you can keep a gun on him the entire time."

Mary didn't like it. In fact she hated the idea, but Sherlock was likely right. She sighed, knowing that John would go along with the plan. "Is there anyone you can call for backup?"

The detective shook his head. "No one we can trust."

"Yes," John corrected him, "Greg."

"He's in protective custody," Sherlock disagreed. "Mycroft confirmed it."

The doctor had pulled out his phone and dialled. "Do you think his people can be trusted?"

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat and he felt like his mind was grinding to a halt. He was an idiot! He should have called Lestrade himself to check on his safety. Moriarty's mocking laughter filled his ears. He had to make it stop, he had to. Without thinking, he took John's free hand. The laughter halted abruptly and his mind cleared.

"Oh, Greg. Thank God!" John breathed a sigh of relief. "Are you safe." He nodded as the DI said that he was fine, just drowning in luxury at some posh hotel. "Good, good. Can you get away?"

As plans were made, Mary looked on. John hadn't dropped Sherlock's hand. She wondered if he even realised he was still holding it. Feeling eyes on her, she turned her head. Molly was giving her a sad, understanding smile. Mary's mouth thinned into a white line as she nodded. "I know."