Even though the darkness made it hard to see, Sherlock seemed to know exactly where to go. They had arrived at something that looked like it might be an abandoned factory. With broken windows and a dilapidated roof, it was not exactly tempting to enter, but considering that they would hopefully find Hamish there, they didn't really think more about it.

"Maybe it's a trap", John said nervously as he tried to get a good look at his surroundings, but Sherlock didn't even listen. He just glanced at the old building before he decided to look for a place to enter. Even if it was a trap, he couldn't possibly live with himself knowing that his son was being killed without him doing anything to stop it.

Sherlock walked in through an opening where a half-rotten wooden door hung by one hinge. Inside it was, if possible, much darker and the floors had a muddy surface. They walked very carefully so they wouldn't step on the broken glass that lied scattered across the floor. It was impossible to see just how big it was inside the building, but it seemed to be huge and full of small rooms and everything was on one floor only.

They walked around, checking out every room they passed, but they didn't find a single trace Hamish anywhere. They stopped for a slight second. Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to deduce his surroundings, but due to lack of light he didn't get much info out of it, though he could see faint traces on the floor; probably two or three hours old. It seemed as if they were carrying someone, due to the way they were walking; Probably Hamish. It was three pair of footsteps, probably someone hired by Moriarty to do the hard work. He could see the same two pairs of footsteps walking out not too long ago, perhaps an hour earlier.

Sherlock turned to his faithful companion that followed him at any case no matter how dangerous it might be. "I'll save him, John."

John just nodded without saying a single word, just wishing for the nightmare to end.

A sudden cry of pain broke the silence. Both Sherlock and John stopped. For a moment it felt as if they were paralyzed. They knew the voice too well and it belonged to Hamish.

"Hamish"! John called out while he ran against the room where he believed the voice came from.

"Stop, John", Sherlock tried desperately to get through to him, but it was too late. He set off after him, hoping he would be able to reach him before it was too late.

As they both entered the room, the sight that greeted them was terrifying. Sherlock gasped in horror

Hamish was lying on the cold, muddy floor covered in blood and there were blood stains on parts of the wall as well as the floor. They could clearly see how he was struggling to breathe, but luckily he was still alive.

Before he managed to do anything, Moriarty came in the door. He looked at them as he was very satisfied with what he had done.

"Don't you think they did a good job with him?" He asked with a voice that didn't tremble at all. As if he was used to this kind of work, and both Sherlock and John knew exactly how that couldn't be more correct. Torturing a young boy didn't bother him at all; on the contrary, he found it very entertaining and he wasn't afraid to show it.

John rushed over to Hamish, but half way there, he was forced to stop as Moriarty had pulled out a gun and was now pointing it directly at John's head. He backed off slowly until he again was standing next to Sherlock.

"I must admit he isn't as smart as you", Moriarty said while shaking his head pretending to be disappointed. "But it sure was worth it, watching the two of you like this… So desperate" He walked closer to the two of them, enjoying the moment.

John seemed to be the only one able to talk. He looked at Moriarty with tears in his eyes, trying his best not to cry.

"Why," He whispers with a hoarse voice. "He's just child".

Moriarty rolled his eyes impatiently.

"Do you really think that any of this is about that unintelligent little brat of yours?"

Moriarty suddenly pointed his gun at Sherlock and before John were able to react, a gun shot echoed through the room.

A smirk grew on Moriarty's face as Sherlock fell to the ground, with the bullet deep in his chest.

"I knew I'd get you." Moriarty said with a deep purr in his voice.

"As for your son, I'll be nice. You still have five minutes left."

Before John was able to do anything, Moriarty was gone again, but his eyes were not focusing on anything but his one and only friend. He sat down on his knees, holding his head in his lap; stroking his curly hair as if he didn't quite realize what had just happened. He stared into the wall with a blank look on his face.

He must have been dreaming. That's probably what's going on. This was just a big, bad nightmare. This couldn't possibly be true. He forced himself to look at Sherlock's dead body. He seemed so calm and peaceful and now he would be like that forever.

Suddenly it dawned on him. He realized it. This wasn't some bad dream. This was a real, living nightmare. He bent down to Sherlock's lifeless face and tears started dripped from his face and landed on Sherlock's cheeks. "God, no", he cried, knowing that no one could hear him.

"Dad," A weak voice called out.

John turns around. It was Hamish. He rushed over to the other side of the room and sat down next to his son. He was beaten up and he looked horrible. He had bruises and blood all over his body. John couldn't stand watching him like this.

"I can't see," He whispered.

John took his hand.

"I'm right here. Everything is going to be okay. I'll call an ambulance right away." His voice was weak and frightened.

Hamish took a deep breath.

"No, don't. I'm going to die, dad."

Tears started dripping from John's cheeks again and he shook his head, denying.

"I hope I can see dad again when I'm dead." he began to cough up blood.

"I just want to tell him that I love him… And that I'm sorry."

John stroke the hair of Hamish while telling himself as much as Hamish how everything was going to be okay. He sat like that for a long time; stroking Hamish's soft, curly hair and denying the unbearable fact that he was dead. He couldn't possibly deal with the death of the two people he loved the most in this world. As he took a last farewell, he could only think of how he blamed himself for what had happened.