Hello there! Sorry it's been so long, but as those who've read my other fic Faults of the Heart know that I've been on hiatus for the last few weeks because of my exams. The only reason I was able to post any of this fic at all was that it was mostly written up to this point on my computer, but I couldn't write any more due to a lack of extra time... Anyway, you'll be glad to know that tomorrow is my last exam so I'll have lots of extra time for writing after that! I'll try to give you more warning next time, like I'm going to San Francisco soon (yaay) so I won't be able to post for a couple of weeks then. Sorry about my blabbing, here's the next chapter! I gift you with a bit of bamf John, enjoy :3

[John]

The silence was beautiful. Blissful, dangerously so. There was chaos splayed all around me in the form of broken objects, scattered like my thoughts had been when I had lost control just hours ago. Now, though, my mind was no longer racing, and I could fully appreciate the tranquility that had overcome my body. It was funny really, that everything in the room was broken and scattered, including myself, and like the shattered remnants of the useless possessions I had no hope of being fixed.

I had taken up a seated position in the middle of the floor, as I decided it would help me to think. I was at the centre of this storm of madness, the eye you might say, and my own eyes were shut to prevent unnecessary distractions. My thoughts were organised and rational in my own mind, and I would gladly have stayed there for the rest of my existence, except there was work to be done. I was happy in the solitary I had allowed myself, and there was no one I would rather have spent that moment with than myself. Except Sherlock. Dammit, it was always Sherlock, and he always made me act irrationally, though mostly unintentionally. The man was like no one else, and although many, no, everyone, had believed that I had kept him away from drugs and reverting into a complete sociopath, they didn't realise that he had helped me too. Even I hadn't realised, not until just a few hours ago when all my resolve had been broken down in a fit of madness that only a psychopath could manage. That was the best word to describe what I'd become after he'd "died". A murderous, insane, monstrous psychopath. My only redeeming quality was that I was willing to accept the fact, and although I wouldn't be able to move on, at least I could acknowledge it.

I heard footsteps from down the hallway, but I didn't bother to open my eyes or even turn towards the door. If I ignored them and continued to drift lazily in my semi-conscious state of mind, they might decide whatever they needed to inform me of wasn't that important after all. However, that wasn't what happened. Not even close.

The door opened quite inaudibly, but I had long since trained myself to find even the smallest whisper of sound. It was indefinitely helpful, especially in the criminal business. I heard a small intake of breath, no doubt due to the destruction of the room around me and my frankly odd position in the midst of it. I waited for them to retreat, to run cowardly away rather than face me for something unimportant. They didn't, so either they were a fool, or it really was something I needed to hear.

"Sir, our surveillance team just picked up a commotion regarding Mr Holmes."

I opened my eyes. After staring unseeingly at the wreckage around my person I turned to the door and found the face of one of my employees. "A commotion?" I asked, and though I was certain I did not betray a hint of emotion, he flinched under my gaze.

"He's been abducted, Sir. We tracked the destination of the vehicle he was taken into, and we have a location. I can send a team to retrieve him if you want?"

I pondered this new information, letting the notion settle in my brain before I answered. There was no certainty that a team would get the job done without injury, and I didn't want to take any shortcuts regarding Sherlock's safety. I had lost him once, and I would not be going through the same pain again. Who knew what it would do to me.

"Get my equipment ready. And a small team, just for back-up. I probably won't need them but its good to be prepared." I flashed the man a grin, and I could have sworn he paled slightly. After a quick nod in my general direction he fled from the room.

That left me alone to wonder what mess Sherlock had managed to get himself into in the space of just a few short hours. The man just couldn't stay out of trouble. Sighing, I got up from the floor and cracked my knuckles. I didn't really see the point of such an action, but in films it seemed to be somewhat intimidating, which was the demeanour I really needed at that moment. I surveyed the room, and found I quite liked the assortment of objects as they were. Organised chaos, if such a thing truly existed.

I stalked out of the door and down the stairs to the lobby, where I was pleased to see my requests had been assembled. When the unit saw me they lowered their gazes and walked stealthily towards the waiting cars, though one stayed behind to help me with my weapons. I was no stranger to guns, but having so many at one time was quite exhilarating, and I could feel the adrenaline already thrumming through my veins.

I couldn't stop the excited twitch in my hand as we neared the building, and I wondered if Sherlock's captors had any idea what was coming to them. Ideally not, that would make it all the more fun. I chastised myself for using 'fun' to describe such a prospect, but found that I couldn't think of a better way to do so. Soon, we arrived, and I got a good first look at the building. Frankly, I thought that a group of criminals with the means and motives to kidnap Sherlock Holmes really could have come up with a better location. It was made from a disgusting grey concrete, with boarded-up windows and graffiti covering most of the first storey. I smirked, unable to stop such an action from taking place.

I felt the change come over my body, and the others must have too. I straightened and my hand stopped twitching towards my gun. All emotions drained from me as I focused, and I walked with purpose towards the door. To the men I was accompanied by I probably looked like a predator stalking its prey as I grew closer to my destination. The door didn't stand a chance, and neither did the two men guarding it. They didn't even have time to shout for help.

Nothing was going to get in my way.

I moved silently down the hallway, killing those I passed with the ease of a practiced killer, an all without removing the gun from my holster. Just a quick snap, and they were gone from the world. Not once did the expression on my face change, and rightly so. There was no childish glee now that I was inside, and the killing had only just begun. If Sherlock was hurt... Well, someone would be taking the blame.

Too soon I was at the top of the stairs leading down to the basement, and as I peered into the darkness I grinned slightly. The darkness certainly didn't scare me. People feared the absence of light because it meant they couldn't see the scary monster or raging psychopath. Since I was both, there was no reasonable argument for why I should be frightened.

I descended into the inky blackness.