Mathew rolled his eyes hearing his Uncle's lame pick up fifteen year old straightened his uniform and decided to wander around the museum. He would give Mike another thirty minutes before interrupting. The two just finished with ACF drills and were still in their uniforms. Hence why Micheal wanted to come here, he was hoping to meet up with a girl he'd been trying to ask out to a movie for a week now.

Micheal believed, the girl Shelly was her name, wouldn't be able to say no to a man in uniform. Mathew however had no interest in his uncle's sad pick up attempts. The two could be twins with the same ginger hair and green eyes, except Matt was at least five inches taller. He'd nearly caught up to his dad at this point. Matt smiled checking his mobile for the time, it was new smartphone that his dad ad mum got for him when he turned fifteen a few weeks ago.

"Move kid you're holding up the line." A man gruffly pushed past him nearly knocking him over, the fifteen year old paled and froze.

The tall blond man wearing a janitor's uniform scowled at the ginger but continued to cut through the crowd. Matt's jaw tightened and he forced his feet to move forward and follow the stranger.

He knew the bastard knew him from almost five years ago. Matt had been on his way home from school, when a heavy hand smelling of metal and oil clamped over his mouth and the same gruff voice growled. "Don't scream kid or this gets ugly. Now come along if you don't want us to hurt your sweet mummy and the copper you call dad. Come on, get into the van. Move it kid! You're holding up the line!"

Matt had been younger than, and scared. He'd done exactly as the man instructed and to this day had nightmares of being strapped to a vest of explosives. He recalled being left in the dark of a factory, told if he moved he'd be blown to dust.

He never really saw the faces of his abductors but he'd hear their voice, was this the same guy? They never caught the men who took him but they did catch the leader. The one who the papers called Moriarty. Matt kept the clippings in a box under his bed. The young boy had gone to the consulting detective's funeral and he would always believe what his father did. He believed in Sherlock Holmes no matter what the papers said.

Besides that Doctor Watson had been Mr. Holmes's best friend and though the papers called him a fool Matt knew the man was far from that. The Kelly's had taken to boycotting the paper. Even Grams refused to sell the paper in their shop, "Just a bunch of trash, lies and gossip." she'd had murmured crumpling the paper up and tossing it the garbage. That first couple of weeks after the detective had passed mum and dad refused to watch telly and advised the boys to play outside instead.

Matt could see the tall blond man was dressed like a janitor but there was something wrong with the uniform. Other than it being wrinkled and almost to short on the stranger. There were stains around the sleeves and this janitor had red knuckles, Matt knew a lot about those kinds of marks on knuckles. It meant that the janitor had been fighting or hitting something maybe someone.

The younger boy watched suspicious as the stranger headed for a set of stairs he hesitated from following. What was he doing? If that was the man he was obviously dangerous. He couldn't just call his dad and say "Hey pops remember when I was kidnapped and made to wear explosives. I know I never saw anyone's faces but hey I heard a voice that sounded like one of the bad guys. Please come arrest him."

Yeah, he would definitely sound like a nutter. He took his mobile out wondering if it would hurt to call his dad anyway. Before he could decide the blond stranger with the slight limp emerged from the employee stairwell. He paused when another man approached this man had black hair and wore jeans and blue polo. He was trying to look ordinary he did a good job except Matt being raised around cops knew what a gun looked like under someone's shirt.

That's all he needed as proof he glanced around and pulled the fire alarm. This had both men spooked. The blond hurried off into another direction swallowed by a crowd of people. Matt made his way towards the stairwell, curious as to what these two had been up to. He'd only pulled the alarm worried there were explosives in the building now being an idiot he was probably headed right for them.

Still he had to know, what if these bastards had another kid down in the basement somewhere wearing a vest.

~0~

"So not dead then?" John growled, leaning his head back in the chair, clasping his eyes shut. John couldn't stand the throbbing in his temple he was going to be sick if he didn't get out of here soon.

"No, not dead." Sherlock grunted trying to work the knots loose around his wrists.

"Why did you come back?" John sighed heavily.

"John, I left to save your life. Yours, Lestrade's and Mrs. Hudson's. Moriarty had three snipers aiming right for the three of you, he was going to have you all murdered unless I jumped. He killed himself just because he knew I could get him to call it off."

"You didn't answer my question. Why did you come back?" John kept his voice unusually steady.

"Moran. He was the last of Moriarty's generals. In fact he is the last to the web. I came to find him. After he was taken down I had planned to return."

"And I'm sure Mycroft knew this whole time." John groaned feeling like an idiot.

"John-"

"Of course he did. Stupid, stupid Watson." John kept his eyes closed refusing to look across the dim room towards the ghost now tied to a chair. "I take it you came alone?"

"I didn't have a choice. I left Lestrade to check a useless lead so I could meet up with Moran."

"Yup exactly what he wanted too. Just play right into his hands genius. So Greg knows."

"Since this morning."

"Oh, good. So who else knew?"

"John it's not relevant. Right now it's important to focus on getting out of this basement."

"Relevant! Relevant! We-I mourned you for four years Sherlock. You have no idea what it did to me to see you-"

"John." Sherlock winced cutting his friend off, "John. I'm sorry but there was no other way."

"Oh I know. Because you're Sherlock bloody HOLMES and you're such A BLOODY GENIUS!" John growled "You don't need anyone!"

The sound of a fire alarm blaring interrupted whatever rant John was about to continue on. The sound was muffled just outside and John was grateful for that small favor.

Until the door to the basement opened, the sound only antagonized the horrid drumming already taking place at the side of John's skull.

"Doctor Watson?" A familiar young voice shakily called into the dimly lit room.

John squinted demanding his eyes to focus on the worried young man kneeling in front of him.

"Handcuffs. I don't suppose you have the keys." Matt Kelly worriedly stood glancing around the room there had to be something.

"Matt what the hell are you doing here? You need to go before they come back." The injured doctor tried to keep his voice calm but it came out desperate and breathless. Damn his spinning head.

"I thought I recognized the janitor with the limp. I pulled the fire alarm, I thought they were going to bomb the museum."

"Matthew Kelly?" Sherlock had remained quiet during John's interaction with the boy in the ACF uniform. Sherlock hardly recognized the younger man, his memory kept flashing the picture of a young boy clinging to Constable Kelly in the back of some ambulance. This, this wasn't the same kid, this was a young man , just turned fifteen. He had aspirations of joining the army, hence why he joined the Army Cadet Force. The boy had even received awards for his community service. Deductions flew right off the figure now standing and approaching the consulting detective. Straight A student, athletic and working part time as a dog walker for extra money.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry have we met?" The boy nearly jumped having not noticed the curly haired blond in the cardigan at the other end of the room. In his defense it was darker at that corner.

"I have ropes, do you have a pocket knife?"

"Yes! I do. Birthday present on my twelfth when I joined the ACF compliments of one Doctor John Watson."

"You still have that?" John managed through the blinding pain in his head. He just wanted to fall asleep.

"Of course sir, never leave home without it."

"Quickly." Sherlock hissed. "John. John. Stay awake."

"I am and stop telling me what to do." The doctor grumbled. "You don't get to tell me what to do. I'm angry with you."

Sherlock was up out of the chair as soon as the rope loosened. "Sir, you're bleeding. Are you-"

"It's nothing." Sherlock cut the boy off.

"It's best we get out of here before Moran returns. "

"Yes, sir. But what about the Doctor?"

"Give me your pocket knife. Quick and then leave. Call Lestrade tell him John and I are at the museum and so is Moran. Go."

The boy didn't hesitate he instinctively responded to the direct order and tone in the stranger's voice.

"Yes, sir. Right away." The younger boy hurried out the door dialing a number in his mobile.

"You're bleeding?" John's voice sounded slurred.

"Nothing, just a bullet. Mycroft had one of his idiot doctors look it over and patch it up."

"Let me see." John squinted leaning into his friend.

"Later, first we need to get you out of here and to a hospital."

"Probably a good idea, I'm starting to see double." John groaned leaning into his very much not dead friend. "I'm still mad at you. "

"I understand John."

"No you don't but its fine. I owe you a punch in the face as soon as I can see straight again."

"Sounds fair."

"More than fair. Hamish?"

"Is safe with Mycroft. Moran tried to have some of his men take Hamish from the property. If the dimwit would have done his research he would have known what a bad idea that was. Mycroft's house staff have military backgrounds and are employed as staff as well as security. The men that tried to force their way on the property were neutralized as for the ones who made it onto the property they too didn't get far. Young Hamish is safe. Trust my brother to always see to that. Really John haven't you taught the boy anything? He obviously has bad judgment choosing to idolize such a pompous git."

"He loves your brother. I dare you to tell him otherwise. Besides Mycroft has had four years to spoil the kid."

" More like brainwash." Sherlock snorted.

"Brainwash?" John couldnt help but laugh now, regretting it almost immediately, the action caused his ribs to ache and his head to hammer.

"Yes he was always so much better at the psychological warfare, young Hamish didn't stand a chance. I however have returned and will be correcting this among other things."

John leaned into his friend unsteadily, "You will have your work cut out for you. And why is it that whenever you are around I'm the one with the headache?"

The two stepped out into the stairwell expecting to hear the alarm it was only silence that greeted them.