Warnings: violent themes.

Cover art for this story can be found at the artist's Tumblr site by Googling anyrei/Tumblr.

Abbreviations DI=detective inspector

Chapter 32

The only sound in the room was Sherlock's heavy breathing. Mycroft had just casually informed his brother that the British Government had intentionally allowed Moriarty to kidnap John Watson in order to track the criminal king pin to his lair.

Now Sherlock had wrenched his brother's arm behind his back, pinning Mycroft against the wall.

"You deliberately let that monster have John," hissed the enraged brunet. "Do you have any idea what that man intends to do to John? I will not be responsible for my actions if harm comes to John because of you!"

"Dammit, Sherlock, let go of your brother's arm," yelled detective inspector, "or so help me God, I will arrest you myself!"

"I'd like to see you try," snarled the pale consulting detective, looking back over his shoulder.

Sherlock's mouth twisted in a grimace, and then he gave his brother's arm one last spiteful wrench. Mycroft gasped in pain. Then his younger brother finally released him with a shove, before striding off to the other side of the room.

The affronted politician wore a pale, pinched look. He dismissed Greg's offer of assistance with a wave of his hand and a contemptuous sniff.

Sherlock returned to his researches, using his phone, iPad and at least three laptops. Lestrade shook his head, because using one computer at a time was more than enough for him, thank you very much.

Although he sat at the table, completing his latest inquiry, Sherlock's mind was still in turmoil. He had left John in the supposed safety of 221 Baker Street. He had left John under the assumption that Mycroft would continue to provide protection. He had promised his flat mate that he would be safe.

But Mycroft had betrayed Sherlock, allowing the abduction of not only John, but also Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock could barely contain his fury at the duplicity of his back-stabbing sibling who deliberately allowed Sherlock's little family to be injured and kidnapped. Family?

Yes, family, decided the consulting detective. Baker street is my home and Mrs. Hudson is surely a surrogate mother and John...John was...Well, in a couple of short weeks, John had become everything to the World's Only Consulting Detective.

Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson was safe, with only a couple of bruises to remind her of her ordeal. Although she was desperately worried about her new friend John Watson. Luckily, Mrs. Turner had shown up to sit with Sherlock's housekeeper...landlady.

And, John? Well, Sherlock's everything was missing without a trace. And John was injured with a serious head wound, at the very least. Sherlock's fat, supercilious brother would pay. He'd be paying forever, after John came back home. And he would be coming home. Soon.

The younger Holmes stifled a growl of frustration, as he hacked into yet another data base searching for a sequence of numbers. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lestrade eyeing up the 'minor' government official, who was still settling his ruffled feathers. For once, the detective inspector seemed to be siding with Sherlock. It was scant consolation. Moriarty had John in his clutches, and there was no telling what terrible things would be done to John. Moriarty would likely end up paying in blood, thought Sherlock Holmes angrily.

"Honestly," said the silver-haired detective, crossing his arms. "You've really gone too far this time, Myc."

The elder Holmes lifted his brows arrogantly, resisting his partner's censure. Sherlock smirked sourly at his brother's discomfiture.

"No really," Lestrade lectured. "Sherlock's got a point…"

"Don't give me that, Gregory," said Mycroft. "The plan was working perfectly. Watson was abducted, which we wanted all along. We were following him with EMIT. Had the device not malfunctioned…"

"But it did malfunction! And I told you not to use John Watson as bait," snapped Sherlock, unable to restrain himself. "I did not want him taken. I told you that the plans had to be changed. I explained why it was too dangerous for John!"

"You're opinion was duly noted. However, the needs of the Crown out-weighed any petty personal interests," said his pompous ass of an older brother.

With a snarl, Sherlock rose from his seat, but Lestrade stood in front of Mycroft, blocking any attack.

"Sherlock! Go back to your corner!" snapped the weary detective inspector. Sherlock shrugged and sat down.

"As for you, Mycroft Holmes, why don't you wipe that smirk off of your face? Even if you were justified in allowing John to be taken captive, you had no right to allow those smugglers to kidnap poor Mrs. Hudson."

"But he wasn't justified! There was no justification to risk John Watson, end stop. I clearly stated that John was to be protected not dangled as bait in front of a deadly criminal who we could not control," said Sherlock Holmes biting off each word.

"You know, I have to agree with Sherlock," Lestrade said to his apparently outraged partner, "Anyway, I can't believe you relied solely on that transmitter. It was stupid."

Deeply insulted, Mycroft drew himself up to his full stature, but Lestrade did not back down for a minute. Sherlock would have enjoyed this, if he wasn't overwhelmed with the unfamiliar emotions of worry and even fear for his missing soldier.

"Yeah, it was just stupid. Any device can fail, Myc, and there was always the chance that Moriarty might find the damn thing even if it didn't malfunction. There should have been back up, ready to extract John as soon as the operation turned south on us. No, don't interrupt me , not this time. I don't count those two operatives as backup. Christ, they were ordered not to interfere. That's not backup. That's nothing; it's worse than nothing. You bloody well threw Watson to the wolves."

Sherlock grunted his agreement with Lestrade, and then smirked as two of his computer screens finally matched up. Now to find the last piece of data...Sherlock's long tapered fingers danced expertly over the keyboard as he mined for gold.

"Oh stop with the dramatic metaphors. Watson is a soldier, and he volunteered for this mission," scoffed the British Government, as he ostentatiously rubbed his sore arm. "And the mission is of critical importance. The more we dig, the more we see how Moriarty's influence has spread. My God, he practically controls several small governments. He controlled and still may control men and women in our own government…even in your own precious Scotland Yard Gregory. Even in my team! It is not enough to arrest him. We must find the spies; we must know all of his connections…"

"And there it is!" scoffed Sherlock. "The real reasons why Mycroft is willing to throw away the life of the man that I…the life of John Watson. Mycroft is in a snit because Moriarty keeps outsmarting him and even worse, Moriarty can influence some other governments. And we all know only Mycroft Holmes is allowed to control other governments!"

"And you," sneered the politician, "are allowing sentiment to overrule reason and…

"Shut it, both of you," said the reluctant referee. "Yes, Mycroft, Moriarty needs to be brought down. Yes, Sherlock, Mycroft shouldn't have allowed John's abduction. And yes, the whole operation was a cock-up, because now we've lost John, and we don't have Moriarty."

"And you know what?" continued the detective inspector, "It's moot now, isn't it. We'll have to wait for Moriarty's next move."

"I have no intention of waiting," said Sherlock, slamming each laptop shut dramatically. "I will track them down, and if John has suffered further injury..."

"How? How are you going to track them? Isn't that the problem? We don't know where they've gone?" asked Gregory Lestrade.

'Sussex," said Sherlock. "Moriarty has almost certainly gone to Sussex."

"How d'you get that?" asked Greg? Even Mycroft raised a brow in interest.

"The 'ninja-like masked men', as Mrs. Hudson described them, grabbed John after shooting the smugglers. The CCTV cameras caught them throwing John into a van and then leaving the vicinity of the tramway."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. We caught the van on CCTV, but then lost it as a series of cameras 'magically' failed," said Lestrade. "And we also know that my people found the empty van in a public lot, just west of London. But there were no clues other than a small bloodstain and the lid to a medication vial, both of which are still under analysis."

"Have you already forgotten the crumpled Post-it note?" asked the younger detective.

"It was useless, it had nothing useful written on it…"

Sherlock's eyes slitted as he slowly turned his head, "Nothing? Really?" Then Sherlock pounced."Between working with idiots like Anderson and shagging my fat brother, your brain has developed terminal atrophy, Lestrade. The Post-it was in fact the crucial piece of evidence. Have you really forgotten that it held the impressions of several numbers from a previous note," said Sherlock.

"We've been though that! 7-5-8-7-5-3-5. It is not a valid phone number," said Lestrade, pinching his nose. "It doesn't match any vehicle tags. YOU said maybe it was the combination to a lock or something."

"I was wrong."

'Dear God, somebody write that down," muttered the DI.

"It is not a combination. I have since surmised that it was part of a phone number," said the consulting detective. "Why part of the number?' you ask. Most likely because the writer already knew the first part of the number, and they were in a hurry because they were in the middle of a kidnapping. Kidnapping my soldier. So, they quickly wrote down the unfamiliar second half of the phone number. 758753 is the end of the phone number and the last number, '5' is the number of an extension. So far, so obvious. The Post-it note gives us the last part of a phone number to an office or business."

Sherlock began pacing with his fingers steepled in front of his chin. "Whoever wrote down those numbers, was familiar with the area codes and so didn't bother to write it down. What we need is the first part of the phone number. To answer that, we have to know where they were taking John."

"But that's just what we don't know!" protested Lestrade, roughing up his hair.

"Prior profiles on Moriarty indicated that he prefers to remain near his base of operations, and yet this time, he seems to have removed John from London. "How do I know Moriarty accompanied John?" Because he's been obsessed with John; he's stalked John. Of course he went with John! I propose that he has a new lair, but that it is not far from London, his usual haunt. Therefore, let us assume a radius within a two to three hours drive time from London."

"You learned that strategy from Captain Watson," said Mycroft with a smirk.

"And it worked," asserted Sherlock flatly. "We would have had Moriarty by now, if you hadn't allowed one or more spies into your network. Another one of your cock-ups, as Lestrade so eloquently puts it."

"You are still operating with several unsubstantiated assumptions, and even if we use them, we're left with a large, densely populated area to cover," murmured Mycroft, with narrowed eyes.

Meanwhile, Lestrade shook his head, "Oh my God, d'you have any idea how many phones would be in that area…"

"There are not that many phone numbers that fit all the digits from the note and are located near London but not in London and also belong to a trusted friend or relative of either Moriarty or Moran."

"Wait, you said Sussex. How did you narrow it down to Sussex?"

"The number is important; yet they are in the middle of a crime. 'Why is it important, Sherlock?' Because the number must belong to someone who can provide aid or even a hiding place, so a friend or relative." Sherlock's voice pitched up higher as he posed questions in a childish voice. 'But Sherlock, Moriarty and Moran are psychopaths, and psychopaths don't have friends.' Agreed, so it's more likely a relative. 'But Moriarty is an Irishman, Sherlock'. Yes, so lets concentrate for now on Moran. Based on our research, Moran has no known friends, but he does have a few surviving relatives. One of whom is his great-aunt who lives less than two hours away in Sussex."

"But the van was heading west," protested Lestrade.

"James Moriarty allowed us to find the van. Clearly he was trying to lead us in the wrong direction," mused Mycroft. "So, we can rule out that direction."

"Unless he's so smart that he knew you'd think that, and he really was taking John west," suggested the silver-haired detective.

Both Holmes brothers dismissed the detective inspector's hypothesis. "You've ignored mobile phone numbers, but apparently that wasn't an issue, because I can tell that you've already matched the number sequence to Moran's great-aunt," stated Mycroft.

"Yes, in fact, it matches her work number," said Sherlock, putting on his coat.

"There is no need for you to go to Sussex yourself. I will send a team," suggested Mycroft.

"Oh. Oh. Now you want to send in a team, Mycroft? It's a pity you weren't so eager last night," snapped Sherlock. "Unfortunately, it is too soon to send in your storm troops. I may have narrowed down the search, but I still do not know exactly where Moriarty is holding John. The phone number is for a realty office Tonbridge. It's unlikely that they are holding John in that office. But I plan to check all the realtor's recent rental agreements and so will ensure that the office has not been in use as a hide out. According to the answering machine, the office is closed and will reopen Monday morning." The younger man tied a blue scarf around his neck.

"Then what are our plans until then?" asked Gregory Lestrade.

Sherlock tilted his head and gave Lestrade his 'you're-an-idiot' look. "I will go to Tonbridge immediately and investigate the realty office, the aunt and her coworkers. I will track down Moran, and then Moriarty and then John."

"We can't just break in," said Lestrade.

"I did not say that I was breaking in nor did I say we."

"Well, I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not," said Lestrade, chasing after the consulting detective's swirling coat.

"Both of you come back here!" demanded Mycroft.

"Shut it, Mycroft," said both Gregory and Sherlock. The British Government's jaw dropped.

Greg Lestrade stopped and then poked his head around the door. "Don't worry, I'll watch out for your brother," said the detective inspector.

"Who's going to watch out for you?" asked Mycroft, looking a bit hurt.

"I'll watch out for both of us. Gotta go," said Lestrade, planting a quick peck on his partner's cheek.

"Sherlock," yelled the DI, "Dammit! Hold the lift! It's my car and my keys…"

Sherlock smirked and dangled Lestrade's keys in one hand. The detective inspector slid into the lift just as the doors closed.

"Gee, thanks Sherlock. Thanks so much for waiting. And I'll take my keys back."

"Why are you helping me?" said the consulting detective, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the rumpled detective. He also did not return the keys.

"I'm helping, because John was kidnapped on my partner's watch, so I get to help clean up the mess," said the older detective. "Besides, I like the guy. And I think he's the best thing that's ever happened to you, you nutter," Lestrade finished softly.

When the lift reached the top floor, both men began shoving, trying to exit the lift at the same time. Lestrade sighed, and gave way to the force of nature, known as Sherlock Holmes.

The brunet, looked askance at his companion but did not deny Greg's earlier assertion. The tall brunet remained in the lead as they exited the house, which still wore a black mourning wreath at the door. Sherlock tossed Lestrade's keys back to him, and they got into the DI's car.

"Tonbridge?" asked Lestrade.

"Indeed," agreed Sherlock, "Unless Mycroft's tracking device starts working again, we will have to resort to old-fashioned leg work."

"Right. Old fashioned leg work," repeated the detective inspector. He eyed Sherlock, who was already immersed in his state of the art iPhone, iPad and a new Garmin GPS. "Definitely old-fashioned," muttered Greg sarcastically.

"Still no signal from that useless tracking device," muttered Sherlock, studying his mobile phone. He looked up, as Lestrade eased his car out into the road. "Well step on it, Lestrade. There isn't a moment to lose!"

A/N I know, bit of a short filler chapter. The next one is not.

My thanks go out to everyone who reads this story; you are the reason that I keep writing :D

Thank you also to those of you who follow this fic or make it one of your favorites :D

Thank you so very much to everyone who has reviewed this story. Most recently that includes…C0ldSteel, Shadows Concealed In Darkness, 107602, Quiet Time, obsessedwithyaoi, Erenem, Snowphire, EJ 12212012, DrGregor, TheSherlockianGodess,G0dC0mplex, SamuelE8688 :D

Disclaimer Here is me, pointlessly pointing out that I do not own the rights to Sherlock. My characters are not meant to be real people. They are merely reflections of an imaginary world. It goes without saying that I make no profit out of this, other than a couple of virtual cookies now and then.

A/N addendum: Please note that I am suffering from fluff withdrawal. (Not the fluffy, tasty, snow-white, marshmallowy goodness that comes in a jar, but of course you knew that) so I am adding some pointless fluff here. It's either that or I write a one shot, and then I won't be updating my fic, and then I might get shot (virtually of course) :D

So speaking of fluff, I am reminded of jam and that reminds me that at the end of my last ritual disclaimer (at the end of chapter 31), Sherlock had conferred with his flat mate about the use of sarcasm in Author's Notes. The tall-ish brunet noted the author's feeble attempt at humor, and he also noted that John had a bit of jam on his chin.

For those who are interested, it was strawberry jam.

Coincidentally, Sherlock has taken a recent fancy to strawberry jam. He also fancies John.

Naturally, Sherlock felt that the most reasonable course of action was to lick the jam off of John's chin. This should not have been a problem, even though the lanky detective crumpled John's newspaper as he crawled on to his blogger's lap, the better to be able to reach the doctor's chin.

John did not find the lapful of Sherlock to be disagreeable. John rather relished the slide of tongue and the caress of soft lips on his chin.

In fact, John thoughtfully leaned his head back so that the World's Only Consulting Detective (WOCD for short) could thoroughly inspect John's neck for any stray jam.

The WOCD chose to closely examine John's neck with lips and tongue. He did this because he knows that John would be embarrassed to have bits of jam on his skin and yet John's skin is very tender and sensitive, especially in that patch of skin behind John's jaw but under his ear.

John moaned his appreciation for Sherlock's consideration loudly.

Regrettably, Sherlock's archenemy chose to visit at just that moment.

The British Government's diplomatic throat clearing caused John to bolt to a stand, so that he could fight off any unwarranted threats. Unhappily, John also dumped his the WOCD onto the floor, whilst spilling his tea on Sherlock's ebon curls.

Oh dear, I cannot watch to see what happens next… ;P