Moriarty had just put the finishing touches of his painting of John to canvas, when John entered the room. He inwardly gasped as he viewed the painting for it was perfect. Moriarty had captured John's longing as he knelt in front of the candle lit altar, his eyes full of a martyr's suffering as he appealed to a higher force for help. As John stepped closer, Moriarty put his arms around John's waist and kissed him on the neck. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Moriarty whispered as he nuzzled John's ear.

John pulled out of Moriarty's grasp to look at the painting once more, the chain mail looked as if John could reach out and touch it and he shuddered as he observed the anguish he had felt that day, for Moriarty had even managed to paint a tear rolling down John's face as he knelt there. "The painting, it's so realistic," John said aloud.

Moriarty beamed with pride. "I am so glad you like it. I am telling you John, it was a sheer pleasure to work with the oils of this time, it allowed for so much detail that I could never achieve in our time. Why it's a wonder an artist can paint anything in the 21st Century, with the environmental tree huggers whining about not using whale oil, or ivory, blah, blah, blah… Who cares about a bunch of dumb animals, when the beauty of art lasts forever? Just think if DaVinci or Michelangelo had been hampered with environmental constraints, we might have the art we have today."

John looked at Moriarty in awe and thought, "How can anyone be so loving one minute and without mercy another minute?"

Moriarty mistook John's look for admiration and smiled in pride, "Yes, John, I know I am truly remarkable, aren't I?"

John just stood there in despair and it became so quiet in the room that he could hear the sizzle of the candle wick as the fire burned down it's fragile length, until soon it would become a wisp of ash.

Sherlock looked over Isaac's shoulder and read the document. "Why did I keep this useless thing in my mind palace?" Sherlock thought in disgust as he read down a column of treasures that the Knights Templar possessed, all for the glory of God," Sherlock thought in disgust.

When Isaac grabbed his arm and pointed to one item in particular, Sherlock shrugged for he was becoming bored,"It's a painting of a Knight, so what?"

Isaac sighed, "Sherlock still had so much more to learn. "Sherlock, we need to leave your mind palace now, I have something to show you."

As the temporal world shimmered back around them Sherlock began to massage the feeling back into his legs. Isaac just watched him with those glowing silver eyes of his and Sherlock grimaced. "Don't your feet ever go to sleep?" Sherlock snapped.

Isaac looked at Sherlock blankly, "No," he replied flatly and then as if Sherlock hadn't spoken Isaac asked him a question. "Sherlock, do you have your iPhone and can you access something on the internet?"

"What are you talking about? John is lost and you want to surf the web?" Sherlock shouted as he glared over at Isaac. When Isaac didn't respond to his outburst Sherlock sighed and handed over his phone to Isaac. "Yes, you can access the internet." Isaac took the phone from Sherlock and as the glow lit up his angular features, Sherlock reflected that is was surreal that such an ancient looking soul like Isaac was using an iPhone.

Isaac concentrated for a few moments and softy exclaimed, "Here, Sherlock, come here."

Sherlock obliged and was thoroughly pissed when Isaac gestured for Sherlock to watch a video on the phone. "What the hell, Sister Wendy? Really you want me to watch an episode of Sister Wendy? Isaac come on," Sherlock hissed and was about to turn off the phone when something caught his eye.

Sister Wendy stood in front of a painting of a Knight Templar, "As you can see this is a treasure of a painting and the artist is unknown, but see how he captures the pain and agony in the Knight's face as he prays. It is almost as if he were enduring the suffering of Christ himself." Sister Mary said cheerfully as if she were inviting guests to a picnic. Sherlock pinched his fingers on the phone's screen to enlarge the image of the painting and swore, "Jesus, Isaac this can't be true," he gasped. Sherlock hastily searched for the pause button on the video for he didn't want to hear any more of Sister Wendy's gruesome descriptions of the Crusades. "She's a blood thirsty old bat," Sherlock thought as he pushed the pause sign on the video and then the calamity of John's situation overwhelmed him. "Jesus, Isaac that painting is of John. Where is my poor John? Is he lost in time with that twisted pyscho, Moriarty?" Sherlock asked in a quivering voice.

Isaac smiled gently at Sherlock and patted his hand. "Have faith, Sherlock, John is closer than you know. After all isn't it Einstein that said that, 'Time is like a layered burrito.'?"

Sherlock looked at Isaac and almost laughed in an effort to break up the tension in the room. "Isaac, help me." Sherlock said humbly, his eyes full of entreaty.

"Sherlock, you don't have to beg me, for I am always here if you need me. With that being said you are going to have to give your scientific mind a rest and let faith take its course. Sherlock, we are going to have to transmute you back to where John is, back to 1125 A.D."

Sherlock looked at Isaac as if he were insane and wondered if he had some form of dementia, but then he remembered the anguished look on John's face and Sherlock knew he would agree to anything to as long as it helped John.

Mycroft paced back and forth and Mary thought he looked very much like Sherlock as he did so. "Mycroft, please stop pacing, you are making me sea-sick." Mary chided gently.

Mycroft kissed her hand and sat down next to her on the bed. "It's just that I worry about him so. Sherlock thinks he is invincible. I don't really know if he is even away of how fragile we all are. One of the benefits of being a sociopath I suppose," Mycroft said aloud and began to pace again. "I put a tracer on him, but he found it of course and he also managed to dodge the man I had following him."

"Does he have any friends here in Jerusalem?" Mary asked pointlessly.

Mycroft shook his head. "Sherlock has more friends than he knows, but he only acknowledges one."

Mycroft put his head in his hands as he tried to rack his brain for any clue that would help them find Sherlock and then as if coming out of a hypnotic trance Mycroft raised his head. "I think I know where he went. Mary put your coat on for regardless of the heat during the day Jerusalem is cold at night."

Mary was about to protest that she was a full grown woman and didn't need Mycroft to tell her to put on a coat, but then she looked into his gentle blue eyes, sighed, went and got a coat out of the closet and meekly let Mycroft help her put it on. Mycroft's hands lingered on Mary's shoulder for a moment and then he said, "Are you ready Mary dearest?"

Mary pulled Mycroft down for a kiss and after a few moments Mycroft breathlessly pulled, "Jesus, Mary you are such a temptress, if this were anyone but Sherlock I would tell them to go to the devil and take you hard right now."

Mary's eyes got a little bigger, "Even MI6?"

Mycroft reached in a caressed her breast and breathlessly replied, "Even the fucking Queen herself Mary." Reluctantly Mycroft slipped his hand out of her blouse and said in a sweet voice that Mary seldom heard, "Mary, I love you. Come on dearest; let's go find my little brother."

Mary stepped forward and then tentatively asked Mycroft," Did you ever see Magnusson's file of the type of woman I was?"

Mycroft nodded, "Of course my dear that is what first got me hot for you."

Mary looked down and then back at Mycroft's black, dilated eyes, "You saw me kill?"

Mycroft sighed. "Yes, and I thought you were magnificent. Now no more talk of this for I feel myself starting to get, well you know, hard as we speak." Mycroft huskily replied.

Mary smiled back wickedly, "Come on Mycroft, a quickie please?" Mary begged.

"Shit, a few moments won't make a difference, "Mycroft thought as Mary undid the zipper of his trousers and stuck her hand inside. As Mycroft struggled with his pants, Mary stopped him. "No, need to take off your clothes I can take you like this," Mary said as ran her tongue along the inside of his thigh.

"Jesus," Mycroft groaned as Mary buried her face in his crotch. He tensed for a few moments as Mary teased him with her tongue, and then she pushed him back on the bed and took him fully in her mouth. "Jesus, Mary I swear you are the anti-christ," Mycroft hissed as he arched his body towards her. Mary didn't answer for she was busy, very busy.