Author's Note: Here's the requested longer chapter, guys. ;) Hope you enjoy! A little bit of John's point of view in this one. Just as a heads up, I'm headed to California on Saturday, so for two weeks of my vacation I won't be able to post my usual Monday and Friday updates. So...if you'd like, I could post all four of the updates we'll be missing before I go, and you can read them while I'm gone...OR, you could just wait and the story will last longer. Up to you; it's already written so I can do it either way.

Disclaimer: I actually don't legally own any of these main characters, shocking as that might seem. O.O

Sherlock sighed discontentedly.

"Why am I here?"

"You should know," the doctor said, with a reproving shake of his head.

"I don't," Sherlock snapped. "Your thugs got me high. What do you expect?"

"You're mind does still seem affected by the drugs. Very well then; I'll help you. What do you know about me, Mr. Holmes?"

"You disappeared three months ago. A suicide note was found, and good deal of blood, as well. The note was in your writing, but the blood was not yours, and no body was found. You are fairly well-off, which is why your wife could afford to offer such an exorbitant reward for your safe return, which in turn is why half of England is now looking for you."

Sherlock rattled off the facts without taking a breath, his tone loudly speaking of his annoyance. Dr. Manson nodded patiently.

"What do you know about my professional life?"

"You're a doctor. A neurosurgeon, more specifically."

"And?"

"And a scientist."

"Can you think of no reason why a neurosurgeon and scientist would have an interest in possibly the greatest mind in the world?"

Sherlock stared at him.

"My mind? My…you kidnapped me for my mind?"

"Well, among other things, yes. I am developing a new project, you see; one that could change history. And you, Sherlock Holmes, have the honor of helping me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried to appear uninterested.

"How exciting."

"Don't worry, Sherlock. You won't be bored. No, I don't think you will be."

"What do you mean, you can't track it?"

John was incredulous. His look at Lestrade, striding quickly beside him, demanded explanation.

"Look, it's different than the Jennifer Wilson case. We had her account information. Sherlock's given us nothing to go on." Lestrade sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

John was already shaking his head.

"That's not right, Greg. Why would he tell us to do something he knew we couldn't?"

"Well, you saw his texts. The stuff he was breathing was clearly having some effects on him."

John furrowed his brow. He didn't think Sherlock would have made a mistake like that.

"He didn't ever give you his password or anything, did he? For safe-keeping, or something?" Lestrade suggested. John shook his head. "Well then, have you called his brother?"

"He didn't pick up the phone."

Lestrade reached inside his office door and grabbed his coat, shrugging it on as they hurried past.

"I've already got two squad cars and an ambulance on the way there. Maybe we can get to him before someone else does."

"Call me as soon as you get there," John said. Lestrade stopped, perplexed.

"What, you're not coming with?"

"I'm going to the Diogenes Club to speak with Mycroft. Sherlock avoids him like the plague; if he said to get his help it must be important."

"Right."

"Right."

John nodded once and hurried out of the building to hail a cab, leaving Lestrade shouting a few last orders before he, too, left.

John sprang up the steps two by two. In the hall upstairs, two suited men moved to block the heavy mahogany doors that bore the name "Mycroft Holmes, Esq." on bronze plating. John didn't slow his pace.

"John Watson, here to see Mycroft Holmes."

The men stepped aside.

Mycroft looked up from his papers and piping cup of Earl Grey as John entered.

"Why haven't you answered your bloody phone?" John demanded. Mycroft set his tea down and raised his eyebrows in his own especially infuriating way.

"Good afternoon to you, too, John."

"Why didn't you?"

"If you must know, Anthea needed my personal phone to conclude a certain government transaction, and I requested her not to take calls from numbers she did not recognize. For security reasons, of course."

"Sherlock's in trouble, Mycroft."

"Well, obviously. When is he ever not? And still he comes running to big brother whenever he gets himself into a scrape; quite childish, doctor, don't you agree?"

John ignored him.

"We need you to-" John's phone rang. He motioned for Mycroft to wait and pulled his mobile out of his coat pocket with his other hand.

"Greg, yes, what is it?"

"We checked every elevator in the place. No sign of him. We did find traces of a sedative aerosol drug in the air in one of them, but no Sherlock. We're doing a thorough search of the building, but considering his texts I think it unlikely we'll come up with anything."

"Thanks, Greg. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Right; bye."

"Bye." John hung up and turned back to Mycroft. "Okay, so he really is gone. He texted me as he was being kidnapped; told us to track his phone and get in touch with you. Here, see?" John quickly opened the text screen on his phone and slapped it into Mycroft's hand. Mycroft's eyes darted over it and he sighed.

"What's the problem? Can't you do it? Even if you don't have his information I'm sure you of all people can get it, can't you?" John was hopeful.

"I don't have it. It's in my phone."

"Tell Anthea to text it to you, or something?"

Mycroft shook his head.

"John, she's been told to ignore all calls she doesn't recognize. Think about that."

"She has your phone…so…you'd have to call from somewhere else but she might not recognize the number. But, couldn't you call her from here? She must know the Diogenes number?"

"I never use a landline, John, especially when contacting Anthea. Too easily tapped."

"So there's no way we can get the information. Other than go find her and ask her for it. That's basically what you're telling me." John was incredulous. Mycroft considered a moment.

"There are other people. Other numbers she'd know. But none I would trust with the knowledge of Sherlock's abduction. So yes. I think your suggestion our best option at the moment."

John's jaw was twitching with anger, but he was sensible enough to put bickering off until later. Later, when Sherlock is here, and safe, and can bicker for me. He'd probably do a far cleverer job of dressing down Mycroft than I ever could, anyway.

"Alright. Where is she?"

"Honduras."

"What?!"

"Pack a bag, John; you're leaving in twenty minutes."

Author's Note: Here's a fun-fact for you. Honduras is actually, according to statistics, the murder capital of the world. Exciting, yeah? Also, apologies for Sherlock seeming at all out of character in this one. He is drugged though, so I think we can give him a break. PLEASE leave a comment! And be sure to let me know when you'd like me to post those updates.