Sherlock was used to being shot, stabbed, almost poisoned, almost hung, strangled, drowned, buried alive, electrocuted, burned, bitten, stung, smacked, punched, kicked, oh so many ways for a man like him to be hurt. While it seemed maddening that a man would continue his career as a for-hire detective despite these apparent things, many forget just how Sherlock was. As long as he had the means and people to call on, Sherlock wasn't going to be deterred from his work just because the latest case almost had him killed.

Now, he might have to rethink his position when he got out of Utopia.

He was trying to find his way back to the Doctor but ended up in the arms of three angry men: Joseph, Leon, and Callan. They dragged him by the shirt toward one of the storage rooms and had been grilling him for information. While Sherlock was used to being the punching bag, these men were not the usual goons Sherlock usually encountered. They were strong, stronger than any men Sherlock knew, and they weren't going to take his word. Apparently, Sofia had a long network of those who she could send to do her bidding and they think he's one of them.

For a bit it was Callan who interrogated and he didn't flinch when Sherlock sucker punched him. Callan returned the favor and Sherlock got a nasty bruise on his jawline as he fell to the ground. Then Joseph's turn came and the musclebound man wasn't kidding when he mentioned being on his school's wrestling team. For the last hour it had been Leon and he was the more violate one of the three.

"Who are you working for?" Leon demanded from him as he was on the ground writhing in pain from being punched in the gut. For a skinny man like Leon, he punched like a professional. "You're already dead; buddy, so save your "I don't know what you're talking about" shtick!"

"I don't know," Sherlock wheezed as he tried to look up at Leon. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Look at this piece of work," Leon threw up his arms. He glanced at Joseph and pointed at him, "Can you believe this?"

"He sounds like a Londoner," Callan noticed. "But he could be from Nottingham."

Leon looked down at Sherlock. Sherlock looked at him. Leon shook his head. He turned toward Callan and asked, "Who do we know has the means to get a schmuck from London to do their dirty business?"

"Lambert comes to mind, but she rarely uses grunts," Callan shrugged. Joseph beside him raised a finger, "He probably got paid off by Cory."

"Ah that prick can't even write his own name," Leon swatted. He turned back to Sherlock. "He's probably Joey's goon."

"I am nobody's goon," Sherlock protested. He was met with a quick kick to the gut again. He heard Leon saying, "That's what they all say!"

"You sure he knows anything?" Joseph crossed his arms. "He could just be one of those for-hire idiots that get a target and the means but never the whole story."

"That suit isn't cheap," Callan pointed out. "Either he's well off or stole it from somebody's closet."

Sherlock gritted his teeth as he tried to say the words, "I wasn't hired."

"And I'm Princess Diana!" spat Leon as he waved his hand as he looked down on Sherlock writhing in pain. Sherlock eyed him crossly as he said, "Prince Charles!"

"Ha, this boy here got a sense of humor," Leon swatted the air. He looked back at the two. "He's too well off to be hired. I say he's one of those weasels looking to profit, hey you profit off of people's pain and misery?"

Leon tapped Sherlock's side as Sherlock coughed, "No."

"Alright, so if you aren't for hire or some weasel then why the hell are you here?" Leon stared down at him. "Who the hell do you think you are causing trouble, huh?"

"I am Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock hissed at him. "I am not responsible."

"Sherlock Holmes?" Joseph blinked as he turned to Callan. "Is he serious?"

"Kick a man enough times and he'll tell you he did the Chicago Fires, but that don't make it so," Leon wagged his finger at them. He looked down to Sherlock. "And I bet he lives at 221B Baker Street with a little lady called Mrs. Hudson."

"I do," Sherlock sneered at him. He was met with another kick to the stomach. Sherlock grabbed his stomach as he coughed violently. "I can prove it!"

"Prove it, he says," Leon turned to Joseph and Callan as if he was telling a joke. He glimpsed to Sherlock trying to stand up and gently pushed him back down onto the ground with a foot. "Alright, prove it. If you are THE Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Street that has a little lady called Mrs. Hudson, then surely you can tell us the answer to my riddle."

Sherlock eyed him, "What's your riddle?"

Leon chewed on his lips as he thought about the riddle. No one ever got it right, not even those who say they are supposed to be good at riddles. It came out of an old book Leon read back in his days in New York City, at the downtown library. It was in a nondescript book that nobody really glanced at or knew anything about. It was a compilation of short stories, poems, and interesting things indeed. The name of the book, Leon forgot, but this riddle stuck with him to this day since he read it from the book almost thirty years ago.

"Okay, answer me this: for why did the bell stop chiming?" Leon crossed his arms as he stepped back from Sherlock. Sherlock laid there slumped on the ground as he quickly thought about the riddle. He never heard this riddle before, ever. Even for a man with encyclopedia knowledge of everything from books to plants, Sherlock never heard this riddle. He quickly thought about the bell. If it was a church bell there was a myriad of reasons for it to ring. Weddings, mass, funerals, everything that would be reason for the church bells to be rung and then Sherlock's mind went into his youth.

Since it was a boring story with nothing noteworthy, Sherlock never told to anyone, not even to John. It was a family trip with him and Mycroft with their family in Cheshire. They stopped at a town where the townspeople were doing reenactments of a civil dispute. A man had been caught with another's wife and the jilted husband demanded payment for the defilement of his wife. The payment was for the cheating heart to give the husband three goats and a sow. Of course, the cheating heart didn't have that kind of resources and so under the threat of execution, he had to be clever.

He decided that in order to pay the husband for the crime, he'd have to steal three goats and a sow.

In the end, the man was caught thieving and on top of being unable to pay the husband, he was to be executed for his crimes. He was hung the moment the church stopped chiming past 12:00 PM. He hung at noon!

"He hung at noon!" Sherlock cried just as Leon was about to serve him another kick to the stomach. Leon stopped just before his shoe reached Sherlock's stomach and pulled back. He was mystified, Sherlock could tell.

"What, he got it?" Joseph asked Leon. Callan crossed his arms. Leon turned toward them. Judging from their expressions, Sherlock got the answer in the nick of time.

"Okay, so, you're Sherlock Holmes," Leon gestured at him. "Then, why are you here?"

"I was going to tell you, but you been using me as a punching bag," Sherlock eyed him. Leon raised his hands in defense. "Well shit, you expect us to know it's you? Any boob can claim he's Sherlock Holmes," Leon exhaled as he tried to understand what was told. Callan gestured to Leon, "Well, now we know. We got any shots left?"

"Uh, I think they left some in the kits," Leon shrugged. Joseph raised his hand up. He said, "I'll get one."

He disappeared out into the hall and left Leon and Callan with Sherlock trying to look up at them. Sherlock tried to say, "Shot, shot of what?"

"Oh uh, it's a shot that uh the scientists used to use when we, uh, got agitated with them and tried to make them kababs," Leon poorly explained the shot. The shot was a needle with red substance that was not Amber but something else. It could heal anything in anyone no matter the severity of it all. While there were limits, the shot would heal Sherlock's bruised abdomen and cracked ribs in an instant.

Joseph returned with a needle in hand and Leon took it into his. He looked down to Sherlock and Sherlock looked back. "I'm going to give you the shot, alright, don't be surprised if you feel like you have been hit by a car."

Sherlock could only watch as Leon raised his sleeve and stick the needle through the skin and into his vein.

Sherlock felt his gut wrench and he let out a groan as he writhed. He heard Leon, "Yeah, I'm told it hurts."

"Of course it hurts," Sherlock hissed as he clenched his teeth. It felt like his stomach was puffing up with air like a balloon and he felt his kidneys jiggle and turn. Leon wasn't kidding when he said that Sherlock would feel like he had been hit by a car.

As Sherlock subconsciously closed his eyes as he writhed, he heard footsteps enter and overheard Beth. "My god, what have you done to him?"

Sherlock's mind wondered what happened to the Doctor.