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Chapter Text

“You remember his name?”

“Charles...Charlie...” a soft chuckle escaped his throat.

“The petite blonde that wouldn’t stop following you around like a puppy...”

“But a very faithful one he proved to be, Moore. Very faithful indeed.” Sherlock Holmes turned to study Joseph with a warm smile, hands thrust deep into his pockets as he took a deep breath of the night air. “Well...we have walked these streets for over three hours, and as much as a romantic may appreciate the stars reflecting on the river’s surface, I must confess I am rather distracted by wondering on when, exactly, you shall tell me what is wrong.”

Joss looked down at his scuffed shoes, stamping them a little against the rough ground. “What makes you think something is wrong, Holmes?”

Holmes merely arched an eyebrow in return.

“Yes...you’re quite right,” Joss muttered to himself with a sigh, a hand rubbing the back of his short, dark hair. “The wrong question to the wrong man,” his tone suggested that he might roll his eyes had he not more pressing matters on his mind.

“Well? Spit it out man...” Holmes sighed, but his grey eyes remained indulgent toward his friend.

Joss closed his eyes as he turned his face downward rather than look him in the eye. “I found myself in financial difficulty.”

Holmes gave a most definite tsk, laying his hands elegantly on his hips as he watched him. “Is that all? Why did you not mention this before? How much do you need?”

“I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple.” Joss’ features contorted as he stamped a foot with impatience at himself. “Damn it, Holmes, I’ve been a fool! There was this band of men, old associates...”

Holmes’ eyes widened, knowing all too well the type of company that Joss had once kept. “Tell me you didn’t...”

“I did, Holmes,” Moore whispered, shaking his head slowly. “They gave me the money I needed, in return I just had to do a few small favours...see? But now...oh things went wrong, Holmes, and it’s all spiralled...spiralled away from me and out of control...and I’m terribly afraid, I don’t know what I will do...”

Holmes took a step closer to try and calm the distressed man before the sharp blast of a pistol shot forced him to flinch away, even as his head snapped to the direction of the threat. His narrowed eyes pinpointed the dark figure of a man, just as it sprang into action.

A violent splash pulled Holmes’ attention back to his friend, just in time to witness Joss’ fall over the railing and into the bitterly cold river.

Holmes ran forward, gripping the railing his friend had just collapsed over, peering into the dark. “Moore!”

He pulled his pale hand back from the rail, his fingers rubbing the blood they had found there. “Joss...” he whispered in one brief moment of grief before pulling his hat off. His fevered hands stripped his jacket from his body and his quick feet deftly kicked his shoes off.

By the time he had climbed over the rail, he could barely see the lifeless body floating on the water that swirled with the swift and dangerous current of the near flooded river.

Holmes plunged into the shockingly cold water without a second thought...but he hadn’t counted on the current being quite as strong as the winter had made it. It was all he could do to thrust a strong hand out in time to grab hold of the ladder that was fixed to the riverbank. He looked ahead with desperation, breathing hard as the water rushed brutally past his body...but Joss was gone.

“Joss! Joss!” Holmes shouted at the top of his lungs against the violent crescendo of the water, his free hand hitting out fiercely against it in anger and frustration.

A snarl twisted Holmes’ lips as he launched into action, hauling himself out of the water and over the rail. Soaked to the skin and shoeless, Holmes started off down the street in a terrifyingly fast sprint, spurred on by his fervour to find the assassin.

***

11th December, 1887

Sherlock Holmes bolted upright in his bed at Baker Street, his breathing hard and strangled and the covers twisted cruelly around his limbs. He ran unsteady hands through his dark, damp hair, forcing himself to calm.

Years.

Years had passed since Joss had been shot...since he’d felt his blood on his skin...since he had seen him swept away.

Years.

So why did it still haunt him?

Perhaps it was because Joss had been more than a friend to Holmes, someone he had wanted to both protect and be a mentor to. And he’d let him go. He’d let the water steal his life away.

Or perhaps it was because Joss’ murder had been one of the few he had never been able to solve. Indeed, the decomposing body had not been recovered from the treacherous river until sometime later.

Holmes forced himself to lay back down, a slender hand gripping the pillow as if with determination. “Tomorrow...” he whispered firmly to himself. “Tomorrow, I shall tell Watson of his surprise, and then we can be rid of this city for Christmas...”

*****

Chapter Text

12th December, 1887

Quiet...still...serene...

Perfect.

The bell at the door disturbed me from my paper...and my seemingly overzealous hopes for a calm day, having finally found some time to myself. I gave a disapproving frown, a sigh escaping my lips. “Why is it so hard to find a little peace...especially in the festive season that supposedly promotes it so?”

Holmes chuckled at my grumblings as he sprung from his chair. “I shall deal with this...”

He left me before I had chance to reply, but in truth, I was in no hurry to try and stop him. I could only hear murmurings from the stairs, so I cleared my throat and went back to my paper, uncertain of the morality of trying to listen in.

It had been a fraught few days since the case of James Wilkinson had drawn to a close, and it was difficult to know how to feel. On the one hand, it had been a painful ordeal for Holmes, to be accused of killing a friend who had once meant so much to him. On the other, the torrid investigation had brought Holmes and me together in a way I had never imagined possible.

And now that I had his love, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

But the truth was, the ordeal had taken its toll, and I felt emotionally drained. I knew Holmes did too, even if he was far better at hiding it than I.

Still, Christmas was drawing near, and I was looking forward to a sorely needed rest.

I was just settling back to my paper when Holmes drifted into our sitting room, his hands planted on his hips with nothing short of triumph. “Watson...we are leaving. We shall be away for Christmas.”

I glanced up over the edge of my paper to fix him with a dark look, barely able to hold back my sigh. “Just what I wanted to hear...”

He chuckled in the face of my sarcasm, strolling idly across the floor. “Of course...I could always travel alone...” he continued with a casual tone, waving a dramatic hand before giving an affected sigh. “But it would be such a shame...that beautiful mansion by the sea going to waste when I went through so much trouble to get it all to ourselves for a well deserved holiday...”

My paper forgotten, my eyebrows shot up as I met his eyes with surprise and hope shining in my own. “Holiday?”

“Yes...” Holmes chuckled lightly, the sparkle in his eye betraying his joy at seeing his words having the desired effect. “A rather stylish friend of mine is going away for a month over Christmas...I asked if we could take advantage of his home as an escape from this place for a little while.”

“A holiday...” I repeated, as if trying to get used to the idea. “And there is no murder...?” I asked almost suspiciously and somewhat doubtfully. It would not be the first time Holmes had used less than honest means to drag me along on one of his adventures.

Holmes laughed at the thinly veiled accusation, pushing his hands into his pockets as he moved closer, his eyes finding mine with amusement. “No...no, dear heart...just you, me, and a household of servants who won’t even show themselves above stairs without our ringing for them...”

A warm smile began to spread across my features. “A holiday...oh, Holmes, I cannot begin to tell you how long it has been since I last managed a true escape...without it being to run after you and some madman with my pistol...”

Holmes smiled gently, pushing himself into movement. “Then that is settled...” he declared as he moved for the door, only to halt once he had swung it open. “But Watson...bring that pistol of yours just in case, would you?”

Only the slightest tug at the corner of his lips broke through his solemn tone to betray the teasing nature of the comment...leaving me to throw my paper against the door he used to shield himself.

*****

Despite the bitter cold outside our enclosed, rather cosy carriage, the afternoon still managed to be remarkably sunny. I watched my friend with fond eyes as he talked with relaxed features...I was so used to accompanying him on journeys for his work that I had grown accustomed to either tense silence whilst travelling, or ramblings of the case. But this time, he chattered openly and easily, smiling and gently laughing at times. I must confess, it was a joy to see the change in him.

“...and the scenery is simply spectacular, Watson. The coastline it overlooks is privately owned and belongs to the mansion, so we shall have it all to ourselves,” Holmes continued on with a pleased smile.

I watched him intently from where I sat close against him in the closed carriage, tugging the blanket we shared higher over our laps. “I know we shall have a wonderful Christmas.”

Holmes turned his head to study me, his eyes hopeful. “Do you really think so?”

“I *know* we shall,” I replied with a reassuring smile. Carefully and gently, I reached to take his hand in my own, holding it with affection. “I shall be with you after all.”

Holmes met my eyes with a grateful smile, his hand ever so slightly squeezing mine as colour touched his cheeks so beautifully. “There is a lot to celebrate this year...our first Christmas being...together...so to speak.”

I nodded with agreement, my finger stroking the inside of his wrist. “I’m sure we can think of several ways to celebrate...” I watched with delight as his blush deepened. I leant forward to whisper against his ear. “If it were summer, I would take you into that secluded sea and stroke you in time with the caress of the water...until you were begging me for more...”

Holmes’ lips parted as a soft breath escaped them, followed by a breathless laugh. “Watson...” It was almost a warning.

“Yes?” I chuckled lightly, slipping a hand under the cover and letting it rest on the front of his trousers, a sigh escaping my lips as I felt him, and just how perfectly his body had responded to the words and my touch. “You seem to be aroused,” I whispered innocently, my hand starting to rub slowly.

A helpless whimper escaped Holmes as his head tipped back, his eyes sliding closed in his pleasure. “Watson...you couldn’t possibly...not here...”

“Why not? There’s no one to see...” I leant forward and brushed my lips against his exposed throat, using them to tease hot breath across the soft skin until he could resist no longer. His mouth sought mine, kissing me with need as his hips thrust up against my willing hand.

I moaned into his mouth, both at the feeling and having won the battle. I kissed him demandingly as both hands worked to get his trousers open, wanting the frustrating clothing out of the way. I let out a long, content breath as my hand finally wrapped around the heated, hardened flesh, stroking firmly as I watched him with loving eyes.

He basked in the sensation, making me moan with every sound of pleasure I teased out of him. His hand suddenly reached down to cover mine, urging it on. “Yes...oh yes, John, more...” he breathed, a primal need forcing him to let go of his control.

I watched him with awe...*that* was what I craved, yet I saw it so rarely. The breakdown of his control. He needed me to take it from him, I knew it all too well, and yet he so often fought against it, scared to lose it.

Encouraged by his reaction, I pushed the blanket aside, urging his thighs apart so I could kneel between them on the cramped floor of the carriage. I wasted no time in wrapping my lips tightly around the tip of his already weeping cock, moaning softly in my throat at the act I found so erotic.

I was rewarded with the most delicious sound of his whimper, and I couldn’t help but smile around him as he pulled his legs up with need. I doubt he even realised, but he spread his legs and pulled them up and back to rest his feet on the very edge of the seat. I couldn’t help but steal a glance of him...legs pulled back in hope, thighs spread and taught with desire, body arched, and head thrown back in pleasure as he moaned soft pleas for more...he was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

I moaned with my own want to give him the pleasure he deserved, wrapping a hand tight around him as I took more of the flesh into my all too willing mouth, moaning at the taste, feel and heat of him. I used my tongue to stroke, flick, caress and slide against the weeping slit with an overwhelming desire to taste the hot liquid slowly escaping, the very evidence of his need. And as his whimpers and pleas for more increased in urgency, I took him deeper into my mouth, as if it were all I wanted in the world.

I moaned loudly with satisfaction as I felt him spill, swallowing him all too eagerly as I listened with delight to his blissful moans of my name. I smiled with nothing but happiness as I forced myself to finally pull back, sliding back up onto the seat to readjust his trousers and pull the cover back over us, kissing his whimpering mouth deeply.

“John...” he whispered on a shaking breath, lifting a hand to stroke my face tenderly as he kissed me lovingly.

I smiled into the warmth of the kiss, returning it eagerly. “I hope I did it how you like?” I whispered, blushing and almost shy with the fading heat of the moment.

Holmes laughed warmly, caressing my neck as he searched my eyes. “Superb...as with everything else you do,” he whispered back before stealing another soft kiss. “Although I must confess, you have rather relaxed me...” he chuckled, leaning to rest his head comfortably on my shoulder, his arm reaching around me to embrace lightly.

I gave a pleased smile, kissing his neck gently. “Then rest,” I whispered, wrapping my arm around his shoulders to draw him tighter against my body in a warm embrace. I couldn’t help but smile...in a way, the simple act of his being willing and able to rest against me whilst sleeping was perhaps even more intimate than what we had just done.

*****

Chapter Text

“This place is amazing...” I whispered with an awe filled laugh, drinking in the stylish luxury. Whoever owned the majestic property had beautiful taste. Rich, warm colours and lush textures adorned the large entrance hall...and it was completely devoid of people, apart from Holmes and myself.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, referring to the servants. Such a grand house could not run without them, and our luggage had already been sent ahead of us to our rooms.

“Downstairs, where their quarters are,” Holmes gave me a small smile, his intelligent eyes watching me with clear pleasure at my reaction. “I told you, we shall have the utmost privacy...I made sure of it. They shall only come when we ring.”

“You always do think of everything...” I reached out to touch his face gently. I met his eyes, smiling softly as I ran my fingertips over his cheekbone, exploring before finally leaning forward and kissing him tenderly. “It is what I love about you,” I whispered.

Holmes chuckled as he leant forward, removing my hat before wrapping an arm around my waist as I kissed him deeply. My hands travelled down the graceful line of his back as we enjoyed the feel of each other for several long moments in the welcoming firelight glow.

Holmes finally pulled back, breathless and mellow. “Shouldn’t we explore first?” he asked in an almost shy whisper, yet there was already colour on his cheeks and the dark sheen of desire in his eyes as he teased his fingers lovingly through my hair.

“I *am* exploring...” I teased, unable to resist as I kissed him deeply again, feeling rather than hearing his whimper. I took his hand and led him up the large staircase. After trial and error, I finally managed to lead him into what appeared to be the master bedroom of the mansion.

Holmes looked about with an arched eyebrow. “But this is *his* bedroom...”

“All the better...” I whispered with a playful smile. I pushed him back on to the large bed, kissing him hungrily as I crawled over his lithe body, my hand finding his thigh.

He obediently spread his thighs at the caress, his hands reaching to undress me hurriedly, his need clear in his lust darkened eyes. He smiled so warmly as he undressed me methodically, only tugging me back over him once I was completely naked. I could feel the want in his kiss, his hands travelling down my body to rest on my buttocks, a moan rolling in the back of his throat.

My own hands moved gently but with purpose, slowly undressing him as I dragged parted lips across his arching neck. I pulled back enough to run my eyes over his beautiful naked body; I have never grown tired of the sight. I leant close, trailing my tongue up the length of his offered throat until I reached his ear. “Roll over...”

He met my eyes, his own darkening at the words before doing as told. I pressed close, nipping at the back of his neck, my hands moving freely over the body that arched so willingly into the touch. My hand slipped lower, caressing up his innerthigh. I watched with delight as he shivered under the sensation of my finger teasing over his sensitive entrance.

“I need you...” the words came in the form of a slight gasp from kiss bruised lips.

I draped myself over him, my body covering his as I lifted a hand to his mouth. He submissively took two fingers between his lips, sucking with a soft moan, caressing as if worshipping. It took all of my willpower to pull my hand back, slipping it down between us to slowly push a finger inside of him.

I gasped at the sensation, as always...hot, tight, yet accepting...his body always seems to accept me so willingly. The heated moan from Holmes betrayed his own enjoyment of the intimate act, his hips trying to push back as I added a second finger. My purpose was to prepare him, yet I couldn’t resist taking the time to stroke over the spot inside him, knowing how much he loved it.

I was rewarded with the most helpless whimper as he threw his head back, a wanton smile on his features. These were the moments he allowed himself to truly let go; and I had learnt to relish every second of it.

I thrust inside the exquisite body, unable to hold back any longer. “I love you...” I moaned gently into his ear, my body covering his as I moved inside of him, the feeling of being inside my lover as incredible as always.

I felt him writhe under me with his own pleasure...heard his needful, encouraging whimpers as I moved against him, both our bodies already glistening with a sheen of sweat over burning skin.

He lifted his hands to grip the pillow as he breathed hard, his shaking moans betraying the building heat in him. I covered his hands with my own, pinning them there, yet holding them with just as much love as I thrust deeper inside him, breathing in his scent.

“I love you...” I moaned against his ear. “So perfect...I never knew desire before you. I think of this every night...taking you...claiming you...”

“Oh yes...” Holmes gave a sudden gasp of my name, throwing his head back against my shoulder.

“Beautiful...” I drove deeper inside of him with my need, rational thought giving way to consuming pleasure. Sucking firmly on his neck, I bit warmly at hearing his soft cry for more. I ran my hand possessively over his throat, tugging his head further back against my shoulder.

His body shuddered with the thrill of it, a louder cry of pleasure escaping. “Oh yes! Yes, John...only you will ever touch me...”

An almost primal groan rolled in my throat at the words, my hand sliding up the length of his glistening arched back, pushing into his hair to grab tightly. Using the grip, I pulled his body up against my own until we were both kneeling, his thighs straddling my lap as I thrust desperately inside of him.

I kept hold of his hair, tugging his head back onto my shoulder, revelling in his whimpers as my lips found the soft skin of his neck and throat. My other hand set to work, sliding down over his writhing body to wrap tightly around the irresistibly hard and weeping cock.

Holmes cried out with feverish heat, his hand lifting to wrap around the back of my neck. His face turned blindly towards mine, bliss contorting it to such beauty...I couldn’t resist the erotic image, my desire driving me to thrust harder and deeper into him with a need to claim him, to make that beauty mine...to turn the bliss to ecstasy.

I was rewarded with an intoxicating scream as he finally spilled his pleasure, his tight, hot body clenching around me, drawing out my own intense climax of undeniable euphoria.

I held the sweat slick body against my own as I tried to catch my breath, but I achieved little more than soft moans of his name. As I finally came back to myself, I became aware of my lover’s fading whimpers from the ebbing pleasure.

I kissed him lovingly, keeping my arms tight around him as I pulled him down onto the bed, letting him rest against me as I tugged the cover over us.

“I love you...” I whispered gently, needing to say it as I kissed his hair softly.

“I love you too, John...” he whispered back on a shaking breath, meeting my eyes in the dim light, a depth of feeling in his own that was so raw and genuine. “More than you can possibly imagine...more than I let you know...”

“Shh...” I kissed him quickly but gently to silence him. “I know...I know. You needn’t say it, I know you find it difficult...just trust that I can see it...trust that I feel it.”

Holmes held my eyes for a long moment, as if to be sure that I meant it before kissing me tenderly and settling against me, his eyes sliding closed. “I trust you, John...”

*****

Chapter Text

13th December, 1887

As I ambled alongside Holmes the following morning, I looked out across the misty rugged landscape, taking a deep breath of the clean, coastal air. I loved London, with all its vim and vigour, but change was good for the soul. It was quiet, secluded, somewhere I could hear my own thoughts and Holmes’ words without distraction. “It really is beautiful here.”

“Yes...” Holmes agreed, carrying himself with as much grace as ever. He looked so much better than only a few weeks before.

“So who does all this belong to? This mystery friend of yours...” I asked with an almost teasing smile as I looked across to him.

“There is no mystery,” Holmes quirked an eyebrow with a sharp smile of amusement. “He is a dear friend that I have known for years...even as we were growing up.”

“Does he have a name?” I probed patiently, more than just a little intrigued. Holmes’ past fascinated me, if only for how little I knew of it.

“Oliver...any more questions?” Holmes met my eyes boldly, a familiar spark of challenge shining in his own.

“No...no, that will be all,” I replied with a mock earnest expression, but I was unable to hold it, a soft chuckle escaping.

“Just as well...I think you are becoming a little *too* comfortable with your newly discovered examination skills...” Holmes quipped, his lightness of tone a delight to hear.

I laughed softly, looking across to him with a fond smile. He seemed so relaxed in our retreat...it was a welcomed and wonderful sight. So often he was overwrought with his work or struck prostrate in its absence.

I cast my gaze across the fierce waves, captivated by the way they broke across the jagged rocks. My eye was drawn to the treeline beyond the tidepools, my brow furrowing as I strained to peer through the shifting light. Amongst the silhouettes, I was convinced I could make out a blurred figure, something that looked vaguely like a man. “I say, Holmes...someone’s out there...”

“But this land is private property...” Holmes dismissed the very idea of it, but halted to take a look for himself, his grey eyes narrowing. “I see nothing...”

“I think he’s watching us...” I looked again, but blinked with surprise; I could make out nothing but barren trees and hardy shrubs. “Holmes...he was there...I saw...”

“Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light,” Holmes shrugged nonchalantly as he straightened up, watching me with gentle eyes. “I see nothing, and if there were someone there it would likely be a servant taking some air.”

I held his eyes stubbornly for a long moment before finally letting out a breath of resignation. “Perhaps you are right.”

“Of course I am. Really, Watson, you are becoming most suspicious...if you are not careful you will be examining the most innocent hats and shoes before you know it,” Holmes assured with a fond chuckle, his hand touching mine in a fleeting but comforting caress. “We are quite safe here, my dear man. You and I. Come...let us return back to a warm fire; the air has suddenly chilled.”

***

I watched Holmes intently, studying his candlelit features as he sipped the red wine that accompanied our superb supper. We took our time, enjoying the ambience of the dining room, the candles on the magnificent table lighting our meals along with the cosy fire that crackled close by. “Holmes?”

“Yes?” he asked as he looked up from his wine, meeting my eyes as boldly as ever.

“I have a gift for you,” I said softly, almost shyly, with a small but affectionate smile.

Holmes watched me with surprise before setting the expensive glass neatly on the pristine tablecloth. He would never admit it, but I could see the spark of excitement in his eyes. “Another one? My dear man, if you carry on so, you shall be in danger of spoiling me...”

I laughed warmly at the suggestion, tickled by the idea of Holmes being spoiled and indulged. Besides, he deserved it; he did nothing but run around after everyone else. “As if you could ever be influenced by another...” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a delicate, velvet box, about the size of my palm. I offered it over with a hopeful smile.

Holmes accepted with curiosity, opening it up to find the pocket watch and chain. I saw his grey, sparkling eyes widen with surprise. “Watson...” he breathed, looking across to me with a moment of disbelief. “John...” he delicately picked it out of the box, studying it a long moment with his sharp eyes. “But...but this is yours...I distinctly remember you acquiring it...” he noted with a hint of confusion, his thumb brushing over the engraving of my name on the case.

“I know...I...I wanted you to have something of mine. To keep,” I explained with something of a shy smile, looking down with flushed skin.

“John...what a beautiful thought,” he gifted me the most gratifying, beaming smile, his hand closing almost lovingly around the watch...before his brow furrowed with thought. “I should give you something of mine in return,” he murmured, slipping the watch carefully into his pocket before running his hands down the length of his torso, as if to find something for me.

I couldn’t help but give a wicked smile at the images the gesture conjured...before I forced myself to sober. “Oh no, Holmes, I expect nothing in return...really...I just want you to have it.”

“I...I have nothing for you...” he said with a tone that was so close to disappointment that I could do nothing but smile fondly.

“Really...” I reached out and took his hand tenderly in my own. “It really is fine.”

He met my eyes earnestly. “I will find you something...and I shall always wear your watch, you have my word on the matter.”

I smiled warmly as I lifted his hand, kissing the tip of each finger, my eyes sparkling with mischief. “Come...let us go to bed, and I promise that I shall find something of yours that I wish to have...”

*****

Chapter Text

14th December, 1887

Holmes fixed his gaze upon the open pocket watch he held in his hand.

5:30 pm.

“Sir?” A young servant lad tapped gently on the door. His hair and eyes were dark and his manner timid. “Sir...has he returned?”

“No,” Holmes snapped shortly.

“Perhaps...” the youth licked his lips, watching nervously as he shifted his weight. “Perhaps he...he went to swim and was swept out to sea...”

Holmes looked sharply to the servant with ice in his eyes and fury on his tongue. “No sane man would dip his hand into that water in the middle of December!”

The young servant flinched as he averted his gaze, clasping his hands respectfully behind his back. “I apologise, sir...it was only a suggestion.”

Holmes glared coldly for a moment longer before slapping the seat of the chair next to him with an open palm. “Sit.” He kept his eyes on him, watching him hurry to obey. “Do you have a name?”

“Ben,” the lad gave a firm nod, clearly eager to help however he could.

“Ben, the Doctor has been missing since 9 am,” Holmes met his eyes earnestly, his voice clipped and intense. “I have searched for him with no avail. The only clue as to his whereabouts is his abandoned shoe that I found. One does not simply lose a shoe; it must have come off in some sort of struggle. There was not even a trail left to follow.”

“A struggle?” Ben looked to him with alarm, leaning in closer. “You mean...a fight?”

“Perhaps,” Holmes replied with a slight inclination of his head, the score above the bridge of his nose deepening despite his effort to appear more in control.

“Then, beg your pardon, sir...” Ben watched him with clear confusion. “But why aren’t you out looking for him?”

“Because I do not know where else to look!” Holmes jumped out of his seat and strode restlessly to the window, gripping the sill tightly as he looked out. “I have crawled over the entirety of this land, and nothing.”

“Then what will you do?” Ben asked, watching him with concern as he tucked a leg up on to the chair.

“I have sent for someone,” Holmes replied with something of a calmer tone, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “He should be here later tonight.”

“Who is he?” Ben leant forward with curiosity, biting on his lower lip anxiously.

“A man whose mind I respect,” Holmes replied simply, his gaze fixed on the already dark view outside...cold and dark, and the observation only deepened his frown and worry further.

*****

Holmes’ head lifted from his watch on the midnight landscape as he heard the tread of feet in the corridor. He recognised them immediately and turned around sharply to face the opening door with restrained relief. “Mycroft.”

Mycroft Holmes strode into the room, unbuttoning his heavy coat with a long sigh. “I left as soon as I received the message; to receive a call for aid from you only means something of importance has arisen.”

“It is Dr. Watson,” Holmes replied quietly, watching his elder brother with an unreadable expression.

“Could it be your *friend* has led you to a fall, just as I predicted?” Mycroft shook his head as he struggled with pulling his coat from his uncomfortable frame.

“Mycroft, if I needed a dagger of spite thrown at my chest, I would visit that unspeakable man which it is my gross misfortune to have in common with you. As it is, I am requesting your assistance; a simple yes or no will suffice,” Holmes turned sharply away from him.

Mycroft blinked, watching him for only a brief moment before moving to his brother with a surprisingly quick step for the usually languid man; Holmes’ tartness could only mean that something was very wrong indeed. “What has happened, Sherlock?”

Holmes let out a tight breath before meeting his eyes in an almost ruthless manner. “He is missing, Mycroft. Abducted.”

“A sign of struggle then...”

“His shoe.”

“And a trail?”

“Covered.”

“Then the villain wants you to know that Watson was abducted, or he would never have gone through the trouble of covering his tracks to only leave his shoe behind.”

Holmes nodded curtly in agreement, beginning to pace restlessly across the room. “In which case I will be receiving some sort of communication from him...”

Mycroft’s eyes followed him even as his body remained motionless. “What is it you want of me? Why have you asked me here?” He watched as Holmes halted, meeting his eyes with as near to a lost look as was possible from the cool eyes of Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft’s own eyes widened with sudden understanding. “You called for me because you had no idea what else to do.”

Holmes turned his face away from him, perhaps in a gesture to obscure his features. He moved to a seat, sliding down into it and gripping the arms tightly as he stared into the fire.

Mycroft gave a gentle sigh and moved to the seat next to him, watching him with compassionate eyes. “Sherlock, we will get to the bottom of this...”

“I cannot think.” Holmes stared straight ahead as if in shock, or confessing a sin. “I...I cannot think. I try to concentrate my thoughts on the case, and all I can think of is where my Watson is...if he is hurt...I have no clues, I have no trail...Mycroft, I feel completely helpless.” The last was said in a hoarse, confused voice; helplessness was not an affliction Sherlock Holmes was used to.

Mycroft just watched him with concern for a long moment before carefully reaching across and wrapping his hand tenderly around his brother’s. “Sherlock...Sherlock, we will find him. Whoever has him will communicate with you soon; if he wanted you to know he was taken, then it is because he wants something from you. You know that.”

Holmes gave a numb nod, closing his eyes as his head fell forward heavily.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft leant to him, softly squeezing his hand. “Sherlock, look at me.” His voice held the gentle sternness of an elder sibling. He gave a small smile as Holmes obeyed. “Have I ever failed you in the past?”

Holmes watched him for several long moments, taking in the blessedly calm features of his brother, before letting a heavy, almost trembling breath out. “No.”

“And I shan’t this time either.” Mycroft offered a thin smile. “Now, we shall have you a drink and then see you off to bed. You need to rest in order to rise with a clear and refreshed mind.”

“I couldn’t possibly...”

“Now,” Mycroft insisted firmly, patting his knee and rising.

“I shan’t sleep...”

“But you will be resting,” Mycroft met his eyes, smiling softly. “Stop arguing and simply *do*, Sherlock.”

Holmes tried a weak smile as he stood, but failed, not able to miss Mycroft’s worried expression once he thought he couldn’t see.

*****

Chapter Text

My head was throbbing in time with the white-hot blade skewering my temple...at least, that is how it felt as consciousness finally greeted me. A soft moan escaped my dry lips as I tried to pry my eyelids apart. I was completely disorientated; I had no concept of how long I had been unconscious, or where I was.

Slowly Watson, I told myself, take it in steps as Holmes always says...

I frantically begged my sluggish mind to recall what had happened, why I had fallen...I gasped as I remembered the hand gripping me, pulling me away as a sickly sweet cloth was clamped over my mouth and nose...then nothing.

I groaned with deep discomfort as I reached a shaky, weak arm under myself to try and sit up. It was all I could do to roll onto my side.

It was a horrid feeling...utterly helpless, completely vulnerable, having no clue where I was, who had taken me, and what they intended to do with me.

Every horrific case I had studied with Holmes passed through my mind.

“Holmes...” I murmured, the name providing the same comfort as a rope would a drowning man.

But then the yearning for him to tell me it was alright, that it was an accident or a silly prank, was replaced by the heartbreaking thought that Holmes would be worried sick.

My own worry soon turned to fear as I contemplated the idea that Holmes had also been taken, or worse. “Holmes...”

A feeling of failure swept through me, at not being by his side...but then a peculiar determination swelled in me, the need to get back to Holmes in case he was in danger; where I belonged in such times.

I virtually hurled myself upright before forcing my eyes open with my new found resolve. A plain, wooden room greeted me. Dark and gloomy, there was a single candle by my rather grotty, makeshift bed. It just about lit a fairly large room, walls and floor all crafted from a rough wood. A chill found its way in from under the door, and I was aware that there was no source of heat in the room, a fact that struck me as rather odd.

Taking to my feet uneasily, I paused for a wave of nausea before moving to the door. I bent awkwardly to try and look at the lock, wondering if there was a way to shift it.

“I wouldn’t bother, Doctor.”

I spun sharply, leaning back against the door. Despite having heard the voice, I couldn’t see who it belonged to and had to narrow my eyes against the dancing shadows in the room. The outline of a figure seated in the darkened corner finally took shape.

“Who are you?” I demanded, my chin absently lifting as I took a step toward him, my hands curling into fists.

He stood up in a single, smooth motion, walking forward to me so I could see him properly. His height levelled with my own, but his body was more of the slender kind than muscular...but not so far as Holmes. Neatly cropped, dark hair framed something of a heart shaped face made of contrasting strong features that would be considered handsome by some. His strong hands were clasped behind his back as full lips pulled into a smile with decidedly no genuine feeling behind it. “You may call me M.”

“M?” I repeated with a frown of confusion; that was no answer. “Look here, sir, I am in no mood for childish games.”

“This is no game,” he said sharply, all traces of the smile gone as he closed the gap between us to grab my wrist. “I have spent too long planning this all for it to be a game. Now, you are going to sit down and keep your mouth shut, because if you try and cause me trouble, I will return it three fold, I swear to god I will...” Anger shone in his eyes, and I briefly wondered what I had done to ignite him so.

I met his eyes with flint in my own, despite my strength having not fully returned to aid me. “Unhand me, sir,” I growled.

He did so, but only to reach into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pistol to level at me as he stepped back. “Or what? Hm? What shall you do, Doctor?” he gave a cold chuckle. “You’re in no position to be giving orders, *sir*. Now, if I were you, I’d get some rest while you can. We travel again tomorrow, and this time I doubt you’ll sleep through it.”

My eyes widened with alarm and I stepped up to him fearlessly, heat rising through me from anger and frustration. “Why? Where are you taking me? And why are you holding me here like a prisoner?” I demanded to know.

I stumbled back with a groan as his weapon came into contact with my jaw, striking it hard enough to daze me in my already weakened state.

“Can’t help yourself, can you...why can no one do as they’re told anymore...” he muttered with complete disregard for his violence. He tilted his head towards the door. “Nib!”

I heard the tumbling of the locks even as my gaze remained fixed upon the weapon directed at me. I tore my eyes away to glance at the young man that slid into the room.

Both shorter and slighter than the other man, his whole demeanour seemed timid compared to ‘M’. Long blonde hair was tied back from delicate features and high cheekbones, and blue eyes watched me with curiosity.

“Here...” M handed him the pistol before taking a hold of my shoulder and shoving me down on the bed. “If he tries anything, shoot him.”

He pulled cable from his pockets, straddling me with an undoubtable strength as he tied my hands harshly together, his eyes hard. He leant down over me, trapping me so I could barely breathe. “It seems you can’t be trusted...” he whispered against my ear before moving down to tie my feet in the same manner.

*****

Chapter Text

15th December, 1887

“Sir...?”

“Hm?” Holmes glanced up casually at the lad, with a not especially pleased scowl. “What is it, Ben?”

“A letter, Sir,” he gave a warm, beaming smile...but it faltered as he considered the matter. “Sorry for the delay. It was handed to James in the stables...took a good half hour to find its way up here.”

Holmes could only summon up an annoyed tsk as quick fingers seized the letter from the tray. Catching up the knife from the desk, he sliced it open quickly, gripping it tight as sharp eyes read through it. Those grey eyes widened before he sounded a sharp call. “Mycroft!” he bellowed urgently before turning to look at Ben. “When *exactly* did this come, boy?”

Ben frowned with confusion, even as his slim body shifted with alarm. “Like I said, at least half an hour ago.”

“Hang it all, why was I not informed?” Holmes demanded to no one in particular before turning his head away. “Mycroft!” he shouted before passing his gaze over the letter again. “Ben, tell the other servants that they are not to go outside, trampling over the paths, do you understand? Under no circumstances are they to go outside until I say so, or by God they will see the meaning of the word wrath. Well? Go!”

Ben gave an eager nod before he scampered off quickly, almost running into Mycroft who was on his way into Holmes.

“What is all this noise about?” Mycroft demanded with mild irritation, scratching his jaw.

“It is a letter from the villain who holds Watson.” Holmes moved quickly across the room to him. “Can you believe these imbeciles took a half hour to get it to me? I shall never catch up with the courier now!” A deft swipe of his hand offered the paper over to Mycroft. “Read it, and whilst you do I shall inspect the paths to the stables; perhaps I shall find some evidence that has yet to be trampled to dust...”

*******

My heart sank with every moment of our voyage. My head had stopped swaying with nausea and disorientation, but the very room itself was swaying instead.

I was on a boat.

I glanced up to the young man that M had called Nib, watching him with a slight frown. He was scribbling away on good quality paper, biting his lip now and then in thought even though he had been charged with watching me whilst M was otherwise detained. Besides, even if I could have made some sort of escape during his distraction, there would be little point; the movement of the boat made it all too clear that we were not on a river, but at sea.

I sighed as I watched him, unable to understand...he seemed so out of place in whatever scheme had taken me captive. He had an air of innocence about him. Perhaps it was merely his youth, but his attitude was anything but enthusiastic for what was unfolding. In fact, he seemed positively distant from it, with uncertain, worried frowns ghosting across his features. I came to the swift conclusion that he either felt duty bound to help, possibly because of a family connection, or that M had some kind of hold over him. Perhaps even blackmail.

“What’s your name?” I finally asked, trying to keep my voice light and cheery, even if I felt in complete turmoil.

He glanced up to me, blue eyes watching mine with alarm. He glanced about as if looking for someone to tell him what to do before looking back to his paper.

“My name is John,” I offered, keeping my eyes on him from where I laid on my side, still tied so tightly that my hands and feet felt numb. “Nib. Is that your name?”

He finally gave a sigh, glancing up to me and leaning forward from his small, cramped table, like a schoolboy whispering over to his neighbour when silence had been declared. “I am not allowed to say.”

“Oh come now, what harm can it do?” I replied with a soft chuckle. In truth, I recognised him to be the weaker link of the two men and as such had decided to try and put pressure on it...even as a nagging feeling had me worried for the lad. Yes, it seems ridiculous in the position I was in, but he seemed like someone in need of guidance and help. Besides, I hardly had anything else to do, and anything that distracted me from my darkening thoughts and longing for Holmes was welcome.

He licked his lip before gently biting it. As he finally met my eyes, I knew he had given in. “Nib is just what they call me...” He motioned to the papers spread out in front of him. “Because I like to write.”

“A kindred spirit!” I fixed him the best smile I could summon in my pain, my jaw throbbing with it still. “I write too, when I can. It is one of my loves,” I said softly, trying to shift so I could watch him properly. “So what is your name?”

“That I most definitely can’t tell you,” he replied in a hurried voice, looking away again with a frown of confusion.

“Hm...” I said softly, watching him with consideration. “Then perhaps I could guess? I have nothing better to do...” I gave a weak chuckle. “But you should at least give me a clue...”

He considered for a long moment before a glint of boyish mischief came to his eyes. He took a small scrap of paper and wrote the letter ‘C’ upon it in a remarkably good hand, lifting it to me.

“Ah...the game is afoot,” I said with a weak smile, the words giving me a strange comfort. “Claude...?” I received a shake of the head. “Christopher...Christian...Clarence...Clement...”

He gave a sudden warm laugh, shaking his head to all of them. “You’re not very good at this, are you...not like Sherlock.”

My head snapped up at the name, my eyes meeting his. “Excuse me?”

“Sherlock would have gotten it by now. It’s like magic...” he said softly with a gentle smile, a finger touching the page in front of him.

“It is just the way he has trained his mind,” I said distractedly as I openly stared at him. “You know Holmes?”

He gave a nod in reply, looking away with sudden shame. “If he knew I was here...” he whispered with a frown that became distressed. “He would despise me...”

Nib visibly jumped as the door opened and M walked in, casting him a warning glare. “Get on with your scribbles, Nib.”

The young man cast me an apologetic glance before bending his head obediently over his papers, his hand moving fervently as if to convince M his mind had been on it the entire time.

*****

Chapter Text

Holmes didn’t return back to his Christmas lodgings until nightfall, his by then heavy footsteps falling on the stairs as he climbed them to the small day room he had made his study.

“Sherlock, at last!” Mycroft looked up from his place by the fire, his arms folded firmly. “I was beginning to worry...”

“I followed the tracks of the carriage,” Holmes said quietly as he sunk into a seat, a hand lifting thoughtfully to his mouth as he stared at the flames.

“Sherlock, you are half frozen...rushing off like that without so much as picking up a coat...”

Holmes frowned with disdain, waving a dismissive hand. “I followed the tracks and *found* the carriage...” He glanced across to Mycroft, his eyes darker than usual. “He’s gone, Mycroft. It was at a boathouse, one that is officially abandoned, yet clearly a sea worthy vessel left there not too long ago judging by the footprints...of which there are a set that belong to a medium built male who shows a tendency to his right foot, and a lighter set, but the shoes are most definitely male rather than female...and both were in company of marks that show a man clearly having been dragged. The other footprints were muddled and independent.” He sighed and looked away, running a hand through his hair as he studied the flickering embers. “They have left England. And taken Watson with them.”

Mycroft fell silent, watching him with a troubled frown. “Then best get to that letter, hm?” He pulled it off the table, handing it back to Holmes. “You will note that the quality of the paper is French...”

Holmes perked up a little at the observation, casting his eyes over the letter. It was simple in fashion, even if written with a violet ink. It simply laid claim to the crime of abduction and that their prize was alive for now, but whether it would continue so would depend upon what Holmes was willing to give them. “And if having purchased the material in France, it is not impossible that they have a home or at least a building there, ready to hold Watson...afterall, the boathouse is in a perfect position to take advantage of one of the quicker routes to the Calais region.”

Mycroft nodded with agreement, sighing wistfully. “You should start constructing a list of any who may hold a grudge against you...” he instructed as he pushed himself awkwardly from his seat.

Holmes gave a snort of dark scorn as he flung an arm over the side of his chair with frustration, virtually biting the nail of his other thumb. “We cannot spare the year it would take to compile...”

Holmes’ hand fervently stretched out and retook the letter that had been delivered so unceremoniously to them. He glanced down to where a signature would be expected on a normal letter, but on this one a pair of initials stood instead.

“J.M.” he murmured, the crease of his brow betraying his thoughtfulness as nimble fingers turned the paper over for meticulous study.

“J.M...James Moriarty?” Mycroft moved carefully over to the sideboard, his knee cracking with stiffness.

Holmes gave a sneer. “He would certainly not flinch from sinking so low.” He watched the paper with almost irritated eyes. “Peculiar, don’t you think?”

“To what are you referring?” Mycroft asked with a weary voice as he poured two generous glasses of brandy.

“To initial a piece of evidence you intend to send to Sherlock Holmes,” he replied with a near huff of scepticism before starting on a series of ‘hm’s and ‘hah’s and various tsking noises.

“What is it?” the distracting noise finally drove Mycroft to ask despite his better judgement.

“I recognise this handwriting,” Holmes muttered with a solemn shake of his head, absently taking the offered glass to knock the drink back. “But...I’m damned if I can remember where from.” He gave a sharp sigh, leaning forward to hold his head in a hand. “Hang it all...where is my memory, where is my mind...”

“Calm down, you will think of nothing like this,” Mycroft lightly admonished as he sipped his drink calmly.

Holmes lifted the letter with annoyance, covering his mouth and nose, almost as if to hide his features after the rebuke. A frown creased his features as he straightened sharply, sniffing at the paper. “Tobacco...” he whispered it like a prayer, inhaling the scent as his eyes closed in near bliss. A laugh escaped his lips. “Smell it...smell it, Mycroft!”

Mycroft did as told, but clearly only to please him. When he took the scent in, his features changed to mild confusion that faded to the recollection of a memory. “Grandfather...”

“Yes,” Holmes chuckled, something shining in his eyes. “What a fool...his tobacco was procured from a sleepy little coastal village in France.” His brow creased in concentration. “But which was it...” he shook his head with frustration at himself. “Damn it all, Mycroft, I should be in Baker Street with my books...” He took a deep breath, taking the scent in again as he closed his eyes, his breathing slowing as his mind calmed. He remained so for several moments until he jumped from his seat, startling Mycroft. “Wissant. Of course, Wissant...the launch of Julius Caesar...” he started to move, energy seizing him.

“Sherlock...Sherlock, where are you going?” Mycroft asked with a strained voice.

“To Wissant, of course,” he cast his brother a sharp smile as he folded the letter neatly.

“You can’t just run off to Wissant...you don’t know if that is where they have him. And besides, what if they try to contact you here again?” Mycroft stood to be level with his brother.

“That is why you shall remain here,” Holmes gave a firm nod that said he was decided.

“But how would I contact you?” Mycroft pointed out with a look of disapproval.

Holmes sighed as he set his hands to his hips, watching him with narrowed eyes. “I am awaiting word from Scotland Yard anyway, you can wait here for that. I cannot remain here any longer, Mycroft, I simply cannot. If I can track down the shop in Wissant this tobacco came from, which even a child could do, then dependant on a shopkeeper that keeps decent records, I may very well be able to acquire the location of the person that was smoking it when they wrote this letter...which is more than I shall achieve just sitting here staring at the fire.”

“I am going with you,” Mycroft insisted, his hand twitching with excitement.

Holmes sighed and turned his head away as his eyes slipped closed. “Then who shall deal with Scotland Yard?” True, he didn’t believe they would be of any help...indeed, the fact that they had yet to contact him inferred that they did not find a shoe evidence enough to suspect foul play over the possibility that a grown, capable man, who was free to come and go as he pleased, had simply wandered off. Now they had the letter, however, they might be stirred from their laziness.

“Leave it to a servant, or a friend,” Mycroft said in an almost gentle voice. “I cannot allow you to leave alone. Not this time.”

Another sigh escaped Holmes, but it was clear by his pensive expression that his resolve was weakening. “Fine...I shall put it into Ben’s care...”

“Ben?” Mycroft asked with surprise. “The young lad? He looks little more than a simpleton,” he replied bluntly.

“He is faithful,” Holmes said knowingly as he moved for the door. “Eager and faithful, and will realise the import of his task and so do it with every fibre of his being...”

*****

Chapter Text

They had waited until nightfall before finally moving me to a real room.

Blindfolded and with my hands still tied, I had no idea where I was, only the sensation of falling as I was shoved into the room. I hit the ground with a groan, my already sore and bruised body complaining at the treatment. M had been sure to show his displeasure at my questioning Nib, and although I had learned to take a beating in my youth, this had been a lesson he meant me to remember. I only wished I knew what I was meant to learn...and what I had done to deserve it.

The blindfold was yanked unceremoniously from my face and I had to blink my eyes several times to adjust from the blackness to the dim candlelight.

M stepped over me, holding the pistol as he moved to the door. “I trust you shall be comfortable there. Your hands will remain tied, and if you cause me anymore trouble I shall be forced to tie your feet as well.”

I watched him leave, and only when I heard the lock turning did I roll onto my back and groan with real pain. My breath was harsh and raspy, paining me further after the blows he had delivered to my ribs.

Nib watched me with alarmed yet fearful eyes, biting his nails as he contemplated what to do. He finally moved forward, a little hesitant as he set his thick folder of papers on the desk before kneeling down to me. A surprisingly strong grip took my arm to help me off the floor and onto the bed. “Are you alright, Doctor?” he asked in a whisper, searching my features, near imploring in manner. “What should I do? How do I help?”

“Easy lad,” I gave a weak smile, trying to shift to a comfortable position on the bed, no easy task with hands tied. “I’ll be fine...”

He gave a hesitant and obedient nod, but his worried expression betrayed his disbelief in my words as he looked down with a frown. “I am so sorry I got you into trouble.”

“None of that, Nib,” I replied in a soft voice, watching him with worry of my own. He puzzled me more and more...how had he become a part of this scheme? “Why have you been locked in here with me?”

He watched me with confusion before shaking his head gently. “To watch you of course.”

“I see...” although honestly, it seemed like a way for M to keep him out of the way. “Am I right in thinking you used to be a friend of Mr Holmes?”

Nib turned his face away, the same shame passing over his features as the last time his name had come up. “I really shouldn’t talk about it...”

“No, no, of course not...” I smiled weakly, but wouldn’t give up; it seemed to be the only thing I could do to try and find out what was going on. “You have seen his talents though? At least, I presume so from what you said about his magic...”

“Yes,” the young man gave a soft laugh, his eyes shining in a memory. “He’s very clever. And generous. He’s very, very generous.”

“Did he help you then?” I asked with curiosity, peering at him under the dim light.

“He gave me a meal when I was hungry,” he whispered softly with a gentle smile. “After that he paid me to run errands for him. I am not stupid, I knew that many were made up to give me something to do that he could pay me for...but I was so grateful that I kept my mouth shut. You could say he saved my life.” He met my eyes, and I could see a deep well of emotion within the younger man.

“You have great love for him then,” I observed quietly, watching with a fond smile before looking down at my bound hands with a frown. All the talk of Holmes was comforting in one way, and yet only accented how alone I felt being so far away from him. I could only pray that nothing had happened to him. “Nib...if you feel for him so, then how can you be a part of this?” I asked with confusion, searching his features with a need to understand.

Nib bit his lip as his frown deepened, turning away with shame as a hand lifted for him to bite at the skin and nail of his thumb. “I...you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on him before offering a gentle smile. “I may just.”

“I...I owe...M so much,” Nib whispered, burying his hands in his loose, long blonde hair. “I am in his debt. Quite literally. He has been very...kind. Kept me close when Mr Holmes no longer had time for me.” He glanced up and watched me a long moment. “He became busy with you.”

It was my turn to look away that time as an odd sense of guilt washed over me. “We needn’t be enemies though...”

He looked startled at that, shaking his head with alarm. “Oh no! I don’t do this for spite...I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to hurt Mr Holmes, but...I have to do what he says, or he’ll get angry, and I owe him so much...”

“You’re frightened of him,” I whispered with a frown.

“He’s been very good to me...” Nib replied in an almost defensive manner, confusion fighting on his features.

“You’re frightened of him,” my voice was stronger that time, stating a sad fact.

“What can I say? He’s a lad of common sense,” M gave me a cold smile as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him and watching Nib jump up from the bed and scurry over to the small desk and his papers. “What have I told you about upsetting him?”

“You’re the one that manages to do that,” I replied with evident disgust as I turned my whole body away from him on the bed in a gesture of loathing.

*******

Chapter Text

16th December, 1887

Holmes’ research was as meticulous as ever, and he quickly discovered that only two shops in the coastal village of Wissant stocked the particular blend of tobacco that had found its way to the letter. The news had injected Holmes with a vital dose of energy, able to feel himself drawing closer.

It did not deter him in the least when he found the first of the shops had not sold any of the tobacco in question for at least a year. However, a dark look settled upon Holmes’ features as he left the second.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft approached him quickly, anticipation writ across his features.

“The miserable lackwit does not keep proper records. Apparently, all his customers are stored in his mind.” The last was said in a French accent, clearly meant to mimic the shopkeeper as Holmes gestured with frustration. “All I could do was reel off a list of names to see if he recognised them. He was certain that he had never served a James Moriarty, or any of the names I have known him to use, nor did his description seem familiar.”

“What shall you do?” Mycroft asked, his shoulders slumping with defeat.

“I have it in mind to give him a bloody good thrashing...not keeping written records of customers...of all the irresponsible...”

“I meant about Doctor Watson,” Mycroft hastily cut him off.

“I need to think...” Holmes turned sharply on his heel and started off toward the room they had paid for. “I just...I just need to think...”

*******

I was freezing cold, shivering. Hunger twisted my stomach, yet I knew I would not be able to eat even if I had the chance. My throat was parched and my head throbbed for it. The pain pulsed through my body like an endless tide from every injury that M had inflicted upon me, and those had been many...he seemed to have a well of hatred burning inside of him and I couldn’t help but wonder what I had ever done to fan the flames.

Above all, I was miserable, despair creeping through me with every passing moment. Tears lodged in my throat, a silent longing for my Holmes, and if I had not already cried myself to exhaustion, I would have been weeping still.

I was truly beginning to believe that I would never see Holmes again. Never touch the pale skin I had only just begun to learn and map. Never kiss the soft lips that yielded such beautiful sounds when he was treated properly. Never hear him whisper my name on such sweet breath that worshipped it like no other voice could. I wondered if he knew how much I loved him...if I had told him often enough. How I wished I could tell him one more time.

“The sound of silence...how blissful.”

I didn’t bother turning to M as he entered my cell, for that is what the room had become to me. “Why are you doing this?” I asked in a hoarse voice. All my previous demanding strength had ebbed away from my tone, the pain and exhaustion taking over.

“He needs to be taught a lesson,” M said sharply as he pulled a wooden chair up to my bedside.

I glanced over my shoulder to him, my eyes suddenly hard. “Holmes has never done anything to deserve such spite, and if he has ever treated you badly it is likely because you deserved it...he never could tolerate cruel, selfish men.”

“So you’re going to play at being a judge and jury as well as a detective, hm?” he snapped, anger clear in his cold eyes as he leant to me, pushing me onto my back so he could look at me.

I pulled my body sharply away from his hands, a look of scorn imprinted upon my features. “I suspect it wouldn’t matter either way; men like you have a habit for painting yourself as the victim.”

“Men like me?” he leant closer, staring into my eyes as he shifted himself to sit on the edge of my bed, his hands sliding onto my shoulders and applying pressure to pin me back into the mattress. “Pray tell, Doctor, what kind of man am I exactly?”

“Malicious,” I whispered, my breath quickening from a shiver inside that prepared to push him off.

“What, and you think he’s any better?” M gave a snort of disdain, a hand sliding to lay over my throat as he leant in close. “He drains everything he can from the people around him, and then he throws them away without a moment’s thought.”

“Get off of me,” I growled through gritted teeth, pushing up with my body as much as I could.

M only leant closer, his hand tightening around my throat as he moved his mouth to my ear to whisper. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

My features hardened as I met his eyes with revulsion, twisting as I could under his weight. “What do you hope to achieve by all this?” I whispered back, my breathing and body strained, my heart in my throat. “Holmes will find me. He will.”

He suddenly laughed, a hint of disbelief and genuine amusement escaping with it as his hand slid up my thigh to caress my hip and his body moved over mine. “Well of course he will...in fact, I’m rather counting on it...”

*****

Chapter Text

Pale hands opened a beautifully finished wooden box.

Holmes looked down on his cocaine and morphine solutions and needle, yet instead of rolling his sleeve up to prepare his arm for what could so easily make him forget, he just stared at the set with grey, hollow eyes.

“You shan’t find your answers there, my boy...” Mycroft said softly, almost tenderly from his place in the doorway.

“I cannot find answers anywhere,” Holmes replied with a hoarse, bitter voice.

A heavy sigh came from Mycroft as he watched his brother with regret. He moved slowly to him, laying a steady hand on his shoulder. “You said it yourself, you just need to think.”

“I think well enough,” Holmes whispered, staring at his needle. “But all I can think of is John.” An absent hand reached into his pocket and gripped the pocket watch. “I think of every hurt he could be suffering...how every moment we delay could bring him closer to...”

“We will find him,” Mycroft interrupted firmly. “If we have to search every house in this place, we will find him.”

“What if we are too late?” Holmes looked up to his elder brother with a lost expression. “What if he is already...”

“We will find him alive and well, it will not serve him to kill the Doctor,” Mycroft met his eyes gently. “Have faith. I do.”

“In what? In God?” Holmes gave a cynical, unfeeling chuckle.

“In yourself,” Mycroft corrected sternly. “In your abilities. In your mind. I have faith in them, and deep down, under your worry and fear, so do you.”

“Only a dog could have such blind faith in me at the moment,” Holmes lifted his thumb to his lips to bite at the skin and nail of his thumb. The anxious habit jogged something in his memory, of the young man he had passed the gesture on to, making him sigh. “Or a young lad with misplaced loyalty, like young Charlie...” He motioned to the thumb he had just been biting. “I even passed on my bad habits to him.”

Holmes froze, a thread tugging urgently at his mind for attention. “Oh my Lord...” he whispered with disbelief. His hand plunged into the inside of his waistcoat to pull out the letter. He smoothed it out on the table in front of him, his features suddenly flushed with energy.

“What?” Mycroft shook Holmes’ shoulder with alarm. “Sherlock, what is it?”

“I know why this handwriting is familiar to me,” Holmes’ voice had sped up with exhilaration. “Charlie...this is Charlie’s handwriting! I had him write enough letters for me as an excuse to pay him, I should have realised sooner!” Holmes stared at the violet ink with horror. “Could Charlie truly have betrayed me so?” he whispered with genuine injury.

Mycroft watched him with wary eyes, yet also sadness. “Never let assumptions mislead you to the obvious...you have told me that often enough yourself,” he reminded in hopes of some sort of consolation.

“Yes, but...” Sherlock Holmes fell silent, his hand held mid gesture as his features took on an ashen, stricken expression. “Hell’s bells...”

“What?” Mycroft searched his features, waiting for an answer. He moved to him with frustration, clasping his shoulder to give a firm shake. “Sherlock, what is it?”

Holmes met his brother’s eyes, aghast. “We are fools...” he whispered. “Simpletons!” He pulled away, striding fervently across the room to stare out of the window, as if he could see the view clearly for the first time. “How could we have been so stupid?”

“What *are* you talking about?” Mycroft demanded with frustration as he watched Sherlock with something between concern and annoyance.

“Us!” Sherlock turned to watch him with disbelief, hitting the palm of his hand roughly against the desk. “I shall never forget this lapse...it will remain forever branded in my mind as a mark of rebuke!” He began pacing again, his breath ragged. “I broke my own cardinal rule...” he finally flung himself down to sit on the desk, a hand slapping against his own thigh with a force that had to hurt.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft moved to him with surprising speed. He grasped both of his shoulders, grounding his brother as he met his eyes with a stoicism that he had long ago learnt to use as a balm for the fever. “Stop this madness and tell me what on earth is on your mind.”

Sherlock lifted a hand, almost as if to form a fist. “I have been blind...worse, I have broken the sanctity of my methods. Don’t you see? We have made assumptions. So many assumptions. All those years ago...and now. I *never* make assumptions! We assumed that J.M stood for James Moriarty, without any evidence to support it, only my mind grasping at straws in my need to find something, anything, to lead me to John...how shameful...”

“Then...you know what the J.M really stands for?” Mycroft asked, troubled by the words as his brow furrowed.

Sherlock met Mycroft’s eyes, his own narrowed as he took a sharp, scornful breath. “Joseph Moore.”

*******************

Chapter Text

“Nib...Nib, please...”

The young man watched me with near despair in his pained indecision. “I can’t! I told you...I can’t help you...M would have my head on a platter! His brother was caught for murder you know, they’re all as insane as each other!”

“Please!” I implored him with both voice and eyes as I tried to lean forward, even with my hands bound. “Not for me...for Holmes.”

“John, please, I can’t...” he whispered, pressing his eyes closed against my gaze.

“He’s in danger, Nib,” I said softly yet firmly. “Your M is using me to lure him here.”

He tilted his head at my words, his eyes opening just a little to try and judge if I was telling the truth. “But why would he do that?”

I wondered at his naivety, sighing as I shook my head with a deep, aching weariness. It was so tempting to give everything up and just lie down and let the blessed, painless blackness soothe me. “To hurt him.”

His blue eyes widened as he stared at me, his hand recoiling with fear. “No...he couldn’t...”

“Don’t you see?” I pressed gently, my bound hands reaching to take his as well as they could. “He has some kind of grudge against him. I am nothing but bait to draw him here.”

Nib jumped up, biting at the nail of his thumb as he shook his head violently, his other arm wrapping around his middle, as if to soothe. “No...he can’t hurt Sherlock...he can’t...”

“Then you must contact him...warn him to stay away,” I tried not to sound defeated as I looked to the small window. The thought of being abandoned to the monster who held me sent despair and fear to my very soul. Yet it would be a far worse fate to become the cause of my dear Holmes’ demise. I could not allow him to walk into danger, not on my account. I would rather shoot myself.

Nib stilled, watching me with silent fear. “M would beat me black and blue if he found out.”

I swallowed, gritting my teeth against my own panic. “And if you do not, he may *kill* Holmes.”

The poor lad stared at me with pure terror. He stumbled backward, sinking heavily into his chair as his hand lifted for a nervous set of teeth to bite at the skin of his thumb. His body rocked gently, his struggle written all over his features.

“Nib...”

“Charlie,” he whispered suddenly, his gaze remaining firmly away from my own.

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Charlie,” he breathed in a defeated voice.

“Charlie?” I whispered the name like a prayer, hope blossoming inside of me; I knew I had won a crucial battle. “Please, Charlie...I need your help. I *need* your help...”

“I’ll do it.” He closed his eyes, almost as if in pain. “I will send a warning, I will tell him that you say to keep away. You have my word...you have my word, Doctor.”

The relief that flooded me far surpassed the first. A shaking breath escaped as I dropped back onto the bed with exhaustion, the pain wracking my body again with the urgency to save Holmes having passed.

“Doctor?” Charlie pushed himself over to me with alarm, sitting on the edge of the bed to touch my face. Sadness washed over his features. “But if Mr Holmes stays away, what will become of you?” he whispered, biting the inside of his lip.

“Holmes will be safe, that’s all I need to know,” I whispered as if it explained it all...and indeed, it was the one thing I clung to through the prospect of my own fate with that monster.

“He has already hurt you, hasn’t he...he does that when he’s angry. Hurts in the most horrible way,” Charlie stroked my face gently, such tenderness coming from him. All I could do was close my eyes and turn my face away with shame as I felt tears threatening. “John...” he breathed the name uncertainly. Leaning down, he wrapped gentle arms around me, a quick hand touching my hair as I buried my face into his neck.

I do not know how my tears escaped. Perhaps it was a release of all the pain and hurt I had suffered at M’s hands, or perhaps it was the very realistic notion of being abandoned to more of it. I felt suddenly helpless, vulnerable, stripped.

******

“Sherlock, Joss is dead...will you listen to me, Joseph Moore is dead!” Mycroft tried to pull his attention, hurrying at his side to keep up with his brother’s fast stride. “You were there when he was shot and fell into the river. You jumped in after him! He is dead!”

“Is he?” Holmes shot back, his voice bitter with his own failings. “Let us see, shall we? The body that was recovered was decomposed beyond recognition. It was *assumed* that it was Joss because of my testimony, when it could have been any poor wretch thrown in.” The speed with which he spoke made it clear that his mind was back to full flow. “But what did I really see, hm? A flash of a gun...a man running from the scene...Joss floating down the river...blood on a handrail...familiar clothes and a cigarette case I gifted to Joss on a disfigured corpse. Assumptions. All *assumptions* that I made when, in reality, I saw *nothing*. It was all designed to make me *think* that I had.”

“But why would he stage his own death?” Mycroft’s frown deepened, following the logic but not the motive. “He was a good friend to you.”

“He staged his own death so he could stage all of this.” Holmes shook his head with growing agitation. “I only ever introduced him to you as a friend, you never heard how we met, did you.”

“It has been years since he died, Sherlock...”

“Joss was a criminal,” Holmes ignored the comment, his mind now fixed on his prey. “He broke a window and climbed into my study. I found him going through my things. Bold as brass he told me he was hungry, that he was only looking for food or money to buy some with. He was shaking, freezing cold. I gave him food and drink and allowed him to bathe. I even gave him some of my clothes. He told me that he had been reduced to thieving and housebreaking for food ever since his older brother had left him. Hang it all, Mycroft, but my conscience overtook my sense. I took him in, rented a room for him, saw him with food and clothes...took him into my life. Out of pity...what a fool I was.”

“Just because he was a thief, it doesn’t mean he would stoop to this...”

“Charlie was another,” Holmes continued, his skin paling and eyes darkening by the moment. “Younger though. A boy. A skinny, filthy lad I found curled up in the corner of a room belonging to one of the criminals I saw locked away. He never told me why he was being held there, for a prisoner he was. That was clear enough to see in his nervous, fearful nature. He flinched every time I touched him. He was bright though...an intelligent lad even if hopelessly naïve. When I became too busy to spend much time with him, Joss suggested that he shared his room, to save me paying for another, and so he could keep an eye on the lad.

“I started to pay Charlie for odd jobs...running errands, writing things out for me, even cleaning. It didn’t take long for him to relax, for smiles to show, and eagerness. He would follow me everywhere he could, as he did Joss, and became a warm, tender young man despite whatever had happened to him. Joss informed me that they...their relationship...had...blossomed. I asked Charlie about it, but he turned away from me with a frown. I put it down to his being afraid to talk about such...forbidden practices. After Joss was shot, he disappeared. I received a letter from a man that claimed to be his Uncle, informing me that Charlie had returned home after years away, broken hearted, and had committed suicide a week later.”

“Sherlock...” Mycroft took a hold of his arm as they halted in front of the tobacco shop, fixing him with a look that was full of warning. “This is all a very tenuous link...”

“Mycroft, I received a letter in the handwriting of a dead man! Charlie was said to be dead, yet I now hold a letter in his handwriting, sent to me this very week. How is that possible unless Charlie is in fact alive? And if he is alive, then what is to say that the J.M in said letter is not Joseph Moore who also supposedly died, but in dubious circumstances? The same man Charlie lived with and followed like a devoted puppy?” Holmes shook his head emphatically. “Besides, we will know soon enough if I am wrong by a simple yes or no from the careless shop keep, and then we shall revaluate if necessary. But I swear Mycroft, if it is him, if Joss *has* betrayed me, my trust, my loyalty, by taking John away from me and threatening him...then by God, he will soon be floating down a river again, and this time as a truly dead man.” He turned to the shop before breezing through the door without waiting for further comment from his brother.

The owner of the small shop looked up as the bell above the door rang, his dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. Grey hair was cropped close to a balding head and he pushed spectacles up his nose to peer at the brothers properly.

Holmes fixed him with a beaming, yet wholly false smile as he moved to lay his gloved hands on the counter. “Yes, I am afraid that it is me again,” he said smoothly. “I need to know if anything bought here has ever been charged to a Joseph Moore.”

The older man studied Holmes, a slow, familiar frown creasing the worn brow. “Non.”

Holmes let out the slightest of breaths, watching him with the ghost of an appeal in his eyes. Strangely, it seemed to work as the shopkeeper continued by providing a different name instead.

“Charles Moore.”

A hopeful smile pulled at the corner of Holmes’ lips as he leant forward eagerly. “What address did you take down for the order?”

“I told you...I do not keep written records.” The owner drew his shoulders back importantly, trying to peer down his nose at him.

Holmes gave a silent sigh as his eyes closed and head bowed in a mixture of defeat and frustration.

“Mais...”

The single word made Holmes’ head snap up, his sharp eyes fixing upon the suddenly smiling man.

“Everyone knows where the two Englishmen stay...” the self-satisfaction in the voice of the old shopkeeper was unmistakable as he quirked a smile to Holmes.

Much to the surprise of his brother, Sherlock Holmes suddenly laughed out loud, gripping the man’s hands tightly in his own. “Oh thank the lord for the snobbery of the French...”

****************

Chapter Text

17th December, 1887

“You did this!” the voice of my captor echoed through the building before he burst through the door. His hand was buried in Charlie’s hair, his grip cruel as he dragged the lad in. “This is your doing!”

“Steady on...” I tried to sound authoritative, but it came out as a broken whisper, his torment having stolen my strength. “You’ll hurt him...”

“And so I should!” He used his grip to shake Charlie, who clung to the older man’s wrists in pain, already covered in bruises and his own blood. “You got to him, didn’t you! Got him to send a warning to your precious Holmes!”

“Leave him alone,” I used my shoulder to push myself upright with a groan. “You’re right, it was my doing, it was my fault.”

“Well, a lot of good it did you both.” He flung Charlie across the room, and the lad hit his head against the desk before slumping to the floor. “He’s already here,” he declared, but it by no means dulled his anger. “But I should kill you now for what you’ve done!”

“What *I* have done? You’re a monster!” I could no longer hold my venom back, not after all we had endured at his hands.

He leapt on me, his hands fastening around my throat, pinning me against the bed. My hands bound and body weak from pain and hunger, I had no hope of throwing him off. I struggled for breath, the ache in my chest deepening with the lack of air, until the pressure of the crushing grip blackened the edges of my blurred vision.

A pair of strong hands grabbed his shirt, pulling him off me and throwing him violently to the floor. I sucked air back into my lungs even as I coughed, closing my eyes tightly to try and get my vision straight. I opened them at the feel of a hand on my face, a shuddering laugh escaping me at the all too welcome sight. “Holmes...”

I tried to catch hold of him, to feel him, embrace him in the relief that washed over me like a balm...

“Get away from him.” M had pulled himself to his feet, a pistol in his hand, levelled at Holmes. “I said get back!”

Holmes glared at him, ire burning in his eyes, but he took a step back, his body tense and coiled with dangerous fury. “Joss...”

Joseph Moore gave a cold chuckle, a hand lifting to press against the corner of his mouth to wipe blood away. “Sherlock Holmes. It took you long enough to get here. You’re slowing down.”

I looked to Holmes with confusion, frowning as my sluggish mind tried to make sense of it. “Joss? You know M?”

“Yes.” The word was tight, almost a hiss through Holmes’ clenched teeth. “Joseph Moore. A man who used to be a good friend of mine...before he died.”

Joss gave a mocking bow of the head to the words. “Yes...you made it all too easy for me Holmes. Your natural affinity with murder.”

Holmes turned his face away from him, crimson staining the usually pale features. “I...do not understand,” he almost whispered, near grief in his voice. “I gave you everything I could to help you. What did I ever do to anger you so?”

“You took more than you could ever give me!” Joseph shot back in anger, staring at him with burning eyes. “I told you the truth...that I had been lost since my brother left...but it was you who took him from me!”

“*What*?” Holmes looked at him as if he were mad.

“Didn’t do your research very well, did you,” Joss ground out, watching him with narrowed eyes. “My brother was David Rowton...you sent him to the gallows! You killed my brother as sure as if you’d shot him!”

Sudden understanding crossed Holmes’ stunned features. “He was a murderer, brought to justice, no more...” he watched him with dawning horror. “It was all an act from the beginning, Joss?” he asked in a barely perceptible whisper.

“It was easy,” Joss gave a bitter smile, but his eyes had reddened with unshed tears. “I found your study window, made sure to make enough noise for you to hear me. Then it was just a case of making sure you pitied me enough to help me. Charlie, now he wasn’t a part of my original plan, no…but when you introduced us, well, he was as pathetic a wretch as I have ever seen. He was just longing for love...for someone to pledge his loyalty to...to feel needed, a part of a family. It was child’s play, seducing him with kind words, promises, affection. Everything you aren’t capable of. After that, I knew the pitiable thing would do whatever I asked of him,” he chuckled coldly, a glint of repulsion in his eye. “He was pathetic...but useful. Although, I knew I couldn’t push my luck. I never told him my true intentions, because as loyal as he was, I knew that for some sick, absurd reason he was also still loyal to you. He had no idea of the full plan until your dear Doctor told him...”

“If you wanted to kill me, you had plenty of opportunity without this puerile farce...why stage your own death?” Holmes demanded, his anger only deepening at hearing how he had used his vulnerable young friend, Charlie.

“It was a question of waiting. And you know, I didn’t even mind, because the planning of a thing can be just as sweet as the act itself.” Joss offered him an unfeeling smile, a shrug twitching at his shoulder. “And besides, who said it was you I wanted to kill?” He arched an eyebrow, his features shifting to a mask of stone as he turned the weapon away from Holmes and towards me. “You took my brother from me. I want you to know that pain, to live with it for the rest of your miserable life. I could wait for that. Lay the perfect trail, until you and I were stood here, together, in this moment. For you to witness the death of your precious Doctor, to know just how deeply I touched him, and be left with nothing but the image of his blood on your hands every time you close your eyes.”

Joss lifted the weapon a touch as his features hardened with resolve, his finger curling at the trigger of the pistol...but a cry escaped him before he could shoot, his hand grabbing at his arm in pain.

Charlie had stabbed his pen into Joseph’s flesh, as deep as he could possibly drive it. The youth stared wide-eyed at the harm he had done him, stumbling away with shock.

Joss whirled in his fury, glaring at Charlie in a single moment of disbelief before shooting him without a second thought.

Holmes leapt forward to catch Charlie before he could hit the ground, and that contemptable coward, Joseph, used the distraction to flee the room, blood staining his shirt as he made his escape.

I pushed myself off the bed, moving awkwardly to Charlie’s side, gratitude grappling with horror as I hurried to examine the wound in his shoulder. However, Holmes was readying himself to make chase after Joseph.

“Holmes!” He halted at my call and looked to me with confusion, his need to go after Moore all too clear in how he gripped the doorway, ready to bolt.

“Charlie needs help, and I cannot give it to him...I can barely stand let alone treat a patient...” Despite my blunt words, he struggled, looking down the hallway with apprehension. “Holmes...please...let him go. Charlie needs your help. Let him go...”

Holmes clearly swallowed down a curse as he turned to us, dropping to his knees to pull Charlie’s jacket out of the way.

“Sherlock?” Charlie’s voice was weak yet somehow laden with raw, heavy grief. “I am so sorry...” Tears escaped the lad as his hands tried to get a hold on his jacket. “I didn’t know...I swear to God I didn’t know...”

“Shh...” Holmes watched him with sorrow of his own as he touched his face briefly. “I know...I know, Charlie, just stay still...” he whispered, and to my surprise he pressed a tender kiss to his brow. His hands reached to me and half tore the already tattered shirt from my body to fold and press against the wound, to try and halt the blood flow.

Holmes glanced my way with concern...and froze. He stared at my body with horror, at seeing the state of it after Joseph’s treatment of me. “John...”

“What is happening here!” Mycroft’s voice filled the room as he stormed in. “I know you told me to wait, but I heard the shot and...”

“Better late than never...” Holmes pushed himself up, brushing past his brother. “See them both well, I have business to attend to.” He barely managed to get the words out, his jaw clenched with renewed rage. Before a single question could be asked, Holmes shot out of the room to give chase after Joseph Moore.

*****