Sherlock fidgeted in his seat. It felt like he'd been in the cabby forever. This was the third one he'd been in, going from place to place to get to the kid- Dominic's- house. Why was it so far away? He needed to get John as soon as possible... who knew what was happening to him?

His shoulder suddenly stung, and he groaned. Then, as fast as it came, it was gone. That had happened countless times in the cabbies he'd been in, mostly because when he was just sitting there, doing nothing but occasionally checking his phone, so the adrenaline had ran out.

"Are you alright?" The driver asked, looking at Sherlock through the rear view mirror. 

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," Sherlock said curtly. It was none of the man's business whether he was okay or not. 

The driver ignored his tone. "What happened to your shoulder?" 

After a long pause, Sherlock finally said, "I got shot by a man who captured my best friend. Any other stupid questions?"

The man, shocked and flustered, promptly shut his mouth with an audible plop. 

Sherlock's phone rang. "What do you want, Sally?"

"Oh, calm down, Sherlock. Or would you rather not know?" Sally snapped. 

"Know what?" 

"That's what I thought. I've been meaning to tell you, but I'm kind of busy."

"Tell me what?" Sherlock hated not knowing. 

"Molly... she's..."

"She's what? Stop being so slow, Sally!" Sherlock tried his hardest not to sound worried, which, indeed, he was. 

"Moriarty got her, too." Sally's voice was strained, as if she were trying not to panic. 

"Got her? Too? So it was Moriarty! I knew it!"

"Sherlock, Molly was crying!" Sally yelled. "Whatever Moriarty's doing to her, it can't be good!"

Sherlock's face grew dark. "Get me Lestrade."

He listened to the yell of Sally for the inspector to Get over here! and bit his lip. If Moriarty was hurting Molly, then what was happening to John? 

"What, Sherlock?" Lestrade's voice startled him out of his thoughts. 

"I'm almost at Dominic's house." Sherlock could see the building getting bigger and bigger. "If you get any calls that are from John or Molly, answer them as fast as you can and tell me exactly what they said. Got it?"

"Yeah... Are... are you okay, Sherlock?" Lestrade stuttered.

"What?"

"Are you okay? Your best friend just got captured by Moriarty, you've got a bullet wound in your shoulder, and you haven't slept in at least twenty-four hours."

"Good deduction, Inspector Obvious."

"Really, Sherlock. Are you alright? You sound a little-" Lestrade's voice was cut off when Sherlock hung up. He didn't need words of comfort: he needed to get John and Molly back. 

The cabby pulled up to the side of the road, right by a sidewalk that led to Dominic's flat. He gave the money that the driver requested, and then opened the door and got out, and walked up to the building, slipping his phone into his pocket. With a deep breath, he knocked on the door. 

"Who is it?" A female voice yelled from inside. 

"I need a kid named... Dominic."

"Dom! Some fellow down here wants to see you!" The woman yelled from inside. 

"Who?" 

"I don't know, why on Earth would I know?" The woman had an exasperated tone in her voice. 

Sherlock heard the pounding of feet as someone ran downstairs. The door opened, revealing the kid who was in the picture- Dominic. 

He still had the nervous flitter of movement in his eyes, as if he were scared of his own shadow, he looked slightly thicker than he had in the picture, and slightly more relaxed... at first. When he saw Sherlock, he tensed and started shaking. "W-what are you doing here?"

"What were you getting this for? What did you do with it?"

His face paled. "I-shot y-you, I think, sir. I'm sorry."

Sherlock's eyes darkened and his face contorted. "You're sorry?"

The kid looked about ready to faint. "This guy kidnapped my mom... he told me that if I didn't shoot you, t-that he would kill her. He told me I couldn't tell you either, but he's not here. I had to shoot your friend, too, but with a dart thingy. It was green, I think, and smelled funny. Then I felt a blow on the back of my head, heard a laugh, a mean one, and passed out. Then I woke up back here. My mom was back, too."

"Tell me everything."

"I don't think I can. I've told you enough." He started to shut the door. 

Sherlock grabbed it, holding it open. "Tell me."

"I... okay." He opened the door. "The man had short-ish hair, and his voice was so... chilling. It was sing-songy, and then loud and dark and dangerous, and he said that he had a plan to make his archenemy-"

A shout rang in the air, and then a thud. Dominic was suddenly on the ground, a bullet wound in his head, blood gushing from it. 

"You killed him! You killed my boy!" His mother launched herself at Sherlock. "He shouldn't have told you! Why did you keep-?"

Another shot rang out, and she went limp. 

Sherlock closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the assassin running away. The sounds were coming from the apartments nearby.

He ran out the door full speed, determined to avenge them. "Hey! Get back here, coward!"

He sprinted after the man that was clad in black, the pain in his shoulder forgotten, the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

This was his fault. An innocent kid and his mother had been killed because he was... no. Too late for that now. He had to... Why did he have to do that? He knew better... Moriarty had killed before. 

The assassin started to slow, and Sherlock's hopes were raised. He poured more speed into his run. He was going to get that little...

No. The man was getting away again, climbing into a cabbie.

"No! Stop! Don't drive! There's a murderer in your..." Sherlock cried.

Too late. The car peeled from the side of the road and sped off.

Sherlock sank to the ground in despair, his breath coming in gasps. Why was running so hard? Why couldn't it be easy?

His pocket vibrated. Pushing the thoughts aside, he pulled his phone out, and read the contact's name: Anonymous.

Sherlock knew immediately who It was... Moriarty.

"Where's John?" Sherlock asked when he clicked, Accept Call. 

"Oh, no sugar-coating it, then? Too bad. I rather like sugar." Moriarty's voice was smug and superior-like.

"Where is he? What are you doing to him?" Sherlock was gripping his phone so tight, his knuckles turned white. 

"Why would I tell you where he is? That would spoil all the fun. And I thought you were bored, too..."

"What are you doing to him?" Sherlock's voice betrayed him by cracking a little. 

"Oh, little Sherlock is worrying about his pet, is he? Here. I'll send you a video to show you that he's alive. That might motivate you."

"Don't you dare hang up, Mor-" The phone hung up, and Sherlock almost wanted to scream in frustration. 

He dimly wondered if how Moriarty was going to send the video. His phone let out a static noise, then stopped. 

Sherlock slowly turned it over. His eyes widened. 

"Oh, hello, Sherlock. Here's John for you!" 

There was John, sitting against a crate, being sprayed full-power by a hose. 

Coughing and spluttering, John looked up. "Oh, hey. Sherlock, hurry up, will you? I'm not having a jolly good time here." He got sprayed again. 

"Why the hose?" Sherlock asked Moriarty, confused. 

"He needed water somehow. And it's like drowning him, only in smaller bouts. Nuture to keep him alive and torturing him at the same time. Brilliant, yes?"

"I'm not having a good time, either, Sherlock. Please do hurry up." Molly said, ignoring Moriarty, and the camera turned toward her, also dripping wet and coughing. "I was going to take a shower tonight, but now I don't think I have to bother." She was trying to keep her tone light, but it cracked. 

"Sorry I killed Toby, Molly. Never really liked cats," Jim said. "Though I remember Toby liking me. Who could blame him?"

Molly eyes smarted with anger. "Jerk." 

Moriarty smiled and sprayed her with the hose. 

"Stop!" Sherlock yelled. "...Is this all you've been doing?"

Moriarty smiled. "No, I start out easier at first. I started by making him stay awake all night, didn't I, John?"

John couldn't answer, because he was being sprayed by the hose again. 

Moriarty zoomed up the camera, his finger getting in the way of the view, and then it pulled away. 

Sherlock's heart sank. John looked absolutely horrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he was thinner than usual. Sherlock also noticed that he was shivering violently and his lips were blue, probably from the cold water.

"John? Are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine as I can... be." He coughed up water and smiled faintly. "See? I'm fine."

"Oh, he's lying, Sherlock. He's not fine at all. He's sleep-deprived, malnourished, and has hypothermia. And he hasn't been outside in a while. Molly's cat is dead, and there will be more tortures ahead. They're right; you better hurry. Goodbye!"

The video ended, and his phone turned back to normal. 

Sherlock was pale and his hands were shaking slightly. He was worried. And doubt was filling him like water filling a glass. Would he get John in time? Or Molly?