Sherlock: The Next Generation

Chapter 38

Chapter 38

It had been one week. One whole week since Hamish and Martin had gone missing. During that week Molly had stayed in Mycroft and Greg's house. Because it was safer. John and Sherlock were barely in 221b. Always out, following up various trails. Hardly resting. Both had slept little in that week. Sherlock had hardly eaten, as well. It was beginning to take its toll. Yet they had made no progress. They were searching blind, it seemed. Moriarty was clever. Far too clever. It seemed that he really was more intelligent than Sherlock. Because Sherlock was stumped. He couldn't find any more clues. But there had to be a way. Had to be! They had to find their sons.

"Any news?" Greg asked as he returned to the Scotland Yard, having taken a break to go home and rest for a while. Sherlock and John had just came back from St Bart's. They, well Sherlock, had been looking at some dirt samples that might give them a clue as to where the boys were. But it didn't help. Didn't make anything better.

"Nothing," Sherlock replied stiffly. John was practically falling asleep where he was sitting. He couldn't help it. He was incredibly exhausted, worried and stressed. He just wanted to find their sons but... He also wanted to rest.

"How about you two go home and sleep?" Greg suggested, putting a hand up to stop Sherlock from talking. "You need to rest. You won't be any use half asleep. We'll keep looking. Okay?"

"Fine," Sherlock practically jumped up, rising suddenly. "Come, John." John snapped out of his half asleep state, stumbling up and after Sherlock. He nodded to Lestrade on the way out. Sherlock ended up getting a cab. The silence that filled the journey was painful. But neither could speak. Some of their reasons for this were the same, some different.

Upon entering the flat John took Sherlock's hand, leading him upstairs and into their bedroom. The taller man wouldn't even try to sleep unless forced to.

"Sleep," John mumbled as he collapsed on the bed. "Rest your brain." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at that, sitting on the edge of the bed. His whole posture, his expression, everything about him was tense. Worried. Both of them were worried and stressed. There had been two more calls since the first one. John couldn't get the sounds of his sons' voices out of his head. The crying, the pain that laced them. It was too much. Why? The twins had never done anything to Moriarty. Then again he was a madman. There was no true reason behind his actions.

"I do not need to sleep," Sherlock eventually replied, turning his colourful eyes to look at John. What once had been emotionless were now filled with feeling. None good. Worry. Anger. Things like that. John sat up slowly, moving around to sit next to Sherlock. He rested his head against his partner's sigh, gently running his fingers through his black curls.

"You do. And we'll find them, Sherlock." John's words were hollow. They were beginning to lose hope. Everything was taking its toll.

"You don't know that, John. This is Moriarty we're talking about. He wants to destroy me!"

The ringing sound of Sherlock's phone broke through the air. Sherlock instantly sprang up, pulling it out of his pocket to check the text.

"John... This is it." His eyes were wide as he opened the text. John peered over his shoulder.

'Your sons are safe. The house is four down from the abandoned one. Basement. Looks normal. Bring police. Hurry. Before he finds out. -MM'

"So it was near the abandoned house all along," John murmured. Sherlock was already calling Lestrade, ordering down the phone. John jumped up and followed. No longer falling asleep. They were going to find their sons. They were going to find their sons!

The two of them quickly left the flat and got a taxi. They arrived at the same time as the police. Lestrade forced them to stay back as police barged into the house, catching its occupants by surprise. Sherlock and John followed them slowly as they took out the few people there. A few criminals. It wasn't until they went downstairs into the basement that... He appeared.

"Hello Sherlock." Moriarty didn't look much different from the last time they had met face to face. On the roof of St Bart's. Before both faked their death.

"Moriarty," Sherlock replied coldly. "It's over. Don't think you can get out of this. Not this time. I destroyed most of your web. When you go to prison, you will stay."

"Oh I don't think so. First of all you have to get me there. Second of all you have to keep me there. Stop my right hand man getting me out." Sebastian Moran. He was one that Sherlock had never managed to find nor take out.

He felt John tense behind him as Moriarty slowly walked towards a door that seemed to be locked electronically. He suddenly typed in a code, disappearing through the door. Sherlock, John and Lestrade almost instantly moved forwards. Suddenly Moriarty reappeared, one arm around Hamish's neck and a gun pointed to his head. How he hated doing the dirty work himself. But sometimes he had to get it done.

"First problem. Get me to jail!" Moriarty goaded in a singsong voice. John's eyes were only on his son as he struggled. Hamish looked... terrible. His black curls were matted with blood and dirt, falling over dull eyes. His face was dirty and his clothes in a state. And the pain... He looked to be in pain. There were a few cuts on his feet, but John didn't doubt that they would find more injuries all over his body. Martin would likely be the same.

"Let my son go, Moriarty, and you go free," Sherlock offered, eyes narrowed. Lestrade made to interrupt but didn't speak when he received glares from both.

"Nice try, Sherlock," Moriarty replied with a smirk, pushing the gun against Hamish's head. "But I don't believe in promises. You know, I might just pull the trigger. I did promise I would burn you."

None of them moved. John glanced at Sherlock, seeing the fear flash through his eyes. Seeing him trying to think but failing. John would have to do something before it was too late.

A gunshot rang through the air, followed by a scream.