A/N: Hello all. Quick update for all those who waited patiently for the previous chapter. This is an account of when John/Mary had been captured. Please note that for now this is unbeta'd until further notice. And that this chapter has a RATING OF M as there is some descriptions of physical injuries and torture. If you don't like please don't read. But if you do please let me know what you think, I found bits of this chapter tough to write. Enjoy...

THREE MONTHS PREVIOUSLY

John head was pounding with terrible force. The smell of damp and blood met his nose as he cracked his eyes open to the darkened room. "Mary..." Was the first word he found as he started to come around more. As his sight adjusted to the low light he finally saw her opposite in what was probably a similar state to what he was in himself.

Mary was sat awkwardly in a metal chair her legs bound at the ankles to the legs of it. Her arms were pulled behind her back much in the same way John had his, and he could only guess they were bound at the wrists like him. She wore a sad and strange look to her features, one that the doctor had never seen before. "I'm here." She whispered softly.

"Mary." He said again, lost for words somewhat. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." She said, sadly. "Don't worry about me." Her eyes were bloodshot from tears both fallen and unfallen.

"Ah, the doctors awake. Finally." A happy chirpy voice sounded from behind John and a mans face came into his view. "Thought you were never going to wake up." He rolled his eyes.

John recognised him, but his brain could not place it. "I know you don't I?" John's voice was a bit off, he struggled to hold it together.

"Colonel Moran." The man smiled gleefully. "Finally I get to meet the famous doctor Watson." He joked.

"Moriarty's right hand man." John replied.

"Former." Moran corrected.

"Oh yes." John smiled back, even in the situation he could not help but smile at the thought of Moriarty's demise. "Of course. Blown to bits if I remember rightly."

"All by your beautiful wife here." Moran stepped forward and swept a hand over Mary's face, she closed her eyes in disgust. "She's quite a shot isn't she, your assassin wife."

"Get your hands off her!" John bellowed and he heard his voice echo back at him making him realise just how vast the room they were in was. "I swear to God, if you so much as put another finger on her I'll rip you to shreds."

"I only need one finger, my dear." The mans slimy words sounded just like Moriarty's then, with a slight Irish lilt added into the mix. He pushed one skeletal finger roughly into Mary's cheek and she tried to turn away. Sebastian then pulled his hand back, licking his finger he then brought it across her lips slowly.

"No." John struggled in his chair, his bounds only rubbing further into his sore red skin. "Please... No!"

"Oh don't worry." Moran turned his head to the doctor but kept the rest of him facing Mary. Tears were silently streaming down her cheeks. "I'm sure your little keeper will be here in no time, I heard he's getting close."

Mary drew a shaky breath looking to her husband. "Please John. Don't watch."

John screamed.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Sherlock jolted awake, the residue of anaesthetic was still in his nose and he sniffed and coughed at the feeling. After a beat the detective tried to ascertain what had happened and were about's he was. His head was fuzzy with the drug but he was coming round quickly enough. Judging by the feeling of the floor and the motion around him he deduced he was in the back of a van, most likely a transit, and even more likely the one that had been seen to pick up John and Mary not too long ago. He listened to the surrounding noise and guessed he was travelling around 30 miles an hour, inner suburbs then, clearly not far from their destination.

A bump in the road made him open his eyes but they only met cloth. Blindfolded then. He would have to rely on his other senses to deduce the rest.

The tyres met gravel and the van began to roll to a halt. He didn't have long. In a second he reached awkwardly with bound wrists into his jacket, his coat was missing and who knew where. The idiots had clearly stripped him of his coat but failed to search his jacket where his phone was located. He managed to unlock it and with perfect memory began to type in a text to Lestrade, unsure if it made an ounce of sense. As the back doors of the van flew open he tossed the phone sideways, hoping that both the message sent and his captors didn't see it. Perhaps Mycroft's cronies would pick up the GPS location and send some sort of aid.

Two sets of hands grabbed at the detectives arms, pulling him upwards with force. A small wave of vertigo hit him, but he soon shook it off when one of his captors punched him in the side.

"Move!" The man growled. 6ft 2, bald, wearing swede shoes and a leather jacket as far as Sherlock could tell for now.

The detective stepped forward, careful of his footing on the gravelled ground. He was pushed along quicker. The smell of the salty Thames water hit is senses, so he was right, still in Greenwich, south of the river and by the sounds of the nearby roads and close by the Greenwich pumping station he thought. He was pushed again and he nearly stumbled over. The two men laughed at his expense.

"I may find it easier to walk in a straight line, if I were not blindfolded." Sherlock said simply.

The second man pushed harder, larger build thought the detective as he tumbled forward and hit the gravel below. A steel toe capped boot flew into his ribs and Sherlock let out a grunt in pain.

"Get up!"

The consultant didn't move, winded from the blow he struggled with a breath, his ribs were probably cracked. Another blow hit him in the same spot and he cried out this time, agony flashing though him, broken then. And then another blow on the opposite side. He curled slightly inward as both the men laughed kicking him.

"Boys." A third voice appeared into Sherlock's senses. "I said no spoiling didn't I?" He knew that voice all too well, even though he hadn't met the man. "Shall we get him inside and reunited with his little friends."

The consultant was quickly pulled to his feet in a second by both his captors and Sherlock took that moment to swiftly pull the blindfold from his eyes, the blinding afternoon summer sun flooded into his vision.

"Nice to see you too. Seb." He said with as much sarcasm as his winded voice would allow.

"I prefer, Colonel Moran." Sebastian smirked, the man turned his back and waltzed towards the nearby building. "Bring him."

Sherlock was herded forward and he chose not to resist. Besides he was here to rescue John and Mary, even if it wasn't in the way he was planning. He took in his surroundings quickly, absorbing whatever useful information he could. As he thought he was next to the pumping station and being escorted into the nearby building, clearly a small office or control area. The two men either side hurried him along and into the building. Inside was a maze of corridors and rooms and he was pushed through several, down two flights of stairs with difficultly and finally to a dank cold room with one small ladder heading down again.

The horror which met Sherlock after heading down that ladder made him wish he'd been quicker. The room was vast, and from what he could tell seemed to be some sort of holding reservoir for the London water system, most likely an overflow tunnel. Sherlock was not unfamiliar with the capitals sewage system but there were plenty of tunnels and networks he didn't know of, this clearly being one. Mary and John were facing one another the other end of the 'room', both tied roughly to a horrible cold steel chair, Mary facing him and John not. As the detective was pushed closer the doctor turned his head, eyes coming to meet his friend.

"Sher..." His voice faded off.

John's face was a mirage of bruises where he had clearly been beaten, his lip was split and still bleeding quite heavily. But it was John's eyes that caused Sherlock's heart to sink to the pit of his stomach. They were dark and lifeless, the physical injuries he was sporting had nothing on the look in his eyes. He let his eyes wander to Mary and almost gasped at the sight of her. Much of her clothes had been stripped, her body was shaking uncontrollably from either cold or shock, Sherlock thought probably the latter. Several burns and cuts littered her skin but what sickened the detective the most was the long machete still embedded deep within her shoulder, a long stream of blood had flowed down her torso and into her lap.

The detective now speechless was pushed again and he fell, stifling a cry at the jolt on his fractured ribs. The laughing from behind him made his lips curl into a snarl, with little thought he started to work on his wrist bindings, determined to break himself free. He was used to scenes of torture or even being on the end of it, but what he called his friends on the receiving end was unacceptable in the detectives books.

"Thank you boys." Sebastian waved the two men who has brought Sherlock off and both then disappeared from the room leaving just the four of them. "All reunited now." Moran's feet came into Sherlock's vision from the floor. "The detective, the soldier and the assassin." He laughed, voice echoing around the room. "Your quite a complex little trio, aren't you."

"Piss off!" John's angry voice sounded.

Sebastian stepped forward, planting a punch clean across John's cheek with a horrible crack. "What did I tell you about that foul mouth of yours."

John remained slightly bent sideways from the blow, he was breathing hard from the pain but refused to show any other signs of his agony. Moran continued on.

"Would you like to watch me do the same to your lovely detective as I did to your wife."

The doctor didn't answer, he simply stared at the ground.

"Gone mute?" Moran laughed.

"I see the fondness for Moriarty has clouded your mind into madness." Sherlock did not try to stand from the floor, he was still quietly working hard on the horrible plastic binds cutting into his wrists.

Moran kicked him roughly in the chest and the detective stifled a cry of pain.

The consultant laughed, sitting up taller. "Sentiment." He smiled, "a chemical defect. One that is always found on the losing side."

"He's right you know." John piped up.

"You killed him." Moran shouted, and it was the first time John had seen the man's emotion set loose. "Do you know how many she killed?" He pointed to Mary accusingly.

Mary looked up, her eyes now slits from the pain. Sherlock knew he needed to get her out soon or there would be no chance of getting her out at all.

"Yes." Sherlock answered. "But what does that matter, I know how many you've killed too."

John started laughing this time, and although his face still remained in a stoney stare a long drawn out laugh appeared. Sherlock really knew how to play people.

Sebastian's face turned red with fury. Digging into his pocket he drew out a small syringe and plunged the needle deep into the doctors arm delivering the contents. "Shut up!" He shouted, clearly unhinged. He pulled out a second dose of the drug and then several things happened at once.

Sherlock's hands popped free from his bonds, with a small grunt he felt his thumb dislocate painfully. He rushed upward, knocking the syringe from the mans hands he grappled with him for a moment until Moran finally sent a blow to the detectives face.

"No." John's already slurring speech appeared over the scuffle. "Sherlock, stop." His head slumped forward then and he struggled with his consciousness.

In a second Sebastian pulled out a hand gun from his jacket pointing it directly at Mary. "She will pay for what she did. With her life."

Sherlock bowled forward again, grabbing at the gun haphazardly. It fired and the detective stumbled on his feet falling to his knees he took a sharp intake of breath, agony exploding in his skull. He brought a hand up to his head but jerked it back when more pain split though him, his fingers came away slick with crimson.

Moran laughed and the gun fired again. Sherlock looked up, eyes hazy with pain, he could smell the gunpowder then so strongly as if it were caked in his nostrils. In the dim light he could see the gun still pointed to its target. Mary.

"No." John's weak voice cut through the silence.

Sherlock stumbled upward and collided with Mary but it was too late. Her head was lolled back, mouth slack and eyes still slightly open. Even though his own fuzzy gaze the detective could see the bullet hole in the centre of her forehead, she was gone. The sound of Moran's wicked laugh appeared again. Sherlock's bottom lip wobbled, his nose scrunched and jaw clamped together in uncontrollable anger.

In one swift but uncoordinated movement the detective pulled the machete from Mary's shoulder. He growled spinning and slashing out and into Sebastian's armed appendage which was now pointing to John. Moran screamed as the weapon sliced deeply into his flesh but he did not drop the gun, still pointing true to the doctor. Sherlock was too quick and within a split second swung the blade again, this time cleaving straight through the arm.

Colonel Moran staggered back perplexed for a moment at the predicament of the situation. The amount of blood already lost told him he didn't have long. As Sherlock leapt forward again he chose to flee like a coward.

The detective watched him fly up the escape ladder he turned to John who was now unconscious. "John?" He dropped the machete falling unceremoniously to his knees before his friend. "John wake up. We need to get out."

There was no answer. The pounding in Sherlock's head heightened, he brought a shaky hand to the wound and hissed as it made contact with it. His eyes began to darken. He tried to pull himself up but failed, crumpling to the cold stone ground he passed out numb from pain and grief.